#like yeah heath's responses definitely had some edge to them

[vividblaze]

Happy White Day🤍 and season 5 start.

[harringrovetrashrat]

Brother, Can You Spare Some Bells?

“Okay,” Steve said, standing in Billy’s doorway. Billy looked up from his switch, raising a brow at his roommate. His insanely cute, sexy, and sweet roommate he totally did not have a crush on, thanks. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Hurry it up,” Billy grunted, looking back at his switch. “I have a Smash battle starting in a second against Max and if she gets the upper hand--”

“If I give you a blow job will you give me 1,000,000 bells in Animal Crossing?” Steve said it in a rush, a light flush on his cheeks. Billy’s brain short circuited. He gaped at Steve, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. For a split second, Billy’s conscience and self preservation were the loudest in his brain, screaming This is a bad idea! Don’t let your crush suck your dick, you live together! Luckily, they were easily silenced by the horny side of his brain, as well as the side that made him sabotage himself.

“Seriously?” Billy asked, because this had to be a joke. Like, Steve was bi, he knew that, but Billy was pretty sure he wasn’t Steve’s type. He’d seen him go out with petite brunettes and some stockier ones, but cut blondes? Steve just didn’t date guys who looked like Billy. Which was fine. Really. “Like, I’m not on Pranked or something?”

“Why would Pranked ask someone to give a blow job? They couldn’t air that--” Steve shook his head. “No, that’s not the point.” He bit his lip and looked Billy in the eye again. “I’m serious. I’m trying to get a full theme and I just don’t have the bells, and no one is buying my radishes--”

“Okay, okay,” Billy chuckled, turning off his switch before texting Max that something came up and he’d be on to play later. He got an immediate response but chucked his phone to the side, focusing on Steve. “If you’re serious, I mean like, I’m not gonna say no.” He gave a sleazy grin, masking the fact that his heart was beating incredibly fast. It wasn’t like Billy’d dreamed of this since he’d met Steve. Wasn’t like he’d imagined all the different kinds of things he’d do to Steve, or have Steve do to him. Wasn’t like he’d imagined them on dates and building a life together. Billy definitely didn’t lie awake at night wondering if there was a way to get Steve to live with him forever, no siree.

“Really?” Steve asked, perking up a little. “You don’t think it’s--”

“Harrington,” Billy said, sucking a breath. “If you don’t wanna do this, you can just like, buy me a fucking pizza--” But before Billy could finish his sentence, Steve was climbing onto his bed. Billy’s mouth went dry and he shoved his excitement down as best he could. He was already getting a little hard, just watching Steve settle between his legs. Billy propped himself up against the headboard, swallowing thickly. He had to play it cool. Steve gently pulled Billy’s sweats down with his pointer fingers, smirking a little when he saw that Billy was already chubbing up.

“Excited?” He teased.

“I haven’t gotten action in a while, Harrington, don’t flatter yourself.” It wasn’t a total lie. Billy did what he needed with random hook ups, but in the past week he’d been without. Especially after he moaned Steve’s name with the last guy that he’d fucked around with. Seemed like asking for trouble.

“Sure,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. He was smiling though and when he looked back down at Billy’s half hard dick, he licked his lips. Billy had to bite his lip.

Steve’s tongue was wet, warm, and gentle as he licked a stripe up Billy’s shaft, cradling Billy’s dick in one hand. The other moved to grab Billy’s balls, groping them firmly. Billy let out a shuddery breath, unable to tear his eyes away from where Steve was giving the head kitten licks. He stroked Billy, playing with his foreskin, running his tongue along the inside of the skin around the head.

“Shit,” Billy hissed, gripping the sheets in his fists. Steve looked up and smirked before doing the same thing again. He pulled his hand up, bunching the foreskin around the head so he could tongue underneath, pulling the skin back to take the head into his mouth. Billy watched, breath coming in short as his dick steadily filled out. This was… Billy knew a blow job done to get the job done. Knew the urgency and near disinterest that came with it. Steve was enjoying himself. He was taking his time, eyes closed as he bobbed on Billy’s cock. He slurped around the shaft, pulling off to kiss along the vein on the underside, gently scraping his teeth along the velvety skin.

It took all of Billy’s strength not to grab Steve by the hair.

Steve panted against Billy’s groin, breath hot and wet as he kissed at the base. He slowly kissed his way up, pulling Billy’s foreskin down to kiss the edge of the head, making Billy’s toes curl and his fists pull at the sheets. Billy let out a breathy moan, torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them open so he could burn this image into his brain. The way Steve’s mouth looked, slick with spit, red and so soft. Fuck-- The way his fingers looked, gripping Billy’s wet and throbbing cock, pulling down the skin so he could makeout with the head of Billy’s dick. His breath came in shorter as Steve tongued the slit, pulling back to spit into his hand a few times before stroking Billy’s cock in time with his kitten licks. His eyes were closed, cheeks flushed, and Billy let himself pretend for just a moment that this was more than it was.

Steve chose that moment to look up, brown eyes blown with lust. He pressed the flat of his tongue against the head, slowly dragging Billy’s dick down. It was too much.

Billy gasped, breath hitching on a quiet moan as he came, shooting onto Steve’s tongue and upper lip, some hitting his cheek. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a quiet moan, sucking the tip to get every last drop he could.

“Fuck, dude, sorry,” Billy panted, trying to catch his breath. “Shit, I didn’t--” Steve just pinched his hip, making Billy swat at his hand.

“It’s fine,” Steve said, voice rough. He smiled, swiping the jizz on his face off with his thumb. He brought it to his mouth, sucking it off with a pop. “Seriously fine.” Billy pulled his sweats back up, glad he was sitting down or his knees might have been too shaky.

“1,000,000 you said?” Billy asked, breathless and trying not to panic. Steve got up, tying his sweater around his waist.

“I think that’s fair,” Steve said with a grin. Billy looked up at him with a blank look, making Steve chuckle as he ducked out of Billy’s room. “I’ll let you know when you can visit my island and see what your sugar daddy money did!” He shouted.

Billy ignored how hot his face was and sent Steve 2,000,000 bells before pulling his blankets around him and calling Heather.

“Billy, this is a horrible idea.” Heather was focused on painting her toenails, but her words were sharp and hit Billy right in his guilt.

“I know,” he groaned, leaning his head against the back of the couch. He held the bottle of polish out for her, so she could lean forward and dip into it without spilling. The couch had enough stains already. “But we both know I have absolutely no self control. There was no way I wasn’t gonna say yes to that.”

“If he asks again you have to say no.” Heather looked up when Billy didn’t reply. “No, Billy.”

“But I always luck out and I have like, so many bells and some kinda cool stuff maybe he’d want--”

“Then just gift it?” Heather said, going back to her toes. “I don’t see why you can’t just give it to him.”

“He’s got some complex, Heaths, you know that,” Billy sighed. “I once tried to give him a slice of pizza that I didn’t want, and he literally did the math to pay for the slice. Says his parents bailed him out enough he wanted to pay for his stuff on his own. Didn’t wanna flaunt his privilege.” Billy ran his free hand over his face. “I bet I made it awkward,” he grumbled. “I’m never gonna be able to look him in the eye again. It’ll just remind me--” He cut himself off, groaning. “Why am I an idiot?”

“‘Cause you think with your dick,” Heather replied with no hesitation. “It won’t be weird if you don’t let it happen again.”

It happened again. And again. And again.

Any time Steve wanted something in Animal Crossing that Billy had, he’d offer a blow job. Always a blow job. And Billy, like the sad sack he was, always said yes. It became a weekly occurrence. Happened enough that Billy didn’t even question it when Steve moved up after sucking him off, kissing Billy and sharing the taste of his cum. That also turned into a regular thing.

It was dangerous, this game they were playing. Billy thought maybe he’d be able to put his feelings aside and just let this happen. Just enjoy the feeling of getting to have Steve. Even if he didn’t. Not really. He just needed to remember that.

It was about a month later when the shit hit the fan.

“Steve, have you seen my red button up?” Billy called from his closet. Billy had really thought maybe he could separate his feelings from the blow jobs if he tried really hard, but once again, he’d been lying to himself. So, he’d gone on Grindr and gotten himself a date. A date that was gonna end, hopefully, in sex good enough for Billy to finally deny Steve. That maybe he’d be fucked out enough to not jump at the chance to see those red lips stretched around his dick.

Yeah, right.

“Yeah, it’s in the laundry room, hung up,” Steve replied. He was leaning against the kitchen counter as Billy went by, slurping some sweet milk from his bowl of cereal. “Why? You only wear it for fancy occasions.”

“I got a date,” Billy said, slipping his arms into the shirt. There was a clink and a smash from the kitchen, and Billy poked his head out of the laundry room. Steve had his back to him, shoulders tense, as he picked up the bowl shards. “Butter fingers much?” Billy teased. Steve just grunted, ignoring him as he angrily threw the shards away, grabbing a rag. “Jesus,” Billy grumbled, coming out of the laundry room as he buttoned his shirt. “What crawled up your ass.”

“Nothing,” Steve replied, curt and definitely pissed off about something. “Absolutely nothing.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Billy scoffed, putting his hands on his hips with a frown. Steve just squeezed out the milk into the sink before going back to wipe up the rest. “Seriously, dude. You were fine like two seconds ago--”

“Oh my god!” Steve exclaimed, chucking the rag onto the linoleum with a wet slap. He whipped around, eyes all fire and fury. “Just go on your fucking date already! I’m fine.” And Billy didn’t have time for this. If Steve wanted to be a passive aggressive little bitch, Billy wasn’t gonna stick around for the tantrum.

“Don’t come crying to me later, Harrington,” Billy snapped, stomping back to his room. He swiped up his keys and shoved his wallet into his back pocket, slipping his phone into the other. After slipping on his jacket, Billy made his way to the front door, resolutely not looking in the kitchen. He could see Steve out of the corner of his eye, but ignored the weird stone settling in his stomach. Normally, Billy said something to the effect of see you later, because he had to. Didn’t wanna leave without the promise of coming back. But he was feeling hurt. Feeling petty. So he didn’t.

The date was horrible. The guy was way more boring than his profile, a huge dick, and so far up a pyramid scheme’s ass that he spent the whole date trying to convince Billy to take some exercise supplement or oil. He didn’t remember because he didn’t fucking care. The whole date the only thing he could think about was Steve. He hated leaving angry. They’d done that whole song and dance when they’d moved in together, butting heads immediately. They’d been mean to each other, rude and snarky, often having fights that lasted days.

But they’d moved past that. They’d sat down and talked it out and that had been the start of Billy moving past lusting for Harrington to actually wanting him. And Billy might have fucked it all up. Not that Harrington was making it easy, but Billy had once again been thinking with his dick.

The apartment was dark when he got back, which wasn’t weird necessarily, but it put Billy on edge. Steve was a night owl, lost track of time, but sometimes he’d crawl into bed early. Maybe today was one of those days. Billy checked his phone. It was barely past 9. It made something like worry clench around his lungs. Maybe Steve wasn’t here. His car had been in the lot, but maybe he’d gone on a walk.

The floorboards creaked as Billy made his way towards the back hall. Everything was quiet and heavy. Billy hated it. He knocked on Steve’s door.

“Harrington?” He asked. There was no response. Billy considered knocking again, but instead went into his room and shut the door. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his boots. He sighed, heavy and hard, resting his head in his hands. “Shit.” Billy stood and took off his jeans and shirt, pulling on a pair of gym shorts. Maybe he’d wait up and see if Steve was out and about to come home. He wasn’t super tired anyway.

Billy was halfway through a bowl when Steve came home. He was stumbling, definitely drunk, and he squinted at Billy before scoffing. He kicked his shoes off, pushing the front door shut with a click.

“Thought-- Thought you woulda been out,” he slurred. He swayed a little on his feet sending an angry look Billy’s way. He really didn’t fucking get why.

“Guy was a total loser,” Billy grumbled, taking another hit. “Wouldn’t shut up about some bullshit pyramid scheme. Like I give a shit about that.” Steve snorted, pausing only a moment before making his way to the couch. He collapsed next to Billy, who held the pipe out to him. Steve took it and took a large hit, staring up at the ceiling.

“So why’d you even go?” His voice was small, sad. Billy looked at him, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“If he was a loser. Why’d you even go?” Steve was still staring at the ceiling, eyes sad. He sagged into the couch, all anger gone. Which wasn’t a great sign. Billy furrowed his brow.

“Are you okay?” Steve let out a bark of laughter, cold and mean.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Fucking cut that out!” Billy snapped. Steve jumped a little, head lolling to look at Billy with wide eyes. “Your shit matters, Harrington. Stop pretending like it doesn’t. We’re friends, man.” Steve’s eyes clenched shut and he let out a shaky breath. Billy felt something a little cold grip his heart at how sad Steve looked about that.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Friends.” Billy thought it might be the weed that made him say what he did.

“Do you… Not wanna be my friend?” He asked, tense. Steve furrowed his brow, giving Billy a weird look.

“What? Of course I wanna be your friend.”

“So why do you seem so upset about it?” Billy asked. He was confused. He was stoned. He was in love with a boy who didn’t love him back, and he just… He wanted the truth. Even if it was gonna hurt. Steve was quiet, eyes wide and vulnerable. They darted to Billy’s lips then back to his eyes.

“Because I wanna be more.” Billy sucked in a shocked breath, eyes going wide. Everything clicked into place. “I know… I know you don’t like… do relationships,” Steve grumbled, rubbing at his eye. “And this is my own fucking fault. I was the one who started this whole thing -- my island looks dope by the way, you still haven’t come to see it -- ‘cause I thought it’d help me like, get over you if I got it out of my system but--”

“--it just made it worse,” Billy finished for him, quiet. Steve nodded, swallowing and closing his eyes. Billy was trying to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. Because he was so stupid. Because Steve had a lot of love languages, and Billy had been waiting for the words when he should have been paying attention.

“We should, uh, probably stop,” Steve forced out. His voice was still slurred, he was still incredibly drunk, and Billy wished he was sober so they could really have this conversation. “I can stay with Robin for a bit too, let you have some space, and we can make boundaries--”

“Steve,” Billy said. Steve’s voice dried up and he looked at Billy, scared and open and so fucking beautiful. “I only went out with that guy because I’ve been trying to get over you for months.” Steve’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “I’ve liked you since we met, and it only got worse. And then you asked to suck me off and I just--” Billy sighed, blushing. “You know I think with my dick.” Steve snorted, but flung an arm out, slapping around until he found Billy’s hand to hold.

“You do,” he replied.

“I’m so gone on you, Steve Harrington,” Billy sighed with a smile. “You don’t don’t even know, man.” Steve smiled back, shy and sweet.

“Aww,” he whispered. There was a pause before Steve pursed his lips and gave a nod. “Hey, you wanna grab the trash can, ‘cause I’m not gonna make it to the bathroom--” Billy grabbed the trash can from beside the couch, dumping its contents out and getting it under Steve’s head right before he puked. As Steve heaved, Billy rubbed his back, wondering how even this made his heart race.

“Let’s talk in the morning, yeah?”

All Steve could do was nod.

A week later, Billy was playing on his switch, battling Max, when Steve moved from beside him. He settled himself between Billy’s legs, licking his lips as he massaged at Billy’s dick. Billy grunted, eyes flicking away from the screen for only a moment.

“What do you want this time?” He asked. “It’ll have to wait till after this game.”

“Can’t I just suck my boyfriend off?” Steve teased. Billy snorted, but couldn’t hide his blush.

“You sure? I just got that couch thing you were talking about…”

“How about,” Steve said, stroking Billy’s hardening cock through his shorts, “We play a little game? I’ll hold your dick in my mouth, just a nice, light suck, and if you can be a good boy, as well as win the game,” Steve paused for effect with a smile. “Maybe I’ll let you cum.” Billy’s breath hitched and his dick kicked under Steve’s palm, making his smile grow.

“Yeah, okay, shit,” Billy breathed out.

And while Steve pulled down his shorts and slowly took Billy into his mouth, just holding him there, tongue moving on occasion and making Billy’s breath come in short, he thought about how far they’d come. Thought about how happy he was. About how Steve sucked his dick for fun now, not just the shit Billy would gift him in Animal Crossing (his island really was coming together nicely).

But then Steve sucked, and he didn’t think much at all.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Playing With Fire ~ Part 6

Pairing: Michael Gray x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Typical Peaky Blinders violence, mention of rape

A/N: So this chapter is mostly canon events from Season 3 Episode 6. I don’t own any of the actual dialogue from the series, just what I wrote myself. I just put it in to show Michael’s side of everything since this is set in season 3. Also, Michael was still kinda soft in season 3 so don’t come at me for him having problems killing people. ANYWAYS, I’m sorry about this literally being mostly what y’all have already watched in the episode but it be like that sometimes and the action is gonna start kicking up more in the future (hopefully)! Thank you all! 

____________________________________________________

“Armored cars, Tommy? Who’s going to buy a bunch of stolen armored cars?” Arthur asked, the rain pouring around the group of men. 

“A foolish man who’s willing to pay a lot of money. 150 thousand pounds in cash, sapphires, and diamonds. Charlie, you get twenty and Isaiah gets five. The rest is being invested in America until we can get the money clean.” Tommy explained. 

Michael listened intently, to his plan, careful to catch every detail. 

“And I suppose that after all this the business will be hangin’ like that stag o’er there.” Arthur stated, not wanting to be involved in this. 

“I know you made a promise to Linda, Arthur. I know you want out. This job is to set you all up for when you want to leave. Arthur, I know you have Linda and Michael, you’ve got Y/N. You’ve both got kids on the way. This way you’ll both have some money to support your families.” Tommy nodded towards Michael who stood with eyes wide at what he’d just heard. 

Michael swore he’d protect and support you and this way he’d have at least a safety net for your family, especially if shit hit the fan with the business. 

“Now,” Tommy took the cigarette from his lips and crushed it on the ground, “Let’s get back to business.” 

Michael came back to the shop to you sitting there running over the books and double checking for errors. It was late and it was just you two. “Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” He asked, hanging his coat on the hook in his office. 

You looked up from his chair that you sat in behind his desk while he was away, “Yeah, Michael. What’s wrong?” You set the pen down as Michael sat across from you and lit a cigarette. 

“Do you want to leave?” He asked, taking a deep drag. 

“What?” His question took you off guard. 

Michael slowed his words, “Do you want to leave? Leave Small Heath, Birmingham, the business? I don’t know just... do you like our life?” It was clear to see that he was stressed. He had dark circles under his blue eyes and his sandy hair was messy. 

“I don’t like worrying about you all the time,” You answered honestly but choosing your words wisely, “I don’t like the business that we’re in but I know that you stick with the legal side of things so I’m okay with it. But I also understand that this is your family is here. My family is here too. Small Heath isn’t my dream but I don’t mind staying for now.” Even after you finished speaking, he only stared at the wooden desk, lost in thought. 

You reached your hand across the table and gently grasped his, “Michael, love, what’s wrong?” 

He sighed before crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, “Tommy’s given me a way out. There’s a job coming up that can set us up enough to get to wherever we want to run away to. It’ll take a little while, at least a few months for the money to get clean but we when it is, we can leave. Hell, we could go to America if you wanted to.” 

Michael had given you many sleepless nights, especially lately. You were well aware of the dealings with the Russians and you’d had an inclination Michael was beginning to become involved in the more illegal side of things, even if he hadn’t told you outright. Every night that he was home late, you couldn’t stop that voice in your head that whispered all the horrible things that may have happened to him. 

And yet, you weren’t sure why you didn’t jump at the chance to get him out. Perhaps it was a strange feeling that his work wasn’t done in Small Heath and that, even if you left, trouble would follow you, even across the ocean. 

“Has something happened?” You inquired, squeezing his hand, “Michael, I know something’s been up.” 

Michael shook his head, not in disagreement but from not wanting to tell you and you knew it. “There’s something going on. I want to tell you, I swear I do but I’m scared it’ll put you in danger.”

He was scared. It wasn’t often that Michael admitted that he was hesitant about being involved with the Peaky Blinders but it was written all over his face and it broke your heart. You stood up from the desk and walked around to hug him. He wrapped his arms around your midsection and buried his face in your chest. You raked your fingers through his hair and he inhaled your comforting scent, trying to calm his racing heart. 

Beneath his chest, he could feel a squirming below the skin of your stomach and he leaned back, placing his hands on your belly to feel your son move. Feeling you and your baby, Michael felt grounded and clear headed. He knew that this job was something he had to do and that he had a responsibility to keep your child out of harm’s way. 

You ran your hands gently from his hair down to the side of his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss, “Michael, I trust you with my life. I trust you to make the right decision for our family. But I need you to also make the right decision for yourself. Don’t put yourself in danger for money because we can make it without you killing yourself over a few pounds.” 

If only it were simply a few pounds, Michael groaned to himself. 

He took a deep breath and then looked up at you, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” His large hands slid from your stomach down to reach for your coat as he stood up. “But for now, let’s get home.” 

“Where are we going Tommy?” Michael asked from the passenger seat of Thomas’s car. He’d just been told to get in and was handed a gun once he sat down. 

Without looking away from the road, Tommy answered, “We’re meeting Alfie Solomons. He came to appraise the jewels the Russians promised and he’s agreed to give me the list of men who’d be interested in buying a faberge egg we acquired from the Russians. I need you to stand guard. Stay hidden unless things go south, in which case, use that.” He nodded to the gun in Michael’s hands without taking his eyes off the road. 

The metal object weighed heavy in his hands, heavier than one ever had before. Arthur and John had shown him how to shoot a gun but that was just at glass bottles in the field. The thought that now he might have to actually shoot someone - kill someone -  made him feel nauseous. 

Michael had never been under any impression that being a Blinder was safe work but the fact that he was actually doing a more dangerous job where there was a large chance he could be killed or injured or inflict either of those on another person was weighing on him. He couldn’t let Tommy know though. 

Michael matched Tommy’s stoic expression and looked out the window at the passing scenery. Jaw clenching, he did everything possible to calm his nerves. He had to do what was necessary to protect him and Tommy. Images of you flashed in his mind, six and a half months pregnant, a warm smile on your face as you dropped off lunch for him at the office. He knew he had to come back to you. He couldn’t leave you alone, especially now that you were a member of the family, which definitely had its dangers. 

He would do whatever it took to come back home to you. 

Tommy stood inside the warehouse talking to Alfie while Michael stood hidden behind a wall. Alfie had already broken the deal having shown up with another man and it had Michael on edge. He watched the men exchange the paper with the names and the money and then saw as Tommy turned and looked over the paper. 

Without a word, Thomas turned and drew his gun at the Jewish man who in turn had his guard pull a gun on Tommy. Michael’s heart leapt into his throat as he argued with himself, trying to determine if this was the time to jump out guns blazing but despite the firearms being pointed, he noticed the situation was still relatively calm so he stayed still. 

“You left a name off the list, Alfie.” Tommy was calm and steady. 

Alfie matched his stare, “Did I now?”

Tommy nodded, “I’ve already spoken to my people in the jewelry quarter, experienced dealers. They told me there’s only three men in Britain whose wives are obsessed with faberge, makes ‘em good customers. You left the richest one off the list.” 

“Yeah, well, if you knew already ‘ow come you dragged me all the way out into the fucking oggin, mate?” Alfie did have a point. Michael was curious to know too. He cocked his gun as quietly as he could and held it ready next to his face, ready to step out at any moment. 

“Two reasons,” Tommy began, “Reason one, by withholding a name that you most certainly know, you’ve proven to me that you’ve done a deal with the Odd Fellows. It was you who told them about the tunnel. You who told them about the fucking deal with the Soviets. Reason two, the name of the man you’ve been withholding must be my enemy otherwise you wouldn’t be protecting him. He is now a man I can use.” 

“Listen, sweetie,” Michael cringed at Alfie’s words, knowing that he was playing a dangerous game here, “You can’t take a man-”

Tommy interrupted, “You gave him information in exchange for a share.”

“There were things in that treasury that God spoke to me! He said ‘Alfie, you’re meant to have these things!’” 

“You crossed the line, Alfie.” Tommy pointed his gun harshly at him. 

Oh shit, things were going to go down. 

“The fucking what?” 

“The line!” 

“What?” 

“THEY’RE USING MY BOY!” Tommy had tears in his eyes and Michael couldn’t imagine being on the other end of that gun. “Did you know?” 

Alfie shrugged, “Yeah, I knew but damned as I am it made no fucking difference to me, mate!” 

Micheal knew he was dead then and there. 

To nobody’s surprise, Tommy jumped forward onto Alfie, knocking him to the floor and kneeling on his body as he choked him. The guard leaned down and grabbed him but the neck, yanking him up. Michael saw him reach for the gun as he held Tommy there and, before he could think, rushed out from behind the wall and pulled the trigger. 

The time it took him to pull the trigger felt like an eternity and a millisecond, the decision made the second his finger tightened but the bang ringing in his ears long after he fired. Blood splattered everywhere as the man fell, covering Michael and Tommy. His body crashed on top of his boss, who pulled his gun out as well. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Alfie sounded betrayed as he stood up. Michael kept his head lowered behind the brim of his hat, trying his best to hide the fact that he was going to be sick and doing a pretty damn good job of it.

Tommy shoved the corpse off of him and stood, immediately drawing his weapon at Alfie again. The men began yelling at each other and Michael saw another death happening if he didn’t step in and this was a death that had many more consequences. He stepped between the two men, pushing Tommy back by the collar. “Tommy, I know this bastard deserves it!” 

One of Tommy’s hands found Michael’s face as he tried to shove him away but he moved around, “I know he fucking deserves it! But if you kill him now, the truce with the London outfits will be blown to pieces!” 

“Don’t worry about that fucking treaty boy. It’s blown to fuckin’ peices.” Alfie waved his hand. 

“Who’s side are you on?!” Michael was furious and confused. He was risking his life for this bullshit, Tommy’s kid was on the line, there was so fucking much on the line and nothing was making sense. 

Alfie stepped towards Tommy, “So they’ve got your boy! What fucking line am I supposed to have crossed? Hm? What fucking line?! Besides, how many fathers, how many sons have you cut, killed, murdered, fucking butchered, innocent and guilty, to straight to fucking hell, ain’t ya? If you pull that trigger there, you pull it for a fucking honorable reason. You pull it like an honorable man, not like a fucking civilian that does not understand the ways of out wicked world.” 

Michael watched this exchange go down, the most straight, intimidating face he could muster, but millions of thoughts ran through his mind. He stood beside Tommy who had the blood of a man Micheal had killed across his face but treated it as if it were nothing new to him. Because it wasn’t. 

“Look Tommy,” Michael pleaded, “The killing of Alfie Solomons isn’t going to help. It’ll be very bad for business.” 

Later that night, you were cooking dinner and staring at the clock wondering where on earth your husband could be. It had to be almost ten o’clock. Despite how much you told yourself that everything was fine, that this wasn’t the first time he came home late, it always worried you. 

You couldn’t help the thoughts of all the bad things that could have happened to him. The images of him bleeding out from stab wounds in the street or tied to a chair in some dark basement by a rival gang always had you terrified. Maybe he got arrested? Oh gosh, who knew what he did to get arrested or what Tommy did near him that got them both arrested. Maybe they were in the gallows? 

Thankfully, the sound of keys jingling in the door made that knot of worry in your chest dissipate. The door swung open and then shut with a crash. “Hey, love, you’re home late!” You commented with a teasing note. 

Without a word, Michael hung his hat onto a rack and walked into the kitchen. He didn’t say anything, he just stood there and his silence made you uneasy. Usually there was a ‘smells good!’ or at least an ‘I love you!’ but tonight there was nothing. 

You turned from the pots on the stove, “Michael what’s wrong?” He was pale and his eyes looked sunken in. Something was very wrong. You walked up close to him but when you got close, you noticed the crimson specks on his shirt, the ones he thought were covered by his jacket. Once you saw them though, you grabbed his jacket and unbuttoned it, inspecting his stained shirt, “Is this blood?” You asked, worry in your eyes. 

Michael didn’t say anything. He just stared zoned out. “Just tell me it isn’t yours.” All you needed to know was that he wasn’t hurt. 

“I killed someone.” It was almost so quiet that you didn’t hear it but the tears that began to silently spill over his cheeks told you that you that you heard right. 

“What?” It was all you could manage. 

He sniffled and held your shoulders, “I killed someone.” He admitted it louder this time, “I stood there and I held the gun to his head and I shot him and - and he’s fucking dead now.” 

You had no idea how to respond. He collapsed into your embrace and began to shake. “Did something happen at the shop?” 

Michael shook his head against your shoulder before standing and composing himself, “Tommy just told me to get in the car. Said we had business and threw me a gun. He said to shoot if things went wrong and well… things went wrong.” 

“I thought you were just supposed to be dealing with the finances!” You couldn’t help the tears that had begun to stream down your face as well. You were so scared for him. 

He shook his head, “I do. I swear. But-” he felt like he had to tell you, “There’s business right now that I need to do more than just finances in-” 

“Michael-” You tried interrupting even though you didn’t even know what to say. This was so much more than just a job change. He killed somebody. 

“I didn’t want to be apart of this side of everything but there’s a man that’s working against Tommy right now.” Michael couldn’t believe he was about to confess this to you. He’d never confessed it to anyone but Tommy. “When I was in the orphanage after they took me and my sister from me mum, he used to do stuff to me. He did it to all of us. He’s hurt so many kids but he will never hurt anyone again. Not when I’m through with him.” 

This was unlike anything you’d ever seen from your husband. He was vulnerable and terrified and angry and as much as you wanted to help him, you couldn’t deny that this implication that he was going to kill a man was scaring you. 

He began to shake again as he stared off, leaning back, “I can’t get the image out of my head. He was covered in blood but it didn’t even bother him.” 

“What are you talking about?” You were confused now. 

“Tommy,” He sighed, “The man had attacked him and I shot him in the head and his blood… it went fucking everywhere. The body fell on him and he had shards of his fucking brain on his face and it was nothing! And then Alfie just talked about how he just kills and tortures people, innocent or guilty and I just… I don’t want to be like him.” 

The image that Michael was painting in your mind had you feeling queasy. The Michael you knew didn’t kill people. You knew the boy who grew up on a farm and was wickedly intelligent and who loved you and wanted to protect you. But this was the Michael you knew. This Michael was still terrified of what he did. He hated it. 

“You don’t have to be.” You whispered, resting your hand gently on his face. 

Michael swallowed hard, looking down, “They’re going to have the priest killed anyways. I’m going to be the one who pulls the trigger. But I will not become Tommy.” 

As much as you wanted to hate him for his decision, you understood. How couldn’t you? This priest was a horrible man. A man who molested and raped vulnerable children in an orphanage who’d already lost so much. On top of that, he was working with people in the likes of your new family which didn’t say much for his reputation in other circles. How could you look your husband in the eye, a victim of this disgusting monster, and feel your child within you, a possible victim if anything happened that landed them in an orphanage, and not understand why Michael felt the need to do what he was going to do. 

    You couldn't believe that you were agreeing this, but you leaned forward and tightly grasped both of his hands and met his gaze, "If you need to, do it."

Taglist: 

@bat-shark-repellant

@awwhhsnapple

@gracethegeek9902​

(I’m really sorry if I forgot anyone. I feel like I lost a username somewhere so let me know if I did!) 

[ticklikeabomb]

Birth in Reverse : Part 4

Pairing : Avengers x Plus Size Reader (ships next chapter)

Warning : Language

Word Count : 1.9k 

Inside the room once everyone was seated, Tony plugged the drive in. A close-up shot from a man was seen. It was dark, the only light on the room illuminating his face. "Hello Y/N. If you see this, it means I'm dead. I know you must be confused right now and you don't know who to trust anymore. One thing is for sure, don't trust anyone." There was a small pause where he would check his surroundings. "The first thing you have to know is that you're part of Hydra." You gasped and shocked your head "No", feeling all the Avenger's eyes burning holes in your skin.

__

Your breath got stuck on your throat after this affirmation. You couldn't even dare looking at anyone, shame and shock possessing you. "When I say Hydra, I mean you were", the man on the screen continued. Your head lifted up, your features screaming confusion. "I was part of it too. It took me a while to realize that I was on the wrong side all along but Dr Jules knew. She knew you had to be saved. Hydra became uncontrollable, their madness reaching the verge of understanding. I know you're a little confused right know." He kept looking at his surroundings. 

"You and your twin sister lost your parents when you were young. Hydra planned their assassination and pretended it was an accident but what they didn't plan was that you were both with them. For some kind of miracle you and your sister survived and were taking in. Dr Jules was part of your education ever since. You've been trained and controlled. The difference between you and you was that one got powers and the other had to work harder for it, your sister. She trained non stop, eventually become the perfect soldat, the perfect death machine but she made a mistake. She became reckless, always trying to take matters into her own hands without anyone while you were the voice of reason, seeing the futur, preventing major Hydra costs. The leaders couldn't bare her stubbornness anymore and found the perfect way to shot her out. Their greatest success I might say. You ! The new you. They modified your genome and planted part of her brain, cells and blood in you. The reasonable mixed with the fierceness, the perfect combination. Dr Jules couldn't bare what they've done to both of you and freed you, erasing your memory and implanting a new life inside your brain. I reached out to her and she told me how to reactivate you. If you're seeing this tape it means you're you again, -ish and that not only is Jules dead but so am I. DON'T LET THEM GET TO YOU. Good luck Y/N."

The screen went black, silence filling the room. No one dared to speak up, everyone as shocked as the other. Your vision was blurred, waves of tears on the verge to cascade your face, while your breathing quickened. "They killed h-" 'Yes they did. Kind of', you heard the voice in your head. The voice you thought was yours since you've got reactivated, turning out it was your sister's. "Y/N?", you heard a faint male voice coming closer. You looked at the source's direction and saw Bucky kneeled in front of you. That's when you lost it and fell into the spirals of your oceanic tears. You felt the room compress around you, heath engulfing you and noticed that the Avengers stepped closer, trying to transmit their support in their own way. 'Stop crying, they must be pitying us. I hate it.' Hearing her voice, knowing it was part of her in you made you sob even harder. You put your hands on your head, rocking your body back and forth until you abruptly stopped. Your mouth slightly agape, your blank expression and your lifeless eyes replaced your natural state. "Boss she's going into a complete state of shock", informed F.R.I.D.A.Y

"Y/N hey kid stay with me. Come on", said Tony inched from you. The tears kept sliding down your face but with a silence that made everyone's blood cold. Your eyes locked with Tony's brown ones and you whispered, "I'm tired, so tired." 'So dramatic. GIRL the F.' Wanda stepped closer and slowly took your hand in hers. "What's your name?", she asked. 'Why is she asking your name?' She chuckled and looked you in the eyes, "No, I mean what's yours? I don't really wanna refer to you as Y/N's sister." You frowned and remembered Wanda could read minds and was trying to communicate with…'Nadia'. "Nice to…meet you Nadia. Ehm could you help Y/N in calming her down or something?", asked the Scarlet Witch calmly. 'Why would I do that? She failed me', was the last words you heard before feeling darkness invading you.

Screams. Screams getting louder and louder by the second. 'Y/NNNN.' A hand stretching out to you and your eyes terrified looking back at you. Her eyes. 'HELPP.' A louder scream pulled you up from the darkness, the only light shining in the room was the moon's reflection. Sweat covered your body and heavy pants leaving your mouth were the best terms to describe your state. You stood up and walked to the bathroom, discharging your clothes to the ground and leaving the boiling water hit your skin. 'It might be your body but I still can feel it burn. Turn the water down'. You didn't obey and kept it at the hottest level. You heard her curse you out and blabber in your mind and cut her off in a whisper, "Nadia." She didn't respond. "This is so fucking weird", you mumbled under your breath. 'No shit', she commented. "I…I don't remember", you said, tears tickling your eyeballs. 'I know but you will. Eventually.' You turned the water down, took a towel wrapping it around your body and exited the room. Your head lifted from the ground and you saw Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed. When his eyes met yours, they widened and he turned his face, a small blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. "Fuck, sorry Y/N. I didn't mean to-" 'What is Jesus doing here?'

"What are you doing here?", you asked. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze focused on the wall opposite from you and cleared his throat. "I… F.R.I.D.A.Y noticed me you woke up and I was worried." "Oh", was all that left your mouth. You sat down on the bed and told him it was ok to join you. "I'm covered. You can sit down if you want to." He did as you said but his blush kept darkening, his mind telling him your luscious and soft body was naked underneath the towel. "How are you feeling?", he asked with a slight crack on his voice. You looked at him and shrugged, "Like I don't know myself anymore. Like I thought I was this person and find out it was complete bullshit, not even starting on the fact that I share my consciousness with my twin sister. It's…I don't know. I'm lost." He nodded, his eyes clouded with pain and understanding. "I know exactly what that feels doll", he breathed out, his hand ceasing yours in a comforting squeeze. "If you need anything I'll be always here for you, alright?", he commented not even aware where that came from. You nodded and closed the gab between you, engulfing him in a hug. Not expecting it, Bucky's body froze before letting himself go and hugging you back. You disengaged and apologized for stepping onto his personal space. His response to that consisted of him hugging you again this time tighter, your sweet scent invading his nostrils. 'If you two become a thing I fucking riot', Nadia commented. A small chuckle unintentionally left your lips at her words before disengaging the hug again. "I need to put some clothes on", you noted. He stood up and stumbled on his way out. 'Well fuck.' "You never shut do you?", you asked Nadia. 'Nope.' "Great", you mumbled.

As you told Bucky, you put on some clothes and decided to walk to the kitchen. You thought it would be empty but at your surprise, the house was on full mode. Their animated conversion stopped abruptly when you entered the kitchen. A small smile made its way but quickly faded. The silence and their stares made you uncomfortable. That's the precise moment Thor chose to step towards you and took your hand, leading you to the table. Astonished by his action, he replied with a bright smile and drops a plate with freshly backed pancaked in front of you. 'Well that's a man', Nadia commented in a rather silky voice. "WHAT?", you asked. "Ehm Y/N, are you ok?", asked Scott. You looked at everyone and noticed Wanda's amused smirk taking a gulp from her coffee. "Yeah, sorry", you replied and plunged on the food in front of you. "You sure? You've been out for two days", added Clint, who received a slap on the shoulder from Natasha. "Ouch", he hissed and rubbed on the spot. "Don't pay attention to him", she declared and smiled at you. 'I wanna spare with her', commented Nadia. You shook your head in disagreement but play it off. "Y/N!!", you heard Roger's in authority. 'Arghhh I can't stand this one', told Nadia to which you couldn't agree more. He was really getting on your nerves and apparently you weren't the only one. "We talked with among us and we would like for you to stay with us, be part of the Avengers", he continued in a more quiet tone, a small smile crossing his features. 'Well I wasn't expecting this.' "Eh I don't know", you replied back hesitant. "Just think about it", he said. Well that definitely caught you off guard. you though he would push you into accepting but were glad he didn't. You continued your meal, your eyes scanning the crowd who continued their previous shenanigans and your eyes focused on Thor. He was telling Rhodes and Scott about some Asgard adventures, putting all his heart into the story. 'Godly indeed. Hmmm', whispered Nadia while you were taking a gulp of your drink. 

Obviously you choked on her words and coughed out load, "Fuck Nadia." Wanda helped you clean up, trying to contain her laugh but Nadia wasn't having it. 'What all I'm saying is that I wouldn't mind to hold his hammer.' To that Wanda lost it completely while you wished you could disappear down a hole. "What is going on there?", asked Tony with a suspicious look a small smirk forming. "Nothing", you replied way to fast. "Are you alright Lady Y/N? Does your throat hurt?", asked Thor innocently. 'It could hurt if you want too'. Your eyes widened which let a confused look appear on the God of Thunder. "Nope, my throat is completely fine. No need of assistance", you replied your voice trembling. Wanda was bend down, laughing her ass off and your eyes shot daggers at her. Your pleading gaze met Bucky's whose expression looked tense : jaw clenched and dark eyes. He stood up, put his plate on the sink and left the room. "Shit", you breathed out. 'Someone looks jealous', commented Nadia. "Shut the fuck up Nadia", you replied through greeted teeth. 'Make me !', she spat in a menacing voice.

* gifs not mine, credit to owners*

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[quarterfromcanon]

There’s A Reason Not to Want This (But I Forgot)

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 10 - 3 A.M. [2,418 words]

In retrospect, Heather admitted to herself that none of it was particularly surprising. Rebecca’s and Valencia’s joint effort to get over Josh was one thing while he remained single. It convinced them they had gained the upper-hand, that they took back their power and left a shared mistake in the dust at Electric Mesa. If he should be the one to bounce back first, however, and start a new relationship while both of them were unattached? A backslide into fixation was sure to be imminent.

They were all spending a mellow late afternoon together, and the dining room table was their shared work space. Conversation was sparse and consisted of mostly inane muttering, save for Rebecca’s less-than-subtle hints that she was not over her recent fight with Paula. Then Valencia declared her relief to be able to surf the web without danger of recent Josh content. That marked the beginning of the spiral. 

Heather was in the middle of damage control with some online Miss Douche users, and so she only spared the passing thought that a little digital distance was probably healthy for both of her friends. Rebecca and Valencia began drawling nonsensically about their present browsing. There was a gradual shift in their speed like a stealthy verbal tennis match. The more bizarre their comments, the more difficult they became to ignore. Heather abandoned her A.M.A. during the course of this indecipherable conversation and looked back and forth between them. 

Nothing had changed about their body language, but something was definitely amiss. Heather’s index finger traced pensively over the touchpad on her keyboard. Clues to what was happening under the surface might present themselves, but she had to be on the lookout. It was not long before both women’s jabbering departed from all reasonable explanation. Heather voiced the first theory that came to mind.

“Are you both high right now?”

Frankly, if that turned out to be the case, Heather was mostly disappointed she hadn’t been offered the chance to get in on it. 

No such luck.

Valencia and Rebecca had just become aware of Anna Hicks, alternatively known as Anna the Browbarian. Her sole life event of genuine interest to them was that she appeared to now be dating Josh Chan. Heather watched with an equal blend of annoyance and dismay as Valencia circled to sit beside Rebecca and co-analyze the stranger.

“Guys,” Heather interjected in an effort to pull them back from the abyss, “don’t do this. If you fall down the rabbit hole of internet-ing an ex’s current girlfriend, you may never come back.”

Rebecca shushed Heather and gave her arm a light shove. Heather did not allow the dismissive response to deter her. She continued to caution them against their course of action, but to no avail. They were already too far gone. Heather gave an irritable shrug. 

She lifted her computer and walked away from the table, but her departure was neither noticed nor remarked upon by the people she left there. “You two are completely ridiculous,” Heather grumbled on the way to her bedroom.

No reply.

That could have been the end of it. Perhaps it should have been, Heather conceded. Yet she seemed unable to leave them to their own devices. She reemerged from her room every half hour or so, under the pretense of some excuse or other, just to check on how they were doing. 

“I’ve gotta use the restroom. Did either of you already call dibs? ... No? Okay, cool.”

“Did no one hear the washer buzz? We’re just gonna leave our wet clothes in there for hours, like a college campus? So much young fun -- I really missed out studying from home.”

“Dryer’s done. Aaaand, uh-huh, right where I left you. What a relief. Maybe you should, like, stand up and do some stretches at least? Keep the blood flowing? Or sit perfectly still while you talk over me and ignore me. I’m sure that works just as well.”

“Gonna make some dinner. Don’t let the clanging pots and pans disturb you. Whoa, watch out, using both computers now. Mixing it up. Good for you. Divide and conquer. That’s scientifically sound.”

Rebecca and Valencia spent the entirety of Heather’s meal prep time arguing about the creation of a fake Instagram account to gain access to Anna’s personal photos. Fortunately, logic -- or at least fear of the law -- prevailed without any intervention on Heather’s part. She poured two glasses of water and carried them to the table. 

“Okay, clear a spot. You guys have gotta at least eat something.”

They both stirred a little as if they perceived her in their periphery even if there was no break in their discussion to acknowledge that. She plucked their servings of food off the edge of the island countertop and returned.

Heather nudged Valencia’s arm with the plate in her right hand. “V, check it out. Mini tempeh patties. We only have the makings for these in the house because of you. Do you wanna maybe try one?”

“Hmm?” Valencia finally tore her gaze from the screen. She turned to see what Heather was repeatedly tapping against her biceps and brightened. Her eyes lifted to Heather’s face with a touched expression. “Aww, they’re adorable! And they smell amazing.”

“Great. Maybe you should eat them, since it’s seven-thirty at night and the only thing you’ve chewed on since lunch is your own finger.” Heather handed the meal to her, along with a napkin to catch spillage before it could land on the electronics. 

Valencia took a tentative bite and groaned. “So good. And small enough to keep at least one of my hands free for typing. Good thinking.” 

“Yeah, you got me. All I want is for you to be able to keep searching.”

Valencia reached back and caught hold of Heather’s palm to give it an appreciative squeeze. “Thanks, Heathe. You didn’t have to.”

Heather watched Valencia’s fingers slide free from hers once more. “I mean, I kinda did since clearly neither of you were going to do it, but... You’re welcome.”

“Heatherrrr?” Rebecca wheedled while still clacking away at the keys. “When you were making Valencia cute little bean burgers, did you happen to throw on any --”

“Yours are the regular kosher,” Heather answered the question before it was voiced. “No lettuce or tomato.”

“Thaaaanks. You’re an angel.”

“Is that just a thing you call people who make you food? You said basically the same thing to my dad,” Heather reminded her.

The comment was ignored as the next page of Google results loaded. Heather carried her own dinner to her room and shut the door.

Long after midnight, Heather woke and realized she never heard the sounds of Rebecca getting ready for bed. She hadn’t picked up on the closing of the front door, either. Heather propped onto her elbows and tapped her phone to check the time. 3:28. 

She rolled off the mattress, hissed at the frigidity of the floor on her feet, and shuffled into the common living space. Rebecca was sprawled forward in her seat with one arm curled across the bottom of the still-open laptop while the other was crooked under her ear. Valencia’s forehead was resting against her crossed wrists, face concealed from view.

Heather shook her head. She went to Rebecca’s bedroom first and grabbed her pillow and blanket. The fabric unfurled and trailed behind her as Heather brought the provisions back to her slumbering companion.

“All right, dude. Your neck will be killing you in the morning, so we’re just gonna...” She curled her fingers under Rebecca’s cheek and lifted her head. “Ugh! Oh my god. Yeah, so, that was a whole puddle of drool my hand just touched. Did not see it until now. That’s on me. Here’s your pillow.” Heather dried the spittle from her skin with her sleep shorts. She draped the blanket over Rebecca’s shoulders. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Heather padded into her bedroom and opened the closet. She stood on tiptoe and pulled down a quilt that used to drape across the foot of her bed as a kid. Heather threw that over her shoulder and tucked the soft cushion from her chair under the opposite arm.

Valencia’s head had tilted to the side while Heather was gone. Strands of hair clung to her features. A few wisps twitched as her breath stirred them in passing. Heather reached out, hesitated, and then moved forward to coax the errant locks back into place. Her fingertips accidentally brushed Valencia’s lips in the process and their soft curvature against her knuckles made Heather’s insides feel like they all plummeted simultaneously to crash against her pelvis. She withdrew and tried to ignore her heart’s uptick in beats per minute. 

Heather tucked the quilt securely around Valencia’s shoulders and torso, hoping it would be enough to keep the bulky stitched cloth from slipping free overnight. The cushion posed more of a problem. She would need to touch Valencia’s face again in order to slide the padding into place. Heather struggled with the approach for a moment. Her arm formed practice arcs in the air as she tried to work out which angle involved the least amount of contiguity. Ultimately, she settled on moving to the other side, where the tumble of tresses could act as a barrier between her fingertips and Valencia’s cheekbone.

She established a grip in the narrow opening between Valencia’s forearm and her jaw. Valencia stirred but did not wake. The shift of her body brought the weight of her head down on Heather’s wrist. Valencia responded to the external source of warmth and snuggled against Heather’s open hand.

“Nooo,” Heather whispered desperately. She tried to pull free, but Valencia was heavy with the complete relaxation of a deep sleep. Gingerly, Heather lifted Valencia’s head away from the table and inserted the cushion into the empty space. She managed to free her arm and gave it a subtle shake at her side. “There. Now at least you won’t wake up with an imprint of your bracelets between your eyebrows.”

Heather prepared to go back to bed, but an open tab on Valencia’s laptop caught her attention: How to Know If Someone Likes You.

“Right, because they were doing that weird thing trying to guess who initiated all of Anna’s breakups,” Heather mumbled. “I mean, either way, it left her single to date Josh now, so like, does it really matter which of them looked disinterested in their selfies?”

Her voice trailed off when she noticed the introduction below the title. ‘What hints suggest that someone is secretly interested? Is there somebody in your life who may be giving you signs they want to go from friend to romantic partner?’

“Well, that’s some unfortunately appropriate timing,” she observed. Heather glanced at Valencia. She grimaced and rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna regret this.” 

Heather crouched beside Valencia’s chair and began skimming through the article. As she took in each behavior on the list, flashes of images appeared in her mind’s eye. 

Clue #1 Personal Questions Valencia wanting stories for every aspect of the rooms at her old house... being so earnestly fascinated by all the hobbies she let fall by the wayside and skills she never fully developed... prompting her just enough to learn how she really felt about her parents...

Clue #2 Changing Space Or, rather, eliminating it, Heather learned upon reading the paragraph. Valencia bumping against her as they climbed the stairs... often sitting so close they were touching from hip to knee... Valencia grabbing her hand to thank her even though a verbal expression would’ve sufficed...

Clue #3 Mirrored Behavior Valencia following her lead at the disastrous Sex Toy party, copying her body language and responses to the drama that unfolded, sticking so close to her side that sometimes they moved and reacted as one...

Clue #4 Eye Contact There were too many now, parading through her memory in a flickering series like photographs in a zoetrope. Valencia, never shying from her gaze, always lingering with warmth and trust behind her dark irises...

Heather frowned. Everything was stacking up favorably, but none of it felt irrefutable after a day of Valencia obsessing over her ex-boyfriend’s new flame. Besides, many of those meaningful moments could easily be attributed to Valencia’s concern over being a good friend. Their trio meant the world to her, and she was not shy about expressing that fact. 

If anything, Heather’s own actions might give cause for scrutiny. She squirmed uncomfortably with the knowledge that she’d been making a lot of exceptions for Valencia ever since they began spending regular time together. It felt important to help ease Valencia into this new world of female friendships, and to look out for her as the transition presented challenges. That being said, a commitment to offering herself as a dependable guide did nothing to explain away the quickening of Heather’s pulse every time their physical contact lasted for longer than was socially customary.

Heather’s sigh echoed through the stillness. “Guess I might as well read the last one.”

Clue #5 Special Attentiveness ‘When you are with the person in question, do they do the following: Offer you their coat when the air gets cold?’

Heather turned slowly and looked at the cover - her childhood quilt - where it lay wrapped snugly around Valencia.

“... Crap.” She dragged the scrollbar back to the top of the page and stood. “Nope, universe, we’re done here. That’s on-the-nose even for you. It is way too early in the day for you to be at-ing me directly, so just... chill.”

Valencia opened one eye at the sound of Heather’s voice. “Did I miss something? Is everything okay?”

Heather jammed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “Don’t worry. You’ve still got hours before sunrise. Go back to sleep.”

Valencia tilted her head to indicate the vacant chair between her seat and Rebecca’s. “Maybe you could come out here too, so you’re not the only one sleeping alone.”

Heather laughed quietly. “Day-long lower back pain and breadcrumbs stuck to my chin. Sounds super tempting.”

A slow, sleepy grin crossed Valencia’s face. “Yeah, that’s fair. See you in the morning?”

“I’ll be around.”

“Mm-kay.” Valencia hugged the cushion and fell silent.

Heather strode back in the direction of her room, but a parting sentiment from Valencia halted her steps.

“G'night, Heather.”

Heather gripped the corner of the wall and looked over her shoulder. “Goodnight, V.”

[roxannarambles]

Title: Hidden Talents

Author: Roxanna Rambles

Fandom/Pairing: Fire Emblem - Heath/Legault

Summary: “They were both more than a little drunk, although Heath was definitely handling his alcohol a little more gracefully.”

They were both more than a little drunk, although Heath was definitely handling his alcohol a little more gracefully.

Legault was obnoxious at the best of times, always insisting on hanging about Heath despite numerous, vigorous attempts to repel him. However, Heath's usual irritation was subdued this evening, drowned out in the swirling buzz of ale. As such, he had allowed Legault to join him at his table, and even ended up in a lengthy conversation with him, although the conversation was turning progressively more nonsensical as the night wore on.

The entire group had the rare luxury of staying at one of the lordling's castles overnight. With no danger on the immediate horizon and the promise of a late start tomorrow, they were allowed to feast, to rest, and to take a well-deserved bracing breath. The spacious dining room of the castle was strewn with the evening's festives, many of Eliwood's army still eating, drinking, or talking and laughing, although plenty more had already retired for the night. The candles of the chandelier above them flickered merrily with light, and Heath found himself gazing hypnotically up at it after a while. His sixth-- seventh?-- pint of ale sat half-finished on the table in front of him, as Legault chattered away in his general direction.

The mysterious, lavender-haired assassin normally had an oddly cheery edge to his calm, relaxed exterior, but the more he drank, the more cheerful and talkative he became, simply underscoring and exaggerating the tendency. Heath had a feeling he would probably find it incredibly aggravating under normal circumstances, but he was actually finding it entertaining at the moment. He was especially amused that his smooth, velvety speech was starting to slip into a stereotypical drunken slur, and his normal careful modesty was giving way to flagrant cockiness. At the moment, he was getting riled up about castle security in Ostia.

"Trust me, Heath, honey, it's not anywhere near what it's cracked up to be. I've taken a few sojourns into here back in the day, and the guard arrangement was a joke even back then. Guys think a dozen knights decked out in so much armor they can't move is gonna hold up the entire fort."

Heath smirked, glancing across the room, observing,

"You might want to keep your voice down, Hector's still sitting not too far away from us."

Legault pushed back against his chair, hard enough to make the back tip briefly, and chuckled.

"I'm not worried about him. What'll he do? Lock me up? With Ostia's mighty security?"

Heath's smile widened to a grin upon hearing Legault tripping sloppily over the word 'Ostia.'

"Mmmm, it would certainly give the rest of our march some peace and quiet if he did lock you up."

Legault gestured at him with his mug of ale and said,

"You'd miss me. Don't deny it."

"I will most certainly deny it."

"I'd be out in a heartbeat, anyway. Was jailed by them once, y'know. Took me five minutes to escape, maybe less?"

"You're full of shit."

"I'm dead fucking serious."

Heath snorted into his drink, which Legault seemed to take as an affront to all things good and pure in this world.

"Heath, they posted a single guard outside my door. I picked the lock in under a minute. It was . . .  it was insulting."

"Under a minute. Mmm-hmm. It was five minutes just a little bit ago."

"The extra four minutes was for knocking the guard on his ass! The lock took thirty seconds."

"Oh, now it's thirty seconds!"

"What part of 'under' a minute don't you get?"

"Psshh."

Legault fixed him with a fiery, challenging gaze, cheeks flushed from his inebriation.

"If you knew anything about lockpicking at all, you'd know I'm right. Theirs are pitiful for what's supposedly the mightiest military state of Lycia. I could pick one of theirs with my hands tied behind my back."

Heath laughed readily and sipped at his ale.

"I'd like to see you try."

Legault straightened in his seat, a cocky gleam in his eye.

"Yeah? Let's go. I'll prove it right now."

Heath laughed again, but realized the man looked quite serious.

"Legault, you're mad. And also drunk."

"You afraid of being proven wrong?"

Heath huffed in amusement, feeling an eagerness settle into him. Admittedly, it would be pretty delicious to see this poor drunken fool struggle so fruitlessly.

"All right, fine. I could go for a little entertainment this evening."

"Excellent," Legault said, springing from his chair, then grabbing onto the table before he could fall flat on his face. Heath cackled at him openly.

"How's a man who can't stand up going to pull this off?"

The man frowned at him, looking only briefly embarrassed before his dumb optimism kicked back in.

"Shut up. I don't need my faculties at 100% to do something this easy. Now follow me."

The pair of them shuffled out of the dining hall, unnoticed by the other partygoers, and Heath followed him up the winding staircase, nudging him up a few times when he swayed. It was only when they were wandering down the halls that Heath thought to ask where they were even going.

"Legault, where--"

"--which one is your room, anyway?"

Heath blinked slowly and took a moment to consider the question. His was . . . umm. Hmm. Which one was his again? There were too many doors in this castle and they all looked the same. He stared for a bit and then suddenly lit up.

"Wait, that one. At the end of the hall-- the second to last. Yeah."

"Ok, good."

Legault carried on down the hall and Heath suddenly exclaimed,

"Wait, why are we going to my room?!"

The assassin shot a grin at him.

"Calm down. We're just using your door. You have your room key, right?"

"Oh. Uh. Maybe?"

Heath patted his pockets, trying to remember what he did with it.

"I think I left it in my room, give me a second."

As Heath opened the door and entered his room, he twisted back and added emphatically at the man trying to follow behind him,

"Hey, no, wait there!"

Legault grinned but stopped in the threshold and waited. After a few moments, Heath managed to locate the room key he'd left on the nightstand beside his bed. He retrieved it and stepped back out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

"Good, now lock the door."

As Heath did as instructed, he felt a wave of disbelief at how stupid this was. He started to truly analyze the situation.

"Legault, what the hell do you plan on doing, anyway? Pick the lock with your teeth?"

The man in front of him broke out into an enormous smirk.

"Well, yeah. What else did you think I would do?"

Heath took a half-step backwards, feeling uneasy under his gaze.

"You're mad," he repeated himself. As if in response, Legault tugged the purple bandana from his hair, handing it to Heath. The wyvern rider frowned in confusion.

"What . . .?"

Legault turned around, settling his hands behind his back, and then shot Heath a look over his shoulder, darting a tongue over his teeth. He looked practically giddy.

"Tie me up."

Heath felt his already flushed face turning redder and he stepped back again reflexively, blurting,

"What?!"

Legault backed a little toward him.

"You want me to do this with my hands tied behind my back, don't you?"

Heath paused. Oh, right. He did say that.

Wincing, feeling awkward and mildly embarrassed, Heath stepped forward and took the bandana in hand. After straightening the fabric out a little, he looped the cloth around Legault's wrists and tied a fat knot. The man made a dissatisfied sound.

"No, make it tighter."

Heath huffed, snapping at him,

"Why do you need it tighter?"

"I don't want you having any way to claim I cheated, because I'm about to blow your mind."

Heath rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Hold still."

Legault made a sound under his breath that Heath didn't exactly care for-- it sounded way too suspiciously lewd-- but Heath undid the knot and wrapped the bandana again, tugging tight enough that it was probably just short of cutting off circulation, then knotted the bandana securely in place.

"How's that?"

"That's goddamn perfect."

Yeah, he was enjoying this way too much. Heath pushed the man forward.

"Just get to work. It's gonna take a lot to impress me."

"Well, you'd better prepare yourself to be impressed."

Heath watched as Legault sized up the door for a moment, then looked down at his ring of lockpicks.

Which were hanging off his belt.

His face seemed to fall a little as this realization sunk in. He slid a glance over to Heath. The wyvern rider crossed his arms.

"Well?" he said, pretending to be unaware of the problem that he was fully aware of.

Legault wriggled a moment, shaking his hips and jostling his belt. He tried bending over and reaching, but the ring of picks was hopelessly out of reach. He splayed his legs out and bent over further, hair spilling over every which-way, snapping uselessly at his own crotch. Heath put a hand on his mouth and tried desperately to squash his laughter, but it came out painfully through his nose.

"I-- I knew this would be good, but oh, gods. This is fantastic."

After a little more struggle, Legault straightened back up. His face was bright red from not only drunkenness but from hanging upside down, and his hair hung over him in loose strands. Sounding surprisingly coherent, he said,

"Perhaps you could allow me one small concession? While I'm pretty flexible, I admit I'm not actually a contortionist."

Heath grinned.

"Sure, if that'll keep this show going."

Legault turned and gave his hips a little jiggle.

"Then could you be a dear and get my lockpicks for me?"

Heath dropped his eyes down to the small golden ring of lockpicks dangling off his belt, just to the side of his belt buckle. Without stopping to think much about it, he reached out and snagged the metal loop with a finger, giving it a tug, but it was fastened into place. Frowning, he used his other hand to lift the excess flap of belt hanging in the way and examined the metal ring more carefully. It was fastened into one of the small metal holes riveted into the leather belt. He twisted at the ring and tugged again, but it was very firmly attached. He wrestled with the little fiddly bit of metal for a few moments, but quickly grew annoyed.

Growling, Heath leaned in further, trying to see how the stupid clasp worked, tugging at it with increasing aggression.

"How the heck do you get this off?"

"You-- don't pull, you just have to twist it."

"I am. It just won't--"

Legault made a little squeaky sound as Heath tugged again. The wyvern rider paused, suddenly painfully mindful of how close he had his face to the man's crotch. He snapped up like he was veering back from a cobra, catching the delighted look in Legault's eye, and growled at him;

"Why didn't you do this first?"

"Look, you almost had it, you just had to twist it clockwise a little more."

Heath glared, but twisted at the ring and was surprised when he felt it give way easily this time. It slipped from the belt fluidly.

Embarrassed over how obnoxiously difficult it had been for him, Heath thrust the ring of lockpicks towards Legault.

"Here. Take the damn thing."

The man's lips curved into a silly little smile as he returned Heath's gaze. Then he dipped his head down to Heath's hand and took the ring of lockpicks up in his teeth. Heath felt the wave of uneasiness return as the man grinned up at him salaciously. Heath swallowed and complained,

"Quit stalling. It's already been well over five minutes, you know."

Thankfully, Legault stopped looking at him like that, finally turning and approaching Heath's door. He spoke around the ring of lockpicks.

"I shaid I could pick it with my handsh behind my back. I never claimed I could do that part in under five minutes."

"Sounds to me like you're just making excuses. Honestly, Legault? I don't think you're going to come even close to doing this. You're a mess."

Legault chuckled a little, and then dropped down to his knees in front of the door, splaying his legs wide and examining the lock with sharp eyes. After a moment, he hummed to himself, as if deciding something. Then he gave his head a little toss, messily clacking the metal ring along in his mouth, rotating it until he reached the series of picks on it. With a few more jerks of his head, he seemed to reach the desired selection, and then slid his lips down the pick, wriggling it with surprising speed into position. With the handle of the pick in his teeth, he nudged forward, sliding the pick into the lock.

Heath watched in fascination as Legault made careful, subtle motions with the pick, lifting up, then pressing sideways a little. He actually looked . . . like he knew what he was doing. Despite himself, Heath drew forward a little, trying to get a better view. Legault grunted and pressed the pick deeper into the lock, smushing his nose up against the lock as he attempted what looked to be a difficult sideways motion. His expression was screwed up in deep concentration. Heath could hear the pick rattling a little inside, and he couldn't help but start to quietly hope maybe Legault might actually be able to do this.

However, after a little more pressing and clicking about, Legault leaned back slightly with a mumble. Heath found himself asking,

"Problem?"

"Jush a minor setback," he heard the man reply, his voice strangely low and calm. He jerked his head back and tossed the ring into the air, then snapped it up cleanly, moving a new pick into place with his lips. He pushed forward into the lock again, mouth pressed right up against it, giving the absurd appearance that he was french-kissing with the door. If Heath wasn't so enraptured by the bizarre spectacle, he would have laughed, but he was almost afraid to make any sound. Instead he continued to watch in a hushed silence.

Then, Legault made an excited mumble, so Heath supposed he must have done something promising. Straining, the man pressed his body flush against the door, craning his neck as he pushed for the right angle on the lock. His hair had long draped in messy strands over his face, but he ignored it, obviously doing things completely by touch. Shifting the pick in his teeth very carefully, Heath watched as Legault stuck his tongue out and slid it into the hole of the lock while still maintaining pressure on the lockpick.

Heath let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Was this man for real?

"You're going to get your damn tongue stuck in there--"

Legault rumbled a completely incomprehensible sound in reply, mouth preoccupied with a ridiculous level of acrobatics. Heath watched him flick his tongue around and press it in deeper, a sight that irrationally set off a hot flutter in Heath's chest. Aggravated, Heath was about to snap another warning to the man about getting stuck, but then there was a distinct clicking sound and the insane man made a choked noise-- of victory?

Heath stared as Legault withdrew his face from its intimate press against the lock, letting the ring of lockpicks clatter to the floor. He turned his flushed expression upon Heath, wearing the smuggest, most self-satisfied smile he'd ever seen. The man then licked his lips and invited him,

"Go ahead. Open it."

Heath was immobile at first, unable to really believe it. There's no way he actually . . . but at Legault's continued look, he came forward and grabbed the handle.

He twisted the knob and opened the door.

Heath turned. Legault had climbed back to his feet and was grinning at him. Heath continued to stare for a few beats.

"Okay," Heath began. He finally let the smile overtake his face.

"I hate to admit it when I'm wrong, but that . . . that was kind of fantastic."

"Right?!"

Heath chuckled at Legault's jubilant reply. He looked so happy.

Maybe this guy wasn't so terrible after all. In an amused tone, Heath asked,

"You want me to untie you now?"

Legault's brows curved upwards and he lidded his eyes in a gaze that was starting to become all too familiar. He answered in a thick, honeyed tone:

"Unless there's something else you'd like to do to me."

No, wait, no. Heath was wrong-- he was still terrible.

"Legault, no."

He flashed a smirk at him.

"You can't blame a guy for trying."

"Yes, I can. Now turn around."

This, as it turned out, was the wrong thing to say. Heath flushed hot again, scandalized at Legault's response and added shrilly,

"Don't bend over!"

Legault sighed, as if he somehow had the right to be exasperated.

"Heath, I feel like you're sending me a lot of mixed signals here."

"Fucking--"

"--yes, that's what I've been trying to get at!"

"AUGH!"

Heath backed off and fumed at him,

"I was going to help you out, but I think I'll just leave you like this now. Enjoy the night tied up like that."

He escaped into his room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. On the other side of the door, he heard Legault's muffled reply.

"Oh, c'mon, Heath, don't be like that."

Heath stalked over to a chair and sat down, grabbing a book.

"Goodnight Legault."

"Heeeeath. C'mon."

"Go away."

The door handle rattled a little. There was a brief pause.

"You do realize I could just pick your door again, right?"

Heath frowned. Goddamnit.

"I'll-- I'll hold the door shut if you do."

"Oh," came the reply from the other side. It sounded . . . sad.

"Okay," added the voice, growing even more pathetic and somber.

Heath winced.

Goddamnit.

Heath heaved a sigh as he got up to go open the door and help the moron standing out in the hall.

[frostywindmademoan]

A Worthy Adversary

Pt. 7 in a multi chapter OC fic featuring Michael Gray

“She definitely got her licks in.” Arthur commented as he looked at all the hair and tooth. “Look at this, found a ring in the hallway. You’ll never guess what the insignia is.” Tommy held up a golden band. “Who’s is it?” John asked. “Somebody from the Cohen Clan.” Tommy tossed the ring to Michael who caught it and examined the Cohen family chest engraved on it. “Cohen? Like James Cohen, the bloke we offed?” Arthur pieced together.  “Fucking hell. The first bloke she helped us kill.” John realized.

“How the hell did they figure out who she is?” Michael practically growled. “Don’t get mad at us, we only know as much as you do. Now we have to get up off our asses and track the Cohen fucks down.” Tommy stormed out of the house, followed by the rest of the family. In an abandoned warehouse next to a factory Clara came too. She had a chain cuffed to her wrists and the chain was hung on a large industrial hook meant for lifting heavy equipment. Her arms were above her head and just the very tips of her toes could brush the ground. Her shoulders were going to be sore for weeks at best, but most likely they’d be dislocated. Her head pounded and blood dripped down her cheek from the gash on her head that was a result of it being smashed against the mirror. The noise from the factory next door would mask any sounds she made. “Ah, Rosie, you’re back with us.” Clara recognized the man who started to walk towards her. His head was also bleeding from where Clara had ripped a large portion of his hair out. “Who’s Rosie?” She played dumb. “Shut up you little whore!” He slapped her across the face. “I’m Clara! My name is Clara! I’m Clara Brehmen!” She fiend complete innocence and played the part of scared and innocent victim. “Bullshit!” A blow landed on Clara’s cheek. “Please! I’m telling the truth! I don’t know what’s happening!” She summoned crocodile tears. Exterior pain didn’t faze her. Bones can always heal. Clara didn’t care how many blows it’d take, she just had to convince them that she was innocent enough to keep alive. “What’s happening is that we’ve finally caught up to you! You offed our boss, my big brother! He went missing after going home with you.” The man spit at her. “I don’t know who your boss is! I’ve never hurt anyone! Please, I’m just Clara, I’m a nurse!” She pleaded. “You’re lying! Do you know how I know? We’ve been watching you! You’re Michael Gray’s bitch! One of my men recognized him from a scuffle gone south right before James disappeared. My little brother had his throat slit by that monster of yours! He got his little Rosie to help him kill my other brother!” The man punched her in the gut, causing her to wheeze and gasp for breath. “Please, I’m not Rosie! I’ve never killed anyone!” Clara gasped.”Stop lying to me! Now you’re gonna fucking tell me where James’ body is and where I can get my hands on Thomas Shelby!” He screamed at her. “Shelby? The Peaky Blinders boss? This has to do with them?” She acted confused. “So you know them then?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Everyone in Birmingham does. They scare everyone. Nobody goes near them. I’ve never even talked to Tommy myself, I’ve always been told not to.” Clara half lied. It was true that people had told her to not get involved with the Shelbys, but she had obviously ignored the warnings. “Bullshit! You’re in bed with Michael Gray!” Another punch landed on her cheek. Clara didn’t appreciate the probable fracture in her zygomatic bone. “You’re going to give up Thomas Shelby right now, or I’m going to make you tell me!” He bellowed. “I don’t know anything to tell! I don’t know where he is!” She persisted. “Nicky, the blade.” The man held out his hand as a henchmen placed a glistening blade in it. “Give me Thomas Shelby.” He placed the knife under her chin. “I don’t know!” Clara continued to force tears. The man flicked the blade and cut a straight line across the bottom of her chin, causing blood the drip down her neck. She thought of Michael and hated how much he was going to loose it when he realized what was happening. “Are you going to cooperate now?” The man asked. “I told you! I don’t know anything!” Clara insisted. The man looked Clara up and down and had no shame in letting his eyes linger. “I see why Gray is so fond of fucking you. What’s his favorite bit? The tits? The ass? I personally enjoy a nice chest myself. Your tits are some of the best I’ve seen. I’m sure Gray would hate it if anything happened to them.” He gave a sadistic grin. Clara remained silent. He didn’t deserve a response. “Have it your way then.” His grin grew even more sickening. He raised the knife to her chest and sliced two 5 inch curves at the top of her breasts, tracing her cleavage. She thought to herself that this was going to leave an interesting scar. “Now talk!” He yelled at her. “I’ve already told you! I don’t know anymore about the Shelbys than anyone in Birmingham! All I know is they have a shop. I’ve never been in myself but a lot of the factory lads go. I think it’s just a few blocks over. They have a pub too. Everyone at the factory drinks there. I hear they hang around there a lot. That’s all I know!” She divulged very vague information. Clara hoped this would be enough for them to bite on and that they would go out to sweep the streets for the shop and pub. She quite liked her breast and would prefer the damage done to them to be minimal. “If you’re lying, you’re dead.” He warned before rounding up his henchmen to go split up and search the streets. “Alright Peaky boys, the ball’s in your court now.” She sighed, hoping that having the group split up would give the Peaky Blinders an advantage once an attack began.

“We don’t even know where to begin!” Michael exclaimed. “We know they’re based out of Liverpool.” John tried to help. “They can’t take her that far. They must have some place closer.” Michael reasoned. “I agree. Where do we know of a place you can move a girl to unnoticed?” Tommy tried to get their juices flowing. “Plenty of abandoned buildings around Small Heath. Lots of big warehouses around the factory. They could've taken her to the edge of town, away from people.” Finn offered suggestions. “Warehouses will be easily checked first, then houses. Lets split in to 2 groups and start looking. If need be we’ll all get back together to go search out of town. That’ll be a lot of area to cover.” Tommy began to formulate a plan. “I’ll take warehouses.” Michael stated. “Take John and Finn with you. Arthur and I’ll cover the houses.” The group all scattered and started to head to their respective locations. They didn’t get very far before shots started to ring out in the street. The henchmen, Nicky, had found them. The wild west seemed to come to Small Heath. A full on shoot out ensued. The other Cohen crew members converged on the scene to back Nicky up. Michael was overcome with rage. As others took cover and shot around the corners of alleys as a way to somewhat shielding themselves, Michael walked right down the middle of the street with his gun held out before him. “Get the fuck down Michael!” Tommy shouted. Michael ignored him and just kept walking. It seemed that by the grace of God Michael had some protective barrier around him. It was as if his drive to get to Clara made him invincible. Bullet’s whizzed past, close enough that he could hear them cut through the air, but none hit their mark. Michael, however, hit all of his marks. In his intensely focused and fearless state, he easily shot the Cohens. In his murderous stupor he gave the Peaky Blinders a clear advantage. They had clearly won the wild west shoot out. The only Cohen left standing was the middle brother. “Well, well, well. Richard Cohen.” Tommy walked up to the brother with his gun pointed right at his temple. “Where the fuck is Clara?!” Michael grabbed Richard by the collar and pushed him up against the nearest wall. “So the little bitch’s name really is Clara.” He chuckled. Michael slammed his head against the wall, causing fresh blood to spill onto his cheek. “WHERE IS SHE?!” Michael screamed. “A warehouse, by the factory.” Richard was dizzy and light headed and didn’t have the where with all to lie. “Take us.” Tommy pressed the gun to Richard’s head, prompting him to  lead the way. Richard stumbled his way back to the warehouse where Michael frantically slid the door open. “Shit.” Michael gasped when he saw Clara hanging there. “Clara!” He rushed over to her and was consumed with panic as he tried to see if she was alive. He lifted her head and to his overwhelming relief she smiled at him. “Hello Michael.” Her voice was weak, but she was clearly still the same tough as nails little girl. “Oh my God Clara.” He gave a thankful sigh of relief. “Wanna give me a hand?” She looked up at her hanging arms. “Shit, yeah.” Michael gently lifted her up enough to slip the chain off of the hook. Clara groaned as her stiff muscles fell back to her side. The other Shelbys made it to her side and began to fret over her. “Are you alright love?” John gently inspected the gash on her head. “Jesus Christ your chin!” Finn exclaimed. “This is too much blood. We have to get you out of here.” Tommy put a helping arm around her shoulder. “What about my mate over there?” Clara nodded towards Richard, who was sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. “He’s mine.” Michael growled as he set off towards him. “Do you want to know the last words your brother heard before I slit his throat? Just before his skin ripped under my hand I said, ‘You never get to touch my girl again.’” Michael didn’t bother with aiming for the vertebrae. He wanted to feel the blood on him, to feel the skin slice beneath his knife. Michael relished seeing the light leave Richard’s eyes.  “C’mon mate she needs a proper hospital. We can’t patch her up. We’ll pay whoever we need to as much as we need to in order to keep this quiet.” Tommy promised him. “You can’t show up at the hospital in all that blood though mate. We can’t keep that quiet.” Finn put a hand on Michael’s shoulder when he began to lead the way out the door. “I’m not fucking leaving her!” Michael shouted. “He’s right Michael. You’ll be in deep shit showing up there like that.” Clara agreed. Something in her voice convinced him. “Alright, get her there quick.”

Chapter List Here

[rezathevamp-blog]

Tequila for the Soul || Reza&Ricky

When life gets you down, you go out and get wasted with your... friends? Yeah, friends. 

There was a time and a place to wear flashy clothes that drew attention to you in a bar, but Ricky recognized that this wasn't one of them. Driving through still-snowy streets, bass thumping, he idly ran a hand down the warm denim and soft flannel he'd grabbed from his closet on the way out the door. Reza wasn't one to ask for things, which made his request for a drunken night someone concerning. But as he pulled into the parking lot of Mystery Loves Company and raised his hand in a wave he hoped that the somewhat quiet night of heavy drinking he had planned would be what his new friend was looking for. They both knew so many secrets about each other that he didn't want to fuck up and piss Reza off in any way.

Reza stood in the cold, face damp from the snow, and waited. Tried his best not to think and failed every few seconds, unwanted thoughts crawling their way into his head. One voice in particular hadn't stopped nagging him since Neven had revealed the truth, a voice Reza had been successfully ceeping out for the past few weeks. Until now. ​Way to go. Found yourself an even uglier monster, one that would kill you without blinking. And it doesn't even have fangs, pity...​ Ricky's car thankfully pulled up and Reza stormed over, slamming the door behind him when he got in. "Hey," he muttered before turning up the volume, bass now even heavier. At least the music drowned out his head.

The minute Reza hopped into the jeep and cranked the volume on the dubstep that had already been pretty loud (even by mostly-deaf Selkie standards) Ricky knew some shit was up. But he also remembered his promise not to ask questions and instead lowered the volume just long enough to make a phone call. "Hey. Chris. It's Cordero. Remember when your gogo dancer didn't show up last Friday and I hopped my ass into some skimpy Andrew Christians and danced all night? And remember when I took your sister out on a pity date even though we both know I'm gay as hell? Imma need to call in those favors. Clear out that corner booth in the back. It's mine tonight. Yeah yeah yeah save it for when you don't owe me." Hanging up the call he cranked the volume back up, reaching over to squeeze Reza's shoulder before he continued driving. Eventually they pulled up to Flaming Mo's and bypassed the extensive line, Ricky leading them to a secluded corner booth with a reserved sign on it "Guarantee the only person who's gonna bother us is the waitress. What're you drinking?"

Reza was grateful that he'd chosen Ricky, who according to plan asked no questions and allowed Reza to blast music until his ears ached. A part of his brain registered the gogo dancing comment and under different circumstances, he would have commented on it, but not tonight. ​Run away from your problems like you always do. Maybe get someone else killed while you're at it...​ the whispers continued before they were once again drowned out by the blaring tunes. Tensing under the squeeze, feeling even worse now with Ricky by his side, being the decent human being he was and bringing such a stark contrast to how lowly Reza felt. Sprawled out in the booth, fingers drumming the table, Reza shrugged. "Whatever you're having." He just needed to get drunk, the only way he knew how to shut off his mind now.

Ricky watched Reza drum his fingers on the tae, recognizing the tension in the action that he saw every time he looked in the mirror. He so badly wanted to ask questions, wanted to know what had his friend so on edge. He was used to the insouciant Reza, with the lazy smile and the ever present smirk. This one was cagey and anxious and Ricky felt compelled to at least try to fix that. As a waitress wandered over to their table Ricky raised a hand as a greeting to the familiar face, "Hey Ash. Bottle of Patron Silver, two shot glasses, and a plate full of limes. And that'll be good until the bottle runs dry." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and struggled to find a neutral topic of conversation. "Started reading those books you gave me. Don't worry, I'm being hella careful."

Ricky seemed to be a regular here, which was perfect. Meant that ​Reza​ would be paid little to no attention, which is actually what he was hoping for. Even though a part of him had hoped to avoided it, Ricky unsurprisingly started chatting; ever the social creature. "Yeah? Which one'd you start with?" He hadn't gotten around to Ricky's books yet -- he'd only gotten as far as to stack them neatly on his bedside stand next to a bookmark. The bottle of tequila landed on their table and Reza's stomach turned over with relief and horror. For a second he wondered if this was a good idea, seeing as his last drink had been pre-Heath and now... ​Scared your monster moose boyfriend will find out?​ "Pour me one?" Reza asked, as politely as he could, dark eyes staring straight into Ricky's. Yes, this was a good idea because it was the only idea he had to shut up that voice.

Ricky wasn't entirely sure if this was an occasion that required conversation but he tried anyway. "The one from your mom. Seemed like the right way to start" ​seemed like a way to try to get to know you better​ was what he meant but didn't actually say. When the bottle arrived he poured two shots worth of the clear liquid into glasses and pushed the plate of limes in Reza's direction. As a rule he didn't get sloppy drunk. Sloppy drunks tell secrets and his secret would get him killed. But Reza already knew, and Reza hadn't told anyone so far. So maybe just tonight he could forgo responsibility and get drunk as a skunk. The eye contact he was getting almost seemed like a challenge and Ricky never backed down from one. He slugged back his shot and immediately poured another "your wish is my command."

Reza followed Ricky's lead, torn between sighing in bliss and coughing as the liquid burned down his throat. Teeth sunk into the lime as he watched Ricky pour another shot, pushing his small glass in the same direction. "Do seals have a tolerance for all liquids or just water stuff?" he asked, close enough to Ricky so that his low voice would be heard. Even though species discussions felt like a touchy subject right now, with the image of whatever Neven was continuing to pop into his head, Reza couldn't help but bring it up. He just hoped his stupid, drunk ass in the future wouldn't blurt out Neven's secret. After dismissing him like moldy food online and being too chicken shit to talk to him now, keeping Neven's confession secret was the least he could do.

After Reza took his shot and pushed the glass back towards him, ​Ricky​ filled it up and pushed it back towards him, cocking his head as Reza questioned him pretty brazenly about being a seal. "I have twice the amount of blood as a human does. So. Theoretically I have to drink twice as much to achieve the same BAC." He took his shot again, forgoing the lime entirely and shrugged "I don't get drunk often. I have a lot to guard. Telling people what I am could get me killed. So..." he trailed off and fiddled with his empty glass. "I'm getting drunk tonight, though. Real drunk. I've got uber on standby." He let the pause hang between them before he talked again. "I'm not questioning. And I won't. But. You can talk to me about anything. That's all. Let's get drunk."

Reza cocked his head before nodding to the fact. Right. Keep Ricky one drink ahead, at least, if possible. Just so he'd at least get tipsy before he'd have to drag Reza out the door. Not his fault that he was a fucking lightweight, though; it was hard to ingest a lot of alcohol when your BMI had been continuously dropping for the last year or so. "Sounds like a plan." The silence forebode something Reza doubted he wanted to hear and the offer only resulted in a second nod. "I know. It's fine. I'll deal." Kicking back the shot, reaching for another lime to dull the flavour, Reza nodded towards Ricky in agreement of this evening. Already, he could feel his mind shutting up, letting his brain be quiet for a change.

Ricky had lost track of the number of shots he had taken, which was bad news considering he knew for a very hazy fact that he'd taken far more than Reza. "Listen man" he managed to slur out over the mostly empty bottle between them, "you gotta catch the fuck up. I promised I'd get you drunk and all that's happened is you've managed to get me drunk. Superior seal biology and all." He fiddled with a chewed up lime rind before pouring Reza another shot. "So why me. You're cool. You're awesome. You've got peeps you can drink with. Why the sea monster?"

Reza was drunk. Blissfully (albeit regretfully) drunk. Even though he wasn't slurring and sliding around in the booth drunk, Reza could just feel his head swim and his limbs tingle, head leaned back against the wall, bleary eyes watching their surroundings. "Catch up? 'm pretty sure I've had like... at least as much as you," he argued, still taking the offered shot. His head was so blissfully quiet with the promise of passing out this evening into a dreamless sleep, what harm would one more shot do? Wiping his mouth after he'd downed the tequila, grimacing slightly, Reza turned doe-like eyes to Ricky, and laughed. "Cool? Very... very debatable. Awesome? Don't fucking think so and... peeps I can drink with... mm, not so much. But!" One arm slung around Ricky's shoulders in an uncharacteristic nonchalance for touch, "you weren't my last option or anything shitty, y'know? The sea monster is fun and nice 'n doesn't judge." The words quickly slurred together before Reza's head thumped back against the wall, eyes closing briefly. "I don't really get why you said yes, taking the full bag of crazy out for drinks."

"You definitely..... ​definitely​ have not had as much as me to drink. I been counting. Sorta. And you're way more sober than me too. Not cool man. Not cool. We gotta get you drunk. My couch is gonna be super pissed if you pass out on it sober. Don't piss off my couch. That's not cool man." He watched Reza take his shot and laughed at his incredulity "dude you're hella cool. And hella awesome. I think so at least." Ricky nearly fell over as Reza slung an arm around his shoulder "I said yes cuz you're awesome and you're my friend and I do things for my friends when they ask me to. S'about all I got going for me. I can do stuff. And I'm hot. That's it. That's all that's left of Ricky. Ain't good for nothing else." He took a pull straight from the bottle and grimaced "woof. That's some shit right there."

It was a comforting thought, knowing that he wouldn't have to return home to Izel completely shitfaced. ​Reza​ was reluctant to make her see how badly he was failing at everything right now. "That doesn't mean nything, jus' means you're crazy, too," he shot back, the compliments not quite getting through the tough hide of self-deprecation. Frowning, Reza removed the bottle from Ricky's hand, only to finish the last dregs of it, coughing. The empty bottle fell to the side but Reza's focus was on Ricky. "Don't be stupid. You fucking... go to college and have a job and like... a life. I fucking swear, I have no idea why the fuck Neven said no to you and chose... chose-" Reza sighed heavily, angrily even. "You're nice and cool and..." Slumping over, Reza leaned on Ricky, eyes drooping. "'m sleepy..."

It physically hurt Ricky that Reza thought so little of himself. He managed to pout convincingly when Reza took the bottle back only to feel the pit of his stomach drop out when Reza mentioned ​him​. He'd been really good about keeping his friendship with Reza separate from his dying crush on Neven but Reza bringing it up again made him sigh. "I ain't got all that much, bruh. Job. Sure. Not my old one. The one I was good at. I'm a counter bitch now. College is whatever. I can't swim anymore all I've got is..." he cut himself off, he didn't really feel like telling Reza how far he'd talked in recent weeks. "You're nice and cool too dude. Dismiss me all you will but shit's the gospel truth. You're a cool dude I don't give three fucks about your past." Ricky let Reza's head fall onto his shoulder, resting his cheek against the other man's soft hair "let's get home then. There's blankets. And cartoons. And more booze." He drunkenly punched in a request for an Uber and unsteadily rose from his seat. "Come on. I'll give you a piggyback ride to the cab."

The intimcay felt weird, with Ricky's cheek pressed against his hair, and ​Reza​ wasn't even sure it was close to the good kind of weird. Stumbling to his feet, hanging to Ricky even as the other man stumbled as well, Reza peered around for a moment. Wondered if he should make Ricky go ahead without him and stay behind, maybe find some old buddies with merch... Ricky offered a piggyback ride and he shook of the thought, nodding to his friend. "Pretty sure you're gonna drop me but imma trust you." A pause. "Also make sure I don't buy any drugs," he added quietly, as an afterthought, eyes pleading to Ricky.

If Ricky had been hurting at Reza before, the way the man looked into his eyes and begged him to keep him from buying drugs was a knife through the goddamn heart. "I won't drop you. I promise man. I won't drop you and you won't buy drugs because you don't want to and I won't let you because you don't want to so hop up on my back and we'll get you away from temptation." The walk to the cab was bumpy but true to his promise he didn't drop Reza and though he did drop his keys four times trying to unlock his apartment he managed to get them inside and out of the snowy cold. He pointed to the couch and got them a couple of drinks from the fridge. "Tha's your bed. I'll get you a blanket and sweatpants and do you want a t-shirt?" He took a drink and grimaced slightly. "I'm glad we did this, man. Spending time with you is awesome. Even if we're drunk as fuck. You want a mixer? Or just straight up like at the bar."

Reza mustered a smile before he was blissfully unaware of anything but Ricky carrying him, a bit haphardously, barely recalling the ride back to the apartment. He slumped onto the couch as soon as they got inside, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. "Definitely shirt, too," he mumbled, mussing up his already rowdy hair. "I'm glad too, you're a good, good guy." Reza couldn't quite remember what exactly had led to his being here, possibly because he'd willed himself not to think about it, but he was glad. "Jus' a beer," he answered, struggling to unbutton the rest of his shirt.

Ricky grabbed the beer for Reza, and managed to carry it, and the sweatpants, blanket, and t-shirt over to the couch without spilling or dropping anything. "Shirt. Beer. Blanket. Sweatpants. All for my super awesome bro who doesn't let me get eaten by vampires!" he slumped down on the floor next to the couch, drinking his drink and trying to will his apartment not to spin wildly around him, "'m not though. I'm not a good guy. I'm pretty awful and you could do way better for friends but thanks for pretending and hanging out with me. Being alone sucks. Having friends makes it suck less."

"Nice." ​Reza​ threw off his shirt, thankful that Ricky was on the floor and not right next to him, fairly reluctant to show off more of his scars than necessary. Throwing on the comfier shirt and wrapping himself up in the blanket, Reza spent a moment considering it before he slid down to the floor next to Ricky. Chugging down some of the beer, his stomach complaining aggressively, Reza let his head droop back. "I've only heard like... nice things about you. Saving Noah and stuff. Why'd you think you're so awful? Cause I'm pretty sure my reasons are worse than yours and if you think I'm awesome then you must be even awesome with that argument," he rambled out, starting to feel just slightly queasy.

Ricky kept his eyes trained in the dark television when he heard Reza start to shuffle out of clothes behind him; he was comfortable in his own body but he never assumed other people wanted to be looked at. When the other man slid onto the ground next to him, Ricky half turned his head to look at him, not wanting to press his drunken self's limit by craning his neck too far to look at Reza. "That was almost ten years ago. And we haven't really talked in a couple months. Not like we used to. He doesn't know what I am..." he trailed off, not that that was any kind of explanation, "I dunno man. I'm just." He felt shame, an unusual emotion for Ricky Cordero to feel, and flushed red as he looked down at the beer in his hands "I'm not that great. I've been fucking every guy on Grindr because being sexually desired at least makes me feel like I've got something to offer because I've got nothing else going for me. You're cool and fun to talk to and you seem pretty smart. I'm just hot. I used to be hot and fast in the water and now I'm just hot. That's it. I...." he trailed off again and resolutely chugged the rest of his beer, unwilling to continue that conversation of revelation.

Reza furrowed his eyebrows, staring at his own beer with a frown. This didn't really sound like something that would make Ricky a bad person; far from it actually, but Reza could definitely relate to any sort of feeling of wanting to be desired. Still, he'd managed to fuck that up in about two weeks, so... "That's... not bad. Doesn' make you awful, at least. Just..." His eyebrows furrowed deeper, the room spinning around them. Shit. More beer vanished down his throat. "If you like, y'know... fucking around just... whatever, man. Do it but like, that's not all you can do. You got a fucking future ahead, doesn' matter if you swim or not. Just make up a fucking new talent and rock it." Before the drunken pep talk could continue, Reza felt the turbulence in his stomach grow and he rolled over to his side with a small groan. "Don't hate me if I throw up on your floor," he mumbled.

He could tell Reza was trying to cheer him up, but Ricky had built his armor well, and it wasn't getting though "yeah yeah yeah captain cheerful you gotta say that shit cuz you're drunk and we're friends at least I think we're friends at least I hope we're friends but like you gotta say that shit. Doesn't make it true." He heard the groan and as drunk as he was his fratboy mentality kicked into overdrive and with a fluidity born of having done it many times before he swung Reza up onto the couch and got the trash can before the man could puke "I'm moving outta this place soon and I want my security deposit back. No puking. I'll get you some water." As he filled up a glass from the kitchen and stumbled with it back to the couch he sighed "thanks for sayin that shit though. Even if you're obligated to."

"Hey, fuck that, I don't do shit I'm obligated to. Not 'nymore," ​Reza​ mumbled, curling up sideways on the couch, breathing heavily. Right, this was what he'd hated about drinking. Getting water into his stomach felt like too much effort so he pulled the blanket tighter around himself instead. "I mean it. People that can fucking... tolerate me and... positive like you... not awful..." His eyelids were getting so damn heavy, words fading out in lieu of more heavy breaths, his tight grip on the blanket loosening as he practically passed out into sleep on Ricky's couch. The only thing running through his mind as unconsciousness seized him was how he wished he had his phone, only to call Neven and apologize; beg for him to continue whatever they'd had going on. At least he sorta had Ricky now...

Ricky listened drunkenly as whatever train of thought Reza had been on ran itself off the track and into sleeping breaths. He stumbled back into his room and pulled the comforter and pillows off his bed, curling up on the floor next to the couch in case Reza needed something in the middle of the night. As his own eyes started to close in sleep he couldn't help but think how good it felt to have close friends again, and hoped he didn't do anything to fuck it up too badly.

Reza could feel his head pound before he was completely awake, the pain only accentuated with the rolling of his stomach. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, rolling to his back with a small groan which made him all too aware that he wasn't in his bed. Despite the headache, Reza shot up on the couch, chest burning with panic until he gathered enough sense to recognize his surroundings. The owner of the apartment, and the T-shirt Reza was wearing, was on the ground next to the couch, wrapped up in his comforter. Another wave of nausea hit and Reza stumbled out of the couch with little grace, careful not to step on Ricky, before wobbling to the bathroom on shaky feet.

The sound of Reza stumbling to the bathroom was enough to wake Ricky up and make him acutely aware that he was in the middle of experiencing the worst hangover he'd ever had in his life. As he tried to sit up he was incredibly thankful that he'd had the foresight to bring a trashcan from the kitchen to the living room, leaning over it and retching until he felt like he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten for the last week and a half, "Oh holy shit I'm dying. I'm actually dying. Oh god you killed me man." He wiped his mouth and a terrible thought occurred to him as he sat on his living room floor, "Oh shit dude we didn't fuck did we? Oh god please tell me we didn't fuck that'd be awful not that you're not handsome but oh my god you have a boyfriend and I'm a bad person but I'm not that bad a person."

With one arm draped over the toilet and his cheek smushed against his forearm, ​Reza​ was pretty much ignoring the complaints coming from inside the apartment because yeah, Reza was definitely dying, too. He'd just managed to hopelessly rinse out his mouth with some water when Ricky continued shouting and Reza stumbled back into the living room, raising an eyebrow at his panicked friend. "Man, calm the fuck down. Please," he groaned as he slumped back onto the couch, clearly remembering more of last night than Ricky. "We didn't. Not that it matters because I'm pretty sure I've already fucked things up to the point of being single again." Sighing, wishing the cushions would just swallow him whole, his eyes flitted to the clock on the wall. "...and I have to be at work in thirty minutes. Fuck... Izel might actually disown me."

Ricky stumbled to the kitchen and chugged a giant glass of water down before turning back to where Reza was halfway dying on his couch, "Okay so that's a story but I'm not asking questions because I said I wasn't going to but you can't have fucked it up that much. You just gotta.... I dunno. I've never been on a date let alone had a relationship. I got stood up on a date last week... but that's the closest I've ever come before." He popped his fake teeth out and rinsed the puke from between his fangs, spitting loudly into the sink, "You can borrow clothes and I'll drive you. Or you can call in sick and we can both sit here and die together. Your choice."

Reza moaned pitifully into the couch instead of actually replying, really not in the mood for dating advice. "I have to show up," he finally sighed, raising his head up from the cushions just enough so that Ricky would hear him. "A ride would be nice. Promise I won't puke in your car... I think." Keeping Ricky's shirt on because his own smelled like a bar, the two of them painstakingly made their way into the car. After a few minutes of driving in silence, with Reza's face pressed against the cold glass, he glanced at Ricky from the corner of his eye. "Thanks for not asking. By the way. Appreciate it."

Ricky drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove carefully through the streets, definitely making sure to take every corner as slowly as he could since he was pretty sure that going quickly would make him puke all over his windshield. The drive was mostly quiet and Ricky didn't mind, even hearing his heartbeat in his ears was agony. But when Reza spoke Ricky broke his own silence, "I said I wouldn't. I keep my word. That being said. I'm a giant black hole if you ever want to talk. You can say whatever you want and I won't ever repeat it to anyone. Thanks for asking me to hang out. I appreciate it." He pulled up to Reza's work and sighed, parking the jeep and turning in his seat, leaning forward to give Reza a tight hug before the man got out of his car, "Don't be a stranger." As he drove back to his apartment he wondered if they'd do anything like that again... he certainly hoped so.

[veronicatheslayer]

With A Side Of Brains || Veronica and Wren

Veronica and Wren have a strange time.

Don't make this weird​, ​Wren​ reminded herself. She had already made it weird in their first “hang out” if you could call it that. She was nervous then and she knew it was probably obvious and she was even more nervous now. Her mind raced with questions. Did she know what Adrien did at the Ring? Did she support it? Did she know what Wren was? All of these questions made Wren’s heart race. She was terrified to accept but terrified to decline. What if news got back to Adrien that she had rejected his sister? No, no, she had to make things as easy as possible at the Ring. For now. Inhaling deeply, she tried to let her fear go. Enjoy herself for the next hour to hour and a half, then she can go home and return to her anxieties. Instead of walking in as she arrived, she remained near the entrance and sent Veronica a message that she had arrived. She wasn't going to make a mistake like she did last time. Although, she was sure she had already made a fool of herself the last time. So why on earth would she agree to hang out again? It's not like Wren was the fancy type… what would someone like her have in common with someone like Wren? What was her motive? Wren sighed, wanting to rid herself of her paranoid thoughts for now.

Veronica had to admit that she wasn't sure what drove her to like Wren. It wasn't as if they particularly had that much in common, but still there was just a spark within Wren that Veronica liked. There was something about her that made her so like-able and Veronica couldn't care less for the weirder aspects of their friendship. After all, Veronica was far from perfect herself. Veronica had arrived early, there had been less traffic than anticipated and she had chosen a small corner booth at the back of the restaurant. It didn't exactly offer a good view of the entrance but Veronica felt much less paranoid about stuff like that since she had dealt with Heath. As the message arrived on her phone, she sent one back to Wren telling her where she was. She couldn't see her, but that didn't really matter. She'd find her sooner or later.

At the arrival of the text, ​Wren​ was quick to put her phone away and enter the diner, eyes looking for Veronica in the general area she said she was in. It wasn’t hard to spot her now that she knew what she looked like. She walked over, mindful of some other people who were in her way, ultimately taking a seat across from Veronica. “Hey!” Wren greeted with a smile, feeling a little easier now that she was here. Veronica had only been nice to her, so maybe there was nothing to worry about. “It’s good to see you again.” While nervous, Wren didn’t mind coming out to see someone over a plate of food. “I hope you’ve been doing good?” Wren didn’t know if that was okay to ask since they were still kind of strangers. “Considering all that’s happened since we last saw each other.” She let out a soft chuckle, not wanting to darken the conversation.

Smiling gently at Wren's arrival, ​Veronica​ had to restrain herself from kissing both of the other girl's cheeks. It was a weird French thing that had been instilled in her by her parents, but their manners and etiquette had become habits and she often found that she sometimes did things that made others feel uncomfortable. Like kissing them on the cheek when they'd only just met. So she restrained herself and simply smiled in return. "It is really good to see you too!" she said with a smirk, "I've been doing OK, things are complicated considering ​everything​ that has been going on," she smiled gently, "How about you?" she asked, grabbing a menu and slowly looking at it, not that she was particularly focusing on the menu. "It has definitely been a very odd time since we saw each other."

She was so ​nice​. How was she so nice? Maybe cause she thought ​Wren​ was normal, although who would meet Wren and think she was normal? No one ever thought that, she was sure of it. “I’m okay, too,” Wren was quick to say, just an automatic response whenever people asked, she doubted Veronica wanted any details and not like she could give her any. “Just trying to keep going on with my day while the new Ashkent strangeness is happening.” She chuckled, playing with the corners of the menu, already knowing what she liked here. “Have you heard things about people and places disappearing and other things taking their place?” Was that good table conversation? Wren didn’t know and she already felt nervous having brought it up. Luckily a waitress came over to ask for drinks. She was saved!

The thing that ​Veronica​ liked the most about Wren, was that as of yet, there had been no unnecessary drama, no weirdness between the two of them. That felt good, there were so many people in her life that things were complicated with, Adrien, Esme, Bridget, her parents, Reed, Cece, the list went on really. None of them really had a normal relationship. Though she didn't care that Wren was a little odd (but in the best way) she at least kept things nice and normal. Nodding gently, Veronica smiled. "I'm glad that you're doing well, I would hate to find out that something had happened to you!" She laughed gently. "Yes, I've heard about people and places disappearing. Actually, it happened to me. I won't go into the details too much but my gym -- where I work -- has been replaced by a Church, which is ironic because the gym is called the ​Church​ of Iron and the Church is well ... a church." Looking up at the waitress she smiled gently. "Can I get a fatboy please? And a diet coke?"

“Oh,” ​Wren​ scratched at her neck, her cheeks flushing. She didn’t think Veronica would care if something had happened to her and was surprised to hear otherwise. Especially considering they hadn’t known each other that well. Maybe she was okay. Wren decided to believe that and not anything else. “Does that mean you’re out of a job?” Wren was worried for anyone who was out of job, that was an important thing to have. Wren knew if she didn’t have her work at the Ring she’d probably barely come up with enough money to feed herself. As she ordered her double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake, Wren turned back to Veronica, not feeling so nervous around her anymore. “Yeah, I actually had to drop a class because my professor disappeared. Until they find a new instructor, the class is unavailable.” She shrugged at that, not really minding. She too wasn’t getting any work however, Clare said the Ring would be closed until she fixed security.

"Oh?" ​Veronica​ asked with a gentle smile. Shifting in her chair gently, Veronica grabbed her diet coke when they brought it over and sipped at it thoughtfully. "I guess that for the moment I am out of a job, however it doesn't really matter all that much for the moment, I've got a lot of money that I have saved and my parents are very wealthy and they've made it really clear that if I need any help that they will be more than happy to give it to me." She shrugged gently and smiled, though the smile quickly faded away as she heard Wren's plight. "Oh no, that is really awful!" she replied with a frown, "won't they be able to replace them soon? That doesn't really sound very fair to you. Although if you don't mind then I suppose that it isn't a problem."

“Oh, right right.” ​Wren​ had momentarily forgot about that, Veronica being rich. She really didn't need that job then, Wren supposed. Unlike Wren needed the Ring. Whether she liked it or not. “I'm sure they're trying their best but everyone is kind of used to setbacks at the University so it's fine. I don't really mind.” Wren gave a small shrug knowing she needed to take the class but not letting these things bother her for the time being. She preferred not to be bothered by things she couldn't control and was trying really hard not to get nervous by it. Although it helped that she was nervous about other things. Namely, her hang out with Veronica at the moment. “I'm---”she stumbled over an excuse. “I'm gonna go wash my hands, I'll be right back ok?” She said before getting up and out of her seat. She was doing good, but still couldn't get over her nerves. Maybe some cold water to the face will help.

Raising an eyebrow as Wren departed, ​Veronica​ shifted slightly in her seat and shrugged to herself. Whipping out her phone, she scrolled through it for a moment, sending a message to Bridget before realising that she too had yet to wash her hands. Shaking her head gently, she rose from her seat and made her way across the restaurant and into the bathroom which Wren had just gone into. "Realised I hadn't washed my hands either," she said with a gentle, gracious smile.

As soon as ​Wren​ she went to wash her hand, but out of the corner of her eye, saw someone’s leg have sticking out from the stall. Frowning she took a step toward them when the door opened and she turned around, seeing Veronica. “Oh, yeah,” she remained in the middle of things, not sure if she should point it out, but realized the diner should know if they have someone passed out in their bathroom. “I think,” she stopped, preparing herself for what she was about to say. “I think someone is passed out in the bathroom.” Her voice lowered to a whisper as if there was a chance they could hear. She pointed to the stall, the foot hadn’t moved since she last looked at it.

Shocked, ​Veronica​ turned to look at the stall, her eyes trailed down and she saw the woman's foot that was sticking out from underneath the toilet cubicle. Suppressing a gasp, Veronica moved towards the door and tested it. Shit. It was locked. Looking around, Veronica tried to decide what to do. Normally she would have just busted the door down without a second thought, but since Deirdre's poor reaction to the fact that Veronica was a slayer, it had set her on edge about who she revealed what she was to. Wren, feasibly, could be anything. Probably not a vampire though, but that did not mean that Wren couldn't be something else. Maybe a banshee or a werewolf. Something that was far from fond of slayers. Regardless, there was a woman trapped in there and Veronica had to act. "We've got to see if she is ok." She was determined, setting her jaw, she stepped back before kicking the door down with a heavy foot.

“Oh dang,” ​Wren​ muttered in surprise as she couldn’t believe she kicked down the door. Her eyes widened at the sight, definitely not able to do that herself. At least she didn’t think so… she’d never done anything like that before. She was a bit more intimidated by Veronica now, before giving her the benefit of the doubt and now she knew she was at least badass enough to kick down a bathroom stall, but she still felt relieved she wanted to know the other woman was okay. She could have just left it alone. The woman was just laying on the floor however and her skin didn’t exactly look like it had any color left in it and she didn’t see her breathing. “Do you think she’s dead?” Wren asked, a little interested in getting closer. She kept her distance though, no one needed to know she was intrigued by dead bodies. Her mind went to Regan, wondering if she would have to examine the body if the police came involved.

Veronica straightened up from the kick. Slipping back into a more regular position, one that was much less combat ready, she turned to Wren and shrugged gently. "I had to do a police self defense class once and they taught us that," which wasn't exactly true, but she didn't make a habit of going around and telling people that she was a slayer and the reason that she could kick bathroom doors off of hinges was because she did it a lot with normal doors that were meant to keep the slayers away from the vampires. Doors rarely stopped her. Veronica instinctively dropped to her knees, her fingers sliding up the dead woman's cold neck, she searched for a pulse, but she couldn't find anything. The woman, whoever she was, seemed to be dead. "I think she is dead," Veronica finally whispered.

“So…” ​Wren​ trailed off, eyes on the dead body, getting momentarily distracted. “We should call the cops.” Or 911, or Regan. Who do they call? “Right?” She came a little closer now that they were sure the woman in front of them was dead. No point in being worried she would wake up and attack them, right? Wren could laugh as that thought came to mind, but then she recalled that Regan was working on a dead body that ended up waking up right there on the table. That couldn’t happen again. How could she prevent something like that from happening, though. She wasn’t even sure why it happened in the first place. “I mean, you’re sure she’s dead right?” Wren reached out with her foot to tap at the dead woman’s shoe. “Like really dead?”

Veroncia had to restrain herself from checking for bite marks, or marks that would indicate that this could be a vampire attack. This was now a crime scene, as soon as she became involved she would destroy evidence, infact she had probably already destroyed the evidence a little bit. "Uh, yes, we should definitely call the cops..." she said staring hard at the body. "I don't have my phone on me though, I left it at the table, do you have yours?" she asked as she stepped away from the woman. "We should also probably tell someone in the restaurant, surely?" She frowned gently once more and moved out of the cubicle, biting her lip thoughtfully as she did. "I'm pretty sure she is dead, there was no pulse and she was freezing cold." Then again she could just be a vampire sleeping. But Veronica would have felt that, right?

Wren brought her thumb to her mouth as she put her nail between her teeth, eyes still on the body, not entirely paying attention to what Veronica was saying. Her brain processed it slowly and she blinked, looking back to Veronica. “Huh? Oh - yeah, yeah,” she fumbled with herself to reach for her phone, digging into her pocket to pull it out. “If you want you can tell someone and I’ll stay here with the body,” she motioned for the door, beginning to dial but before she could call, she saw it move out of the corner of her eye. “Did she just -” She pointed at the body, definitely not wanting Veronica to leave now. The body stirred once more before sitting up and the look in her eyes didn’t look very friendly. “Oh - shit,” Wren went to Veronica, which was coincidentally further from the body than she was before.

If ​Veronica​ was perfectly honest this was not how she had envisioned this evening going in the slightest. If anything she had thought that this would be a nice quiet evening with someone who was ​relatively​ normal. It wasn't that she thought that there was anything weird about Wren, it was just that the more you got to know a person in Ashkent Creek, the more you began to realise that not everyone was as normal as they seemed. She of course was no exception. Taking one look at her she wouldn't expect to find out that she was a martial artist / vampire slaying extraordinaire. But regardless, that was what she was. "Sure," she said, starting towards the door before the body sat up and looked at them, "what the fuck?!" she exclaimed, reaching behind her back and pulling a small dagger out of the sheath that she had placed in the small of her back. "Get behind me," she exclaimed, holding the knife out defensively.

“Oh man, not again,” ​Wren​ groaned as she she kept behind Veronica - she didn’t need to be told twice. Although she saw that Veronica had pulled a weapon but from ​where​? Wren didn’t know whether to be more surprised at this secret weapon or the body that just came alive. She heard a snarl from the corpse. Definitely the body. Was this going to be a pattern? Of running into reanimating corpses? Although if it ended with being saved by someone, well, it couldn’t be too bad. Wren had to admit she’d rather have Regan here, but! Veronica was proving to be a good person to have on your side if something happened. Anyone who carries a secret dagger must be right? She was going to hold onto her but she figured that might be too restrictive if she needed to jab that dagger somewhere. The corpse didn’t waste any time before lurching forward. It obviously had no sense because you don’t just lunge toward someone with a weapon. Oh well, it’d pay for its stupidity Wren was sure.

"Not again?" ​Veronica​ asked, though she didn't take her eyes off of the corpse in front of her, without thinking, she lunged forward and stabbed at the corpse. However in her haste, she timed her strike poorly. The knife lodged into the throat of the corpse and as the force knocked it backwards the handle was wrenched from her hand. But that wasn't about to stop Veronica, she wasn't going to let Wren get hurt because she had been inept, without thinking, she struck forwards and slammed her fist into the corpse with as much power as she possibly could. Whoever this was must have suffered a skull injury before death, or maybe Veronica just hit her really hard, because a second later she was pulling her fist from the skull and wincing as she felt a shard of bone dig into her knuckle. "Shit, ow, that really hurt," she said with a wince.

Wren was too caught up in the moment that even though the question entered her ears, it quickly left and she forgot what was even said until Veronica was back on her feet. “Are you okay?” She asked, setting a hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of the bathroom and call someone so they can pick up the body.” She looked back to it. Wasn’t moving anymore and didn’t look like it would again. “And maybe they can look at your hand too?” She asked, her eyes looking down at it, wondering if she was really hurt. It looked like her fist really dug into that skull. Wren was pretty amazed by it all - even if it wasn’t the first time she saw someone’s broken skull and wouldn’t be the last time either.