#cecii22me

[ddarker-dreams]

I really enjoyed the gojo fic!! You did great balancing his humor and eeriness.

At the end he was really trying to save the the relationship: your family can move, the job is better here, think in our baby Magumi, I’ll GIVE YOU FOOD. If this doesn’t convince you…

To me it show that he wants a semi normal relationship, whatever you feel fear or love is up to you, but he is not giving you up.

I wonder if older gojo won’t regret acting so suddenly. He is a lot less impulsive when he is older and he could have sabotage her without her notice it.

AAA thank you very much!!!!! at first, i told myself it'd be a short lil fic, but writing banter with gojo was so much fun that i had to keep going jsgklfs

i was considering the difference between brat high school gojo vs still a brat older gojo as well. i do think that older gojo would've had a more solid plan prepared in advance, he'd be sliiiiightly less volatile as well. slightly. which is why i decided to go with the high school setting because seeing him unhinged sounded interesting (and frightening). especially since his version of unhinged doesn't mean he's completely lost it, it still feels calculated and intentional. he's saying weird things with the express purpose of making reader uncomfortable. that's his 'revenge' of sorts for her trying to leave in the first place.

^ this really was gojo's ace in the hole. what are you gonna do???? abandon baby megumi????????? gojo would break out pictures if he had to. lay the guilt on thick.

"look at this sad orphan, can you in good conscience leave him behind?"

like what are you supposed to say to that..........

[amysteryspot]

Hi, I’m obsessed with the post about the Solomon’s sibling. Can you do a Hanukkah with the Salomon siblings?

Hello love! It makes me so happy that you liked the Solomons’s headcanons that much 🤧. This fills my heart with joy!

Hanukkah with the Solomons is on the plans, yes. Just not sure if it’s going to be an actual fic or more headcanons. All I know is that we will be in for a wild ride, my friend. I’m doing some research on the traditions and stuff for it.

Read “The Solomons Siblings” here!

[ddarker-dreams]

Chrollo brainrot: when he likes a book too much and wants to debate it with you, he start leaving the book around all over the house

He could ask you to read it, but that would give you too much power in his mind. So he leave it in your bedroom, in your wardrobe, in the bathroom.

If you are not picking in soon enough he start messing with others hobbies to make you bored enough. Suddenly, All the others books are in Latin, your crafts are missing and the tv doesn’t work.

I love Chrollo wanting his own club book so he kidnap you

HE IS PETTY FOR A LIVING ... he's trying so hard to do subliminal messaging without. y'know. the important 'subliminal' part.

he would resort to the most annoying methods to get you to do what he wants. then, to make matters worse, he'll deny any involvement should you confront him about it. chrollo's such a talented actor that you can't help but almost believe him.

it's almost odd the degree he values your input on certain topics/books. while he's naturally condescending in your day to day life, this air of his disappears entirely when you're sharing your thoughts on a chapter or whatever. he'll sit there, nodding and listening attentively, asking questions for you to elaborate when it seems appropriate to do so. of course, you'll be hearing about it at length if he disagrees with your thoughts, but it feels more like an equal dialogue than what you're used to.

he just finds your input genuinely interesting. it's a door to your soul. what you stand for, where you draw the line, the details that jump out to you that he may have overlooked... he commits these aspects of you to memory.

[ddarker-dreams]

Imagine darling starting tricky religious subject in her parent house, with the hope that Chrollo would ruin it.

He does not, but his tongue hurts of all the times he bit it

chrollo when he has to go an entire evening without mentioning the apocryphal texts to flex his intellectual prowess to everyone present:

later that night, he'd tell his darling with the most Strained smile that this should serve as sufficient proof he can overcome any trial they throw his way. he's acting nonchalant but you can feel the irritation radiating off of him. this is one of the best methods to inflict psychic damage on him. he deserves it too. feel no remorse.

[ddarker-dreams]

Ahhhh what’s piece. I would say it is one of my favorites but I think that every time you write.

Chrollo if lancery is what you find confortable, why don’t you give it a try for the rest of the ride?

As alway I love how you give personality to darling. It makes me understand better the Yandere obsession.

AA thank you so much 💖💖 i felt for a story like this, darling being more audacious would work best. there's also something funny to me about the dynamic of a feral darling and chrollo trying to keep them somewhat under wraps, while still enjoying their unhinged nature. he's just radiating amusement. he takes so much with a grain of salt. some yanderes have a zero nonsense policy but not chrollo. some nonsense is allowed (and even encouraged).

LMAOOOO if you were curious about the thought process behind this question that seemingly came out of left field, i was thinking that chrollo wanted to completely throw darling for a loop. hit her with something she wasn't expecting in the slightest. that way, he'd get the most bang for his buck (heheh) because darling would be bound to ramble away, due to how unexpected the question was. so there's that conniving part but also . yeah he's down bad for darling. don't be fooled. he might be quoting the odyssey or whatever like it's what he does for a living, but he's still a man who goes brrr darling hot brrr

currently sweating bullets because this actually didn’t occur to me when i was writing the story... but it’d seem so cool if it was intentional ... so i’m gonna. say that it was. i’ll roll with it. i really love that observation though!!! at the time, i was thinking about eros/storge/agape, so this does actually line up in a way??? i love that... thank you for sharing this thought <333 

IT’S ALWAYS ON THE BACK BURNER OF HIS MIND ... 

personally, i think chrollo is the type to hold a grudge over a long period of time, he might not do anything in the immediate aftermath but the bitterness lingers. it’s likely to come back and bite her months later. hell, he’ll even bring it up years later if he’s so inclined. he waits for the most opportune moment to get his payback tenfold. it’d probably be more of a reaction to something reader does or says, he’ll bring up her exact wording from the interaction and challenge her with it. he likes to provoke with a calm smile. 

and thank you so much for enjoying the story <333

i feel chrollo has the capacity to experience hurt! we see him genuinely emote in the manga/anime when there was nothing for him to gain by acting manipulative. he undoubtedly has super thick skin, but depending on the situation, some of what darling says or does can penetrate that. he wouldn’t be obvious about it though. he’ll either write it off by acting sulky to hide how truly upset he is, or just cover it up completely. you’d have to have a hawk’s eye to realize the extent of it. 

AAA thank you so much for giving it a shot!! chrollo is my favorite character of all time, across everything i’ve ever watched/read, so i’ve made it my personal mission to introduce him to more people. i can never recommend hxh enough to anyone who might be the slightest bit interested. there’s literally nothing like it. i would give anything to experience the series again for the first time. it’s a masterpiece. 

[ddarker-dreams]

I think reunion is the best outcome scenario that reader can expect. Even if reader doesn’t feel that way, chrollo can be way worse.

Love that she kept one dress, to chrollo it must have look like she wasn’t over him. It must have been endearing.

I can imagine reader pressing for family gathering being when chrollo is away, but chrollo organize the same opposite when he wants to annoy reader. Not too many times tho, he does like to be alone as a couple.

it's really interesting to see what everyone would've chosen at chrollo's proposition 👀👀

there's no doubting that he was endlessly amused by the sight of reader wearing a dress he picked for her, he was probably wondering what mental gymnastics she went through to justify the choice to herself.

i thought about throwing in some reference to reader having a socioeconomic gap in comparison to her cousin's side of the family but decided to leave it more implied than anything. in situations like that where i'm surrounded by ladies wearing 600 dollar purses talking about their upcoming trips to europe or some yacht club w/e, i can't help but feel self-conscious HTKEMLR although i assume that's a somewhat universal experience. if i ever were to continue the storyline, chrollo would really hone in on that factor...

thank you for sharing your thoughts!!!

[ddarker-dreams]

I think Expedient is only one of the few fic where the character feels something similar to “guilt”

When reader spoke about sacrifice, scara understood they he would never love her like that. Oh, he is all about sacrifice, just not his own.

Unlike others yandere, there is not self convincing that is for your own good, he knows the nightmare he is, but I don’t know if that’s better or worse

Excellent work as always!!!

scaramouche, oh scaramouche...

AAA i love your analysis!! "Oh, he is all about sacrifice, just not his own." very spot on. like you said, i posed the question of is it worse for a yandere to convince themself what they're doing is for their darling, or to be self-aware enough to recognize it's bad for them yet carry through regardless. this story came as a result hrjtkme i wanted themes of guilt but . also in character. scaramouche has some very rough form of sympathy, just... no empathy.

i wanted this story to be him struggling with this newfound sympathy, because Wow he realizes he could really do without it, feelings are awful!!! yikes!!!

thank you so much for the feedback <33333333333333333

[ddarker-dreams]

in the rare chance that first and chrollo have a kid, would Estella raise it?

It seems the best solution for me, since neither first or chrollo life style are good for a kid, they may visit tho, (it would be fun to see the troupe as weird uncles and aunts)

THINKING EMOJI... should i delve into the lore of HWR reader and chrollo's potential kid ? every now and then i play around with the idea. i haven't settled on anything definitively, but it does somewhat look like what you described.

neither of them live a conventional life, to say the least. if HWR reader were to end up pregnant, it'd definitely be an accident. chrollo is honestly the type that probably wouldn't get too involved into the kid is older/able to hold a conversation. not that HWR reader is much better off herself. they can both read as many developmental psychology books as they want, their parenting methods would still be questionable at best...

if they were to keep the child, HWR reader would probably end up having the little one raised at her home estate. she'd be very hesitant to let estella be the main caretaker though. it's been touched on lightly in the series, but she has a certain apprehension toward her older sister. the kiddo would probably just have a lot of nannies that HWR reader vetted herself.

i really like the thought of them having one lil daughter who is a specialist. i can't decide whether i'd want her to be more reserved like her parents, or just the complete opposite of that; a super bubbly bundle of energy who runs amuck. the latter seems like a funny dynamic ngl.

[ddarker-dreams]

What if Chie doesn’t like to share her mum? How would scara react if his daughter isn’t too fond of him?

UH OH........... it would be very overwhelming for chie once you breaks the new that yes, this is indeed her father, and that their entire lifestyle is going to change because of him. she'd still be allowed to play outside and such but the environment in inazuma is so different, she'd be in culture shock for some time. children are good at sensing people's character too. when she sees how tense you are around scara, she'll be confused, wondering why you're not happy with him like other wives are with their husbands. just pray to any god that hasn't abandoned you yet that she does not ask that in front of him. otherwise he'll be like hm, that's a good point honey, why do you act like that? all smiley and horrifying.

you'd have to break down her behavior to scaramouche since it'd be completely lost on him. if chie didn't like him, then he's just ? because he's completed his dad check list. gave house. gave clothes. gave food. what more does the little gremlin want? why is she so needy?? he just wants her to think he's cool and strong. when is that part going to happen?

if chie tried to hog your attention, scaramouche would not be pleased. before she's at the age to be tutored, she spends most of her time with you, whereas he has to be off working for this godforsaken family. so when he comes home he wants all of your affection and nothing less than that. he's kinda fine with her being in the room, but if she's the only one you're talking to, his brain wants to short circuit. gets some nanny to scoop her away so he can have alone time with you.

[ddarker-dreams]

Hi I just wanna let you know that I think you are banned, like I can’t search you up nor see your published work

aha yeah i do think i've been shadowbanned... it says i have no posts flagged as explicit, so i'm pretty confused. i just sent in a support ticket to tumblr and will be awaiting their response. in the meantime, i can't respond to messages so i apologize to anyone who has sent me one hjtkmegr this kinda flatlined my motivation to right until its resolved so i'm 😔 hopefully it gets resolved soon ...

[ddarker-dreams]

Im confused about the can/can’t kiss chart, can kiss refers to permission or ability to kiss?

can kiss means that they're able to kiss well, whereas can't kiss means they can't kiss well !! in my mind at least. who knows, perhaps xiao is a casanova. it's just my interpretation of things.

[hb-writes]

Like the Leaves

Summary: Set in the Little Lady Blinder universe in 1914. In the wake of Greta’s passing, Tommy’s little sister offers him some comfort.

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, Clara Shelby, Greta Jurossi (mentioned)

Clara had been awake for close to an hour, woken in the middle of the night by an unexplainable bit of strain clenching her chest, a distinct tugging and compression somehow working at her heart at the very same time. She’d experienced it before, a slight twinge, a bit of tenderness she’d come to understand as a warning that something wasn’t quite right.

Finn snored heavily in the bed beside her, not at all noticing his sister’s anxious movement, so Clara knew it was late. And beyond that, silence had settled on the street below and throughout the house, a quiet that only came when the streets of Small Heath emptied and the cool evening wind died down, most people safe at home, tucked away in their warm beds. 

Well, silence had settled. And then Tommy came home, and once he had, there was a slammed door and a burst of short words followed by some stomping up the stairs before the silence returned.

Clara saw a bit of light through the open bedroom door, dim as it filtered down from the room at the end of the hall. Her brother had not stopped at their door on the way to his. It was his passing by without stopping that finally forced Clara up from the bed, spurred to action after close to an hour of looking up to the ceiling with nothing but her thoughts and the strain in her chest to occupy her. Tommy always looked in on them, always checked to be sure they were asleep, and sorted whatever it was keeping them up if they weren’t. 

Tommy’s room was just down the hall, only a few steps, and even at six years old, Clara had already mastered getting there while making the least bit of noise, able to avoid the creakier floorboards even in the limited light. 

She pushed open her brother’s half-closed door without knocking. 

“Just fuck off,” Tommy said at the intrusion, nearly adding on a desperate ‘alright?’. He was unable to in the end, so certain his voice would break on those two extra syllables, the strain already there in the slow but sharp words he’d already said.

Clara shuffled her feet. Most people would have done as he had said, would’ve left Tommy to himself, especially with that tone, those words, but Clara wasn’t most people, and even when her brother frightened her, he didn’t, and the same push and pull active in her chest was working on her feet, nudging her on towards her brother’s anguish while also holding her back from the anger. 

Sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, Tommy hadn’t even bothered to look up, assuming it was Polly coming in to make some attempt at comfort after he’d brushed her off downstairs, but it wasn’t Polly that had come to his door. Polly would have spoken by now, and in the quiet, Tommy found himself missing it, longing for the words and whatever comfort he’d just been so eager to shoo away. He glanced up, prompted by the lack of retreating steps and his sudden yearning, to see Clara, wide-eyed and frozen in the doorway. 

She was used to hearing bad words, and had heard just about every variation of the word “fuck” tumble from her brothers’ mouths, and Ada and Polly’s, too, but Clara wasn’t used to Tommy’s tone or his directing those types of words at her. She stared back at her brother, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and Tommy felt like in just those three seconds, the kid had seen more of him, and knew more of him, than anyone else ever had. And that was saying something.

Because Tommy usually was himself with his little sister, and gave himself to her more completely than he did to anyone else, aside from maybe Greta, which was a different thing altogether, but there were still things Tommy liked to keep for himself. Grief and pain, for one. A six-year-old had no need to hold any of that for him. Clara would have a whole lifetime to collect her own.

Tommy took a deep breath, guilt seeping into his chest and swirling about with the grief that was already there, stretching him to exhaustion, everything in him tired and weary from holding it together, but the girl at his door, the duty he felt to her, and even the swirling guilt he felt for shouting at her was a reprieve from the grief, a welcome excuse to set even a portion of it aside. 

Tommy set the cigarette down on the nightstand before running a hand over his face and taking another breath to reset himself, clearing his throat to rid his voice of the hurt. 

“What is it, Clara?”

A nightmare, Tommy assumed, or a burning question, some grand moral dilemma his little sister couldn’t stifle or hold until the morning. It wasn’t beyond Clara Shelby to address that type of thing at three am. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, shoulders heaving in a shrug, and she placed her hand over her chest. “You know when something hurts right here and you can’t sleep?” 

“Come ‘ere,” Tommy answered, and Clara crossed the floor on bare feet, allowing him to pull her up onto his lap. 

Tommy slipped off his boots and leaned back against the headboard, taking Clara along with him, her head already resting against his chest by the time he settled.

“You and Finn were sleeping just fine when I got home,” he said, though he hadn’t known for sure, only knowing that the room had been quieter than the stomping of his feet as he’d gone by.

“How do you know?”

“Your door’s on the way to mine.”

“But you didn’t look,” Clara answered. “I was awake.”

“And why’s that?”

Clara shrugged again, absently playing with the buttons on Tommy’s shirt, the gentle cadence of their conversation soothing them both though Clara was still carefully studying her brother, a series of casual glances cast upwards whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. 

Polly was always saying how aware their Clara was, curious and perceptive and persistent just as he had always been. Clara and Tommy Shelby were far too much of those qualities for their own good was actually the sentiment Polly liked to portray, a bit of an insult wrapped in a compliment, because Polly was proud of her niece and nephew, even though those things were the source of her headaches more often than not. 

Tommy leaned his head back against the wall, looking up to the ceiling as Clara continued with her fiddling. He wouldn’t wish being like him or the depth of his feelings and thoughts and perceptions on anyone, but especially not on the little girl sitting with him now. 

“Is she okay, Tommy?” Clara mumbled.

“Is who okay?” he asked.

“Your Greta.”

Tommy could feel that Clara’s head was still resting against his chest, her fingers picking at his shirt button, so he let a single stubborn tear fall, his face turned towards the door so it didn’t fall on his sister’s head. 

She was uniquely perceptive for such a young child, something which Polly attributed to some wild, roaming heart she was always claiming for the two of them, but it still surprised Tommy when Clara picked up on something she had no business picking up on.

He hadn’t told her Greta was sick, had barely spoken of it to anyone except Polly, but he figured Clara had overheard something. She and Finn were always somewhere they were meant to be, hearing things not intended for their ears, and if she was calling her his Greta, a term of endearment Tommy couldn’t imagine his Clara willingly coming to on her own, she’d heard it first from Polly.

“No, Clara. No, she is not,” Tommy answered after a shaky breath and a pause.

Clara sat herself up, a determined frown on her face, a fresh wetness in her eyes threatening to spill on her face. She reached out and wiped away the tear on her brother’s cheek.

“No more tears, Tommy. She wouldn’t want you to be sad. She’s like the leaves now.”

It was the same sentiment they had repeated to the twins any time they’d asked about their mother’s death, some sentimental words he’d given them about people leaving, like leaves on autumn trees. 

And Tommy hadn’t even told her that Greta had died. 

Clara just knew. 

Eyes closed, Tommy shook his head, more in disbelief than anything else. He hadn’t wanted to smile, didn’t think he’d be able to, but at Clara’s words he couldn’t help himself. 

“You’re a good girl, Clara,” Tommy said. “A good girl who needs to get some rest.”

“But you still hurt?” she asked, resting her hand flat over Tommy’s heart. “Right here?”

Tommy nodded. “That’s why I need you to help me get some rest.”

“To heal the hurt?” 

Tommy nodded. “Can you do that?” he asked, his question rendered unnecessary by the fact that Clara had already gone for the end of the bed, retrieving the blanket left there and pulling it over them both before reaching across him to put out the light.

“You sleep now, Tommy. You need to rest.”

--

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

--

🏷:

@beautycinders​ @buckybluebarnes @cecii22me @hannahrahan​@lovemissyhoneybee​ @marquelapage​ @midnight-dreams-23​ @mo-onstarrs​ ​@ohhersheybars​ @pollyrepents​ @unicorndetective22 ​

[hb-writes]

The Walk-In Appointment

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara learns to walk a bit later than her twin, but once she does there’s no stopping her from following her big brother around wherever he goes. Set in May 1909.

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Ada Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Polly Gray, and Clara Shelby

Warnings: Swearing

Hope you enjoy this little piece since the next chapter isn’t coming yet. This was inspired by the lovely @cecii22me​’s ask and I’m so absolutely softened by the idea of Clara learning to walk and chasing around her ‘Ta’ / ‘TaTa’ as that’s what I’ve decided she’d call Tommy before she could get the whole name out properly.

-----

Ada stood her little sister up on her feet, holding her small hands as she encouraged a bit of walking. Clara humored Ada for a few steps, always did so, but lowered herself to the ground as soon as Ada tried to pull her hands away.

Finn took his first steps a few months before his twin sister, toddling around on the first floor and out into the shop if they left the doors open with little care for his own safety. He’d taken the first steps while walking towards his mother’s outstretched arms, the baby’s smiling face as he moved towards her a bright spot in what had come to be some tiring and difficult days for the woman. 

But five months later, Clara still hadn’t shown an interest. Since their mother’s passing, the baby had become more clingy, more likely to request a sibling’s or her aunt’s arms, searching every adult face around her for that of her missing mother. She’d crawl, when necessary, but more often stayed put, playing quietly by herself while Finn made a mess of things around her. 

Polly told her niece and nephews to not worry about Clara’s lack of steps. One toddling Shelby was more than enough to handle and each of them had walked at different times. Clara was the latest of the six Shelby children though, now three months past her first birthday. 

“Let her be, Ada,” Polly chided as Ada tried to force her younger sister up again, the toddler putting up a great protest and pulling against Ada’s hold as she tried to get back to the ground. 

Ada stopped fighting with Clara, instead pulling the girl up to rest on her skinny hip. “Finny walked ages ago, Clara. Don’t you want to walk?”

“Your sister will walk when she’s ready,” Polly answered. “I can’t imagine why you’re surprised she’s just as stubborn as the rest of you.” 

Ada kissed her sister’s cheek and Clara settled against Ada’s chest for a moment, her little version of a hug.

“You’re not stubborn, are you, lovey? You’re just a sweet little thing.” Ada rubbed her sister’s back. “A sweet little lovey who wants to try walking for sissy one last time.”

Ada set Clara on her feet at the moment Tommy walked through the front door, disturbing the peace of the front room as he let it slam behind him. 

Tommy passed his aunt and sisters without a word on his way to the shop, ignoring the baby’s incessant repeating of his name, a continuous stream of ‘Ta Ta Ta Ta’ growing louder as he disappeared from her view. 

Ada released her sister’s hands to cover her ears, anticipating the unrelenting shriek that had become commonplace when the baby didn’t get what she wanted, but it didn’t come. Clara continued chanting after Tommy, taking her first steps as she shouted after her brother.

Polly glanced up from the paper at Ada’s excited squeal.

“I told you she’d walk when ready,” she offered, setting the paper aside and standing up.

Clara tumbled at the threshold to the shop, falling back on her bottom. Ada stepped forward to help her sister only to be stopped by Polly’s hand on her wrist.

Clara’s face scrunched up as she tugged on the thick curtains using them to stand up and gripping them until she was safely over the threshold. 

Clara’s shouting for Tommy grew louder as she stepped into the shop, her little voice trying to overcome the volume of the scattered conversations taking place. Despite not clearly seeing Tommy, she took no deviations in her route as she headed towards Arthur’s office, the only place she’d ever come in the shop, always carried there on someone’s hip to visit the oldest Shelby brother. 

Tommy caught sight of her steps only because a lull in the noise of the shop caused him to back out of Arthur’s doorway and look around, his sister’s shout perfectly timed to the sudden silence of the room. 

He’d come home annoyed about some decision made about the horses, about to tell Arthur off, but he felt that anger leave him as he registered what was happening, the baby toddling towards him, her fair curls bouncing with each determined step. There was something new in her little gap-toothed smile, something in her serious uttering of the name she’d bestowed upon him months ago, the sound interspersed with her self-satisfied giggles, and it all made Tommy forget what he’d come in for in the first place because it was the most animated he’d seen the baby in months, the closest to happy he’d felt in months.

Arthur, Ada, and Polly were all watching by now, too, an almost foreign feeling which felt decidedly close to bliss swelling in them as Clara reached Tommy’s side. The baby gripped the fabric of her brother’s trousers in her small hands, tugging as she looked up to him.

“Up, Ta, up!”

Tommy leaned down to pull the girl into his arms, kissing her head. “Hello there, Clara girl.” 

“Of course her first steps would be following after you,” Ada said, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against one of the tables.

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Ada,” Arthur said, rubbing his finger along the baby’s cheek. “I had your first steps. It’s only fair Tommy gets Clara’s.” 

Clara put her palm to Tommy’s cheek, turning him towards her when his eyes moved to follow the conversation of their siblings.

“No, TaTa, no,” she said, her little voice sharp. “No. No. No.”

She grasped Tommy’s hand and swatted it. “No, Ta!”

Ada snorted, giggles escaping her lips as she watched the baby, her brow still furrowed despite appearing to be finished with her chastising.

“You’re in fucking trouble now, Tommy,” Arthur said, chuckling.

The handful of times the twins had picked up something they weren’t supposed to, done some little bit wrong, or put themselves in some unsafe predicament, they’d gotten a little warning tap on the hand. 

“What’s that for, my girl?” Tommy asked, trying to keep a straight face. 

“You’ve been bad, Thomas, ignored her when you came through just now,” Polly answered. “And Arthur, find better words, please. I don’t want the baby repeating that one.” 

Tommy shifted the toddler in his arms. “Is that it, my girl? Ta didn’t say hello so you decided to walk in here to let me have it?” He kissed her head. “I’m very sorry, sweet girl. I should’ve said hello.”

Clara was already cuddling into his chest, giving a hug, her little hands gripping his shirt and Tommy waited, resting his chin on her head and letting her cuddle a bit before placing her on the floor beside him. 

“Alright, you go off to Ada now or she’ll pout the rest of the evening,” Tommy encouraged, wishing he hadn’t yet started the conversation with Arthur. He’d much rather pass the hour before supper with Clara, but he had little choice in it now. 

“C’mon. Show us those big girl steps and I’ll see you for supper.” 

Clara took two steps towards her sister’s outstretched hands, turning back when Tommy stepped into Arthur’s office. 

“Ta!” she said, holding a hand out to him. 

Tommy took a deep breath, unable to hide his smile as he looked down at her.

“TATA!” she yelled, walking back to him. 

“Give me a minute, Arthur,” Tommy said, taking one of Clara’s hands, stooping a bit to one side as she led him from the shop and back to the sitting room with Ada and Polly. Tommy settled her on the floor and played with his sisters for a few moments before standing up. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “You stay with Ada.” 

Tommy was grateful for Ada’s distraction, grateful that they didn’t have to suffer a tantrum because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to not give in to her on it.

Tommy and Arthur were just settling in to talk when there was a banging at the office door, a firm repetition of knocks.

“Christ, can’t even have a fucking conversation in this place. Get that, Tommy, won’t you?”

Tommy stood up and pulled his brother’s door open, glancing down at the threshold to see their visitor.

“We have a walk-in appointment, Arthur.”

“A what?” Arthur asked, unable to see a thing beyond his desk. 

“A walk-in. Our Clara’s here demanding an audience.” Tommy lifted the girl into his arms.

“Well, best let her in, then,” Arthur answered. “No hope in her staying where’s she’s told now. We really are fucked.” 

“Fuck!” Clara said, the same self-satisfied grin on her face as when she’d walked towards Tommy, her giggles filling the room as Tommy and Arthur both started laughing. 

“I won’t tell Aunt Polly if you don’t,” Arthur said. 

“I don’t think it’s me you have to bargain with to keep the secret, Arthur,” Tommy answered as he settled the giggling girl on his lap.

“Fuck,” Arthur said again, covering his mouth as the three siblings dissolved into laughter once again, Tommy and Arthur finding themselves entirely incapable of returning to their previous discussion with the little girl shouting out her new favorite word every time their laughter subsided.

———

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist.

------

🏷: @midnight-dreams-23 @cecii22me @pollyrepents @mo-onstarrs

[hb-writes]

Roses are Red, Ledger Books are Blue

Inspired by this anon request: If you're still taking requests, baby clara being better than john at doing the books

Summary: It’s 1913 in the Little Lady Blinder universe and John, the sleep-deprived father of two babies under the age of one falls asleep in the middle of working on the books to find his five-year-old sister Clara has borrowed them. 

Featuring: John Shelby and Clara Shelby

-----

"Where is it?" John shouted as he pushed things about on his desk, searching for the ledger book he'd been working on before falling asleep.

"Oi!" He shouted at the men at the other end of the shop. "It was right here just now. Where the fuck is it? Did one of you take it?"

The boys were becoming used to it, John falling asleep at his desk, drooling on the open ledger books, waking up shouting and confused. He blamed it on the new baby at home, the second child born in a little under a year, the two screaming infants keeping him and Martha up more than half the night.

It wasn't long before the boys pointed John in the direction of the dining room and he stalked off, assuming Polly had taken the ledgers once again. He swore to himself as he made his way across the shop. He had no need or desire to hear his aunt's complaints again about what he was doing, or not doing, with the books. It wasn't his fault he was so tired he could barely stay awake long enough to get through a single page. Truth was, by this time of day the numbers started looking to him like symbols from a foreign language.

As he stalked off, John could hear his little sister, her singsong voice floating through the crack in the shop doors.

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Sugar is sweet,

And so are—"

"Clara!"

Clara jumped up at the shouting of her name, mouth fallen open and her eyes growing wide. John snatched away the book the little girl had in front of her. A pack of six crayons sat beside her, the blue one still clasped in her small hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" John said as he lifted the book in his hands, his eyes automatically drawn to the blue marks on the page. "No, no, no. Christ, Clara! I've told you. Tommy's told you. Everyone's fucking told you. These books aren't for playing."

"I wasn't playing," she answered.

"You were coloring in the books. That's pla—"

"I'm not coloring!" Clara stood on the chair, reaching across the table. "So, give it back! I'm not done yet!"

"Not done making a fucking mess of things?" John ran a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell. Polly's gonna have us both for this and don't think I'll help you out of it. You might as well go ahead and put yourself in that corner and—"

"No! I wasn't being naughty and I won't go in the corner," she answered. "I was only helping fix your mistakes!"

John stilled, cocking his head to the side as he processed her words. "You what?"

"I was fixing your mistakes," Clara repeated, "'cause Aunt Polly said if you didn't stop…" Clara glanced around the room to be sure they were alone before continuing in a too-loud whisper. "fucking up the books…You'll be out of a job."

Polly hadn't meant the comment, was only letting out a bit of frustration at John's recent lack of attention to detail when she'd said it, but Clara didn't know that.

"There were only a very few mistakes," Clara said, "and I did up the rest of the adding. Well, I almost finished."

John glanced down at the page and now that he focused, saw nothing more than some crude blue numbers written beside his perfect black-inked penmanship. There was no 'CLARA' written out and no little hearts or rainbows or stick-figure families drawn on the pages as he'd expected. John sighed as he met his sister's eye across the table.

"The teacher says I'm good with numbers," Clara said, biting her bottom lip as she twisted a bit where she stood on the chair. "Did I do it right?"

John came around the table and lifted her, settling them both in the chair with the book in front of them. She pointed to a particular line in the ledger. "This one was hard. I didn't know if—"

"Yeah, sweetheart," John said, placing a kiss at her temple. "You did it right. Next time we'll get you a proper writing utensil, eh? That way no one'll know you're helping me out."

Clara shifted, getting a bit more comfortable on her brother's lap. "Can I come help with the babies after we finish the books?"

"You wanna help with the babies?" John asked.

"They're making you too sleepy."

John took a breath and rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. His sister was right. He and Martha had never been more exhausted in their lives. "Why not? I'm sure Martha wouldn't mind the company and you can help me make dinner."

"Can we make biscuits?"

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he yawned. "How about you let me finish these books and you get started baking? We'll bring 'em home for Martha."

"We'll make her favorite," Clara said as she hopped off his lap, "and while they're baking, I can look over your work?"

"Sure," John answered, pulling the pencil from behind his ear as he began scanning through the five-year-old's work, not a single mistake to be found in the rows of blue crayon.

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

🏷:

@beautycinders

@buckybluebarnes

@cecii22me

@lovemissyhoneybee

@marquelapage

@midnight-dreams-23

@mo-onstarrs

@ohhersheybars

@pollyrepents

@unicorndetective22

[hb-writes]

The Council

Inspired by the lovely @cecii22me​’s ask. I switched Clara’s age to fifteen and didn’t do “reactions” exactly because the nagging idea of John calling a boys-only family meeting to address the problem wouldn’t leave me be. 

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe and set in 1923. The boy’s reaction to fifteen-year-old Clara Shelby being friends with the Watery Lane boys. 

Characters Featured: Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Arthur Shelby, Tommy Shelby, John Shelby, Finn Shelby, Michael Gray, Isiah Jesus

-----

“Clara!”

John leaned out the door to number six, a toothpick stuck in the corner of his mouth, arms folded across his chest as he watched his sister. She was out there in the lane with Finn, Isiah, and the boys, the only girl left after John had sent his own daughter home. 

His Sarah was at that age where she was eager to test out a handful of identities, and being that she was surrounded by willful Shelby women, it had started giving John pause to let the girl blindly copy after her Aunt Clara, or after Aunt Ada too, for that matter, because though his oldest girl was only eleven, she’d already started asking for lipstick like her aunties wore.

John had actually told Clara to come in at the same time he sent Sarah home, but here she still was, laughing and hollering with the boys, blatantly ignoring John’s solicitations.

Clara had always passed her time with more boys than girls, had grown up surrounded by the men in the shop and with her twin and Isiah for best friends. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to any of them that as Clara grew she would still prefer to pass her time with the boys, or as happened even more often, to pass her time with no one at all aside from family.

In nearly four years, she’d made only one friend at the all-girls school Tommy sent her to. She’d kept that relationship confined to the school building and the halls of Arrow House. When Clara was on the lane, her company was family, the Blinders, and the handful of boys her twin regularly went around with.

Polly had told John to leave it when he’d first raised the issue, told him there was no harm in Clara being friends with the boys, but John grew hot with annoyance each time he saw her surrounded by the group, boiling a bit every time he saw the lads hanging off her every word with their wide smiles, sinister ones John assumed, growing as they watched his sister’s red-painted lips form each melodious syllable.

And then there was the daily clamoring of the junior peaky boys offering to fetch her from school and accompany wherever it was she needed to be that afternoon, back to Watery Lane, or over to Tommy’s office in the Bull Ring, or to one of the factories, or all the way out to Warwickshire. There was never trouble finding a volunteer.

John huffed, shouting again. “Oi! Clara!”

“Christ, John. What the fuck is it?” Clara turned towards her brother, the whole group did, but Clara was the only one who looked eager for his rebuttal.

They’d been snapping at each other for weeks, John encouraged on by her behavior and his assumptions, Clara encouraged on by John being a belligerent, controlling imbecile. 

“I told you to get the fuck in the house.“

Clara met his eye, heaving a little shrug of her shoulders. "And we’ve decided to come in when Tommy gets here.”

We. John caught the revision, the sentiment that if Finn was allowed out, so was she. If Finn didn’t have to come inside to wait for John’s ever so urgent family meeting to start, neither did she.

“You lot can come in now, then.”

“I’m in the middle of a story,” she answered although the other boys were already showing signs of dispersal, shuffling off like shy wounded animals, all except Finn and Isiah.

Clara rolled her eyes at the triumphant grin on John’s face as the boys mumbled their farewells.

“Looks like story time’s over.” John reached out to guide his sister towards the house but she pulled away before he got a proper grip.

“I’m going for a walk, then,” she said, putting a few steps between them.

“We’re having a fucking meeting!” John shouted.

“And if I’m not there when it fucking starts, you can yell at me then. I’ll not listen to your stupid mouth now.”

Clara glanced at Finn and Isiah as she started to walk away. John had already turned to them, no doubt about to insist someone accompany her, but Clara shouted loud enough for all of Watery Lane to hear. “And I don’t need a goddamn chaperone to take a turn about the block!”

Clara finally slowed her pace after turning the corner and she tucked herself there against the brick façade to take a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the dawdling inhale and exhale calm her as the chill of the brick reached her skin through her sweater.

John was, in the very plainest language Clara could assign to it, getting on her every last nerve as of late. He’d become the frequent source of her frustration, the cause of her perpetually clenched fists and tense shoulders. 

Every day it was some new comment about her hanging around the boys, some new scheme to play keep-away with her as the object of interest. She’d been sequestered to his office to go through the books with him twice in a week, been sent over to help Esme with the kids though she needed not a stitch of assistance, and John had picked her up from school a few afternoons as well, the two of them passing the ride across town in near silence.

“What are you doing?”

Clara kept her eyes closed, taking another breath before opening them and meeting Tommy’s eye. 

“Meditating.”

Tommy raised his eyebrow.

"John’s driving me up a fucking wall.”

Clara shut her eyes again, focused again on her breathing while Tommy watched.

“I imagine he’s not the only one driving.”

“I didn’t do anything, Tommy,” she answered, opening her eyes again. “And I’m not allowed to drive, remember? None of you will fucking teach me.”

Tommy snorted and held out his handkerchief.

“What's–”

“To wipe that lipstick off your mouth.”

Clara shook her head and tried to hand it back to him, having no intention of following his order, but Tommy occupied his hands by pulling the cigarette case from his pocket.

“It’s got your lips talking like you’re twice your age.”

“Ada got to—”

“Your sister didn’t wear lipstick at your age or talk like that and if she tells you differently, she’s only trying to get you in trouble.”

Tommy knew it drove John a bit mad, the shift in their youngest sister’s image, the sudden interest in rouge and heeled shoes and more stylish clothes, but Tommy wasn’t much bothered by it. He had already been through one sister’s adolescence and he was still convinced that Clara’s could be comparatively simple as opposed to whatever they had gone through with Ada. If slightly shorter dresses and a bit of nail varnish and lip stain were to be the worst of it, he would willingly concede Clara those things. 

And he conceded because Clara still told him things, because Tommy, despite his sister being of a certain typically unbearable age, still felt he knew his Clara’s mind and understood her heart. So Tommy asking her to wipe off the lip stain wasn’t about him controlling her sense of expression, and it wasn’t about him not wanting her to wear it in front of the boys.

He’d let Clara wear it when she wanted, found that not fighting her on it let her settle into a habit of wearing it mostly just for special occasions. It wasn’t something she often tried out on Wednesday afternoons on Watery Lane. That bit of rebellion was John’s doing because she was feeling enticed to push his buttons, urged on by his disproportionate reactions, but Tommy wasn’t worried about his sister and boys. He just didn’t like his sister getting too big for herself, didn’t want her thinking that a layer of red and a few cleverly placed curse words made her an adult.

“Go on,” he said, settling a cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he lit it.

Clara rolled her eyes, but she did as she was told, wiping the red away.

“You’re not allowed to wear it at school anyhow.”

“I put it on after,” she answered.

Tommy nodded, taking back the handkerchief and guiding her towards the shop.

“Can’t see why you’d need to wear it on Watery Lane unle—”

“Do you know what all of this is about?” she interrupted. “This urgent meeting John’s called?”

“You, I imagine,” Tommy answered, holding the door open for her.

Clara stopped, turning to him just before she crossed the threshold. “Me?”

Tommy nodded, a hand on her back to shepherd her through. “He’s complained about you four times in half as many weeks.”

“He’s complained about me?” Clara said. “He’s been bloody intolerable! Insufferable!”

“Complained of you and your lipstick and your four-inch heels and your smart mouth. Must be giving him flashbacks to our Ada.” Tommy smirked at her disbelief. “You think you’re innocent?”

“I think I haven’t done anything wrong and John’s being—”

Tommy placed an arm around her shoulders, steering her through the house and toward the shop. “Let’s just hear our brother out and—”

Clara turned to fight him. “No, Tommy, this isn’t fai—”

“Ah, look who’s here, our guest of honor!” Arthur boomed. “Come in, sister.”

Clara turned to face the room at Arthur’s shouting. It was just the boys, just Arthur, John, Finn, and Michael, an empty seat just in front of where they stood or leaned against the desks, the empty shop behind them.

“Where is everyone?”

“This is everyone,” John answered, pushing off the desk to come to her side. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair.

“I think I’d rather stand.”

John chewed on his toothpick, staring at his sister, both of their arms folded over their chests, the space between them shrinking as John stepped forward.

“Why can’t you do a single thing you’re told lately?”

“Because there’s no reason to do the things you’re telling me.”

“John, if she wants to stand, let her stand,” Tommy said as he leaned against the wooden beam behind him.

“Fine,” John answered, giving his sister another look and bumping her shoulder as he moved to the shop doors which he quickly pulled closed, securing the lock.

Clara glanced at Tommy, his shoulders heaving a deep breath before meeting his sister’s eye for a moment. 

“Unfucking believable,” she muttered to herself. “Right, so I don’t want to sit, but I think I will have some of that whiskey the rest of you are enjoying,” she said, nodding towards Arthur, Michael, and the bottle of whiskey sat between them.

Clara took two steps forward and Tommy pulled her back, settling her into the chair she had refused just seconds before.

“Enough,” Tommy said. 

Clara crossed her legs, folding her arms once again. “You know, it’s awfully convenient for you lot to call this meeting when Aunt Polly’s away.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Convenient is certainly one word for it.”

Both John and Clara sent him a glare. In all honesty, Clara wasn’t entirely sure where her aunt would’ve fallen in, wasn’t sure where Michael and Finn fell in on things either.

“And you two didn’t fucking tell me,” she said, shifting her glance between Michael and Finn. “Also convenient.” 

“Finn didn’t know,” Arthur said. “Sweetheart, if you'll—”

“Don’t you even dare sweetheart me, Arthur. This is—”

Michael chuckled, pulling Clara’s attention again.

“It’s not fucking funny, Michael.”

“It’s a bit funny.”

“This is an ambush,” she answered, “when I haven’t even done anything worth being ambushed for.” 

Tommy cleared his throat. "John, let’s get this over with, eh? We’re expected back for dinner at a decent hour.”

“Right,” John said, brushing his thumb along the side of his mouth. “Well, Clara, you—”

“I what, John?” she asked. “What exactly have I done wrong?”

“If you keep your mouth shut for a fucking second, I’ll tell you,” he answered. “Christ, Tommy. How do you deal with it?”

“Not like this,” she answered, “not by treating me like some fucking—”

“Like a child?” Tommy interrupted, a shift evident in his tone. “No, not unless you’re acting like one. Let John say his piece and you’ll have your turn, alright?”

Clara took a deep breath. She didn’t like it, but since Tommy had finally intervened properly, she didn’t feel she had much of a choice. And it wasn’t exactly the truth anyway because Tommy still frequently treated her like a child, summoning her to his office for lectures when the whim struck, but he never invited the others in for the event.

“Fine, say whatever it is you have to say, John.”

“For one, I don’t like the tone you’ve been—”

“It’s mutual,” she answered.

“What?”

“I don’t particularly like your tone with me lately, either. It’s fuc—”

Tommy rubbed his temple. It wasn’t his meeting. He had no intention of delivering John’s speech to their sister, no intention of reining in the girl any more than he already had, but that word was starting to grate on him, hypocritical as it was. He supposed it was because the word exasperated Grace a bit, because it seemed so incorrectly placed when Clara tried to use it within the walls of Arrow House or at the company offices or at school. He was so used to getting after her for it, it almost didn’t matter that they were in the betting shop, that the word was part of common discourse there. So, Tommy said her name, needing nothing more than that and the accompanying look to get his point across, her rolling eyes serving as acceptance.

“Clara, what John’s trying to say is…”

Her eyes flicked to Arthur and he stumbled in his words.

“…we’re just getting a bit concerned about all the uh…attention you’re getting from the boys on the lane, and all the extra time you’re spending with them.”

Clara blinked a few times, her head tilted as she processed his words. “You’ve called a family meeting because I have some friends who are boys?”

“That’s all the friends you’ve got. Boys.”

“I’ve got female friends.”

“Right, a handful of women twice your age and a pack of boys who hang off your every word while you stand out on the lane in that red lipst—” John had intended on pointing out the evidence, not noticing she’d already wiped it away until it was too late, so he pivoted. “And Lizzie and your sisters-in-law don’t count as friends. You’ve got no proper friends your own age and you’re too old to be playing around with the boys in the lane.”

“What the hell are you on about?” she asked.

“Martha was your age when…" John’s words dwindled to nothing as Clara’s face grew red, her cheeks hot with mortification and anger and embarrassment. 

"She was my age when you played around with her in the lane, you mean?” she asked.

Arthur spit out his whiskey and both Michael and Finn hid their smiles, but John didn’t smile or laugh. His face just grew red and Clara smirked, feeling a minute shift in the conversation.

“See John, Clara already knows. Doesn’t need any talk about what boys are after,” Michael said. 

Clara’s mouth fell open. "What? No, I certainly do not need that. And if I did have a need, I wouldn’t want it from any of you,” she answered.

It was another sentiment that wasn’t exactly true because Clara had already had talks with Tommy, had discussed with him expectations about her and boys. And she’d spoken with Finn and Michael, too, from time to time, seeing as they were something of her steadfast confidants in any matters she’d like to keep hidden from the older brothers or Aunt Polly or even Ada. But Clara had no interest in being lectured by John or Arthur on the subject of boys and sex, not when she’d never done more than kiss a boy.  

“And I don’t even like them like that,” she offered.

"Well, they like you,” John said.

"No, they do not. I’ve known them all since we were kids.”

“Some of them do,” Finn said.

Her twin’s first words felt like a betrayal, just as Michael’s had. They were supposed to be on her side, and most often were, but his words felt accusatory given the context. 

“What? Who?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter who,” John interrupted. “All that matters is you’re too friendly with them, too trusting.”

“Too trusting?” Clara repeated. 

“Naive,” John corrected. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Listen, Clara. We just want to make sure when we settle you down, it’s with a nice boy and—”

“When you settle me down with a nice boy? I’m only fifteen, Arthur! And I won’t need your assistance if I decide—" 

"Right, I think what Arthur’s trying to say is that you should be focusing on school and work for now. There’s time for boys later,” Michael offered. 

"I think I’m plenty focused on both of those things, Michael.”

Michael raised his hands in a forfeit, settling back in the chair. 

“No, Michael, what we’re trying to say is that she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, acting like that with them,” John said. 

“We just don’t want you getting any unwanted attention, sweetheart,” Arthur offered. “Don’t want you in over your head.”

Tommy could see his sister simmering again, could see this meeting would have no end if they continued like this, so he stepped forward. 

“Clara knows what to do if there’s a boy giving her unwanted attention.”

Clara looked at him. “Yeah, I’ll kick his fucking arse,” she said, raising her arms as she gestured to her brothers and cousin. “Like you boys taught me.”

“Yeah, and if it’s wanted attention?” John grumbled. 

“She knows what to do then, too,” Tommy answered. “Isn’t that right, Clara?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, a quick huff exiting her lips just after. “I have to bring the poor soul round for the most excruciating lunch in history with this council of oafs and hope he’ll stick around afterward." 

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

[hb-writes]

Thank you. I can take it from here.

Inspired by my 100+ lovely followers, @love-me-a-good-prompt’s “THANK YOU IDEAS” prompt list, and a suggestion from the lovely @cas-kingdom​

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder Universe. Clara Shelby wants to bake her brother a special treat for his birthday but needs a bit of assistance in gathering ingredients. 

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, John Shelby, Clara Shelby, and Nipper (Shelby cousin)

-----

Clara stared at the space between the topmost cupboard and the ceiling, to the spot where Polly set the sugar, far out of her and Finn’s reach, rationing it now that she saw how much the pair were shoveling into their afternoon tea. 

Clara had already collected the other ingredients, mixed the dry things together, waiting on the sugar in the hopes that someone taller would pass through, but she could wait no longer. 

She didn’t need much, knew that her brother wasn’t particularly fond of sweet things anyway, but the biscuit she chose still called for a small measure of the stuff, so Clara pulled over a chair and climbed onto the counter with a clean wooden spoon, intending to push the small container close enough to the edge for her outstretched fingers to reach. 

Clara yelped and the spoon clattered to the floor as a pair of hands on her waist tugged her from the countertop.

Tommy settled her on his hip, an act he nearly regretted when she latched her flour-covered hands around him. 

“You’re not meant to be home yet,” Clara said. 

“And you’re not meant to be up on the counters.” Tommy shifted her to glance at the mess on the table but Clara quickly pushed his face back to her’s with a flour-covered hand. 

“Arthur said you had a meeting.” 

“I did,” he answered, the two words coming out slow, with a hint of suspicion. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” 

Clara tried to pull out of his arms but Tommy held her there, turning them both towards the mess again.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” 

“Nothing that concerns you, then,” Clara corrected. “Let me down, Tommy.” 

“Let you down so you can climb back up on the counters?” 

“Wouldn’t need to if Aunt Polly stopped putting the sugar all the way up there,” Clara answered, pointing towards the canister and reaching towards it from Tommy’s arms.  

Tommy chuckled. The sugar had spent a portion of his childhood on that shelf as well thanks to John. 

“What do you need the sugar for?”

“Because I need it,” Clara answered, all pouting lips and big shining eyes. “Please, Tommy?”

“Tell me what you need it for,” Tommy said again.

Clara groaned, going a bit limp in his arms. “But it’s none of your business,” she answered.

“None of my business? Not much under this roof that falls under that category.” 

Clara knew all about the different types of business to be found in the Shelby household. There was the betting business and family business and women’s business and funny business. In the months since the boys returned home, Clara had learned that her brother seemed to think he was entitled to have a hand in all of it, though he often declined participating in the funny business, more often just accusing her and Finn of it.  

“Well, this does,” she answered. “It’s Clara business.” 

“Clara business, eh?” he said. “That sounds like something that’ll only end in trouble.”

“No, it won’t. I promise, Tommy.” 

“You promise?” 

Clara nodded and Tommy let her down, reaching up to grab the sugar from the top shelf and placing it in her hands. “I’m going to hold you to that.” 

Clara smiled before skipping away from him to plop the container down on the table. She began scanning through the recipe to find her spot and Tommy lingered, flicking open his cigarette case as he watched her.

“You know you’ve got to clean all this up before Aunt Polly comes back or she’ll be after us both,” he said, waving the cigarette around at the mess.

“I will,” she answered. 

Tommy stepped over to her, glancing into the mixing bowl. “An—”

Clara pushed her brother towards the shop doors. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”

Tommy opened his mouth once she had him over the threshold, about to step back into the room, but Clara tugged on the string holding the curtain back and the red velvet fell between them.

“I said I can take it from here, Thomas!” 

Tommy didn’t really like biscuits but Clara noticed that he always lifted a savory biscuit from her Hinkley’s bag whenever he found one. It was a special thing Mr. Hinkley made from time to time, the rosemary biscuits, and the baker had given Clara a basic recipe after she promised not to open a competing bake shop down on Watery Lane. 

Clara knew her brother didn’t really like birthdays either, not his at least, and there had been a consensus among the family, decided over a month prior, that they’d not be doing anything special for him. There would be no cake, no presents, no acknowledgment whatsoever, but Clara had kept quiet on the subject, not agreeing to a thing the others said but not voicing her own opinion either. The way she saw it, it was none of their business if she chose to make biscuits on a random Tuesday afternoon, even if that Tuesday was the same day Tommy happened to have been born.

While the biscuits were cooling, the smell of fresh rosemary spreading throughout the first floor of the house, Clara stuck her head through the curtains to the shop to see they were full up with business for the afternoon. 

She whispered to her cousin Nipper who was sat at the table closest to the door. It was a loose description, calling Nipper and Henry cousins, but they were something close to that, some sort of relation on the Shelby side made closer to her and Finn because they were the only other set of twins in the family.

“That smells good,” he said as he came to stand beside her, his hand moving to push the curtain aside. “What’s Aunt Pol—“

Clara pulled the curtains tight around her head. “Can you send Tommy back?”

“Why don’t you get him yourself?”

“Because I promised I won’t cause any trouble.”

Nipper laughed at that. “Guess you’re out—”

Clara disappeared behind the curtain before he could finish, coming back with a warm biscuit. “I’ll give you one if you send him back. And if you don’t tell John.” 

Nipper was just teasing his little cousin, would’ve given in to her without the biscuit offering but he’d not say no to the bribe either. He took it from her outstretched hand before popping it in his mouth and heading across the room to where Tommy and John were talking.

“Clara’s asking for you,” Nipper said, still chewing the bit of biscuit in his mouth.

“Me?” John said.

Nipper shook his head. “No, she wants Tommy.” 

Tommy pushed the ledger back into John’s hands. “Keep on the books, John. I’ll be right back.”

John hummed. “What are you chewing on, Nip?” 

“Nothing,” Nipper answered, clearing his mouth with a final swallow and a swipe of his sleeve across his lips, both pointless maneuvers as John’s nose had already picked up on the rosemary wafting into the shop. 

“Doesn’t smell like nothing,” John said. “It smells like...”

“Clara business, eh?” Tommy said as he came through from the shop, the doors cutting off John’s words as Tommy closed them and turned to his sister, specks of flour across every bit of her. 

“It can be Clara and Tommy business now, but we have to keep it a secret.” 

“Why’s that?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s you that doesn’t like celebrating birthdays.” 

Birthdays. Tommy released a light scoff, almost a laugh. He’d forgotten, hadn’t thought about his own birthday since before France, not since he’d spent the miserable day sat at Greta’s bedside. Tommy shook his head as Clara pulled the plate of biscuits out from behind her back. 

“They’re not sweet ones,” she said, setting the plate on the table. “I know you don’t like them sweet and I know everyone said we aren’t supposed to talk about your birthday but I just thought if I didn’t make a very big deal and didn’t tell anyone else then maybe you wouldn’t be mad and...”

“I’m not mad,” Tommy said as he took a cookie from the tray, taking a small bite. He was surprised, and a bit touched, but certainly not mad. 

Clara smiled, relieved her brother wasn’t upset. 

“But we do have a problem, you and me,” Tommy said, swallowing and wiping his hands off as he came down to her height, poking his sister in the shoulder. “You promised me there’d be no trouble at the end of this bit of Clara business but now I’ve got a brother out there in the shop sniffing out these biscuits like a rabid dog,” Tommy said, his eyes going wide. “You know how John is about sweets...almost as bad as you.” 

Clara giggled. “I told Nipper not to tell him.” 

“Yeah, well, you’ve started quite the commotion out there in the shop, nearly a riot. I think we may have to share these secret biscuits, eh? Just tell the boys they’re a special Clara treat and we’ll keep the birthday bit between you and me?” 

Clara nodded and Tommy made to stand up. Clara wrapped her arms around his neck before he could make any progress, her whisper so quiet that Tommy could barely hear it, his understanding of the words more from context than the hushed murmur as Clara wished her brother a happy birthday and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

-----

🏷:

@beautycinders

@buckybluebarnes

@cecii22me

@lovemissyhoneybee

@midnight-dreams-23

@mo-onstarrs

@pollyrepents

@unicorndetective22