#Mr Soot with all due respect what the fuck was that

[sunphroggy]

//c!Wilbur finale spoilers

So you're telling me that this man built a whole ass country, didn't let anyone who wasn't european join, which started an election that the result of got both him and his vice president run out of the country, started a revolution against said country to get it back, win that revolution only to elect two children as president and blow up the country seconds later, knocking down the first domino in a long line of events that caused lots of problems for lots of people

AND HE'S NOT EVEN EUROPEAN??!! HES FROM FUCKING UTAH???!!!

#dsmp #mcyt #tommyinnit #technoblade #tubbo #wilbur soot #ranboo #Mr Soot with all due respect what the fuck was that #Utah #Fucking utah #Dream smp #Dream smp lore

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Chapter 8

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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It’s the next Wednesday when the Foster Bitch climbed the stairs up to Techno’s room. Knocking on the doorframe twice, she entered without waiting for an answer.

“Tommy hasn’t been to school all week, and the school called about unexcused absences.” She frowned at him. “You share a room with him, and don’t you drive him to school? Where is he?”

Techno threw his earbuds on his bedside table. “No idea Ma’am. I haven’t seen him since you sent him to pick me up from the station last Thursday. He woke up early and took the bus. I figured he was mad at me and at Tubbo’s. Dream’s been suspended for the incident, so I couldn’t exactly ask him.”

“Don’t you have his number?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

“Yes. But you confiscated his phone two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be taken aback for a second. “Shouldn’t you have Dream’s?”

“That’s for work. Like I said, I thought Tommy was at Tubbo’s. I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

“Mr. Richmon is in the kitchen.”

Ranboo’s dad. “Oh fuck.” Techno rolled out of his bed. He honestly would rather stay on his phone, but she was clearly offloading this on him, and Techno was going to make sure Tommy still had friends. Going to Ranboo’s was the best dinner Tommy ever gets. He doesn’t eat that much when he’s over, because he’ll just vomit it up, but the leftovers he takes back last the two of them a good week. Tommy may not want to be a bother and use up their resources, but Techno knows that he thinks of those leftovers as paying Techno back for everything he does.

Techno rushed down the stairs, jumping two at a time. The old stairs creaked as his feet hit their tops, the planks bending under his weight. In a moment of hesitation Techno stopped suddenly, sliding a little on his socks. He took a moment to collect himself, before making his way into the kitchen.

“Mr. Richmon,” greeted the Foster Bitch appearing next to him. “This is Techno, he’s probably the closest person to your son as Tommy hasn’t been around lately.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” Techno said, straightening his tee-shirt collar.

“Parent teacher interviews, was it?” Mr. Richmon asked, sending a little glare to the Foster Bitch and offering Techno his hand.

His grip was firm, but Techno’s was comparable. “What brings you here?”

“I haven’t seen my son since Friday.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been calling him in absent for a prolonged family issue, but I am well aware of the company he keeps.” Mr. Richmon kept his tone light, but the accusation is heard loud and clear as he pulls out a chair for himself.

Techno tips his head in understanding. “His friends aren’t that bad,” he defends. “But I understand your concern with Tubbo and Purpled’s brothers.”

Mr. Richmon gestures to Techno, “And Tommy’s.”

“I’m not Tommy’s brother. This is a group home. We aren’t related,” he dismissed immediately. “The other guys are blood though.”

Both the Foster Bitch and Mr. Richmon gave him weird looks at his comment.

Techno took them in stride. So what? He knows he’s lying to himself more than he’s trying to convince them. “I can ask Dream and Punz if they know anything,” Techno suggested. “I assume you don’t want to be seen with them?”

Mr. Richmon nodded. “Of course not. This place is dingy enough.”

The Foster Bitch looks affronted, but Techno shushed her with a look. “I’ll try to find your son, but might I recommend going to the police.”

“The less the police know the better,” Mr. Richmon said like it was a mantra of his.

Techno nodded, already trying to figure out how he was going to deal with this. He was the getaway driver who did his homework. Sure he knew a few things, but he didn’t have any street skills. He remembered the purple hoodie at the gas station; he might have wanted to stay oblivious, but he knew who he saw.

Techno and Mr. Richmon left the house at the same time. They got into their respective cars and they drove in opposite directions. Techno headed to Punz’s place--might as well check if they were there. Techno honestly doesn’t know why he had Punz’s key on his lanyard, but due to it he didn’t bother needing to knock.

“Techno’s here!” he shouted; can’t ever be too careful at the mercenary’s house. He doesn’t hear anything back, and since anyone who could possibly be here would shout back in greeting, he assumed that the place was empty. But it doesn’t hurt to check around.

The thing about Punz and his profession is that he had to keep tabs on his targets, and the way he practiced and kept his skills sharp was by keeping tabs on his close associates. Therefore, he normally knows when people plan to stop by.

Techno walked into the living room and found a sticky note on the family computer. “Initiation collateral. Alive,” he reads.

Techno moved the mouse and the screen opened up to an article on one of the dark web sites. “New Las Nevadas Member: Merc. Punz’s Baby Bro.” He quickly scrolled down to the cover photo: open white van doors with Purpled and Tommy grappling on the ground, Ranboo and Tubbo nowhere to be seen. “Shit.”

As he skims the article he pulls out his phone and calls Dream.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Tommy’s for sure not sleeping at your place is he?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“For sure? Is everything okay?”

“No. Is Tommy there?” Techno pressed.

“No, and Tubbo hasn’t checked in with me for a while.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Techno lifted his shoulder, trapping the phone there so that both of his hands were free. He scrolled back up to see the picture again, confirmation that it was, in fact, real. He let out an unsteady breath, and shook out his hands.

“Why? What happened?” Dream’s voice picked up anxiously. “Did you hear something?”

“Yeah. So did Punz.” Techno took a deep breath. “Did he tell you anything?”

“I haven’t spoken to Punz in about a month,” Dream said.

“Mr. Richmon came by the home asking for his son.”

“The kids aren’t at Ranboo’s?” Dream asked, concern hardening his tone.

“Nope. Purpled’s on the news. The way that you’re on the news.”

The line was silent. “Fuck.” The sound of something breaking echoed down the line. “That’s. Bad.”

“Hope its ransom.”

There was a rustle on Dream’s end of the line, as if he was moving something. “Fuck. I’ll look into it. What did Purp get into?”

“Las Nevadas.”

“Fuck. Purpled. Why? What did Mr. Richmon say?”

“That Ranboo was missing and that he came to me because you and Punz live in too much of a shithole for him to visit.”

“I don’t live in a shithole!”

“This place is dingy enough, were his exact words.”

“Ouch.”

It’s been a week. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy were thrown into the same room. It’s objectively a nice room, but a prison is still a prison no matter how lavish the cell. The beds were really comfortable, but it was barren besides them.

They don’t see Purpled again, instead Fundy Soot is the one to bring them their three meals a day. You’d think that one could never get sick of pizza, but eventually--especially with the mood so sour--there comes a breaking point.

“Did someone order a meat-lovers?” The door opens and Fundy is inside the room with three cardboard plates, two slices on each. “Your dinner is here.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy said digging into his slices.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Fundy smiles vindictively. Sue him, he hates babysitting duty. “Who’s gonna shut me up? Your brother?” he asks, looking at Tubbo. “That little amateur couldn’t do anything. Petty thieving is the highest form of sin you know?” Fundy said like he was reciting something.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy repeated, noticing how Tubbo froze.

“You too? What’s your brother going to do? He’s just the fucking getaway driver. He can’t help you. Big Brother Techno Blade isn’t as strong as you think he is, little Tommy.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tommy shouted. “Techno may be friends with Dream, but he’s not doing that shit.”

“Didn’t you pick him up from the station? You’re lying to yourself. You know that Techno is in with Dream.”

“No he’s not! And don’t you have something better to do with your time? College or some shit?”

Fundy chuckled humourlessly. “The faster you eat, the faster I’m out of your room.”

Tommy glared and shoved a whole slice into his mouth.

“No one’s coming to save you,” he taunted.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. We sent the ransom video,” he said moving onwards. “Instead Mr. Richmon hired Techno and Dream for free. Seems Daddy doesn’t care about his son enough to save you immediately.”

That’s the point that Tubbo broke. Tubbo could take a verbal bashing; Tommy would be pissed if he attacked on his behalf; but Ranboo? Ranboo was the most innocent here and didn’t need familial jabs.

Tubbo lurched from his bed and swung at Fundy Soot, sending him down to the floor. “Where the fuck is your big brother? He fucking failed you if you had to get dragged in the life style to survive.” Tubbo punched Fundy again after he was down. “Where is he huh? At least my brother managed to keep me out of this shit.”

Tommy rushes over to pull Tubbo back. “Shh. Shh. We can’t afford this. He's top dog here.”

Fundy laid on the floor, arms out and protecting his face.

“We’re done eating,” Tommy growls. “Get out.”

Ranboo, thoroughly shaken, picks up the plates and puts them in Fundy’s hands, standing in between the two groups so Fundy couldn’t retaliate. If any of them needed to come out of this looking pretty it’s him: the rich boy.

#Technoblade #Dreamwastaken #TommyInnit #Tubbo #Ranboo #Fundy #These Streets Are Made For Walking

[effortlessly-bored]

The Bucket List - Michael Gray

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Bartending? Yes sir, worked at the pub in my old town for a year. This is a letter of recommendation from them," I say, handing over the tattered piece of paper. 

"And if I call this number I will be able to talk to the owner of this real and respectable pub?" 

"Of course, Mr Shelby. Well; real pub, yes; respectable, less so." 

"Good. Do you drink yourself?"

"Yes sir, but not in excess and not on the job." 

"What about drugs?" 

"No sir. Not even for headaches."

He makes a grunt of acknowledgement. "I know that these are different questions that are fairly..."

"Odd?" I offer.

"Thorough." He corrects. "We've had some issues in the past with the reliability of our barmaids; so you'll have to excuse me. However, you should note that, with the other businesses I'm involved in, I need people I can trust in my life. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, absolutely sir. And I assure that, if awarded the job, I would be an exemplary employee." 

"I believe you. What is it brought you to Birmingham, Emma?"

"School, Mr Shelby."

"The nursing school or the secretarial school?" 

"Neither, Sir. The law school across town opened 5 spots for women this year and I was accepted."

"Really? You must be smart, eh? How would you feel about handling the Garrisons books as well; Harry is a great barkeep but not the greatest with numbers."

"I can absolutely take that on, Mr Shelby!" He chuckles slightly to himself. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, you just remind me of our old barmaid. Very similar. Anyways, the job is yours if you'd like it!" 

"Yes! Thank you very much Mr Shelby, I promise you won't regret it." I exclaim reaching to shake his hand. 

“Good. Well, I’ll walk you to the Garrison, give you the lay of the land.” It’s only when Mr. Shelby stood up, that Emma realized how intimidating he really was. Tall and lean, with eyes that looked through your soul, it made Emma nervous for a second before she realized how kind he had been thus far. Mr Shelby walk her through the Shelby Company Ltd offices, explaining how finances for the Garrison were handled by a man named Michael Gray. All receipts, books and paychecks were to be signed off by him at the end of the month. 

Thomas explained that his company had many different types of business other than just pubs. The Shelby Company was a large and growing corporation according to him. Emma could see the pride in his eyes as well as the ambition. 

Mr Shelby shrugged on his overcoat and helped Emma put hers on as they left his offices. A burst of wind surprised Emma as she opened the door to leave the building, making her realize how cold it was. Thomas chuckled a little before putting on his cap, razor blades stitched into the peak. 

The streets of Birmingham were very different than her old town, dirtier and darker. It didn’t bother Emma, she was just happy she made it there. She was feeling self-conscious of her outfit though. She had worn her nicest dress for the interview and it was embarrassingly bright and fancy; light green stitching heavily contrasting the bleak surroundings. Her shoes were also decimated, covered with mud, coal, and other things she dared not think about. She made a mental note to save up for a new pair of shoes that could withstand all that Birmingham threw at them. 

After turning a few corners, Emma saw a sign that read "The Garrison" above a fairly nice looking pub. Mr Shelby led her there through a street that sat next to some sort of factory. Emma couldn't help but think of her luscious home when she saw the men covered in soot and smoke. Thomas opened the door for her and Emma took a step inside her new office.  

It was lovely and posh inside, much nicer than she expected. There was a private room to her right, but the rest of the bar was open with a place for dancing my and a band. Leather booths lined the walls except for one where the actual bar was. It was almost impossibly high, with a mirror behind the shelves of alcohol. It was all nice stuff too, nothing like the things they passed off for 'top shelf' at her old pub. There were a few men already in the bar despite it being midday. One man behind the counter and a few others who looked like dawn to dusk drunks. Like most things in Birmingham so far, The Garrison was intimidating. 

Many of the men inside had straightened up a bit since they came in; sitting up straighter, talking quieter. The bartender had already poured Mr Shelby a glass of whisky and bowed his head slightly. Thomas put a shilling on the counter before explaining to Harry that Emma was the new barmaid. 

Harry had kind eyes and calloused hands, quickly moving to shake Emma's. "Welcome to the team, I'm sure you'll do great!" 

"Thank you, I'm just here to learn to ropes and work hard." She smiled back. 

Tommy was satisfied with the number of pleasantries, going on to explain that Emma would help handle the books. "Alright, well, I think you two can figure it out from here. Emma, you can help Harry tonight; Saturday night rush and that. And you two can also figure out a schedule for the next month if you have time. Best of luck to both of you, I'll see you tonight." Then with a gulp of his whiskey and tip of his hat, Mr Shelby was gone. 

"First lesson, oh young one, anyone with the last name Shelby drinks for free. Understand?" Emma nods vigorously. "Good. There are some aprons in the back, grab one then we can get started." 

"Aye aye, sir." Emma salutes before rolling up her sleeves. 

It was almost six o’clock on the dot when men started pouring into The Garrison. Harry explained that most men from the factory went home at five, cleaned up and ate with their families before spending the night drinking. Emma poured beer after beer, introduced herself as the “new barmaid” what felt like hundreds of times and it was barely half-past nine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Shelby and a few other men make their way into the private room and close the door. 

“You best get in there and take their orders; remember the first rule?” Harry says.

“Shelby’s drink free.” Emma replies, walking out from behind the bar. She carefully avoided the drunk and dancing men as she made her way to the door.

Inside, Mr Shelby was sitting with four other men, three in the booth and one on a chair with his back facing Emma. The room smelled like tobacco with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke in the middle. All six were dressed impeccably in lavish, expensive suits. 

“Emma! How’s your first night going?” Thomas asks.

“Good, sir, thank you for asking.”

"Glad to hear it. This is my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy points to a skinny man on his left with a large moustache who quickly nods. “My younger brother, John.” John is slightly larger than Arthur. He stands up to quickly shake Emma’s hand. “Our youngest sibling, Finn.” Finn has a bit of a boyish look to him, young and happier than his brothers. He’s obviously nervous at Emma's presence only waving quickly before ducking his head. "Last but not least, Isaiah." Tommy introduces. 

"Another brother?" Emma jokes due to the obvious fact that none of the Shelby boys could be related to their Isaiah, who was black contrasting the Shelby's pale pigments. Emma joke earned her a chuckle from the men and a kiss on the hand from Isaiah, who she could already tell was a huge flirt. 

“Don’t mind Isaiah, he’s a bit of a whore.” Arthur quips.

“It's no problem. So, four top-shelf Irish whiskeys coming up!" Emma says, trying to leave as soon as she could. 

"Make it five," Isaiah says. 

"Our cousin Michael will be joining us soon," John explains. 

"Five whiskeys coming right up!" Emma spun around and was reaching for the handle when the door swung open and a large man bumped into her. She quickly mumbled a few apologies, as did the main, before looking up to see someone Emma believed would never return to her life.

It was Henry.

He was taller now, slightly more muscular, but his boyish looks had lasted the three years since they had last seen each other. His eyes were slightly more tired with larger bags under them. He had traded his tweed for a sleek, dark suit. Henry had a few cuts on his face, as well as some new scars. Despite the differences, Emma instantly knew that this man was Henry. 

Henry knew it was Emma, even from the quickest of glances. It startled him, to see her again. She had the same perfume on that she had worn since he gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. Her hair was longer and lighter than since the last time they’d seen each other. She looked exactly like he had expected her to, after all the times he’d thought of her. 

“Henry!” Emma nearly shouted at the same time he said “Emma!” They both chuckled nervously at their outburst; both keenly aware of the prying eyes in the room.

“Henry? Do you two know each other?” Tommy quickly interjects. 

It’s the first time they break eye contact for the first time since their encounter; Emma breaking it to reply to Mr Shelby. “Henry and I grew up together. It’s nice to see you,” She nods at him. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Henry/Michael watches her leave, still confused as to what she was doing in Birmingham, in the Garrison of all places. Everyone else in the room were snickering at the dumbfounded look on his face. He hadn’t closed his mouth for two minutes. Eventually, Thomas broke the silence. “You two seem… close. Were you friends?”

“I was going to marry her,” Michael/Henry mumbled to himself, still dumbstruck. 

Arthur lets out a low whistle as if to say, “Fuck, man.”

“So you and Emma were close I take it.” John chuckles. The boys continued ribbing Michael until the handle on the door started to turn.

Emma walked into the eerily quiet room, with a tray full of drinks. She hadn’t been able to slow her heart rate since she left the men before. Emma's hands were slightly shaky, making her tray with the drinks wobble a bit. Michael/Henry quickly steadied the tray, helping her put it on the table. Emma mumbles a quick thank you before handing out the whiskeys. The tray has one whiskey still on it and a dark beer. 

"I, um, don't know what you drink now, so I just got you what you used to have, Henry." Emma gives a quick glance in his direction before handing him the glass. A few of the men chuckled quietly. 

"I'm Michael!" Michael almost shouts, his mouth working before his brain. He quickly clears his throat before continuing. "I just mean, I go by Michael now. Michael Gray." 

"Oh, well, that's a nice name. Here's your whiskey then." Emma doesn't know what to say next, there are too many questions and this was most definitely not the right audience for them. 

"Have a seat, Emma!" John says, scooting over, making room for her to sit. "Tell us what Michael was like when he was young."

"You don't have to do that," Michael says quickly, sending a glare at John.

"Maybe later, I think I need to help Harry outside." It was the most diplomatic answer she could think of. 

"Harry can handle himself," Thomas says,  clearly amused, pushing the extra beer in her direction. "Take a break."

Knowing there was no way out, Emma sat down and took a large gulp of the beer. "What do you want to know?"

"Were you two close?" Arthur asks, curious as to what Emma's answer would be.  

"Oh yeah, Henry and I were best friends since he came to town. Our mums were close and we were always in the same class at school." Emma didn't know if it was the beer or the fond memories but she couldn't help but smile. Michael was smiling too, he did miss the old town sometimes. Usually just her though. 

"So you two were just friends?" Isaiah asked. Michael glared as if to say "Subtle". 

"I mean I guessed we dated for a few years before he left. We never really called each  'boyfriend' or anything; it was just exactly what we did before but now we kissed while we did it." Emma said, staring at the ground. Usually, she wouldn't divulge this much to glorified strangers but she had snuck a few shots in when she went to get their drinks; and, along with the beer she was nursing, she felt her nervousness fade. 

“And what kind of hell did you two raise in that tiny town, eh?”

Emma couldn’t help but snort; they had never been anything but angels in town. "Study, mostly. Henry helped out a lot at home so we'd study there; or if it was nice enough. Then, of course, there was a church on Sundays." 

Emma and Michael shared the same fond look on their face, thinking about how good things were. 

"Michael, teacher's pet! I never would have guessed!" John teases. "Top of your class, I'm sure."

All their heads turned when Michael spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. "I was second... in class. Emma was always at the top of the class; boys and girls." He had always been proud of how smart Em was. They looked at each other intensely, neither knowing what to say. 

"You could have beaten me if you paid more attention, you never listened," Emma said, only looking at Henry. "All you'd do was pass me notes with cartoons on them."

Michael shrugged. "Ms Williams was a piss poor teacher and I knew you'd teach whatever we learned later."

There was a slight pause before Thomas cut in for the first time. "When I met Michael, he wouldn't stop talking about some well he was gonna blow up; he ever tell you about his plans?"

Michael looked slightly shocked that Tommy remembered that. Emma was shocked Henry had told someone else about his plan. 

"Um, yeah. The night our exams ended, we got drunk in the field in town and Henry started making all these promises, even wrote down this life plan of his." Emma and Michael shared the same remorseful look. "Number one, graduate and go to business school together. Number two, blow up the 'stupid white well in the ungodly small town'. Number three, get married. Number four, get rich and live happily ever after." It took a lot of effort for her voice not to crack. 

"What happened to the well?" Finn asked, failing to read the room. 

"It's still their, mostly. I, uh, took my dad's hammer to it after my mom died."

"Your mom died?" Michael gasps genuinely shocked. 

Emma nods before adding, "'Bout two months after you left and never came back."

"I'm so sorry, Em. I really loved Nellie, it's a damn shame." 

"She loved you too, she was almost angrier than me after you left." There was a long, pregnant pause. Michael and Emma just stared at the ground while the boys looked for a way out of the uncomfortable situation. Michael had never been more ashamed. 

It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence. "What about church? I've only heard Mick call out for god when he's with broad." It was a nice attempt at making the conversation light-hearted again; however, it only embarrassed Michael and shocked Emma. 

She really didn't think about Henry dating anyone else, even though she had. He had always been so adamant about their future, saying she was the one. 

Emma realized she had to answer after snapping back to reality. "Henry and I had to go but never wanted to; so, we made a game where we had to make the other laugh as loud as possible. Even got kicked out a few times."

"Sounds like you two were a wild pair." Isaiah jokes. 

"Did you, uh, go with anyone after I left?" 

Emma had stayed so incredibly calm throughout their conversation so far, but this finally made her lose it a bit. "Was I supposed to just wait and hope that maybe you'd come back?! Should I have just waited for the life you promised me, huh? God, Henry, of course I moved on."

"Who? Who'd you go with?" Michael knew he had no right to ask but he needed to know. 

"Well, not that you have any fucking right to ask or that it's any of your fucking business but it was George Palmroy." Emma almost didn't tell him, but she knew how much Henry hated George and that it would make him angry. To be honest, that was the only reason she went on a few dates with George. 

"George fucking Palmroy," Michael spat at her, his getting redder with anger. "You wasted your time with that fucker; are you insane?!"

"You know what Henry, I've only gone with two boys in my life and only one of those relationships was a fucking waste of time! I'll give you a guess as to which one that was." 

It was a full-fledged fight now, both of them standing and shouting. Even when they dated, Michael and Emma didn't fight often; but, when they did, the fights would last days and make both their voices hoarse. 

"Em, come on," Michael sighed in defeat, reaching for her arm.  Emma violently jerked her arm out of his reach. 

"I'm glad you don't call yourself Henry anymore, as far as I'm concerned you don't deserve that name. As soon as you decided that that name wasn't good enough for you, that I wasn’t good enough, you turned to shit. I hope it was worth the fancy suit." Emma quickly turned to the other men and said, "Just holler if you need another." 

Emma scurried out quickly, leaving her beer behind and shutting the door. She could tell that most of the people in the bar were staring, having heard a lot of shouting between Henry and Emma through the walls. She carefully made it behind the bar without making eye contact with anyone. Harry gave her a kind look and told Emma to go work on the books in the back for a bit. 

Meanwhile, back in the private room, Michael was absolutely dumbstruck about everything that had just happened. His cousins had each offered the rest of their own drinks after he downed his in one gulp. Michael was not one to be dumbfounded but Emma always had that effect on him, ever since they were kids. Mickey loosened his tie and downed a few of the offered whiskeys before Tommy spoke up. 

"Do you want me to fire her?"

"What? No of course not! No, she needs this job, and at least when she's here I can make sure she's safe and taken care of; try and make it up to her."

"You're really gonna try to get her back?" Arthur questions, condescendingly.

"I should have never left her in the first place." Michael sat back in his chair brainstorming while Tommy excused himself and left the private room.

When he didn't see her behind the bar Tommy knew Emma would be in the office. Before opening the door, Thomas listened, trying to figure out if Emma was crying in the office. When he didn't hear sobbing Tommy decided it was safe to open the door. 

Emma was sitting in the old wooden chair with a very similar look as, both shocked. Emma had a slightly more angry look, eyebrows slightly creased and a small frown. There were two tear stains down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away when she saw her boss. 

"Mr Shelby, I'm so sorry about that! I promise that will never happen again-"

"I'm gonna tell you a story about Michael. About two weeks after he first moved here, Michael showed up at my home, piss drunk and weeping about some girl. Cried to me about how he should never have left her; how she was the love of his life. No matter how many times I asked him, he wouldn't tell me her name. You see, sometimes the business we do can get, well, dangerous; and he didn't want this girl involved. So, when he woke up the next day we made a sort of plan as to how he could be with this girl again. He was going to make enough money and then leave the family business and find her. About two months later, someone shot my wife right in front of my whole family. And I couldn't do anything to save. Grace died because of the business, and I'll always blame myself for her death." Tommy could only look at the ground. "Anyways, Michael was there when it all happened and I think after that he figured out that the only way you'd really be safe is if you stayed away from it."

"He could have written or something," Emma said pathetically. She could already feel herself forgiving him, despite the years she'd been upset. 

"All I'm saying is that I truly believe he never stopped loving you. That list you talked about? He keeps it in his desk, in the only drawer that locks. I’ve walked in on him staring at it at least a dozen times. And I don't think you'd be that upset at him if you were truly indifferent." With that, Tommy went back to the private room, leaving Emma to consider everything. 

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #michael gray #Michael Shelby #michael gray imagine

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

Red Right Hand XI

—

The fog had rolled off of the river as Michael had left the small house along the river he head gone to the previous night with his boy. The old house that the three had once lived, before the struggles of vice, before the separation of war, before the death of the third, had stood empty for the past six years, but it allowed them a bolt hole the Black Eyes or Catholics would not look for them. It had been a cold and tense night, barely sleeping in the old moth and mould eaten beds.

As day broke, father and son left the cottage and returned to the city, the boy to join his grandmother as she visited friends to ensure Michael’s orders were carried out - the other to the run down pub.

Michael was the first of the brothers to arrive, letting himself into the building and pouring four glasses of whiskey as he awaited the arrival of the others.

They were due to distribute his brother’s guns throughout the surrounding warehouses and workshops that surrounded The Fort that morning, and ensure that all were ready and prepared for the confrontation that wasy due at any moment. A relay of watchers were waiting to transmit the message the moment the forces from the north neared the city, a literal city’s worth of eyes and ears open and waiting.

The first to arrive was Jeffrey, shirt torn and with clear blood splatter around his wrists and chest, with a cocky grin upon his face and hands wrapped in bandages. “Mikey, old man, how are you this fine morning? Get a good nights rest back in the ol’ home?”

“Jeffrey. Please tell me you are still fresh for a fight.” “Just a few bruises here and there. You should see the others. Plus, I got a very good nights sleep afterwards with little June.” “Cynthia not available?” “Unfortunately had a trip to the country, if you know what I mean.”

Michael rolled his eyes at his brother, his antics never changing even in the face of another day in gun fire. The pair sank back into their chairs, talking about the plan for the gambling den while the rowhouse was out of commision, talking on the plan for the days leading up to the arrival of the Catholics and Black Eyes on their door. Or lapsing into quiet, sombre or uninterested silence.

Jackson appeared about an hour later, hair brushed and looking more put together and at peace than either Michael or Jeffrey looked or felt. There was an almost persistant smile at the corner of his mouth as the shorter man sat down and joined the pair. The two younger brothers began bickering, snarky responses and crass jokes, crude comments responding to mean jabs. The same continual argumentatative relationship that had been fostered since they were children never ceased.

Michael frowned as they waited for the fourth man to arrive, the barman that was sent along with several others to collect and bring the stolen weapons back with them. Harry Spangler and the group sent were all well known for their punctuality. If something had gone wrong, if the group had been followed or intercepted, the strategy would need to be reworked and their chance at surviving the coming fury would be lost.

The clock hit nine before the door opened, the short dark haired man sidling into the building with one machine gun under his arm and two cases of ammunition in hand.

“Spangler. What took you so long to get back?” Michael rose to his feet, frown slowly sliding off of his face as the concern the group might have been attacked or intercepted in some way fading back. The unpleasant look on the younger man’s face however did not settle the slight nerves that had been building. “ Did you already distribute the weapons?”

“Uh… not exactly.” “What do you mean not exactly.” “Well, we collected the gun.” “Yes?” “The, uh, one gun.”

The barman appeared to shrink as they spoke, his eyes darting between each of the Visyak’s eyes but never stopping for longer than a moment. As he said the one, he sat the gun under his arm upon the table top with the ammunition together.

The bar echoed with the silence at that announcement, blue eyes all staring down at the singular gun remaining to their name unseeingly.

It could not be possible. There was no way anyone could have known. Only the three of them had known the contents of the casket that had been buried under the name of their friend and colleague. Nobody had known that not only were the Shadows in possession of the stolen machine guns, but that the young man who’s grave they were hidden in was not dead. Those that had known of the guns, had not been involved with the burial - a knowledge only the three brothers had shared between them.

“Who did this? Who did either of you talk to?!“ Michael found himself rounding upon the other two shell-shocked Shadows. His breathing was drawn in in heavy gasps, fists thrust hard against the table top making bullets rattle and both other men jump to their feet.

This was their chance to make a change, to turn the tide and push the family forward beyond his wildest dreams, his craziest goals, his grandest ambitions. It had all been pinned upon the metal hidden and concealed so cleverly in an empty grave for a unfallen comrade. This had been the start of his push to grasp out at the thing that was always just out of reach, the happiness always dancing two steps ahead of him ever since that letter, that he had intended to wrap his arms around with a hail of bullets and blood.

“Which fucking one of you did this?!”

—

It had not been hard to locate the house, or at least what used to be a house. The smoky residue on the door way and soot blacking out the windows gave the location away immediately. She had not travelled along the street knowingly before, in passing she thought she may have turned down the path on her way about town but she had never intentionally found her way to the door step.

No one was there, obviously. The neighbours doors and windows were all closed and the street felt almost abandoned, like the gaping black hole where the door should have been was sucking the life out of the surroundings itself.

Joanna steeled herself to approach, shoulders tugging backwards as she forced herself forward. Her shoes left imprints as she crossed the threshold and into the empty building.

Clearly not everything has been destroyed, the work space she could see through the blasted off door way looked mostly untouched by the flames but covered with a thin film of ash. There were tables that only looked to have been shifted by the force of the blast but withstood the flames that had engulfed the private end of the houses.

It was clear to her how respected the family was in the area that the place had not been ransacked once the flames had been defeated.

The family end of the house she stood in had not fared as well. Everything was black, burnt or indistinguishable from the other items near them. She moved to the wall nearest her, wiping the ash coated, cracked glass of a photo frame to uncover the stoic faces of the family.

Turning her back upon it, Joanna moved her way carefully further into the building towards the business end of the combined rooms. Fingers drawing across the ashy desk top, she decided to place the letter atop the pile of books - the black ink spelling out the man’s name clear as day on the white paper surrounded by the grey soot.

As she looked at the letter, fingers twitching between wanting to grab it back up and wanting to leave it there, there was a creak of a floorboard behind her. Jumping, Joanna held her hand to her chest, eyes blown wide as she looked behind her at the woman in the doorway.

In the months that the Irish girl had been in the city, she had only ever seen glimpses of the other woman, the matriach of the Faceless Shadows and the backbone of the Visyak faily. Occasionally the older blonde had stopped by The Fort for a drink to speak with one of her son’s, or seen in passing in the high street and markets. However they had never spoken, and Joanna was barely even certain if the mother would recognise her for who she was.

“Good morning, Mrs Visyak..” The younger woman started, brushing her hands off on her skirts, mindless to the streaks of black now trailing along the fabric. “I’m sorry ta have just barged in an’ all, didn’t hear anyone when I came in.”

“That is alright, dear.” There was a frown on Eleanor’s face as she stepped further into the building, looking around as trying to see what had been stolen or stashed away by the younger one, until her eyes fell upon the only unburnt item nearby. Approaching, the older woman picked up the letter as Joanna shuffled out of her way, eyes darting between the woman and the door as if judging whether to make a run for it. As the matriach’s finger ran over the name, Joanna found herself staring into a pair of brown eyes not dismilliar from her own, an uncertain look on the woman’s face. “I see you were here to see my son, correct?”

“Oh, no, I was just leavin’ that for him.” “And not to speak with him?” “No, ma’am. I was… I’m due ta be leavin’ the city today and just-” “You were leaving him a note to inform him you were leaving?” “Yes, exactly. Just so he’d, uh, know where I went.” “But not to speak with him?” “No, no, it’s all in that letter so I didn’t-”

Joanna found herself stumbling over how to explain what she had come to do, it did not make much sense even to herself, and her father would probably lay her over his knee about going there regardless that she was full grown now. The frown forming on the woman’s face made her stomach drop further at the repeated question about not wanting to speak with the man directly.

The older woman looked at her carefully for a moment before sliding the letter into her coat’s pocket. “Well, I will ensure my son gets this in a timely fashion then. Since he is not due back here for quite some time.”

“Oh, oh okay, thank you ma’am.” “May I ask who the letter is from, miss?” “Uh, tell him it’s from Joanna. He’ll know who it is from.” “Of course, I will make sure to deliver this to him right away.”

Joanna found herself nodding repeatedly, hands fisted in the folds of her skirt as she spoke to the other. Something about the woman terrified her - perhaps it was the cold look on her face, or the sharp fashion of her clothes, or the way the woman held herself as if ready to strike at any moment - and the younger blonde knew she would need to leave almost immediately before the woman saw right through her.

“I’ll leave you to your morning, ma’am, and thank you again.” She mumbled the words out as she made her way carefully and backwards through the burnt husk of the house. Her nose felt full of the smell of smoke which she had not experienced for eight long years, and blinking back the memory as she tried to remain emotionless but polite to the older woman, Joanna found herself backed up against the wall near the front door. As the matriach turned her own back and moved further towards the non-impacted end of the building, the Irish girl found her eye catching the family portrait, all stoic in the face of the destruction around it, and fled the building and soon the city as soon as she could.

—

The station was a flurry of movement and then stationary, of screams and shouts and then an echoing silence, of action and then inaction. It was as if the building was being split four ways in even pieces, pulling and tugging and dragging the force as whole to a stand still.

The tall blond officer leant against the open doorway to the Chief Constable’s office smoking as he observed the tug of war in the pit in front of him. The Chief Constable himself was sat at his desk with one hand supporting his head as he tried to block out the noise of it all. Robert Singer could ignore the madness for only so long, but William would stand guard until that time came.

Out in the pit, the two other factions of the cities police force tore into one another.

Those who had been on the payroll of the Black Eyes Gang for years had slumped into their chairs, refusing the demands to stand, to assemble and to react to the calls that had been coming in for the last hour that a convoy of cards had been seen approaching the city with armed men. Those few who had been on the books for the Catholics had likewise refused to move to intercept the cars travelling toward the city.

Shouting and threatening in response, moving about the area faster than William thought some of the men had the ability to do, was the other section of the force - led by Special Investigator Gordon Walker and his group of loyal officers - whom were trying to ensure the police would assemble and restore order to the city from the rumours that there were armed men camping in old factories and warehouses. Of rumours the armed men approaching the city were coming to have a proper gunfight with the others. Of rumours that the city was about to be torn down the middle by warring gangsters, and that blood was to pour down the streets sooner than not.

Of rumours there were machine guns in the street.

Letting out a plume of smoke, William turned and entered the Chief’s office, shutting the door behind him quietly. As the two with the least known connections to any of the gangsters of the city, and of those that currently held control in the area, William knew he would need to fall in line and support the older man.

“So..” “So, it is war on the streets of Birmingham, yes.” “Do you believe it will get that bad, sir?” “Perhaps. Though perhaps not depending how they manage to resolve this power squabble.”

Nodding, William sank into the chair on the opposite side of the desk of his superior, taking a drag from his cigarette. The noise outside the door continued to swell, crescendo and then break into nothingness, but neither man inside the office seemed to react much.

“Should we not be sending support to stop it?” “Why would we bother with that, Reynolds? Why would we stop the inevitable?” “You believe that we should do nothing then?” “Not nothing, no. We should be prepared to smooth the peace, and we should be directing civillians to avoid potential areas of danger. We should be ensuring a peaceful resolution. We should be doing many, many things Reynolds.” “So… why are we not doing these?”

William found himself frowning across at the knowing look on the older man's face. He found sometimes that talking to the senior officer that he would receive that look a lot when he questioned the other's commands or directions. And then later, William would be confronted with the reason the older man did things the way he did with a rueful shake of his head and chuckle at the follies of youth and impatience. However he was not sure how this would turn out that way.

"Look out in that room, Reynolds," the chief stated, leaning in his own chair to pick up the cup of tea that was perpetually on the man's desk. William could never tell if it was simply tea inside it. Rising from his chair, the blond man moved to look through the slatted blinds out into the chaos. Raising a brow, he gestured for the man to continue. "What do you see, boy?"

"Division. Arguments and deflection?" "True, what else?" "Two sides wanting to complete opposing objectives?" "Correct again. What else?"

The inspector stared out into the madness for a solid minute. Special Investigator Grodon Walker stormed between desks like a dark storm and whirlwind through the station. He physically hurled the resisting officers to their feet as he moved around the room, voice raging through the room like cracks of thunder. The blond could see the investigator tear Dean Winchester from where he had been slouched in his chair with his feet resting upon his desk. The local wrenched himself from the other’s grip and shoved the other man back from him harshly. Both men stepped right back into eachother space, snarling and shoving as they went, with a few of the nearby officers turning to watch. William let out a long, harsh sigh as he rubbed at his forehead in frustration.

“A room full of idiots destroying everything.” “And you would send those men out onto the streets, where there are frightened civilians and trigger happy gangsters around every corner?”

William froze, looking out at the aggression and fighting beginning to boil over out in the pit, as the realisation flooded through him. Turning slowly, he looked over at the older man who was looking at him with the same knowing look. Robert lifted the cup to his lip at that moment, and gave a small salute of understanding to the other as William moved away from the noisy madness outside to join the other in a drink and waiting out what was to come.

—

The early hours of the morning had faded away in a blur to him as the other two restrategised. Jeffrey had barely factored the existance of more than two dozen machine guns into his interest in the coming fight, the concept of being so hands off, so far away from the blood and glory of besting your opponent had not settled with him since he’d returned to England. That the other pair had had some grand scheme involving the weapons did not interest him.

They were there to kill the leaders of those two dumbfuck gangs that tried to stand in their way. Two bullets, simple enough.

Jeffrey had leapt over the top of the bar and begun pouring his drinks freely as the hours whittled away awaiting the arrival of their foes. His senses were always best when he was numb enough not to feel his own pain but still focussed and quick enough to react and feel the pleasure of the fight. He had not poured for either of the other men after the stocky, short barman had scurried off somewhere for something.

It had barely reached noon before his nephew came running through the back door, panting and looking a little worse for wear still after the last week. However the boy was grinning from ear to ear with a bloody smile Jeffrey knew all too intimately. “They’re here, they’re about to round the corner.”

“Good work, son. Now, I want you to go find your grandmother and protect her.” “What the fuck Da-” “Now, Ian. Take this with you too.”

Jeffrey poured and swallowed another glass of whiskey as the father and son spoke, making his way back out from behind the bar. Michael had a hand clamped tightly on the boy’s shoulder, but at the same time held a pistol out to the kid with a determined look. He could see his other brother raising a brow before the boy finally accquised and ran back out the back door, pistol tucked into his coat jacket.

“Well, shall we get to it?” Michael’s voice switched from the controlled and cool tone he had used with his boy as he looked between both brothers, Jeffrey giving a wicked grin in response and checking his gun was correctly loaded without replying. He could see the runt do the same with his own before pulling his cap down further over his forehead.

The blond brother gave another nod as he checked his own weapon and then pushed outside through the double doors in a flurry of his dark coat and swallowed by the white light of the sun. Jeffrey held his gun in one hand as he raised a brow at his other brother before following suit out of the pub.

The pair stalked across the cobblestone street towards the direction that both could see the three cards stopped. There was a small congregation of men exiting the vehicles as they approached, joined by the old barman and their third brother after a minute.

Stopping twenty feet from the other men, Michael stood ramrod straight as he stared the group down. Jeffrey could see Jackson slumped shouldered but with a determined look on his face to the left of their brother from his position on the right, and the short darkhaired barman next to him again. The barman surprisingly seemed to be holding the machine gun in his hands calmly.

“Gabriel, Crowley.. Gentlemen, welcome to our Birmingham.” Michael spoke calmly, and Jeffrey found himself smirking across the space towards the other group who had begun to shift uncertainly at the barman and the machine gun’s arrival. “Let me start by saying, you are in a disadventageous position right now. We would like to resolve this situation with as little bloodshed as possible, we will forgive this act if you turn around and leave right now.”

The crowd of men, outnumbering the Shadows by two-to-one but with the arrival of the machine gun not outgunning them, all appeared to shift uncomfortably for a moment. The divide of factions clear between the Black Eyes Gang and the Catholics.

Although Crowley and Gabriel stood at the forefront, equal and together united, there was a clear imbalance behind them. Azazel, Samhain, Brady, Elsworth and Azazel’s boy Tom were all stood firm behind Crowley; while those standing to Gabriel’s side looked decidedly uncertain as to the right reaction to the Shadow’s words. Castiel shuffled awkwardly beside Uriel and Balthazar who looked equally contemptuous towards the Black Eyes and Shadows alike.

“Michael, Big Ol’ Mikey, love, don’t you think this has gone a little further than a friendly tete-tete?” Crowley spoke calmly, eyes dancing around between the Shadows and across to Gabriel who was frowning thoughtfully beside him.

“Perhaps it has, Crowley, but the offer must be made. We have all had blood shed on either side in this fight thus far. Let us avoid shedding much more.” Michael appeared calm externally, and if Jeffrey did not know him as well as he did, he may very well have taken his words to be genuine. Knowing his brother however, the dark haired shadow smirked as he looked towards the group of foes in the knowledge that this was simply diversionary. Buying time and holding the group back for the time to strike.

That time seemed to come in a rush as the sound of an explosion came from behind him, and he could feel the sudden warmth of flames from somewhere behind him. Jeffrey found a laugh coming to his lips as he watched their opponents react - throwing themselves to the ground or crouching, eyes wide and darting around uncertainly. He could feel more than see that his brothers’ and the other Shadow had not moved an inch as The Fort was engulfed in flames and the small of burning alcohol filled the air.

Jeffrey smirked wider as he glanced behind himself for a moment, watching his ball and chain go up in smoke. The flames danced and soared, flashes of green and white in amongst the orange, smoke blocking out the sun and the firey light source stretching the four Shadows’ own out to reach their opponents and swallow their faces.

---

#AU stories #peakyverse fic

[mymind--themess]

Terms of Entrapment -- Prologue

Here I was...again.

The wet Romanian soil that mixed with soot beneath my feet was cold in comparison to the chaotic fire in front of me. Even so far away from the biggest of the flames, I could still feel the waves of it's warmth on my pale skin. The fire seemed to be alive as it swept through the estate before me and swiftly down the hill it sat upon. I didn't even gag at the smell of the rotting flesh  assaulting my nose --  it was expected considering a faceless corpse wasn't far from me. Besides, the scent wasn't as bad as it would've been had it not began to downpour. My  copper red locks clung to my drenched gown, and I couldn't help but  stare at my drenched state as I stood completely still.

I knew the current me, the me that's a brunette bookworm from New York City with the most morbid sense of humor, is asleep in my bed in modern day Paris. No longer am I the Romanian redhead  I currently see myself as. I'm sure Bram Stoker's book isn't that far off on how I used to be, besides my looks. Y'know, Dracula's brides -- I was the one who was no bark and all too happy to sink her fucking fangs into something.

It's always here I come back to in my sleep lately, the memory becoming more and more prevalent since I first touched down on European soil a few years back. I suppose it's my specific form of punishment for the past, why wouldn't it be? My soul isn't in the original pit of fire I had sold it to through marriage. Somehow, I had been reincarnated and slipped out of a loophole I didn't even know existed. I figure reliving my death over and fucking over in my nightmares is more than fair.

"Dracula! I know you are in there, my love! I need you! Make them unhand me!"

Perhaps the worst part was hearing her cry his name so desperately, even though that bastard was nowhere to be found. Glancing uphill, I followed the trail of fire toward the castle to look at the source of the voice, my eyes landing on the feminine silhouette that was the source of the cry of his name. The wind and rain whipped around her, throwing cascades of ash blonde locks into her pretty, sickly face while the skirt of her dress was tossed rapidly by the wind as well. She didn't even bother to shield herself, body trembling as she screamed in agony for any sign of Dracula -- as if she had actually known him long enough to have the right to scream like that. Then again, I wasn't surprised to find her like that, nor was I surprised when the shouts of her human husband, Mr. Harker, reached my ears. Clearly the little brat was going through a withdrawal and had escaped wherever the hell her husband and the Vatican had hidden her. Having not lain with Dracula nor tasted his blood in about three moon cycles, it was incredulous that Mina was even still alive -- all of those separated from their sire within her Changed class die within just one moon cycle. The Church must've been close to the cure Mr. Harker had paid them so handsomely for.

This sort of situation happens more often than people would think between the Changer and the Changed. When it comes to being changed, it's unknown which of the six classes of Changed the new fledgling will be. The different classes have a very direct influence on the connection the fledgling and sire will share for eternity. Nobody can influence or change the class a Changed will fall under. This connection, no matter how it turns out, is crucial and referred to as Soul Binding: A case of natural selection completely up to fate in the supernatural society that can determine life or death all whilst keeping power balance with a chain of command system. A Changer cannot determine what class of fledgling they will have, and the Changed will vary significantly. Each supernatural species has these major six classes, and these can even be broken up into smaller, more specific categories. A Changed can even have characteristics of multiple classes. These Changed are referred to as "Toss-Ups" or "Jacks".

The first class of the Changed are the Independent. This class of the Changed will share very little connection at all to their sire, and therefore the majority are free to find and follow their own paths and agendas. This class isn't very common, and due to their lack of connection, these types of Changed tend to stay to themselves, often ashamed or angry about what they've become.

The second class are the Familiars; fledglings that end up having a paternal or fraternal bond with their sires. This class heavily depends upon their makeshift family and are extremely family-oriented -- they hardly leave each other. Although that doesn't mean shit doesn't happen; Supernatural families can become dysfunctional too. However, if separated from said "family" for long periods of time, these types of Changed can become extremely emotionally unstable.

Intimates are the third class, and clearly where my fellow brides and I fell. Intimates become lovers or mates, and often they don't leave each other either. Of course clearly, this isn't always the case and sometimes these Changed will have a very toxic relationship with their sire. It's perhaps the most complicated of the classes, because the reality is while they will always need each other, they might stop wanting each other. It can be either a very bitter and nasty situation or a mutual understanding, these relationships often ending in scandalous affairs or open relationships.

Next comes the class of the Obedient. This poor fourth class are the Changed who become subservient, or those who believe their sire is their God. The majority are basically servants, but there are some who will do anything and everything their sire even thinks of, and thus the situation can become deadly for a fledgling. This class often has to deal with obsession issues, and it can get rather annoying for the sire, leading to rejection. There have been rare cases of an extreme Obedient being rejected and killing their sire or even themselves.

The fifth class is the Territorial, and they are some vicious sons of bitches. These fledglings get very emotional and very violent very fast over their sires, or even over others they become attached to. They won't hesitate to get to their sire no matter the cost, and it can be deadly for all involved.  Plus side? They are skilled in battle and have the most strength. Brutal con? Anger issues are aplenty, and they can be extremely overbearing toward their sire of the object of their affection.

The final class of the Changed are referred to as Addicts. Addicts are perhaps the most pathetic and endangered out of all six classes. They depend solely upon some form of their sire that can range from simply hearing their voice to even their blood. Some cases were quite mild, and others quite severe. Many are rejected by their sires and therefore die simply because they're considered too much to handle.

Mina Harker was the very definition of a severe addict in the supernatural society. Ugh, she was a disgusting, sickly sight, and it honestly satisfied me to see her that way. Her skin was a horrid shade of grey and those bags under her eyes matched her sunken cheeks perfectly. She needed that bastard I called a husband more than she needed her own damn husband, and due to how supernaturally uneducated and how new of a fledgling she was, Mina's still human-like mind had mistaken her addiction for her sire as true, undying love.

I loathed her and still have an undying distaste for her; she ruined everything! Everything was fine until he took an interest in her.

"Whore." I felt my lips mumble bitterly, my thick Romanian accent present.

The fire roared loudly as it rose higher, the fingers of the flames reaching for the dark sky above as if to greet the rain, and I took a deep inhale of breath, waiting for my feet to move by themselves. I have no control of my actions every time I relived this moment, but full control of my thoughts. Adamantly, the control of my thoughts is a blessing in disguise when it comes to getting killed over and over. The first few times this happened, it horrified me immensely to be able to know I was going to die and not be able to stop myself. But nowadays? I genuinely think of what I should have for breakfast when I wake up or what I have to do later on in the day while my body is on an unfortunate autopilot.

I narrowed my eyes as I felt my body take the first step toward my inevitable demise, waiting for this to play out...but my body stopped walking. What the hell?

"What the hell?"

Did I just talk? Like...actually make my current thoughts verbal?

I did.

My eyes widened slightly as I tested out my ability to look down. I could move my neck and look down, and for further proof to myself, I wiggled my bare left foot with ease.

Oh...well, this was new.

And scary.

What was going on?

I glanced back up to the scene uphill again as suddenly all sound stopped. The fire still consumed everything, yet no cackle came. The dumb broad still stood there screaming as her husband and one of his friends held her back from running blindly into the fire, but her screams weren't piercing my ears. I gulped deeply and began to walk uphill, the guards I passed not even noticing me.

Something was amiss here.

The scene continued, but without me playing my part. I watched as Mina yelled at the empty space in front of her where I usually would be at this point, hissing and blaming her for everything that happened. I watched as she was shoved back along with her husband by an invisible force that would've also been my doing had this played out like usual. It would've been at this point that I had stormed inside of my burning home, but I didn't -- not when I saw Dracula's own guards pull Mina up and carry her away as she began to convulse, also helping up Mr. Harker to follow behind. My confusion was immense as to why exactly they treated Mina with such...respect. If she was truly so respectable, she wouldn't have dared to be Dracula's mistress in the first place. We wouldn't be in this fucking mess had she stayed faithful to her loving husband and if my husband could think just a little less with the head below his belt.

You think the original three of us would've been enough; Verona, Marishka, and I. We paid prices so high and committed so much sin, played a huge part in building Dracula's empire by getting our hands filthy for him, only to be tossed aside in the end for this tramp. My fellow brides wouldn't ever come to know this though.

They were already dead; I was the last bride still standing

Scoffing and shaking my head with another mumble, I continued onward into the castle. "Unbelievable."

As the temperature began to rise and I walked deeper into the flame-filled castle, I noticed that I couldn't feel the searing of my flesh like I usually would've, but I could damn well see the fire eating away at my arms, clothing, and singeing my hair. This could only be described as new, and I pondered there in the inflamed ; do I take the path that led to my death still, or do I venture another way? How long do I have until I wake up from this exactly?  

I was suddenly snapped out of my thoughts as I caught something in my peripheral vision walking across a doorway that led to another corridor. It was something that had to have been easily almost eight feet tall, very slender, and resembled a shadow. It could've been many things, like the writhing shadows that the flames danced against, but something told me that wasn't the case at all. The shadow-like thing was much faster paced, and seemed to have a sense of purpose. It peaked my interest easily, so therefore, I decided to head in it's direction without much of a second thought.

I didn't get very far though.

My time was up, I knew, when I suddenly found myself with a gaping whole in the chest where the purified stake should have been, and felt my head be sliced from my neck. I closed my eyes, hating to watch as my vision spun in circles when my head rolled down to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Fuck.

My eyes snapped open as I took a sharp intake of breath, staring up to the soft baby blue ceiling of my bedroom. I gently gripped my navy blue comforter, needing to know that it was there until the familiar bustle of vehicles and people began to reach my ears from the large window to my right, causing me to exhale in relief.

I was back in reality; I was awake, in Paris, in 2017.

And something was instantaneously unusual.

#vampire #romance #dracula #supernatural #paranormal #reincarnation #story #writing

[effortlessly-bored]

The Bucket List - Michael Shelby

Chapter 1 l Chapter 2

Emma's first week in Birmingham was fairly uneventful. Henry didn't come back to the Garrison all week, giving Emma time to think. Her school hadn’t started yet, so she had focused on working hard at the Garrison, unpacking her flat and finding a pair of shoes that could handle all Birmingham threw at them. 

Emma spent her mornings at home, reading and writing letters home. She wasn’t overly homesick, but Emma’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss her dad and Mrs. Johnson. After she’d written the letters, Emma mailed them on her way to the Garrison. She worked hard at the books and keeping the pub moderately clean, which was a larger challenge than she anticipated. She worked till about 11 each night after which Harry took over for the stragglers. If she was being honest, Henry/Michael hadn't left her mind since they last saw each other. No matter what she was doing the back of her mind was filled with Henry. 

Because Henry/Michael signed all the books and paychecks, Emma knew that she'd have to seem him eventually. The more she thought about what Thomas said the less angry she felt. It wasn't that Emma wanted to forgive Henry/Michael necessarily; she almost didn't have control over how she felt about him. No matter how hard she tried to stay as angry as she once was, she felt the anger melt away. Don't get her wrong, Henry/Michael was in no way in her good graces, but she could at least understand where he was coming from. 

Putting on a brave face, Emma marched all the way back to the Shelby Company Ltd offices with the massive accounting book. She had made sure to call ahead and make an appointment with Mr Shelby, to save time. Emma felt a rush of warm air as she opened the door to the offices. She set the book down on a chair and hung up her coat. 

"Hi there," She said to the secretary. "I have an appointment with Mr Shelby."

"Of course, Miss... ah, Emma," the secretary said, finding the appointment in her planner. "Mr Shelby's running a little behind, but you can take a seat and wait till he comes back."

Emma smiled and said thank you when a familiar voice rang out. "Who's there, Lizzie?" Emma was still a little shocked at how low Henry/Micheal's voice had become. 

"Miss Emma Wallace, Mr Gray." 

"Send her into mine please." Emma gave a quick smile to Lizzie and slipped into the doorway of Henry's office. 

"You called for me Henry," Emma spoke before she realized they were not alone. 

The was a middle-aged woman sitting in one of the chairs across from Henry's desk. She had dark hair the was pristinely in place. She had an obvious look of disdain on her face, with a direct glare at Emma. It was obvious she was not happy with the interruption. 

"And just who might you be? And just why the fuck aren't you calling my son by his name?" 

"Mom!" Henry/Michael exclaimed. "Stop righ-"

"No, Michael. I want just who this girl thinks she is and why the fuck she thinks that's your name?" Emma couldn't move, the women taking menacing steps toward her. 

"Mom, Henry is my name too! And you don't get to talk to Emma like that!" Henry/Michael shouted, stepping in between his mother and Emma. He loved his mother but Michael would be damned if he let anyone speak to Emma that way. 

It was silent for a few seconds before Emma spoke up. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"Don't apologize, Emma, you didn't do anything wrong." Henry/Michael said, turning around to look in her eyes. 

"No, I feel awful and I don't want your mother to hate me." She said, moving out from behind Henry.  

"Smart girl," Polly remarks. 

Emma sticks out her hand, "It's nice to meet you Mrs Gray, my name is Emma." Polly looked Emma up and down a few times before finally shaking her hand. 

"It's Ms Shelby, dear. So, how do you know my son?" 

"We grew up together, mum," Michael answers, still slightly nervous about the situation. 

"The girl can talk for herself, Michael."

"The girl has a name." Emma finally spoke. 

"Be respectful mum. Please." It seemed there was no way this situation would go well for Michael. 

Polly took a deep breath, not wanting to upset her son. "What exactly are you doing in these offices?"

"Emma's the new barmaid at the Garrison." Michael figured the less talking Emma did, the faster the scene could end. 

"Followed Michael out here, hm?" Polly was inherently distrustful, but especially so when it came to her son. 

"No ma'am, I go to the university across town and needed a job. I hadn't seen Hen- Michael since he left until last week. I'm just here for a meeting with Mr Shelby about the Garrison." 

"Yeah, mum. And I have to be at that meeting too, so I'll talk to you later." Michael gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek before trying to usher her out the door. 

"It's alright." Said Emma, not wanting to be alone with Henry/Michael. "I can wait outside until Mr Shelby comes back. I just came in to give you this letter, Michael." Emma took the letter out of the accounting book and held it out for Michael to take. Polly snatched it before Michael even had a chance. 

"How dare you, you little bitch!" Polly was livid once she saw who the letter was from. 

"Mum! You can't speak to Emma like that." Michael was exhausted from his mother's antics. 

"This is a letter from the woman that took you away Michael!"

"It's from your mum, your adoptive mum," Emma explains, looking at Michael. “We write to each other, and I thought she had a right to know you were alive. She wrote a letter to you and I promised her that I would give it to you. She said there was a photo of your siblings in there.”

“Michael is not a part of that family, he never was-“

“With all due respect, I remember the first day Michael came to town. He had no shoes and clothes with hundreds of holes in them and even more stains. He was nervous and shy and wouldn't talk to anyone. He had dirt and soot all over him. The next day, Henry was washed and clothed in brand new clothes. His hair was clean and cut, styled nicely. And I'll never forget the shoes he was wearing. They were beautiful. Brand new, well polished and sturdy. No matter what, Michael always had a pair of shoes that fit him at his old house. They took care of him, provided for him for the majority of his life. He was always smiling and happy at home with his brothers. I just thought that your adoptive mother had a right to know you were okay." At the end of her mini-speech, Emma heard the front door open and heard Mr Shelby's voice through the halls. She said a quiet "Excuse me." and left the tense office. 

Michael was once again dumbfounded, for the second time in a week. Polly was seething, mostly because she knew that Emma had a point. Polly always felt guilty for missing out on the bulk of Michael's childhood and she never liked when anyone pointed the fact out. 

Michael walked up and gave his mum a hug, trying to calm her down. “Calm down mum, it’s okay.” He whispered. “I have to go to this meeting, but I’ll come over tonight okay?”

“I’m going to see Ada, call me instead,” Polly whispered, slowly handing over the letter to her son. Michael put the letter in his desk, in the same drawer as the bucket list. He gave his mom one last hug before walking into Thomas’ office. 

Michael had a sneaking suspicion as to why he hired Emma. He knew that she reminded Tommy of Grace a little bit, which worried Michael a bit. He didn’t want Tommy trying to make Emma another Grace. The whole reason Michael wants Emma to stay is so that he knows she’s safe and getting involved with Thomas would only cause harm, and make him jealous. The jealousy ebbed when he saw Tommy and Emma standing so close together looking at the accounting book. Michael quickly made his presence known by clearing his throat. 

“So, what is so urgent about the Garrison?” Thomas said, pouring himself and Michael a whiskey. Tommy sits in his chair on the other side of the desk while Michael put himself beside Emma. 

“Well, I’ve been working really hard this week trying to clean up the books and, well, the Garrison has been running a deficit for a few months. I talk to Zay about it-" 

"Zay? Do you mean Isaiah?" Michael asked and Emma nodded. "Since when are you two so close?"

"He's in the Garrison every night, we talk," Emma explained before continuing her point before. "Anyway, he said there was approximately thirty men who are official 'Blinders' which means thirty regulars who don't pay. Not to mention Arthur and John are in there it almost every night and say 'Drinks on me!' at least three times a night; but, of course, they don't pay so all those drinks are free." 

"So this urgent meeting was just about a few bad months at the Garrison?" Tommy asked slightly condescending Emma. "Love, I don't know if you've noticed but we can cover a few bad months at the Garry." 

"But it's not just 'a few bad months', the deficit has gotten bigger every month. Not to mention your putting all your faith in the American economy and prohibition lasting. And if your other business ever goes bad you're going to want a business like the Garrison to help keep you up.” 

“And what exactly do you mean other business?” Michael wanted Emma to have no part in the ‘other’ business. He’d made it clear to his cousins that she was to only work at the Garrison. 

“Let’s just say that I’ve overheard things at the Garry. Anyways, Mr. Shelby, you’re putting all of your eggs in one basket; and, when the American economy pops, which it will, you’re going to be in some trouble. But, if you invest proper efforts into the Garrison now, you’ll be alright. If there’s one thing you can count on men to do, no matter the economy, it’s drink.”

Michael and Thomas were both stunned; Michael wasn’t surprised though, Emma had always been a genius. “What the fuck do eggs have to do with this? And, how do you know it’s all going to go bad in America?” Tommy was a little upset some new girl had just come in and ripped apart his whole business. 

“It’s a country saying,” Michael explained. “If you put all your eggs into one basket and something happens to that basket, you’re fucked and you’ve got no eggs left.”

“And America’s economy is like a bubble. It’s only been growing since the war, getting bigger and bigger. One day it’s going to pop, and that could make or break you.”

“Alright, what do you suppose we do, then?”

“I think the Garrison should start a tab system,” Emma said.

“Okay, what the fuck, do what you want; just get the Garrison in the green, got it?” Thomas said, just wanting Michael and Emma out of his office. “Go to Michael’s office and sort out the details."

Emma nodded and Michael took one last gulp of his drink before they exited the office. The pair walked in silence to his office. The paper work didn’t last long, and it was completed in silence until Michael finally spoke up as Emma was getting ready to leave. 

“I remember that day too when I first came to town. You had to plaits in your hair, and it was darker than it is now. You were wearing a green and blue dress, it ended right before your knees and it had little spots of mud on it. You were missing three teeth, one on the top and two on the bottom. You were so friendly and bright; the opposite of everyone I had met thus far. It was a little scary because I didn’t realize people could be so kind. And, even though I wasn’t very nice to you at first you insisted on being my friend the next day. You made that town a home.” 

Neither one spoke for a minute, Emma stunned into silence and Michael too nervous to say anything. Michael wanted a smoke to relieve his anxiety but knew how much Emma hated the smell, so he refrained. 

“When does your school start?” Michael finally asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“How are you getting there? The school is across town.”

“Um, I hadn’t figured that out yet. I’m sure I can find a ride or walk.” She wasn’t sure of this at all. 

“Isaiah doesn’t have a car, so…” He says without any subtlety. “I do though, I could give you a ride.”

“I don’t want to impose, it’s not necessary-“ 

“Honestly, it’s the least I could do.”

“Is it a nice car? I only ask because I’ve never been in one, so I want my first time to be in a nice one.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. So will I see you tomorrow?”

Emma ponders this for a second then tentatively nods. “Alright, pick me up at eight, yeah?”

“I’ll be there, I promise.” They both know he meant it. 

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #michael gray #Michael Shelby #michael gray imagine

[effortlessly-bored]

Bucket List - Chapter 1

This is the first thing ive ever published I hope you like it!

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Bartending? Yes sir, worked at the pub in my old town for a year. This is a letter of recommendation from them," Emma said, handing over the tattered piece of paper.

"And if I call this number I will be able to talk to the owner of this real and respectable pub?"

"Of course, Mr Shelby. Well; real pub, yes; respectable, less so."

"Good. Do you drink yourself?"

"Yes sir, but not in excess and not on the job."

"What about drugs?"

"No sir. Not even for headaches."

He makes a grunt of acknowledgement. "I know that these are different questions that are fairly..."

"Odd?" She offer.

"Thorough." He corrects. "We've had some issues in the past with the reliability of our bar maids; so you'll have to excuse me. However, you should note that, with the other businesses I'm involved in, I need people I can trust in my life. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, absolutely sir. And I assure that, if awarded the job, I would be an exemplary employee."

"I believe you. What is it brought you to Birmingham, Emma?"

"School, Mr Shelby."

"The nursing school or the secretarial school?"

"Neither, Sir. The business school across town opened 5 spots for women this year and I was accepted."

"Really? You must be smart, eh? How would you feel about handling the Garrisons books as well; Harry is a great bar keep but not the greatest with numbers."

"I can absolutely take that on, Mr Shelby!" He chuckles slightly to himself. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, you just remind me of our old barmaid. Very similar. Anyways, the job is yours if you'd like it!"

"Yes! Thank you very much Mr Shelby, I promise you won't regret it." Emma exclaimed, reaching to shake his hand.

“Good. Well, I’ll walk you to the Garrison, give you the lay of the land.” It’s only when Mr. Shelby stood up, that Emma realized how intimidating he really was. Tall and lean, with eyes that looked through your soul, it made Emma nervous for a second before she realized how kind he had been thus far. Mr Shelby walk her through the Shelby Company Ltd’s offices, explaining how finances for the Garrison were handled by a man named Michael Gray. All receipts, books and pay checks were to be signed off by him at the end of the month.

Thomas explained that his company had many different types of business other than just pubs. The Shelby Company was a large and growing corporation according to him. Emma could see the pride in his eyes as well as the ambition.

Mr Shelby shrugged on his overcoat and helped Emma put hers on as they left his offices. A burst of wind surprised Emma as she opened the door to leave the building, making her realize how cold it was. Thomas chuckled a little before putting on his cap, razor blades stitched into the peak.

The streets of Birmingham were very different than her old town, dirtier and darker. It didn’t bother Emma, she was just happy she made it there. She was feeling self conscious of her outfit though. She had worn her nicest dress for the interview and it was embarrassingly bright and fancy; light green stitching heavily contrasting the bleak surroundings. Her shoes were also decimated, covered with mud, coal, and other things she dared not think about. She made a mental note to save up for a new pair of shoes that could withstand all that Birmingham threw at them.

After turning a few corners, Emma saw a sign that read "The Garrison" above a fairly nice looking pub. Mr Shelby led her there through a street that sat next to some sort of factory. Emma couldn't help but think of her luscious home when she saw the men covered in soot and smoke. Thomas opened the door for her and Emma took a step inside her new world.  

It was lovely and posh inside, much nicer than she expected. There was a private room to her right, but the rest of the bar was open with a place for dancing and a band. Leather booths lined the walls except for one where the actual bar was. It was almost impossibly high, with a mirror behind the shelves of alcohol. It was all nice stuff too, nothing like the things they passed off for 'top shelf' at her old pub. There were a few men already in the bar despite it being midday. One man behind the counter and a few other who looked like dawn to dusk drunks. Like most things in Birmingham so far, The Garrison was intimidating.

Many of the men inside had straightened up a bit since they came in; sitting up straighter, talking quieter. The bartender had already poured Mr Shelby a glass of whisky and bowed his head slightly. Thomas put a shilling on the counter before explaining to Harry that Emma was the new bar maid.

Harry had kind eyes and calloused hands, quickly moving to shake Emma's. "Welcome to the team, I'm sure you'll do great!"

"Thank you, I'm just here to learn to ropes and work hard." She smiled back.

Tommy was satisfied with the amount of pleasantries, going on to explain that Emma would help handle the books. "Alright, well, I think you two can figure it out from here. Emma, you can help Harry tonight; Saturday night rush and that. And you two can also figure out a schedule for the next month if you have time. Best of luck to the both of you, I'll see you tonight." Then with a gulp of his whiskey and tip of his hat Mr Shelby was gone.

"First lesson, oh young one, anyone with the last name Shelby drinks for free. Understand?" Emma nods vigorously. "Good. There's some aprons in the back, grab one then we can get started."

"Aye aye, sir." Emma salutes before rolling up her sleeves.

It was almost six o’clock on the dot when men started pouring into The Garrison. Harry explained that most men from the factory went home at five, cleaned up and ate with their families before spending the night drinking. Emma poured beer after beer, introduced herself as the “new barmaid” what felt like hundreds of times and it was barely half past nine. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr Shelby and a few other men make their way into the private room and close the door.

“You best get in there and take their orders; remember the first rule?” Harry says.

“Shelby’s drink free.” Emma replies, walking out from behind the bar. She carefully avoided the drunk and dancing men as she made her way to the door.

Inside, Mr Shelby was sitting with four other men, three in the booth and one on a chair with his back facing Emma. The room smelled like tobacco with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke in the middle. All six were dressed impeccably in lavish, expensive suits.

“Emma! How’s your first night going?” Thomas asks.

“Good, sir, thank you for asking.”

"Glad to hear it. This is my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy points to a skinny man on his left with a large moustache who quickly nods. “My younger brother, John.” John is slightly larger than Arthur. He stands up to quickly shake Emma’s hand. “Our youngest sibling, Finn.” Finn has a bit of a boyish look to him, young and happier than his brothers. He’s obviously nervous at Emma's presence only waving quickly before ducking his head. "Last but not least, Isaiah." Tommy introduces.

"Another brother?" Emma jokes due to the obvious fact that none of the Shelby boys could be related to their Isaiah, who was black contrasting the Shelby's pale pigments. Emma joke earned her a chuckle from the men and a kiss on the hand from Isaiah, who she could already tell was a huge flirt.

“Don’t mind Isaiah, he’s a bit of a whore.” Arthur quips.

“It's no problem. So, four top shelf Irish whiskeys coming up!" Emma says, trying to leave as soon as she could.

"Make it five," Isaiah says.

"Our cousin Michael will be joining us soon," John explains.

"Five whiskeys coming right up!" Emma spun around and was reaching for the handle when the door swung opened and a large man bumped into her. She quickly mumbled a few apologies, as did the main, before looking up to see someone Emma believed would never return to her life.

It was Henry.

He was taller now, slightly more muscular, but his boyish looks had lasted the three years since they had last seen each other. His eyes were slightly more tired with larger bags under them. He had traded his tweed for a sleek, dark suit. Henry had a few cuts on his face, as well as some new scars. Despite the differences, Emma instantly knew that this man was him.

Henry knew it was Emma, even from the quickest of glances. It startled him, to see her again. She had the same perfume on that she had worn since he gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. Her hair was longer and lighter than since the last time they’d seen each other. She looked exactly like he had expected her to, after all the times he’d thought of her.

“Henry!” Emma nearly shouted at the same time he said “Emma!” They both chuckled nervously at their outburst; both keenly aware of the prying eyes in the room.

“Henry? Do you two know each other?” Tommy quickly interjects.

It’s the first time they break eye contact for the first time since their encounter; Emma breaking it to reply to Mr Shelby. “Henry and I grew up together. It’s nice to see you,” She nods at him. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Henry/Michael watches her leave, still confused as to what she was doing in Birmingham, in the Garrison of all places. Everyone else in the room were snickering at the dumbfounded look on his face. He hadn’t closed his mouth for two minutes. Eventually, Thomas broke the silence. “You two seem… close. Were you friends?”

“I was going to marry her,” Michael/Henry mumbles to himself, still dumbstruck.

Arthur lets out a low whistle as if to say, “Fuck, man.”

“So you and Emma were close I take it.” John chuckles. The boys continued ribbing Michael until the handle on the door started to turn.

Emma walked into the eerily quiet room, with a tray full of drinks. She hadn’t been able to slow her heart rate since she left the men before. Emma's hands were slightly shaky, making her tray with the drinks wobble a bit. Michael/Henry quickly steadied the tray, helping her put it on the table. Emma mumbles a quick thank you before handing out the whiskeys. The tray has one whiskey still on it and a dark beer.

"I, um, don't know what you drink now, so I just got you what you used to have, Henry." Emma gives a quick glance in his direction before handing him the glass. A few of the men chuckled quietly.

"I'm Michael!" Michael almost shouts, his mouth working before his brain. He quickly clears his throats before continuing. "I just mean, I go by Michael now. Michael Gray."

"Oh, well, that's a nice name. Here's your whiskey then." Emma doesn't know what to say next, there's too many questions and this was most definitely not the right audience for them.

"Have a seat, Emma!" John says, scooting over, making room for her to sit. "Tell us what Michael was like when he was young."

"You don't have to do that," Michael says quickly, sending a glare at John.

"Maybe later, I think I need to help Harry outside." It was the most diplomatic answer she could think of.

"Harry can handle himself," Thomas says,  clearly amused, pushing the extra beer in her direction. "Take a break."

Knowing there was no way out, Emma sat down and took a large gulp of the beer. "What do you want to know?"

"Were you two close?" Arthur asks, curious as to what Emma's answer would be.  

"Oh yeah, Henry and I were best friends since he came to town. Our mum's were close and we were always in the same class at school." Emma didn't know if it was the beer or the fond memories but she couldn't help but smile. Michael was smiling too, he did miss the old town sometimes. Usually just her though.

"So you two were just friends?" Isaiah asked. Michael glared as if to say "Subtle".

"I mean I guessed we dated for a few years before he left. We never really called each  'boyfriend' or anything; it was just exactly what we did before but now we kissed while we did it." Emma said, staring at the ground. Usually she wouldn't divulge this much to glorified strangers but she had snuck a few shots in when she went to get their drinks; and, along with the beer she was nursing, she felt her nervousness fade.

“And what kind of hell did you two raise in that tiny town, eh?”

Emma couldn’t help but snort; they had never been anything but angels in town. "We studied, mostly. Henry helped out a lot at home so we'd study their; or, if it was nice enough outside. Then of course their was church on Sundays."

Emma and Michael shared the same fond look on their face, thinking about how good things were.

"Michael, teacher's pet! I never would have guessed!" John teases. "Top of your class, I'm sure."

All their heads turned when Michael spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. "I was second... in class. Emma was always at the top of the class; boys and girls." He had always been proud of how smart Em was. They looked at each other intensely, neither knowing what to say.

"You could have beaten me if you paid more attention, you never listened." Emma said, only looking at Henry. "All you'd do was pass me notes with cartoons on them."

Michael shrugged. "Ms Williams was a piss poor teacher and I knew you'd teach whatever we learned later."

There was a slight pause before Thomas cut in for the first time. "When I met Michael, he wouldn't stop talking about some well he was gonna blow up; he ever tell you about his plans?"

Michael looked slightly shocked that Tommy remembered that. Emma was shocked Henry had told someone else about his plan.

"Um, yeah. The night our exams ended, we got drunk in the field in town and Henry started making all these promises, even wrote down this life plan of his." Emma and Michael shared the same remorseful look. "Number one, graduate and go to business school together. Number two, blow up the 'stupid white well in the ungodly small town'. Number three, get married. Number four, get rich and live happily ever after." It took a lot of effort for her voice not to crack.

"What happened to the well?" Finn asked, failing to read the room.

"It's still their, mostly. I, uh, took my dad's hammer to it after my mom died."

"Your mom died?" Michael gasps, genuinely shocked.

Emma nods before adding, "'Bout two months after you left and never came back."

"I'm so sorry, Em. I really loved Nellie, it's a damn shame."

"She loved you too, she was almost angrier than me after you left." Their was a long, pregnant pause. Michael and Emma just stared at the ground while the boys looked for a way out of the uncomfortable situation. Michael had never been more ashamed.

It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence. "What about church? I've only heard Mick call out for god when he's with broad." It was a nice attempt at making the conversation light hearted again; however, it only embarrassed Michael and shocked Emma.

She really didn't think about Henry dating anyone else, even though she had. He had always been so adamant about their future, saying she was the one.

Emma realized she had to answer after snapping back to reality. "Henry and I had to go but never wanted to; so, we made a game where we had to make the other laugh as loud as possible. Even got kicked out a few times."

"Sounds like you two were a wild pair." Isaiah jokes.

"Did you, uh, go with anyone after I left?"

Emma had stayed so incredibly calm throughout their conversation so far, but this finally made he lose it a bit. "Was I supposed to just wait and hope that maybe you'd come back?! Should I have just waited for the life you promised me, huh? God, Henry, of course I moved on."

"Who? Who'd you go with?" Michael knew he had no right to ask but he needed to know.

"Well, not that you have any fucking right to ask or that it's any of your fucking business but it was George Palmroy." Emma almost didn't tell him, but she knew how much Henry hated George and that it would make him angry. To be honest, that was the only reason she went on a few dates with George.

"George fucking Palmroy," Michael spat at her, his getting redder with anger. "You wasted your time with that fucker; are you insane?!"

"You know what Henry, I've only gone with two boys in my life and only one of those relationships was a fucking waste of time! I'll give you a guess as to which one that was."

It was a full fledged fight now, both of them standing and shouting. Even when they dated, Michael and Emma didn't fight often; but, when they did, the fights would last days and make both their voices hoarse.

"Em, come on," Michael sighed in defeat, reaching for her arm.  Emma violently jerked her arm out of his reach.

"I'm glad you don't call yourself Henry anymore, as far as I'm concerned you don't deserve that name. As soon as you decided that that name wasn't good enough for you, that I wasn’t good enough, you turned to shit. I hope it was worth the fancy suit." Emma quickly turned to the other men and said, "Just holler if you need another."

Emma scurried out quickly, leaving her beer behind and shutting the door. She could tell that most of the people in the bar were staring, having heard a lot of the shouting between Henry and Emma through the walls. She carefully made it behind the bar without making eye contact with anyone. Harry gave her a kind look and told Emma to go work on the books in the back for a bit.

Meanwhile, back in the private room, Michael was absolutely dumbstruck about everything that had just happened. His cousins had each offered the rest of their own drinks after he had downed his in one gulp. Michael was not one to be dumbfounded but Emma always had that effect on him, ever since they were kids. Mickey loosened his tie and downed a few of the offered whiskeys before Tommy spoke up.

"Do you want me to fire her?"

"What? No of course not! No, she needs this job, and at least when she's here I can make sure she's safe and taken care of; try and make it up to her."

"You're really gonna try, to get her back?" Arthur questions, condescending his cousin.

"I should have never left her in the first place." Michael sat back in his chair brainstorming while Tommy excused himself and left the private room.

When he didn't see her behind the bar Tommy knew Emma would be in the office. Before opening the door, Thomas listened, trying to figure out if Emma was crying in the office. When he didn't hear sobbing Tommy decided it was safe to open the door.

Emma was sitting in the old wooden chair with a very similar look as, both shocked. Emma had a slightly more angry look, eyebrows slightly creased and a small frown. There were two tear stains down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away when she saw her boss.

"Mr Shelby, I'm so sorry about that! I promise that will never happen again-"

"I'm gonna tell you a story about Michael. About two weeks after he first moved here, Michael showed up at my home, piss drunk and weeping about some girl. Cried to me about how he should never have left her; how she was the love of his life. No matter how many times I asked him, he wouldn't tell me her name. You see, sometimes the business we do can get, well, dangerous; and he didn't want this girl involved. So, when he woke up the next day we made a sort of plan as to how he could be with this girl again. He was going to make enough money and then leave the family business and find her. About two months later, someone shot my wife right in front of my whole family. And I couldn't do anything to save. Grace died because of the business, and I'll always blame myself for her death." Tommy could only look at the ground. "Anyways, Michael was there when it all happened and I think after that he figured out that the only way you'd really be safe is if you stayed away from it."

"He could have written or something," Emma said pathetically. She could already feel herself forgiving him, despite the years she'd been upset.

"All I'm saying is that I truly believe he never stopped loving you. That list you talked about? He keeps it in his desk, in the only drawer that locks. I’ve walked in on him staring at it at least a dozen times. And I don't think you'd be that upset at him if you were truly indifferent." With that, Tommy went back to the private room, leaving Emma reconcile with everything she just learned.

#michael gray #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine