Thomas Shelbys A Dick - Tumblr Posts

@abusivelittlebunny I completely agree!

Although, the female characters endings and purposes are entirely unnecessary- I do ultimately understand the writing.

Peaky Blinders is filmed from the perspective of Thomas, so we’re looking at the characters through Thomas’ eyes. Arthur is a broken drunk to him. John is just a henchman to him. Grace is an opportunity for ‘redemption’ (He fabricated an idea of who she was, therefore her death became more tragic. see: reasons why Grace lost her personality after Thomas pegged her). Etc. These characters are more than what Thomas perceives! What I’m trying to say is that Thomas is an unreliable narrator.

He has crippling trust issues and a toxic personality which he’s developed through traumatic experiences and as a result has become numb to empathy of human life. This means, that we can’t rely on Thomas to give us an accurate depiction on what the characters are like, as they aren’t people to him- they’re tools. (Exactly what the gif set is saying).

So once Thomas gets his prize (the woman) or once he shoves his dick in it (the woman) or once he no longer sees use in it (the woman)- they lose every aspect of what stood out to him that he could use.

Something we ALL forget, is that Thomas Shelby is a horrible man. Steven Knight, whether intentionally or not, romanticised the gangster life and made us see Thomas as though he’s just a broken man or a misunderstood soul. Just because you’ve gone through shit, does not mean you can shit on everyone else.

Maybe I’m wrong and maybe Steven Knight just didnt do that on purpose, which is a bit of a dick move (not the kind that I appreciate).

Lucky for us though, this means we can write about the Shelby women however we please because with character holes comes space to fill. So don’t be angry at Steven Knight because he’s given us ample opportunities to now write these women however we please- we can make them into the queens and matriarchs that they really are. Just because Thomas Shelby is a dick to them, doesn’t mean we have to accept that as well!

Pretty sick of your shit, Steven Knight. (x)

Requested by @cavllhenry

The Anya-Margaret

(Thomas Shelby)

A brief description

Florence Kent.

Or should I say Dr. Florence Kent.

She is a woman well aquatinted with death. So familiar in fact, that the only obvious line of work she could go into was business with death itself.

She is a morgue worker. A diener. A pathologist. An embalmer. She does the whole lot in the downstairs of her home.

She chain-smokes and lives on a healthy appetite of cocaine, nihilism, and all abandon of self-preservation.

She's not necessarily looking for death, but she'd certainly have lunch with the man.

And some would say that she eventually did- except death in this scenario wasn't a reaper, nor an omen, not Satan, or even God itself.

This deathly figure was Thomas Shelby.

And for the first time, the devil wanted to make a deal with her.

Florence Kent can seem quite boring to the naked human eye, but soon, you'll learn like most- that it takes a lot more than a simple description to really know a person.

-CONTENT WARNING- ⚠️

This book contains very dark themes such as: Death, substance abuse, poor coping mechanisms, nihilistic conversation, traumatic events, angst.

THIS IS THE ONLY WARNING IM GOING TO PUT IN. Putting one at the start of every chapter will just be repetitive and will probably fall on deaf ears. So if any of the warnings previously mentioned bother you in any way, then I advise you step away and find another book.

Thank you!

*I don’t own anything but Florence Kent and her storyline*

The Anya-Margaret Masterlist

THIS BOOK IS NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED.

This book contains very dark themes such as: Death, substance abuse, poor coping mechanisms, nihilistic conversation, traumatic events, angst, religious devaluation.

Masterlist

A description

An Introduction

Chapter 1- “I’m thinking of killing off a few characters, just to jazz up my autobiography.”

Chapter 2- “One might wonder how she combed her hair so her horns didn’t show.”

Chapter 3- “If you knew time as well as I do, you wouldn’t talk about wasting it.”

Chapter 4- “I’ll kick my legs in fit of fear, and know not north from south or my arse from my mouth just as I roll about in the deep water.”

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 24

Isolation is not safety

Masterlist

Only priests and fools are fearless, and I've never been on the best of terms with God.

"It's Tilda! She's shaking! She's shaking real bad!"

Thomas and Charlie exchanged glances before bolting down the street. Thomas tried his best to keep the baby from jostling about too much.

When they entered the cramped walkway, they heard crying and frantic movements.

"Oh, Bubs, thank God you're here! She's got a raging fever but she's freezing to the bone."

Dorothy was trying her best to to get the girl warm, her eyes had tears building up in the corners as she desperately tried to get the girl warm, "I'm so sorry Matilda! I wish I could take you home, but it's just not safe. You'll be fine, I promise!"

By now Dorothy was humming old lullaby's that Thomas also knew. Thomas had learned it was something she did when the ringing got bad; the ringing got bad when she got stressed.

Thomas gave the baby to Theo and shrugged off his blazer, he draped his coat over the violently shaking girl who was sobbing loudly, probably at the sheer discomfort that came with these sorts of illnesses.

Before Thomas really knew what was going on, Dorothy was getting under the coats and jackets with the girl, rubbing her hands up and down the girls arms, trying to get the blood flowing.

"Bonny, what are you doing? You can't get too close, you'll get sick!" He tried pulling gently on her shoulders, trying to manoeuvre her away from the contagiously sick girl.

Thomas knew Dorothy had a poor tolerance to anything, really. He'd seen her get colds from being outside for moments and sometimes collapse from pure exhaustion. He supposed that's what living her in condition would do to a person.

It pained him badly that he had no way of helping. He couldn't make everything better, he couldn't silence the ringing or give her everything so she could have the fullness in her cheeks and the satisfied feeling of a full belly. He couldn't give that to her.

"No, Bubs! She needs to get warm, I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing!" She shrugged her shoulders out of his grasp.

She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, "I'm not letting this girl DIE, Shelby."

Thomas stepped back. Far back. He wasn't used to her using his name, his real one. Maybe her language is what made Thomas take a step back. He supposed it was only now that the severity of the situation kicked in.

He'd seen people do this in France. Men would lie next to each other as a way to make sure the other wouldn't freeze to death in those trenches. With a huff and a sigh, Thomas turned to the other children, "okay. Until we get Matilda sorted out, you kids need to keep your distance, yeah? Can't have you getting sick either. Now where do you lot sleep?"

Theo picked up the box Tammy was sleeping in and lead Thomas to a small nook in the side of the walkway. It looked to be the remains of a living room of sorts. The front door had seemingly been taken off its hinges completely, leaving the 'living room' of sorts to just be used as a means of protection front the elements.

They had mats and cloths on the floor, the whole 'house' seemed to cave in on itself. The stairway had collapsed completely so it appeared that this was the only room they stayed in.

Thomas nodded slightly, trying to get his bearings.

The three children bundled up close to each other, Charlie took a blanket that was much too small for the three of them and draped it over Leah and Theo. He then laid down next to Leah who laid her head on Theo's shoulder. Charlie then took Leah's box and huddled it close to his body, keeping a protective arm wrapped around it.

Thomas grimaced at the sight of the children who were desperately trying to stay alive.

Reflecting a bit now; Thomas looked at the children and saw them like his own at this point. A mix between sibling and children, he saw them as extended family in a way.

The children, though wary at first, accepted him with open arms the moment Dorothy gave the word.

On the surface level of things, people might think Dorothy was a mother-figure to these kids, when really- she just empathised so deeply for them that she became part of their peculiar family.

"Tell us a story, Tommy?" Leah's small voice called out through the bundles of blankets.

"Oh yeah, please Tommy!" Theo chimed in.

Thomas chuckled and shook his head, he settled next to the children on the floor, lying on his back next to Theo.

"Have I ever told you about the story of the princess and the common boy?"

"No! What's that?" Leah giggled at the premise. She liked Princesses, always wanted to be one. Thomas had seen Bonny tell her many times when Leah talked about her dreams that one day she would definitely be a princess and live in her castle with all her friends. Thomas remembered times when Leah would turn to him and ask him if one day she'd be a princess, to which Thomas' heart swelled; he'd nod his head and ruffle her hair, telling her that she'd have lines of princes stood at her door.

"Well, I'll tell you now: Once upon a time, there was a princess who always roamed the forest of her Kingdom. She took a little device with her that allowed her to save the moments and sights she saw-."

"Like a camera?"

Thomas smiled, "exactly like a camera! And one day, she came across a boy who was on the run. The two were similar ages, but didn't instantly get on very well. At first they fought and butted heads, but sooner or later, the two started to fall in love with each other."

Leah gasped a little at the story, she would have squealed with excitement if Theo wasn't already snoring in her ear, fast asleep.

Thomas continued the story until he heard soft, deep sighs coming from Leah who had surely fallen asleep.

"And the two got married and lived in the palace for ever more and went on all kinds of adventures." Thomas sighed hand sat up. He collected himself and got up, dusting off his trousers.

"What kind of adventures did they go on Tom?" Charlie whispered.

Thomas raised a brow at the child who was supposed to be asleep, but was not for whatever unjust reason. "All kinds of adventures, now go to sleep." Thomas chided quietly.

"Is that story about you and Miss. Dotty-Anne? But just this time you guys finally got together?" Charlie smiled cheekily up at Thomas.

"Now that's none of your concern, and for the record, she and I have no kind of feelings like that for each other, now zip it and shut your eyes."

Charlie's grin only widened more, "I never said anything about feelings, Tommy."

Thomas eventually gave up with the staring match when he heard distant humming coming from the walkway. He pointed at Charlie, "If you're not asleep by the time I get back, then I'm going to let Bonny have you, and I don't think you'd appreciate her nagging."

Thomas waltzed out of the door, slightly amused at the conversation. He stopped and contemplated his day for a moment. He really didn't have so much as a clue as to how Bonny had turned his life on it's head. He did not expect to be doing any of this today.

But he'd let her drag him anywhere if it meant following her.

——

Thomas approached the sound of humming and shuffling. He peeked his head around the corner and saw Dorothy holding Matilda in her arms, rocking back and forth with the shaking girl singing lullabies. She had streams of tears running down her face as she desperately tried to warm the girl up.

Thomas' heart broke at the sight. He wasn't a doctor nor had he any idea how to combat illness. In a feeble attempt at trying to be useful, Thomas sat down on the other side of Matilda and tried his best to use his own body heat to warm her up.

Maybe the sight would have been endearing to a passerby, but if you looked closer, it's was a picturesque sign of tragedy and heartbreak. If it wasn't for the violent shaking coming from the girl, you would have thought her dead.

Tragedy isn't beautiful. The misfortunes of Dorothy's life are not beautiful. The turmoil that plagues Thomas' mind is not beautiful. The tumultuous sound of Dorothy's sobs was not beautiful. The laboured breathing that Thomas harboured was not beautiful.

People are not rain; or snow; or autumn leaves. They do not look pretty when they fall down.

——

Matilda's shaking finally ceased in the early hours of the morning, her body seemingly passed through the hardest part of her fever. She was still asleep, but she was still breathing.

That's all that mattered

Her hair was matted to her scalp and tear streaks from the discomfort ran down her face like train tracks through rolling fields.

Dorothy and Thomas finally sat back a bit and breathed deeply. The long night exhausting both of them.

The panic in the air settled into a distant hush as Dorothy only continued to stare at the girl in front of her. She leaned forward and felt her forehead; her fever had finally broken.

She finally looked up at Thomas and nodded, to which he dipped his head against to wall and sighed.

He looked back to her frame that was covered in goose bumps and chills. She had long since pushed her fringe back so it now sat haphazardly on the top of her head, unkempt.

She too had tear streaks and red eyes, her lip was bleeding from her biting down on it in frustration. She started tapping her fingers on the back of her right hand in unrhythmic patterns.

Thomas leaned over Matilda slightly, careful of the girls sleeping form. He put his hands on top of her own, trying to stop her nervousness, "it's alright. She's going to be okay. You did good and now she's going to be fine." His voice was scratchy and and gruff, but it was quiet and caring to the anxious girl.

Dorothy nodded and leaned her head against the wall behind her, taking deep breaths.

Thomas found the cramped walkway to be suffocating. It was only now that the panic had stopped did his own claustrophobic anxieties kick in. "I'm going to go check on the small ones. Make sure they're sleeping alright." Thomas excused himself. His hips creaked and his knees cracked and popped at the stiffness of his body. He winced at the sounds and hobbled down the walkway to the makeshift bedroom the children created.

He slowly entered the room and sat down at the foot of where they were sleeping. Making sure they were sleeping fine and peering into Tammy's box, he sat back a bit and took a breather.

After his mind had cleared a bit he looked at the faces of the kids in front of him. They all looked truly peaceful. Their faces ignorant to the horrors that had occurred outside of the abandoned house.

They appeared innocent, like the hardships that they faced in the day did not run with them to their dreams; that is something Thomas envied.

He wished for the day when his own night terrors would stop and he too, could sleep through the night.

Thomas had a small epiphany as he sat in the cold room. He looked at the children and saw a family. They were a peculiar and odd, misfit family. But they were together. They stuck with each other, they communicated and loved one another.

Thomas' night terrors were not a product of him being haunted by demons that held him close, but rather a result of his rejection of company.

Isolation is not safety, it is death. If no one knows you're alive, you're not.

This new notion resonated with Thomas as the events of the past several weeks caught up with him. When he met Bonny he started to live again for the first time since the war.

His mind kept going back to a conversation they had when they discussed their fears. Bonny admitted that her worst fear was losing Thomas and by association, her chance to live.

Thomas finally understood what she meant. When he was with Bonny, he was no longer surviving on borrowed time, he was finally breathing again. That's why they craved each others presence. That's why they demanded each other's full attention because if they didn't have it, then they had no chance of feeling the air in their lungs that they quickly became addicted to.

Thomas found himself smoking less when she was around. She gave him air, real air; that wasn't tobacco and nicotine rolled up in a nice sheet of an early grave. She breathed life; much like he did the same for her, surprisingly.

His thoughts were interrupted by Bonny peeking her head around the door and whispering his name. She gestured for him to come back out to which he pushed up and followed her back out.

"I reckon it's going to rain soon. Mind helping me move her? I wish I could, but I can't do it by myself."

Thomas nodded silently. Exhaustion was clear on both of their faces as they decided they no longer wanted to speak any more.

Thomas, without a word, gently scooped up the small girl, trying his best not to disturb her sleep and carried her to the lodging area.

Thomas placed her down on a mat a bit farther away from the sleeping children and he re-tucked the blankets around her.

He quickly ventured out again into the walkway, he found the scrap crates that held small slats of wood. He took them back inside and lit a fire with his matches; small enough to not burn the room down, but enough to provide warmth for Matilda and the other small children.

He wandered over to where Bonny was sitting. She was curled up against one of the brick walls, her head was resting on her knees.

Thomas sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, "how did you know that the mouldy bread worked?"

Bonny moved her head up so it was now resting on his shoulder, "read a paper on it. Flemmings. Works as and anti-something." Her exhaustion was clear in her voice.

Both of them were highly fatigued, it was only now when Thomas checked his pocket watch did he really understand how much time the two had been dead on their feet, going from lying down, to standing up, to changing the towelette and repeating it all again.

Thomas, with his own weights on his eyelids, wrapped his other arm around Bonny and pulled her down to the side. They shuffled about to a position where Thomas was on his back and Bonny's torso was resting on top of him; her face nuzzled deeply in his neck. The small weight on Thomas' chest relaxed him as his breathing became deeper and he drifted off with his favourite person in his arms.

As the two slept, unmoving and relaxed; the rain started pouring, only adding to the ambiance of the nights cruel events.

The rain and the wind said,

"You push and I'll pelt."

They so smote the garden bed.

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged—though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.

Slowly the rain became torrential, but it did not touch the sleeping children.

The minuscule fire they constructed provided light and warmth.

The rain also did not touch the unrequited lover, for he held his own sunshine in his arms.

——

THE FEEEELLLLLS.

Thomas having emotional breakthroughs is my kryptonite and you can quote me on that.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 25

“This is Karma”

Masterlist

If we want the rewards of being loved, we have submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Dorothy and Thomas both woke up a number of times during the early hours of the morning.

They thought that maybe they had about three hours sleep, put together that is.

The first time; Dorothy woke up, her head jutted up and almost smacked her fore head on Thomas' chin.

He did still wake up anyway but no one was hurt in the process at least.

Dorothy peered around the room and once again saw Matilda shaking again. "Oh, poor girl" she whispered solemnly. It took a moment for Thomas to realise that the only way she could go help Tilda was if he let go of Dorothy's torso, but he got there eventually.

As Dorothy crawled over to Matilda's flu-induced fever dream fit, Thomas relaxed his head back down on the floor and inhaled deeply. After a moment of almost drifting off back to sleep, Thomas heard gurgles and small choked crying sounds coming from the small kids.

"Oh god. Is this what having kids is like?" Thomas muttered as he dragged his sleep worn body off the hard ground. He leaned over to Tammy's box and took the sniffling girl in his arms. He leant back against the brick wall, bouncing the crying girl gently, who quickly stopped fussing and settled again.

Thomas was relieved that her crying hadn't woken up the other kids, otherwise he'd be in an even deeper mess than before.

Thomas rolled his head to the side and gazed his half open eyes on Dorothy who had now settled close to Matilda. The girl had stopped shaking now with the added warmth.

The moment the two shared was short, but Thomas treasured the feeling, deeply worried he might never get the chance to lie with her ever again.

——

When sunrise came, Thomas only then realised that he had fallen asleep, the baby still tight in his arms. He placed the sleeping girl back in the box she usually resided in and took a step back, surveying the scene.

"How the fuck did I get here?" Thomas almost laughed at how his day and night had so drastically changed.

Soon enough, Dorothy started stirring as she lifted her head up slowly. Her eyes widened at the stiff pain in her neck. She truly did wonder how these kids slept on the floors and still walk the next day.

She lifted the arm Matilda had subconsciously wrapped around her body off her. Dorothy carefully tried to stand up without making too much noise, but the cracking of joints and her back felt louder than gunshots.

Dorothy half-stumbled, half-walked in Thomas' direction who had an indifferent morning face on.

Without any words she leaned her head on Thomas' chest to which he responded by wrapping his arms around her sleepy frame. Dorothy hummed in content, "mornin'" she nuzzled her nose further in to his chest.

"Mornin' Bons." He rasped back quietly.

The two stood in silence for a few more moments until Dorothy spoke up, "Ms. P is gonna kill me for not coming back after my break." She giggled quietly which Thomas cracked a smile to.

"Nah. Don't worry 'bout her... She'll get over it. Potentially by firing you, we'll find out." Thomas rested his cheek on the top of her head.

Dorothy whined at the thought of her getting fired. She didn't know what she would do if she got fired. She wondered what would happen to her family.

——

Slowly but surely, the world woke up. The small kids started to shift and soon everyone but Tammy and Matilda were up. The rain had stopped, luckily, so the kids weren't confined to the sickly room.

Soon enough, Matilda woke up and her fever had gone down tremendously. Though she was still ill and tired, she'd probably be up on her feet again for tomorrow.

Thomas and Dorothy sat for a few minutes, just trying to re-collect themselves as they processed the night they had. Soon enough they realised it was probably best for them to leave.

When the two bid goodbye to the children, both parties were downtrodden and upset at the thought of parting ways, to which Dorothy tried to reason that they'll see each other soon on Saturday.

As the two friends walked down the streets of Small Heath, they were silent but close.

The rest of the city hadn't quite woken up yet, so Dorothy kept Thomas close and held his hand as they seemingly drifted through the morning light.

Thomas had woken up, even though his back was stiff; he was back on his feet shortly enough.

Dorothy, on the other hand, was still tired and groggy. Her face was quaint and drawn. She neglected to tell Thomas that she left Matilda her coat as the girl had no other layers to stay warm with.

Thomas, very quickly, picked up on this and shifted his coat on her shoulders without so much as a word.

She worried slightly for Thomas in the sense it was quite cold in the morning chill, and took to shuffling close to him, which he responded with wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

They arrived at the bakery and Dorothy turned to face Thomas, "thanks for helping out, I really appreciate it. I don't know what I would have done if I had a sick girl and a crying baby." She had a small smile on her face.

Thomas brushed her hair down a bit with his fingers, "it's no problem. Those little ones are more family than anything." He smiled down at her.

His words turned her small smile into a big grin which looked like it would rip her cheeks if it got any bigger "really? I'm so glad you said that. They honestly think you're great. Leah thinks you're like the coolest 'prince' ever." She held up her hands as quotation marks.

Thomas laughed at being called anything close to a prince. He snaked his arms around Dorothy's waist and pulled her closer to his chest.

Dorothy didn't mention the other words Leah said that morning, stating that Dorothy and Thomas were each other's princess and prince. The words made her eyes widen and stutter as she denied the whole concept completely.

The two parted ways, Thomas leaving with a promise that he'd be back by the time she was off again and Dorothy turning away reminding him that she'll always be where he can find her.

——

The morning was slow for Dorothy. Too slow. Her movements felt sluggish and lethargic. Her body feeling heavy with a weight she didn't carry.

Dorothy pinned it down to a lack of sleep and a lack of food. That would make sense. But she held on all the same, deciding it was no good to go fainting and falling before Thomas got there AT LEAST.

When Ms. P entered the bakery, she opened her mouth and Dorothy expected an earful for ditching work, but instead all she got was an elongated silence and a quiet greeting.

Dorothy felt like a sloth that she'd read about in her old books. Moving so slowly, the human eye might miss it. Ms. P kept rushing around her, doing jobs she could do fine by herself, but instead telling Dorothy to grab a drink of water and just stock the shelves out back.

By the time Dorothy's lunch break rolled around, she found that her usual half an hour job of stocking shelves turned into an hour long workout that was yet to be completed.

She felt horribly cold and kept Thomas' coat on that she unintentionally kept. She snuggled into the fabric when she took a breather to sit down on a stool. The coat smelled of cigarettes, whiskey, musk and coal. Dorothy quite liked the smell. It comforted her when she sighed and closed her eyes.

Maybe Dorothy got too comfortable though, because sooner or later she found herself dozing off, her head tipped forward slowly until the sound of someone clearing their throat made her head shoot up.

"Ahm- Sorry! SORRY, Ms. P! I-." Dorothy's flustered rambles were interrupted by the frame of one tall Shelby man. A small amused smirk on his face as he caught her in the act of sleeping on the job.

"Hello Bubs..." Dorothy yawned quietly, trying to gather he senses.

Without another word, Thomas walked to where she was perched on the high stool.

He, in one very swift movement, gathered Dorothy in his arms, strutted to where his designated chair was and plopped down in it with Dorothy, still in his arms, being lowered on to his lap.

Maybe if Dorothy was in a better frame of mind, she would have gotten hot and flustered; and made an excuse to get up. But instead, she leaned into the crook of his neck, breathing in his musky scent.

By these actions alone, Thomas knew that something was up. His suspicions were only confirmed when he heard a wheezing sound in his ear as Dorothy exhaled slowly.

He brought his head away from hers to get a better look, he saw her cheeks were flushed and her forehead was crinkled in discomfort.

Now Thomas understood.

Dorothy had gotten sick.

Of course she had. For most of the night she laid with a girl so sick, he was surprised she missed deaths knocking; and Dorothy had never had a good sickness tolerance.

"This is karma, y'know?"

——

Oooh. Do I have an obsession with sick fics? Maybe I do. Don't judge me.

All the tropes in this book are overused and cliche, but you've read this far so you can't judge me.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 1

“I’m thinking of killing off a few characters just to jazz up my autobiography.”

Masterlist

“Can’t catch me!” The young girl fled around the halls of her stately home.

A young maid, who was on nanny duty today, had the misfortune of chasing after the relentless girl.

She ran through halls with ceilings that she would never touch, no matter how much she grew.

The carpet was lusciously red and rich- it tickled her toes which only made the young girl giggle more as she toddled around the home.

The walls had a green design that was bright enough to make the house not seem boring, but dull enough to drive one insane, should they spend too much time looking for a cosmic purpose.

But young girls like her had no time to contemplate philosophy and the cosmos, as girls like her were too busy running with time.

Time ticks fast, but she ticks faster- never letting it overtake her for fear of the unknown.

——

“Oi Tom!” Arthur trudged into the betting shop, “new business in town. Well-not that new-but either way- they ain’t paying for protection, so I propose we go n’ ruff ‘em up.”

Thomas placed his pencil down on the document he was working on. He’d heard about this business, and he actually had plans for them.

“Aye, Arthur.” Thomas nodded, better now than never- it’s not like he wanted to sit at his desk all day- “I’ve got a proposal for ‘em.”

Arthur’s face shifted slightly with minor satisfaction as the thought of letting out some pent up nerves while smashing a blokes face in just made him feel a bit better.

“Who am I bringing then? John-boy? Scudboat? You’re coming too, Tom, ain’t ya?” Arthur was now pacing as his hands itched with anticipation.

Thomas only lit a cigarette with a blank look on his face, “actually, Arthur- it’s just going to be you, John and I visiting. I have a business proposal first.”

——

The streets of Small Heath were grimy and unpleasant, but not nearly as unpleasant as how thick the air became when they stepped closer and closer to the establishment.

“What they done, Tom?” John had his game face on. He was ready to kick ass and fuck up some poor blokes marriage. It’s going to be great.

“Ah, ah. Not yet, boys. I have a business deal to make first, should they refuse, then maybe you can sling their hook. But for now, I just need intimidation.” Thomas almost felt uneasy lighting a cigarette when the air smelt as though he’d had thousands already- but then again, he had to keep up appearances.

The door to the establishment was open, which contradicted the notice on the wall next to the frame that read;

“NO WALK-INS ACCEPTED.

MUST CONTACT VIA LETTER OR TELEPHONE AND PAY UPFRONT BEFORE SERVICE IS PROVIDED.”

“What the hell...” John muttered as he tried not to cough and splutter when entering the hazy room.

The shiny razors sewn into their caps almost seemed dull as the thick smoke clouded the room and clouded their eyes.

From what they could see, the work space was actually rather done up. The walls were a lush shade of rich red and the skirting board was lined with gold paint.

There was little furniture though and the place wasn’t nearly comforting despite its warm colours.

“What is this place?” Arthur grumbled, suddenly feeling a chill as he was overcome with the sense that he was in a waiting room, tapping his feet mindlessly as he waited for an appointment for a cause that did not sit well with him.

“It’s a morgue and cemetery, Arthur.” Thomas quipped quietly. He raised a finger to his lips as he stalked through the corridors that contradicted the atmosphere.

The three rather scary looking men heard giggling sounds coming from behind a door at the end of a long corridor.

Arthur and John glanced at each other, very confused.

The laughter though, was not one of sweet nature that you’d hear from a lady who made sweets, but rather a giggle or cackle that sounded sick and mocking and condescending.

Before Thomas could break down the door, he heard a low voice coming from within that had a thick accent over it.

“I heard this funeral is going to be grave affair, Mr Daniels.”

Thomas noted that the voice sounded a lot like a Russian merchant he’d met before the war.

He knew this business was doing well, but he didn’t expect doing-business-with-the-Russians-well.

Arthur had enough of waiting around and barged through the door.

There was silence for a moment and the clattering of utensils on a metal surface. “What the fuck is this?” He bellowed.

The other two brothers made haste with scrambling into the seemingly smoking room.

The four walls in the rather large room were a steely grey and Thomas wondered if it was actually iron and they were in a cage- it certainly felt like one.

“What-“ John cried, confusion fat, “the holy fucking shit is that?”

Thomas darted his attention to two figures in the corner of the room, one laying down on a high wooden table and another hunched over it like a lion over a deer carcass with an open light bulb hanging over head.

But it was only when Thomas looked closer, did he see the purple fingers of the figure on the table and the top of its nose- so pale and blue.

His inspection of the body was interrupted by the sound of Arthur’s gun clicking as he raised it up pointing at the hunched figure.

“Oi!” He grumbled, “step back from the body! By order of the Peaky Blinders!”

The hunched figure sighed and put down the metal instruments they clutched haphazardly in their fingers.

Thomas stepped forward and put a hand on the top of Arthur’s gun, motioning for him to put it away.

“Miss Florence Kent, I presume?”

The woman in front of them was of average height and had this unruly red hair that looked like it hadn’t seen comb in weeks. Her shoulders were hunched forward and it appeared that she constantly just swayed from side to side on the spot.

She wore trousers that protruded out from her legs, but were tied back together at her ankles brown paper bag style. She also wore a dirty creme coloured top that had long flowing sleeves that, like the trousers, bunched around her wrists. She honestly just looked like she only got half dressed- not in a whorish way, but it clearly needed something.

“Yup. Youse are Shelby’s, correct?” She gestured up and down with her arm to three rather unimpressed men who didn’t like being addressed with such casualty. Arthur was all but ready to put the fear of God into her heart.

Thomas ignored her comment and stubbed out a cigarette; “I’ve been lookin’ through the books, Miss Kent. I’ve noticed that you, a rather successful business, does not pay the protection of the Peaky Blinders.”

The red-haired woman smiled although it seemed more like a grimace, “and why do I need protection? Eh? Is someone going to steal my precious bodies” she put her palms to her cheeks, “oh no! Gah!”

Thomas was nearly at his wits end and John had already grabbed the back of his cap, waiting for Thomas to make a move.

“It’s not just outside enemies you’ll need to watch out for, maybe ones in your own establishment.” He blinked slowly and stood stock still “speaking of other enemies, where is your friend who you were talking to before we walked in? Husband? Business associate?”

The woman’s eyes widened as she gasped at the three men, “you believed that!” She bent over forwards as she cackled into her hand, “oh that’s so perfect! I’m nailing that accent. Woo!” She threw her arms up in the air mockingly.

“Okay, Tom. I’ve had enough of this.” Arthur snarled, but Thomas once again put his arm up to silence him.

“That’s not nice, let you’re brother talk, Tom.” The lady pouted teasingly. Thomas wondered, for the briefest of moments if this woman was clinically insane, but despite that, he’d met worse. He clenched his jaw “Miss Kent I have a proposal for your business.”

The woman with hunched shoulders rolled her eyes at all the formalities, but she never passed down the opportunity for a few dramatics, “alright, and what if I reject your business proposal?”

“Well you might find yourself in a room much like this, except you’d be the one with your guts in a jar?” Thomas tilted his head to the side, matching her teasing tone. If it was a game to her, then he’d play the game just ten times harder.

The woman scoffed and shifted her weight so she was leaning against the table “orright. Go on then- I love a bit of chit chat.”

She lit another cigarette and waited for Thomas’ long dramatic pause to end.

“You know what we do. You probably read the papers-“

“Kindling.”

Thomas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In any other circumstance, he would have shot her where she stood, but he really needed this business deal to go through- God, he hated being dependant on people. Especially the insane ones.

“So you know bodies are being found, and are being traced back to us when they get picked up from the cut?”

The woman stood up straight again and took the bud of her cigarette and mashed it into the side of the dead mans face who was still on the table. Thomas internally cringed and could have sworn that he heard John gag.

“And you want me to ‘sort out’ all the bodies the coppers ‘find’?” She used air quotes as she strolled around the other side of the table. “Also, can you tell your brother, yeah, to put down that feeble gun. It’s not very polite, y’know? Besides, it would be like shooting a gravestone if went for me.”

“What the fuck’s she on about, Tom? What are you on about, lady? You pulling some smimey witchcraft on us? I don’t like her Tommy, we can’t trust her. We don’t need her, we can deal with them bodies ourselves.” John was getting violently panicked, “we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders— she can’t do shit.”

“You’re right, John. I can’t do shit, but there will be no satisfaction in killing me. Go on, Johnny-” She spread her arms wide and tilted her head back. She shook her hands like she was dancing to jazz music, expecting an encore for her performance, “-lay one on me!”

“Fucks sake!” Thomas, who was clearly antsy and agitated, slammed his fist down on the table “we want you to be our body burner, right. Can you do that?”

“Jesus Christ, Sir.” She pottered around the room, moving jars and opening up cabinets that lined the wall vertically and horizontally.

The silence hung in the room for a while until Florence shifted on her heels, “so uh... what do I get for all this hassle?”

Thomas lit another cigarette. Something about this room and it’s pungent smell just put him on edge and made him uneasy.

“You get protection by the Peaky Blinders.” He stated plainly.

The woman shot him an unimpressed look, “if I wanted protection, I would have paid for it. Besides, why the hell would I care for your protection? Eh? The monsters gonna come get me, Shelby? Are you the monster? Why are you a monster, Thomas?” She tilted her head and squinted.

“Definitely insane” Thomas decided.

“Sure. The monsters. That’s not the point though. With this deal, you’ll be affiliated with the Peaky Blinders, therefore making you a target.”

“I still don’t want your protection. I’ll take the deal, but I don’t want youse lot just fuckin’ breaking and entering. Anyway, you weren’t too good at it either. I heard you all the moment you stepped through that door.” She opened different mason jars and took all sorts of herbs out and laid them out on a cloth.

After examining the stalks of which, she put them in a cement bowl and started grinding them down, “you’re lucky that I was curious to see who would have the balls to come here so I didn’t waste ya as soon as you stepped through.”

John scoffed, “sure you did, love.”

Florence continued to smash and squish the herbs into a dry green powder that looked not at all appetising.

The three men just stood and watched—not for any reason probably, maybe just intimidation and curiosity.

Thomas watched as she strode around the table with a heavy sway which made him wonder if the woman was shit-faced drunk.

When she walked in front of him, instead of alcohol like he was suspecting, he smelled something acute to salt and flowers, a strange combination. She walked with her toes turned outwards, almost like she had a limp in both feet and it was clear she genuinely had no regard for appearances to the three dangerous men.

She dumped the heavy cement bowl onto the table next to the pale blue and white body that made everyone but her in the room feel queasy.

“Are you boys gonna stick around to watch me slice this man open or do ya want to get the fuck out of my working space?” She picked up an instrument, not too dissimilar from a knife you’d see on your kitchen table, just this one had a bent head.

Thomas stood stock still but the other two men looked at each other with confused and pleading expressions. They could take ripping people a part limb from limb, but this... this was insufferable.

With the others gone, all that was left was Thomas and Florence, and the body.

“If you’re gonna stay, you can at least help me?” She said with a snarky tone. Thomas didn’t do shit for anyone so instead he just lit another cigarette and watched.

The woman took her bent knife—that was probably genuine medical equipment, but if Thomas was bored enough, he could most likely fashion his own—and dragged the knife across the corpses abdomen, just under his diaphragm.

“Lucky for you, I’ve already bled this one, so hopefully you don’t feel like disembarking your dinner.” She took the bag of ground up powder and put it into the top of a funnel with a tube attached to the end.

If Thomas was being honest, he felt sick to his stomach, he’d rather quit drinking for the rest of his life rather than sit and watch this—hell, he didn’t think he’d be able to consume anything for a week after this—but he had to keep up an appearance.

To be fair to him, it worked alright- Florence was slightly impressed by his devout need to prove himself to everyone.

He did falter though slightly when she jammed the end of the tube of the funnel into the line of the mans abdomen. He inhaled sharply when she took a jug of water and poured it into the funnel so it mixed with the powder, creating a thick gooey clear substance.

She held the top of the funnel in front of her face and shifted her weight so the front of her hips were resting against the tall table.

Thomas wondered if this woman could stand up straight.

She cast her gaze to the side to Thomas who had his eyes locked onto the slice in the mans abdomen as the goo passed through achingly slowly.

He moved his head up so they met eyes now from across the room. Maybe if it was a different setting, the scene would have been romantic, had they not been in a morgue and she not pouring goo into a dead mans carcass.

The room was supposed to be tense, it usually is when Thomas decides to enter with his dramatic bitch face. But for some reason, this woman wouldn’t let him affect her. At first Thomas thought it was fear; next he thought it was insanity; then he considered that maybe this woman just didn’t give a flying fuck about who he was and what he was doing there.

He hated that, just as much as he admired it.

“I’ll return another time to discuss business agreements.”

As the rather threatening man walked out of the door, Florence wondered if he too, was only just pretending to be human like herself most of the time.

——

“I hear you’re in partnership with the Shelby’s.” The Irish accent that seemingly appeared out of nowhere startled the red haired girl.

Not because she didn’t hear him, just that you didn’t hear other dialects in this shit-hole of a city.

Florence didn’t look up from where she sat, examining the pages of a book. She took her index finger and held it up to the mans face as a silencing motion. “What’s you on about, Mister?” The woman answered finally.

She was curled up in a very uncomfortable looking dining room chair (even though there was no dining room) with a book in her knees and hunched shoulders.

“You we’re visited by the Peaky Blinders today, and you made an agreement with them, Miss Kent.” The man with the thick grey moustache snarled.

“Yes I did. You’re sounding a bit resentful there, Chester.” She didn’t move her head, but her large eyes shifted to where the man stood stiff with two officers behind him. Coward.

“I see they’ve told you about me.” He nodded smugly.

“No, actually. I just find these things out for myself.” She focused back on to the page and tuned out whatever the man who looked like he had a stick up his arse was saying.

“Why did they decide to initiate contact with you?” He asked plainly.

“Business.” She states in the same manor.

“Why didn’t they discuss business with your husband or superior?” He leaned in slightly.

“Because I don’t have either of those. This is my business and you clearly didn’t read the sign outside.” She yawned and sniffed quietly. She reached for her cigarette tin and lit one up.

“We are royal officials. Your sign does not bypass the need for law and order. Besides, your reports will not be acknowledged, so there’s no need- I have friends in high places.” He stated condescendingly.

“Yeah? Well I’ve got friends in low places.”

Campbell slammed his fist onto the wall next to him, which probably would have been more intimidating, had he not hissed in pain and the wall not had been made out of brick. “Why did you agree to business with those scum of the Earth rats!” He bellowed.

Florence didn’t flinch. She only sighed and put down her book, cigarette still resting in her mouth, “because I do business with people who offer money. Good money. Don’t take it personally, but take it all the same.” She folded her hands on her stomach and interlocked them with a dull look on her face.

“And what if I offered you your life for information on the Peaky Blinders?”

“Okay, lets get this straight. I don’t want shit from you. My death will not and does not burden me. I won’t give you information on the Peaky Blinders, because I can’t be arsed to listen to them. So go on, have at it!” She abruptly stood up and stalked to the door on the other side of the room, but not before turning round with a grin on her face, “oh, and by the way, Chester. Please do take this very personally... Man up soldier- oh wait.” She cackled and didn’t miss the inspectors fists clenching as his brow tensed.

Without another word, Inspector Campbell left the premise. He knew that he’d see to it that this arrogant, harlot woman would see consequences of her blind confidence.

——

Okay. A lot of things are really slowing down here and I have no idea when the next chapter will be up.

So sorry for the lack of continuity, but hopefully you can understand that everything’s a bit intense atm 😅

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

I love The Anya-Margaret so much already!! And the fact that Florence is red haired makes it even better. Can't wait for more!

Ah thank you so much!

The person who I based her off of is actually a lady called Rachel Maksy!

She looks like this:

I just read the first chapter of Anya-Margaret and I already love Florence!

Thanks so much!

I’m really excited to keep writing it and start delving into her character and developing her textures and edges.

Besides, who doesn’t love a fierce woman who stares at the most terrifying man in all of Birmingham, in the EYES all the while pouring embalming liquid into a dead guys abdomen?

Sexy, right? 😂

Thanks for the love! 💕