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Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 19

“Family means bullying the shit out of your silblings until they try to stab you.”

Masterlist

He stole a day dreamers heart with a handful of clouds.

Things weren't good.

But things weren't bad either.

Ever since Dean had gone to work for Thomas, Dorothy found that she could give her family more than a slice of bread or porridge for a meal. She could cater a pie once a week or maybe Toad in the Hole if she got to the butchers at the right time.

But her father, no matter what Thomas promised, could only be as safe as Thomas could afford. She didn't like the work, but she saw the upsides. Dorothy for the first time managed to get remedies from the local pharmaceutical, but that came with the price of her father being in danger.

But nonetheless, the days moved forward. It had now been around a week and a bit since the night where Dorothy invited Thomas back to her house for another night to get his newly stolen shirt for him. She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him.

She thought about him day in and day out. She thought of the smile that she only just started being able to coax out of him more often. She thought of his warm embrace despite cold hands, that didn't really make sense but she revelled in the feeling.

——

Thomas was the same. He thought all about her, all the time. At least this time though, he was on top of his work.

He thought back to the moment when she cried her eyes out in front of him and he leant down to her level and for the first time, he looked deep into her eyes

He saw her blue/grey eyes that were harsh shades of grey with dark lines around the edges. He saw the stormy grayscale and saw an oxymoron on her face as her smile brightened the room but her eyes displayed a cold feeling to the heart.

Her pale and slightly gaunt face made her grey azures stand out among her delicate features.

"Delicate." Thomas thought. She was delicate, though he would never say it out loud to her because she would probably clap him upside the head. But she was. She was fragile in his arms and he held her together as he encircled her in his embrace.

He missed her. Terribly.

And that's why he decided to go see her.

After contemplating reasons for justifying a visit, he decided he didn't need one.

He was Thomas Shelby. He did what he wanted.

She was probably on a lunch break of sort around now.

Perfect.

——

Dorothy didn't look up when the entrance bell chimed, "Sorry, Ms. P is sick and I need to take a break to watch the ovens. Please come back in an hour, and I can serve you then!" She tried her best to be sweet about it, but if she was honest, she was tired.

She didn't actually have to watch the furnaces, it was actually her lunch break, but Dorothy didn't have lunch.

Things had been better. She tried her best to make them look better.

She decided that as gratitude, she'd try her best to make at least one full meal for her parents per day. And if by doing that, it meant that she couldn't eat a lunch, then she didn't worry. She'd eat in the evening anyway.

"Not even for me, Bons?"

Dorothy took a moment to register the voice before her head snapped up and she let out a squeal and clap at her guest.

"Bubs! Oh I've missed you!" She ran around the counter to stand in front of him.

This was really their first encounter in daylight, when any of the public could be watching. She understood that he had a hard reputation to uphold so she held back from attacking him into a tight hug and squeeze.

"I haven't seen you in a week and I don't even get a hug? The worlds truly fallen to pieces then, eh? C'mere." Thomas gestured by opening his arms, awaiting the force of her body slamming into his chest as she collided with him, momentarily winding him.

She rushed forward and embraced him in a tight hug, one that you'd give to a friend when they have to move away or when you'd just seen someone for the first time in years. It surely felt like years.

"I missed you..." Dorothy mumbled quietly, so quietly that Thomas almost missed it.

He hummed quietly in agreement, just enjoying the moment the two had together.

"Now what's all this about watching those ovens? I woulda' thought Ms. P would have at least given you a lunch break?" Thomas leaned back to look down at her.

"Don' have 'ny." Dorothy mumbled as she dug her face further into his chest, if possible, as he leaned back slightly, refusing to let go of him.

Thomas leaned forward again, chuckling a bit to himself at her actions, "I thought I paid your father enough to give you a lunch at least."

"Needed it for other things."

"Ok, well I can pay Dean more, business is getting better so 's no trou-."

"Don't give us special treatment. We're not a charity case, Bubs." Dorothy for the first time leaned out of his embrace, not fully letting go, but just enough so she could stare up and glare into his eyes to show she was at least a bit miffed.

Thomas momentarily let go of her as he held his hands up in surrender, "I know. I'm sorry! I just wanted to make things better." He hooked his arms back around her as he rested them on her back again.

"Well don't. You're doing fine just being here. Don't need none of that extra shit." She muttered back.

"So if you don't eat a lunch, when do you eat?"

"I'll eat this evening with my parents." She sighed, wanting to change the conversation, starting to walk around the counter towards the kitchen.

"Do they know you ain't eating lunch?"

Dorothy was now halfway into the kitchen and Thomas had no choice but to follow her, "what they don't know won't hurt them." She waved a hand in his direction, dismissing the conversation from going any further.

"Well we can't have that, now can we?"

"Come on. You came at the perfect time. Thought I was gonna be alone for an hour or so." She held a door open that Thomas hadn't noticed before.

Going through, he realised it was just the back entrance to the store for staff. When going out, he found crates of God knows what that hid in the alleyway of the bakery and other building. Dorothy nestled herself on one of the crates in the corner. Going one way, there was a dead end as the crates stacked so high, you couldn't get over, and the other had a clean but secluded view of the busy market in front.

Thomas sat on a crate, opposite her. It wasn't that he was worried about about people seeing him with her and having fun. He just wanted to create space so she was comfortable.

The two sat and chatted for as long as they could. Thomas laughed and sighed at all the things they talked about.

He felt like he only spent a minute in passing when she had to get back to the bakery after only an hour and a bit.

They parted ways again, Dorothy waving furiously at him as he smirked slightly, stalking away.

She went through to back door and he went down the alley, connecting once again to the market place, scaring a few unsuspecting buyers as he seemed to just have appeared out of nowhere.

His short daydream of thinking about Bonny was interrupted by his older brother clapping him on the back.

"Oh hello Tom! We's thought you'd gone wondered off. No ones been able to find you, yeah, for the past hour. My, my, I wonder what you get up to." Arthur laughed as John joined them.

"You reckon he finally got a bird, Arthur?" John 'swaggered' on their general direction.

"Aye! I do! 'E's been softer more! Reckon it's one of those pretty new barmaids!"

Thomas stayed silent through the whole exchange, rolling his eyes at his brothers assumptions and stalking off in a different direction, shaking his head slightly; trying to clear his thoughts or Dorothy.

——

It was now dinner in the Shelby household. Polly insisted that everyone came back from wherever they were living to go back to the Old Shelby household for one night for a 'family meal'.

The family crowded around the table, digging into the food. It was slightly tense at first but as soon as John and Esme arrived with booze, the happy family got back into full swing, laughs and potato's passed around the table.

Thomas, always the quiet observer, just sat and smiled occasionally. He didn't show it much, but his family knew that he was content and not brooding.

"So Thomas, when were you going to tell us, you finally had a girl?" Arthur started.

From there it only went downhill, for Thomas.

The family gasped and started speculating who she was. Only laughing in his face as his jaw clenched. He couldn't get a word in, not like he wanted to. The conversation only ended when he threw his fork, like a dart, right next to Arthur's head, clattering against the wall behind his head.

Arthur only held up his hands in mock surrender and changed the subject as Thomas glared daggers into the side of his head.

The dinner ensued all the same. Only now, the conversations were weighted with subtle jokes and prods at Thomas' love life.

He would never admit it, but he did find some of the jokes funny. Only because of the kind of girl they envisioned Thomas was supposedly with. Thomas could only laugh harder when he thought of the girl Thomas was really with.

Well he wasn't with her, was he?

Thomas froze in that moment. Maybe he wanted to be with her. Thomas smiled sheepishly to himself.

He was surely in trouble now.

——

I'm having far too much fun with this book.

I really just enjoy any kind of domestic fluff and I need MORE Shelby family fluff where everyone's just okay and happy. I NEED IT.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies Masterlist

Description

An introduction

Chapter 1- it’s a crime for a bluebell to look THAT good

Chapter 2- Maybe first impressions are overrated anyway

Chapter 3- “Are you a whore?”

Chapter 4- A second encounter that was not any better

Chapter 5- Intrigue and like are two very different things

Chapter 6- “I never called you Bonny, Bonny.”

Chapter 7- a warm hand is better than cold so let me hold yours

Chapter 8- Some secrets are better left surprises

Chapter 9- Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it did burn down in one

Chapter 10- “You can’t make a monster cookie to honour my name, Bonny.”

Chapter 11- If I cannot bend Heaven, I will Raise Hell

Chapter 12 pt.1- “The last time we were here, you put a gun to my face”

Chapter 12 pt.2- “The last time we were here, you put a gun to my face”

Chapter 13- What a plot twist she was

Chapter 14- “How the FUCK did you make porridge taste good?”

Chapter 15- “I wish you well on your pursuit of being.”

Chapter 16- “you have shoes that need lacing up, and you don’t know how to tie a shoelace?”

Chapter 17- “A dinner of bread and butter makes the world go round”

Chapter 18- What goes up must always come back down again

Chapter 19- Family means bullying the shit out of your siblings until they try to stab you

Chapter 20- “Are we really going to make this into a habit?”

Chapter 21- “Maybe one day I’ll get hit by a train.”

Chapter 22- “Would you ever want to fall in love?”

Chapter 23- Hypocrisy isn’t pretty

Chapter 24- Isolation is not safety

Chapter 25- “This is karma”

Chapter 26- “I did not take you as the jealous type.”

Chapter 27- “You’ve known her for two months and you still don’t know her name”

Chapter 28- The story will always glorify the hunter until the lion learns how to write

Chapter 29- Grief and love

Chapter 30- However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light

Chapter 31- Tea and revelations

Chapter 32- “I have a soul as old as Rome”

Chapter 33- “Nostalgia is a dirty liar”

Chapter 34- Well-fed devils are better than famished saints

Chapter 35- “What does an ant on our planet know about our cities?”

Chapter 36- Tea and gossip

Chapter 37- Birth, death, the silly bit in between

Chapter 38- Human conceits

Chapter 39- “How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?”

Chapter 40- Nothing ends poetically

Chapter 41- “You shouldn’t be here”

Chapter 42- Bastard. Selfish bastard

Chapter 43- “I don’t want to die”

Chapter 44- Peculiar people

Chapter 45- “Can you feel the love, Bubs?”

Chapter 46 pt.1- Successfully evading responsibility

Chapter 46pt.2- Successfully evading responsibility

Chapter 46 pt.3- Successfully evading responsibility

Chapter 47- The storm is strong, my dear, but we, we are stronger.

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 20

“Are we really going to make this into a habit?”

Masterlist

What good are wings without the courage to fly?

Thomas and Dorothy had both developed small habits with each other as of recent days.

For example; when the two greet each other, the following actions must occur:

1) Whoever spots the other first must make it their absolute mission to get their attention in the most subtle way possible.

2) If after three attempts to get the others attention continues to fail, that person is obligated to try and ram over the other person in a very tight hug and greeting.

3) Thomas learned the hard way that she is incredibly easy to topple over.

4) He will be more gentle next time.

Weather Thomas liked it or not (he really liked it) he always had to greet her with a hug, or at least hug her back when she initiated the embrace. No matter where or when.

Lucky for him, most of their encounters always seemed to occur in the early hours of the morning, or late nights when she'd be locking up.

There was one incident though, when Dorothy managed to catch him on the street and tackled him into a very sudden side hug. Thomas gripped her arms in what seemed a friendly way, but was really a ploy to try and move the two mid-hug into a side alley, away from public view.

Another habit they had developed was when Thomas realised that he no longer accepted only meeting her once or twice a week.

He'd never felt the need to be this close to someone as much as possible, he couldn't explain it, but he just knew he wanted it.

So it was this way that Thomas resolved to visiting her at her lunch breaks.

The first time he showed up nearly gave Ms. P

a heart attack as the Shelby man stepped through the door. She was all flustered and blubbering until Dorothy popped her head around the corner, clapping her hands as she rushed around the counter to greet him in a hug.

Ms. P was thoroughly confused when Dorothy wrapped her arms around the very dangerous man, she was even more confused and scared when he reciprocated the action.

Ms. P was perplexed, confused, bewildered, when the dangerous Shelby man rested his cheek on the top of her head as they greeted each other with names that DEFINITELY were not the correct ones.

If she furrowed her eyebrows anymore they probably would have popped off, until Thomas Shelby looked up and told Ms. P that he was going to whisk Dorothy away for the remainder of her hour and a bit long lunch break; to which Ms. P nodded, "Of course, Mr Shelby, go ahead!"

It was only moments like these when Dorothy remembered that her best friend was a very scary man and had a large amount of influence over the area she inhabited. But she did not dwell on those thoughts because she knew who he was, and that's all that mattered.

——

Thomas linked his arm with hers, something she understood he was more comfortable doing in public view.

He gently led her to the entrance of the bakery and pulled her down the streets and markets of Small Heath.

People stared, people always stared. But Thomas didn't care. Though this time he knew they'd go home and talk about it, making speculations what the two were doing together and what they were.

Dorothy knew people were watching, but she didn't particularly care. Dorothy once again forgot who the man she was walking with was. She figured they were just nice people who stayed out of the way or greeted them because they knew her and Thomas.

Thomas and Dorothy both knew most of Small Heath by name or face. Both for vastly different reasons, but it all the same, they were known for their own reasons.

People saw Thomas and they dipped their hats, muttering a quick, "Mr Shelby."

When their eyes followed on to Dorothy they'd narrows their eyes but smile a bit and say, "Miss Dotty-Anne."

This happened a few times, some people even tried to start a conversation with Dorothy, seemingly unaware of the dangerous presence of the Shelby man stood right next to her, who was desperate to whisk her away as quickly as possible to keep her to himself.

"Is Dotty-Anne your name or something?" Thomas leaned in a bit to mutter into her ear.

"No it's not. It's been my nickname for years now, though. I can't quite remember when it occurred, but I just remember Danny calling me that in school, and ever since then, it stuck... I woulda thought you would have worked it out by now with that name alone, Bubs."

"Danny Whizz-bang?"

"Is that the name he goes by now? I haven't seen him in a while, I would love to catch up."

Thomas neglected to tell her that he was 'dead' and decided now what not the time, "Miss Dotty-Anne. Can't say the name comes to mind..."

Dorothy only shrugged and leaned into him slightly, enjoying the warmth he provided.

"I prefer Bonny, though." Thomas smirked back.

She patted his arm,"Me too, Bubs, me too." That was not the answer he expected, but the one he got nonetheless.

——

As the two wondered further into the market place, they arrived at the chippy and cafes.

"What you eatin' then?" He gestured at the rows of market stalls and corner shops.

"What? Oh, sorry Bubs, I don't have any change on me. What you getting though?" She smiled up at him apologetically.

Thomas only shook his head at her and tutted lightly, "we can't have that, now can we? Tell you what, pick something and I'll buy it for you."

"No, Bubs, you can't do that! I've been around this area of the market, FAR too expensive." She waved her hands around trying her best to be serious, but that of course backfired miserably.

"I don't care. Pick something." His voice was a bit more stern and Dorothy wasn't really sure how she felt about it. She bowed her head a little and mumbled quietly.

"What was that, Bons, didn't quite catch that?" He patted his ear, teasingly.

"Never eaten at any of these, so I don't know which to pick." She looked down at her feet and swiped at a pebble as she deemed it far more interesting than whatever Thomas was trying at.

"Well I guess we'll just have to try all of them. Of course not at once. We'll work our way down the road, try and find the best one."

Dorothy perked up at the thought that there was going to be another time.

She sighed, knowing she won't get any say in trying to pay and only walked after Thomas as he made headway for the nearest shop that of which sold quiche.

——

In the end, the two, after much bickering, settled on one quiche as Thomas tried to get her a full one, but then decided he only wanted half of his one and Dorothy insisting she couldn't eat a whole one.

So now they were walking back to the bakery, a small quiche for them to share, "are we really going to make this into a habit?" He gestured at the pastry food, hinting at the fact it seemed that neither of them could eat a full meal, but demanded that the other ate a whole plate; this only resulted in them sharing one meal.

They walked to the small one way alley behind the bakery and sat on the crates again, this time Thomas sat on the opposite side of the same large crate as hers and put the quiche in between.

The two continued to bicker when Dorothy left half a slice and Thomas came an inch close to just picking it up and stuffing it in her mouth (he would have gently put it to her mouth, but the empty threat worked either way. (Yes he was slightly bummed he lost the chance to feed her, doing that thing that couples do when they're happy. Disgusting.))

The two found themselves in deep conversations about nothing and playfully fighting about mundane things like getting to the moon (Thomas was a non-believer) and weather the violin could really be considered an instrument, (Thomas, it turns out- has no ear for music, whatsoever).

Before Dorothy knew it, she had to rush back in to the bakery, giving Thomas a quick side hug and squeeze as she left. Leaving him pining for her touch one more time before he had to go back to the real world.

Her vanilla and Rose-water scent lingered beneath his nostrils as she left to go back to work.

Thomas often found himself thinking of her at night, whenever he couldn't sleep or when the mud woke him up. He thought about the idea of her curling into his side, he hoped that he could one day be that warm furnace that she always craved when she got cold. He so desperately wanted to be the thing that stopped her from practically breaking her neck as she tightened into what looked like a very uncomfortable ball. He wanted that.

Thomas quickly decided that these visits would be a daily encounter and NOTHING was going to stop him from seeing his Bonny.

With those thoughts, he went on his way.

——

This was a bit slow and kind of a filler, but I needed to write it anyway.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 21

“Maybe one day I’ll get hit by a train.”

Masterlist

Of all the sad things I've heard, "I used to be so happy" is the most heartbreaking of all.

And so their routines continued.

Every Monday through to Friday, Thomas would visit Dorothy at the bakery for her lunch break. They'd get a meal and share it, all the while exchanging opinions on topics that meant nothing and everything.

Thomas remembered one specific time where the two exchanged an incredibly vulnerable chat. Thomas begged the question-.

——

"What do you fear the most?"

Dorothy put down her fork and was silent for a moment.

"Y'know what, Bubs. I don't think I'm afraid of death. I think one day I just decided it wasn't a burden to me. I suppose after smelling death in the air for as long as I have, you learn that it always just tends to sit there. On your shoulder. On your back.

Death is not a burden, more just a train to a location that we never really know the destination to.

"I think maybe my biggest fear at the moment might be losing you." She smiled sheepishly at the ground, "you're the only friend I've had that I desperately want to stick around. I'm not afraid of you dying. No. You seem like you've been able to cheat death like a game of charades your whole life.

"My biggest fear is you'll see me one day in the market on a Tuesday morning or whatever and instead of coming over with a hug and greeting, you'll look at me and see all my flaws. My nose, my chapped lips, the way my hair never sits straight. You'll think about my random spouts of rambles and how I can't sit still. You'll think about how obnoxious I am with my stupid camera.

You wake up one day and decide that for no reason in particular, that you just don't like me anymore.

"I'm terrified that I'll stop living again. Loneliness is not a fear of mine, but not living is. I'm terrified that one day I'll go to work, you'll be gone, and I won't be living anymore. I'd hate to have been given a life by whatever deity is up there, and not live it."

Dorothy settled her hands in her lap, forgetting about the tray of food in front of her. Midway through her speech, Thomas froze and dropped his fork, neither of the two seemed to realise.

Thomas, unsure what to say, nodded and with another pause said, "I really hope nothing like that happens. I suppose I fear that as well. That one day you'll see me the way I see myself."

His words were not a declaration of his feelings, but in that moment alone, Thomas was more vulnerable than he had been his whole life. Even before the mud and picks.

Dorothy moved the tray of food out of the way, she climbed across the crate and kneeled next to him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a comfortable side hug. Thomas reached to the side and wrapped his arms around her torso, leaning into her ribs and just shutting his eyes.

They stayed like that for another moment, before she pulled back and dug herself into his side, she then placed the tray on her lap and got back to eating.

Thomas picked up his fork and copied the action.

Without much thought to his words, Thomas stared abruptly, "you're incredibly straightforward, Bonny."

Dorothy smiled and chuckled a bit to herself

"I love being horribly straightforward. I love making reckless actions and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolute magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying 'hug me harder' and 'you're a good person' and 'you brighten up my day'. I live my life as straightforward as possible.

"Because one day I might get hit by a train." Thomas raised a brow at her words.

"That's right. Maybe it's weird. Maybe it's scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be- to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them whether it's your feet on their thighs on the sofa or your arms around their waist or your heart in their hands.

"But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate. And there is nothing more risky than pretending to not care.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.

We never know when the train is coming."

Dorothy was now staring off a bit into the distance, her gaze transfixed on nothing in particular.

"That's uh-." Thomas started.

"-intense? a lot? I know. Before you came along, I had far too much time to think."

——

Their escapades of personal conversations ended for that day, but Thomas found himself thinking back to all the things she'd said. He liked her train analogy it sat well with him and he supposed in that moment he registered he fact that this girls mind goes far deeper than he imagined. She was insanely intelligent, not in a necessarily academic way, but more people smart. She understood people, maybe it was from the fact that she spent a long time just observing people.

But she kept saying those words, or they kept repeating in his head, "until you came along."

He thought about all the things that had changed for him since she'd come along.

He drank less. He frowned less. He started to smile more. He found his shoulders no longer held the tense knots that wove their way into his bone. He could finally stand himself!

It seemed that a lot had changed for her. He wasn't sure maybe what had changed, but he hoped it was good. He hoped that she was better. That she was happy. That maybe she too, could finally stand herself.

——

Dorothy and Thomas both found that they finally had something to look forward to. They woke up and stared at the clock waiting to be able to get a glimpse of each other.

But what Dorothy loved the most was Saturday nights. While most girls would probably go out to the town for a drink and dance, she probably would too except she lacked the former.

But now, she had something better than drinks and dancing. Saturday was the day where her patience was truly tested. On Saturdays, Thomas didn't visit on her lunch break, instead, he appeared in the evening and sat with her while she baked for the week. He just sat and sometimes they talked, and sometimes they sat in silence for hours; only the sound of Dorothy's quiet humming filling the air.

On the fifth week of their evening meetings, Thomas danced with her. Dorothy rifled through her collection and put on a slightly paced piece that Thomas remembered before the war.

Thomas, without much warning stood up with a slight joking groan as if his limbs ached from the sheer effort.

"C'mon Bonny, you can't put on a song like this and not expect me to ask you to dance." Thomas declared with a wide gesture which made Dorothy giggle slightly.

"Oh very well then. But I warn you, I'll show you up." She grinned cockily.

Thomas merely raised an eyebrow to challenge her, something he did quite often. Not because he doubted her, quite the contrary, but rather that he wanted to see just how far she could go.

Thomas took her hands and brought them closer to him. She put one hand on his shoulder and held his hand with hers. He rested a hand on her waist as he clutched her other hand. The two danced around the kitchen, as Thomas dipped her in the small glow of the furnace light.

She giggled each time he leant forward to support her as she leant back, he allowed the bow to go further and further until she was almost sure her back would break if she went any further, "Bubs, back up! My spine's gonna snap if you don't lift me back up!" She patted his shoulder desperately and held his hand tighter.

Thomas only tightened the hook he had around her waist and smiled with mischief in his eyes.

Finally relenting and pulling her back up to end the song.

The two parted ways when Dorothy had to take the last of the sweets out of the ovens. She had also made a habit of making extra Billion dollar  Bubs because she knew they were his favourite.

Once the night had ended and they'd eaten the extra food, a final song came on. A slow song. Thomas caught her eye with a lopsided grin and made a wild and dramatic gesture with a bow as he held his hand out for her to take.

Dorothy only shook her head as she took his hand and squealed a bit when he tugged her very close quite abruptly. Dorothy latched her arms around his neck and nestled her cheek to his chest as he attached his arms to her waist again.

She listened to his heartbeat and found it slow and relaxed. She hummed to the music feeling the tune reverberate through her ears. Thomas leaned his head forward and rested his chin on the top of her head. He sighed in content.

The two were an odd and unusual pair, but it was quickly established that the two might as well have been made for each other. She was a perfect source of warmth to his ice-like stares. He was a perfect sedative to the chaos in her mind.

The two could barely contain their anticipation for the next week or the next time they could see each other. Craving the others touch or scent or presence.

Watch carefully, the magic that occurs, when you give a person, just enough comfort, to be themselves.

——

SO MUCH FLUFF!

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

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 22

“Would you ever want to fall in love?”

Masterlist

The fact that the word 'lovesick' exists, that the simple absence of a person can make you feel physically ill, says a great deal about the terrible power of the human heart.

Thomas was sat in his small office at his small desk in the small betting shop. He filed through papers that he meant to work through, to examine and sign if he felt like it.

Though when he picked up the last sheet, it was in fact an envelope.

It was addressed to him in a scrawl that looked far too good for a lowly mans complaint.

He knew what was in the letter, but he didn't know what to think about it.

In his hands he held Grace's letter. The one she gave to him the night before she left for New York, asking him to run away with her.

He obviously didn't go with her that night on account that he was still in Birmingham; but he thought about her letter. He thought about the address which she listed at the bottom of the page, the place she was going to inhabit across the oceans.

Thomas, for some unknown reason, didn't throw the letter away, nor did he burn it. He left it on his desk, in between the files. He left it for another time.

It's not like Grace wasn't going to be there, should he journey off to wherever she now lived.

——

It was the seventh week of Thomas' and Dorothy's late night Saturday meetings.

They truly were Thomas' favourite time of the week. It was the time the two could be completely alone as they picked and prodded at the others brain.

Thomas had now formed a small acquaintance with the children that visited Bonny on Saturday nights for left overs.

Thomas now often found himself talking to the five children that popped in on those nights while Dorothy tried her best to feed the small baby, Tammy.

Thomas told fun stories from when he was younger to the children as best he could. Though more often than not, the kids would complain and whine as he drifted off a bit when he got lost staring at Dorothy as she looked after the small girl.

"Please, Bubs, finish the story, Charlie looks like he's going to burst from anticipation." Dorothy giggled a bit when he caught her eye and paused the story to stare.

Charlie was nine years older than Tammy, making him ten. He was the one that decided the Shelby man was a minor threat compared to the men outside the homely bakery and the two got on like a house on fire. It was truly endearing to watch.

Generally while the other three kids sat around the table, talking with Bonny, Charlie wondered over with two pieces of bread, offered one to Thomas and sat next to him.

At first, Thomas decided it wasn't worth befriending a ten year old, of course. But then as time wore on, the two found themselves going from discussing mundane things and their favourite sweet Bonny made to their day to day and both their adoration for the woman in front of them.

Charlie was the second oldest of the group, just a few months younger than Matilda who was almost eleven.

Thomas did always have a soft spot for children and just had a sense of sympathy for them. He knew kids had to grow up quickly now and there wasn't much room to ever enjoy youth as it was.

Charlie, he learned, was handy with a football and had a nack for the sport. Thomas remembered years of playing footie in the park with John. He wasn't the best at it, but the determination to push his younger brother to the ground whenever he got in his way was much stronger than winning.

So Thomas liked football too.

Now Thomas became the resident story master on these nights. Some of the kids stood a bit of a way back, still cautious of the Shelby man, while others sat right at his feet.

It was moments like these that Thomas craved for a family. Where he could have children and a loving wife, someone like Bonny, who was caring and kind-hearted and pure and everything Thomas ever wanted.

After Thomas had finished the story, and Dorothy had put the extra bits of food in a bag, the children scurried off into the night.

The pair stood at the window, waiting for them to go around the corner until they were out of sight before Dorothy spoke, "Charlie's a sweet boy."

Thomas hummed slowly. Thomas wouldn't say it out loud, but he was definitely Thomas' favourite. He had grown fond of the boy who seemingly had to grow up too fast, shepherding the other children, trying to keep them safe.

Charlie did most of the odd jobs. He cleaned strangers shoes for a quick shilling and delivered messages for people who didn't have time for letters. He did what he could.

Thomas found that the two were similar. Charlie tried his best to do what he could for his peculiar family the same way Thomas did.

Everything was for his family.

Thomas admired that in the boy.

——

The two made their way to the back of the bakery to the kitchen.

Thomas now had an allocated seat at the side to sit and ponder while Dorothy busied herself with baking.

This time though, Thomas did something different.

"How do you make that Billion Dollar shite?" He stated rather crudely.

Dorothy giggled slightly, "C'mere, I'll show you."

This was very new. Usually Thomas sat back and watched. He would ask questions or he would answer them.

His next words probably shocked him most, "orright."

Thomas heaved himself out of his chair and stumbled over in Dorothy'a general direction.

"What're you doing here? Wash your hands first! Didn't your aunt eva' teach you 'bout hygiene?'

Thomas held up his hands and ambled to the sink, dipping them under the water briefly. "Good enough."

When he finally got round to standing beside her she already had the ingredients out, he took off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. Dorothy briefly appreciated the look before moving on.

She got to work commanding, "mix this!" Or, "pour that!" And "No, that's far too much!"

Thomas huffed a little, he wasn't exactly used to being spoken to like that. Had she been anyone else, he probably would have cut her a long time ago.

"Since when were you so demanding, huh?" He nudged her a bit.

"Since this is my ball park. This isn't your betting shop, nor the streets of Small Heath. This is my territory, Mister!"

Thomas chuckled at her answer, he didn't mention the fact that he was very sure this bakery was in his territory in Small Heath, but he accepted that this was her safe space, he was only a guest.

After the last of the treats had gone in the oven, Thomas decided that maybe baking wasn't for him, but he'd do it a thousand times again for that kind of experience with his Bonny. She truly was at peace when she was working with her sweets.

But now that they had approximately 20 minutes to kill, Thomas decided to take the lead now.

He rifled through her collection of records and pulled out a nice jazzy one that he hoped he remembered the moves to.

"Oh now that's a good one!" Dorothy chimed over his shoulder, startling him a bit as he was too busy recollecting the actions to the piece.

"Go on, Bubs, dance with me!" She flicked her dress about a bit, giggling as she made big gestures with her hands which Thomas reciprocated with an over exaggerated bow.

"As you wish, Miss. Bonny."

The two pranced around the kitchen, at times she was much too far away from him and he wished he'd picked a slower one.

By the time the record was finished the two had five minutes to waste until they had to stop the sweets from burning.

They settled down again in a position very familiar to the two. Thomas sat in his chair while Dorothy sat adjacent on the counter beside him, her shins brushing his knees.

"Would you ever want to fall in love with someone, Bonny?" The question didn't startle Dorothy, but she didn't exactly expect it.

"I'm not sure, Bubs."

"How could you not want to fall in love?" Thomas furrowed his brows as he stared up at her. He adjusted their position so her stocking clad feet her resting on his lap, he brushed his thumb against the side of her ankles. He made note of the fact that she somehow managed to kick off her shoes midway through their dance.

"Easy. I don't want my happiness to depend on whether or not a person gives their attention to me. I don't want to stay up late wondering whether they are thinking about me. I don't want to cry over someone who may not care. I don't want to stare at the postman to see whether they sent a letter in the morning. Most importantly, I don't want to give anyone the power to hurt me."

"Why 'they'? Something you've got to tell me?" He stared up at her.

"I don't know, Bubs? Is there something you should know?" She challengingly stared back down at him.

"I'm a modern man, Bonny." He tilted his head to the side.

"Well that's very good. Though, I'm more just opened minded. I don't know what I want, nor the kind of person. Never been in a relationship."

Thomas only nodded. "So you don't want to fall in love with no one?"

"I never said that." Dorothy wiggled her ankles out of his grasp and got off the counter. Thomas sat back and stared at the place where she sat only a second ago, trying to process the information.

Dorothy got to work with taking the sweets out of the furnaces, "your Billion dollar Bubs are looking good, Bubs." She giggled at her own joke.

Thomas didn't answer only continuing to stare off to the side.

Dorothy finished setting out the sweets to cool.

She meandered around for a while, pretending to gather her things, when really she was just milling about, refusing to admit the night has ended and she'd have to leave Thomas until Monday.

Thomas slowly came back to the present and started gathering his things. The two walked to the entrance of the bakery, Dorothy turned to lock up and place the key in the potted plant.

"C'mon. I'll walk you home." This was also new. It seemed Thomas also did not want the night to end.

He held out his arm, naïvely. He should have known that she'd go for his hand. He wasn't complaining.

The two walked to Dorothy's place in silence. Just enjoying the ambiance of the brief moment Small Heath went to sleep.

It was only when they turned to Dorothy's Lane that Thomas spoke up, "so you've NEVER been in a relationship, eh?"

Dorothy giggled and slapped his chest, "shut up!"

"You've got to have had your first kiss though, right?"

Dorothy stared sheepishly at the ground.

Thomas gaped a bit like a fish. He couldn't believe it, really.

If he was honest with himself, he was rather glad about the fact that she hadn't been in a relationship or missed anyone yet. If he was even more honest with himself, the only reason he was happy was because that way, he could be her first kiss and relationship.

But he refused to admit the latter to himself.

Those kind of demons were for another time maybe.

The two parted ways at Dorothy's doorstep. Dorothy turning around to give him the tightest squeeze she could, knowing she wouldn't be able to see him until Monday. She tried her best to remember the way he smelled and the way his warmth felt. He was warm to her.

The two quite solemnly parted ways.

——

ANOTHER ONE! YAYYYY!

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Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 23

Hypocrisy isn’t pretty

Masterlist

You drink a little too much

And try a little too hard.

And you go home

To a cold bed and think,

That was fine.

And your life

Is a long line of fine.

The new found friendship between Dorothy Monroe and Thomas Shelby had the whole of Small Heath talking.

Two parties, unanimously known, polar opposites.

People couldn't wrap their heads around it.

Some looked at Dorothy with a disapproving glare. It's not because they were jealous of her, but rather that she even gave the time of day to Thomas.

She spent most of her days preaching kindness and never tolerating the evil.

And understandably, people didn't see Thomas Shelby as an exactly nice man.

"Hypocrisy isn't pretty." They'd snarl.

To which Dorothy'd probably answer, "we all break our rules for someone."

Her answer wouldn't justify her actions, but maybe she just didn't care.

Maybe some thought she was trying to change and tame him.

Those who admired Thomas hated her for that. Those who hated Thomas thought it impossible.

Some, mostly the more romantic young girls, liked the pair. They thought about the romance novels they read and saw the same kind of pairings walking the streets.

Many who visited and talked with Dorothy on days she worked at the counter in her bakery, all loved her and thought her the sweetest girl to ever be.

Some thought that Thomas would taint her.

Those who liked her worried for her.

Those who didn't bid her good riddance.

Despite all the speculation, their friendship was nothing like the public suspected.

Thomas was at his best when he was with her. He was a Thomas even he himself forgot about.

Dorothy was accepting of who her best friend was. She had no desire to change anything about him. She took him the way he was.

——

It was a Tuesday and Dorothy was at the counter talking with a customer who came in regularly.

Mrs. Gold-wing, the customer, usually came in to complain about her sons choice of wife or her husbands drinking habits; but this time, she ventured in with a goal in mind.

She was one of the many who were concerned for Dorothy's well-being as she spent time with the very dangerous Shelby man. She trotted in with the hopes that by the time the conversation was over, Dorothy would be fully convinced that she wanted nothing to do with Thomas Shelby.

Mrs. Gold-wing was very naïve.

Mrs. Gold-wing entered the shop and quite loudly announced her presence while at the same time motioning Dorothy to come chat with her.

It's not like she didn't like Mrs. Gold-wing, It's just that she had work to do and these chats were never short.

Dorothy ambled over, "Morning, Mrs. Gold-wing!" She politely smiled.

"Hello love, take a seat." Mrs. Gold-wing adjusted her purse in her lap, "I need to speak with you about your new acquaintance, Shelby, isn't it?"

Dorothy internally groaned. Straight to the point, but she really didn't want to have this conversation.

"What about him?"

"I'm just concerned dear. He's a dangerous man to be around and I'm worried you'll get hurt. Being with him can't possibly be good for your health." Mrs. Gold-wing tried to be tactful.

"I can assure you, Mrs. Gold-wing, I am certainly not 'with' him. He's a good friend of mine, so don't you worry." She patted Mrs. Gold-wings hand that was resting on the table, trying to finish the conversation as her lunch break was soon and she just wanted Bubs to get there quicker.

"But that doesn't make a difference! I cannot allow you to go running around with a man like that! He'll hurt you, dear! What would your poor mother say? Does she know?"

Mrs. Gold-wing was putting a toe over the line and Dorothy was getting rather sick of it. She didn't appreciate people talking about her situation like they knew her.

"Now don't you worry about my friends and mother. I'll be alright, we're good friends, he treats me very well." She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to stay composed, "Now, what loaf would you like to take this week? I must say, Ms. P did very well this week."

"Miss. Dotty-Anne, I'd very much appreciate it is you sat down! You cannot be near that man! He's so very dangerous and is no good for kind soul like you!" Mrs. Gold-wing slammed her purse on the table which the other customers did not take very kindly to.

"We all have stories we never tell, Mrs. Gold-wing. He has his own and judging him for what you don't know and cannot prove is not fair to him or me. With all due respect." Dorothy added on at the end like it was an after thought.

"Miss. Dotty-Anne, I have half the mind to go find your mother and tell her of you gallivanting with Thomas Shelby! It's hardly appropriate for someone like you, to be seen with someone-."

"Someone like me?" A new voice entered the conversation, "someone like me, Mrs. Gold-wing? That's very derogatory, don't you think? I don't appreciate being spoken about like that."

Thomas had seemingly appeared from nowhere, leaving Dorothy's heart to leap out of her chest, from fright or happiness, she didn't know.

Mrs. Gold-wing also didn't take to kindly to the newcomer in their conversation. She pursed her lips and took a trembling hand to her purse.

Thomas continued, "I don't think it's very kind to go talking about other people's mothers like that. It's not kind to pretend to know someone, y'know?"

"That's what I wanted to say!" Dorothy's internal monologue screamed. She coughed into her hand, trying to conceal a laugh.

Mrs. Gold-wing didn't say anything as she stood up with shaking legs and manoeuvred around Thomas who stayed stock-still where he stood, watching her scuttle out of the door.

"I've never been so happy to see you, Bubs." Dorothy put a hand on her heart and sighed deeply.

"Really? I woulda' thought you'd always been the happiest what when that one time I stuck a gun to your head?" Thomas smirked slightly, offering a hand for Dorothy to take to pull her up.

She took the hand and with a swift motion, Thomas pulled her up into a welcoming hug. Assuming his normal position of resting his cheek on the top of her head.

"Shuddup" she mumbled into his chest.

Dorothy pulled back after a moment, and leaned back to look up at him, "let's get out of here, eh Bubs? I need a break from all this."

Thomas offered just arm and the two walked on.

Thomas kept his promise of trying at least one food from every shop, down in the food quarter. Today, they were having cheese toasties. Thomas was never crazy about them, but he ate them nonetheless.

As the two made their way back to the crate-filled alley, they talked quietly among themselves.

Thomas noticed Dorothy smelling the air and her eyes darted to the cardboard box that held the cheese toastie. Thomas only smirked a little and moved it slightly away from her hands which were twitching slightly. He could have sworn that he heard a small whine come from her as he adjusted the position of the steaming box of cheesy deliciousness.

They were midway through their conversation when Dorothy gasped and let go of a Thomas' arm. She crouched down and opened her arms wide. Thomas stared at her for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with the present, but he was surely interrupted by a small "oomph" coming from Dorothy as she was knocked back a little.

Thomas instinctively jutted out his knee which he stabled her against. Thomas looked down at the little bundle Dorothy held in her arms, whatever it was, it was crying, a lot, and very loudly.

"Sh, sh, shhh. Calm down Theo. Sh, sh, sh. What's wrong love?" She held the crying child close to her chest. When the child seemed to calm down a bit, she pulled him back so she could get a look at his face, trying to see if she could magically tell what's wrong.

"It's Tilda!" The boy cried out.

By now, there was a small crowd forming as people watched the scene. Thomas too, watched on. Unsure what to do.

Those words alone seemed to be enough for Dorothy to take Theo's hand, "where's Tilda? Take me to her."

She held her hand up a bit, as a silent plea for Thomas to help her up because she had no way of getting up with the slightest grace if she pushed off his knee.

Without a moment to spare, Theo spurred off and Thomas found himself following.

They shortly arrived at a cramped, narrow and dirty walkway that was seemingly abandoned.

Though as the group got further in, the two adults heard whispering and hushed chatter.

Soon they came across a huddle of the five kids but one was missing and that scared Dorothy the most.

Dorothy observed the scene and they saw Matilda on the ground with Charlie hunched over her, his hand on her forehead.

Leah stood to the side, shifting from foot to foot. Leah and Theo were the most tightly knit in the group, they spent a year together roaming the streets before they found Matilda and Charlie separately. Leah was seven and Theo and was eight.

Immediately, Dorothy sprang into action.

"Right. Leah and Theo, I need you to take these," she rifled through her dress pocket and pulled out a few coins, "go and find Mr. Whites corner shop bakery. Not mine though. Look around the stall and find a loaf of bread that has mould on it. He always has them at the front of the stall."

The two scuttled off down the walkway, nudging past her.

Dorothy turned to Thomas, "You and Charlie need to go find me a towel and a bowl of cold water. Ms. P always has a basin in the back."

Dorothy turned back to Matilda, and Thomas saw that as his cue to leave. Charlie was already darting ahead of him.

Dorothy wiped Matilda's forehead with her sleeve as it had a sheen of sweat covering it.

Dorothy took off her coat and wrapped it around the shaking girl.

The winter was harsh here, Dorothy didn't have a good, thick winter coat but it was the best she could provide.

The girl was shaking and was semi conscious. Dorothy figured that it was at first a cold which has probably now turned into flu.

"Ok. You're going to be alright Tilda. I'll sort you out." Dorothy nodded to her, trying to keep her emotions at bay.

"Where's Tammy, Tilda?" Dorothy looked around a bit, trying not to sound too panicked.

Matilda croaked our, "in her box, we wrapped her up. But-." She coughed a bit, "-but we decided it was good to keep 'er 'way from me. Don' want her ill."

Dorothy nodded as she looked to the side trying to find the box, but in the end resolved to looking for it later.

Before she knew it, Thomas and Charlie were back with a bowl of cold water, a towel and a glass. She forgot to get a glass, good thinking on Thomas' behalf probably.

Without a word she took the bowl of water, she soaked the towel and laid it on Matilda's forehead. It was times like these, that she was very glad she read those med books she was given.

Next came the mouldy bread. It was only a speculation that she'd read about a few times in books, but apparently mouldy bread worked as a medicine of sorts to combat illness.

The paper was very interesting, it was by a very young man called Alexander Flemming; she'd heard it worked a few times, but she'd never done it herself.

"Okay Tilda, I'm going to sit you up, and I'm going to need you to eat this. It may not taste that nice, but it'll help, I promise." She shifted herself so Matilda's shoulders were resting on her thigh, she also supported her head within the crook of her elbow.

"What are you doing Bonny? We can't give her that!" Thomas, for the first time spoke I up.

She glared up at him, "just trust me, Bubs."

Soon enough, Matilda had eaten two pieces of the bread. The children now sat around Matilda, not getting too close, but just observing her. Every five minutes, Dorothy would re-soak the towel on Tilda's head, muttering softly as she stroked the girls sweat drenched hair. The girl of whom was now deep asleep.

Thomas stood off to the side feeling utterly useless. He didn't know how to deal with these kinds of illnesses. Sure, he could stitch up a bullet would, but he hadn't a clue on how to deal with colds or flu.

It was now late afternoon, no one had moved a muscle and soon enough, Tammy had woken up and had started to cry.

Theo ran off to get the crying child. He brought her back, forgetting the situation slightly as he tried to calm the baby.

"Theo, sweetheart, make sure the baby stays over there, we can't risk Tammy getting sick."

For the first time that day, Thomas thought he could try and make himself useful, he wandered over to the boy with the crying child in his arms, "c'mon, give her here." Thomas gestured for the baby, and took the girl in his warm embrace, "sh, sh. C'mon now. Shh." The girl stopped crying as Thomas bounced her lightly in his arms.

A realisation came over Dorothy, "okay, we've got to get you guys some food.

"We couldn't get any coin today cause we was looking after Tilda, all we've got is one last bun." Leah sounded distressed, of course.

Dorothy was silent for a moment, she didn't have any money left, she was unsure of what to do. Thomas moved to another crate, he shifted the baby so he was only holding her in one arm, he shuffled to the cardboard box on the crate and gave it to Leah.

"Ah! Good thinking, Bubs. Glad we got a large slice! There should be four slices in there." The toastie was most definitely cold by now, but it didn't seem like the children cared.

She gave the bun to Tilda who had momentarily woken up.

But then a bigger problem occurred when Tammy started crying. She was hungry.

"Okay. Uhm. There's milk in the bakery. The key is in the usual place."Dorothy waved her hand, trying to stay calm for the children's sake.

Thomas took that as his command to get going.

"Charlie, mind helping me? I'll need help getting in." Thomas gestured with his head to the side, trying to keep the baby comfortable as it cried in random spouts.

—— (can't stop, won't stop.)

So that's how Thomas found himself wandering the streets of Small Heath with a crying baby and a boy, trying his best to keep up.

After the two had tried to be discrete about breaking in to the bakery Thomas gave what he hoped were correct directions to the glasses and milk in the larder.

He sat down in one of the chairs in the main part of the bakery and kept bouncing the baby every now and again, trying to calm it down the best he could.

Soon enough, Charlie came back with a with warm milk in a glass. Thomas took the glass and surveyed the best way of doing the job. He'd seen Bonny do it several times now, but he wasn't really sure.

He tried his best, but after a while, he just couldn't get the technique.

"I could give it a try, if you want?" Charlie offered. Thomas sighed and figured the boy had more experience with babies, which was rather sad, than he did.

Charlie got it first time and soon enough the baby was right as rain again.

Thomas sighed and put his head in his hands. He didn't expect that this was how his day was going to go. His family's hopefully used to his weird disappearances by now, but he was never  sure.

"You're a lot better with that baby, than I am." Thomas chuckled dryly.

Charlie only shrugged, "I don't know about that. Just practice innit?"

"You usually talking care of 'er?"

Charlie sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, "Tilda's usually better with 'er than I am. Did 'ave a younger baby brother a few years ago though."

"Oh yeah? I've got two younger brothers myself. One's a twat and the other is the same age as you." Thomas thought about Finn and thought maybe him and Charlie would be friends.

"What about your brother, where's he now?" Thomas didn't know why he asked or why he cared.

"Dead." Why'd he ask? "Died when 'e was only one 'n a half. I tried my best to look after 'im, but after a few months out here, I woke up one morning to him stone cold." Charlie was stoic. Not shedding a tear of anything.

Time did that to people when they'd gone through trauma. If you repeat a feat multiple times, you become numb to the feeling. It's just how human emotions work. Thomas understood the numbness that came with this sort of thing.

He nodded, "'am sorry to hear about that. My mum died when I was small. I understand what it's like to loose someone you're close to." Thomas had no clue why he was opening up to this person, a CHILD no less.

Thomas assumed it was Dorothy's influence. She made him soft. Thomas found himself looking at Charlie like a brother now. He'd spent a long while with the boy on Saturday evenings when the children visited and he'd grown fond of him.

He saw Charlie as someone who got it. Someone who grew up too fast. Someone who saw pain all too early.

Charlie got it. He got it better than his brothers. Better than his Aunt Polly.

The two carried on talking for a little while longer, just bonding and joking with boyish grins on their faces

Thomas checked his pocket watch, "aye, we better head back. Make sure they're all still okay. I can't have Bonny stressing more."

The two walked back in silence as Thomas took the baby in his arms again.

"So do you and Miss. Dotty-Anne live together or somthin'? I figured you two weren't married cause she didn' 'ave a ring." Charlie stared up curiously.

Thomas' eyes widened slightly, "uh no. We don't live together or none of that. We're just good friends, that's all." Thomas unintentionally sounded saddened which made Charlie crack a smile.

"Ah, but you want to be more?" Charlie smiles cheekily.

"Oi. Don't go poking your nose where it don't belong." Thomas barked a bit.

Charlie held up his hands in mock surrender, sniggering to himself a bit but he dropped the subject.

The moment that the two males had shared was cut short by a frantic Leah coming screeching to a halt in front of them, "it's Tilda! She's shaking! She's shaking real bad!"

——

>:D cliff hangers!!!!

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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!

The Anya-Margaret

An Introduction

Masterlist

Florence Kent

-

Thomas Shelby

-

Polly Grey

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John Shelby

-

Arthur Shelby

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Ada Shelby

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Finn Shelby

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Carrie Rose

-

Austen (Ossie) McMillan

-

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 😅

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Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 2

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

Masterlist

The young girl fled to the living room with her flouncy pink dress bundling behind her as her white petticoats bunched up in vast layers.

Her sweet sounding giggles echoed through the halls of the stately home and everyone around who heard it found themselves laughing along and shaking their heads, remembering days when ugly green walls and ugly politicians didn’t matter.

Wouldn’t all be so much sweeter if life was a box of chocolates?

She screeched around corners and just when she heard the tapping and padding of the maids shoes, she dove behind the luscious red velvet sofa with spruce coloured legs.

Often if you were to walk into the large home for the first time, you’d wonder if it was some sort of festival resort as all the furniture and decor seemed bold and poorly thought through.

“New money.” They’d scoff, and they’d also be right.

She clasped her chubby fingers together and held them over her mouth in a feeble attempt to silence her perpetual giggles.

——

Florence, as always, started her daily mile walk through the streets of Small Heath.

If anyone took the time to ask her why she was walking and where she was walking to; she’d probably respond with, “exercise and hopefully a good place.”

If anyone was to stick around long enough, they’d know that she absolutely was not walking for exercise and this so called ‘good place’ is actually her local pub.

The Garrison.

It’s a fine establishment, although she’s never actually been in the building—through the front doors that is.

Often, when one finds themselves in the shadows, they'll learn just how easy it is to slip by.

She stomped down the wide streets with her long flowing red hair swishing around her face, something that pissed her off immensely.

Many nights she would find herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror with scissors used for cutting stitches open, threatening to chop the nuisance mane short and spiked.

But every time, she saw them behind her, standing side by side as they choked up water with grease stains on their faces and seeping into their eyes.

Don’t get her wrong, she wouldn’t do something like that for any man. But Ossie wasn’t every man, was he?

She heard three gunshots, one right after the other. She shook her head slightly and walked on. The blissful sounds of canon fire that reverberates in your ears. She would have smiled, had she not resented the sound so much.

It was only when she heard one final shot that was in spitting distance around the corner, did she halt.

Shouts and murmurs ensued and she distinctly heard the sound of his voice.

One so deep and hoarse that stunk of loss in its chords that it teared out among the others in the near vicinity.

She recognised the voice and the tones that struck out.

Florence only had one word come to her mind.

Twat.

It should have been a surprising scene for Florence; to walk around the corner and face two dead men and one wounded. But considering what you’ve learnt about this girl, you can probably assume she only raised a brow.

She dawdled slightly in the middle of the street, swaying side to side with her hunched shoulders and permanent grimace.

Men that she didn’t recognise, took their wagon vans and guns and headed out away from the Garrison.

No one really looked at her, and the older men just looked lost and out of place. It wasn’t until she spoke up, did any eyes meet her face.

“Those for me?”

She gestured with her head in the vague direction of the older man and the one with his face in the mud.

“Oi, Tom—what’s she doing here?” Florence crooked her head to the side to see Arthur scowling and looking a bit sick off to the side.

“Oh for fucks-“ Thomas turned and rolled his eyes.

“Ah, how lovely to see you too, Shelby. I’m waiting for that contract to come through, y’know— when you’re done fooling around and playing petty cannon fights with your mates.” She placed a hand on her hip and slouched further as she felt her fingers twitching for a drink and ciggie.

Thomas only stared at her baffled and unamused. When the silence dragged out a bit, Florence gestured to the other body lying face down in the ground.

“Am I taking that one to me cold room? Who is he anyway?”

A man who stood next to Thomas with a rather large gun snarled and said “oi who the fuck do you think you are, woman? Have some fucking respect, they’re Shelby’s, eh? And that’s our best mate-“

“-was.” Florence coughed.

“You what?” The man with the large gun spluttered.

“He was your best mate. With the way he looks, you would have thought he’d been dead for months.” Florence grumbled as she sidled closer to the body, making a joke of nudging it with her foot as if to see if it was alive.

Thomas, who was now clearly bleeding out, looked like he was about to burst into a fit of rage huffed and countered, “you get the fuck away from Danny, eh? Get the fuck away from him y’ hag.”

Hag? Well that’s not very nice. “Careful, Shelby-someone might start to think you care.”

Florence rubbed her palms together as she tried to work out how best to move the corpse. She always liked a fresh one.

She rolled the man over, grunting and grimacing slightly. “Aye, there he is. Oh, what a pretty boy!” She took the heel of her hands and roughly smeared the mud off his cheeks, dragging upwards making Danny look like he was pulling a face.

From behind her, Thomas got a hold of her shoulders and practically tossed her off the body of his friend.

Florence only rolled her eyes and held her hands up in surrender. “Danny was a dead man already, Mr. Shelby. So are you. So am I. You and I both know that. Now if you’ll excuse me-“ she dusted herself off from the spray of mud when she stumbled back, and ambled down the street, hunched shoulders and all. She waved lazily behind her head at the onlooking men, “-but don’t worry, he’s in your heart and all that jaded bollocks!” She called out.

——

Sorry for the lack of updates and activity, I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch, along with writers block so hopefully you can forgive me for that!

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Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 3

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

Masterlist

The meek maid ambled into the young toddler girls bedroom.

She spied the haphazard drawings on the floor and the subtle indents on the corner of the small table that surely must have been from something chewing it.

The maid shivered at the image in her head of the young fair-haired toddler girl hanging by her front two buck teeth from the expensive oak table.

It was only when the maid cast her eyes to the porcelain dolls that sat on the floor did she gasp.

There were massive plumes of red that splattered the ground and settled into the carpet. The redness seemed to cling to all the fabrics around it, melting into the plays materials that the young girl played on often.

The maid picked her skirt up slightly and rushed to the crime scene. It was only when she looked closer did she actually notice their wasn’t anything monstrous or threatening, in fact it was much worse than that.

It was barbaric and concerning.

It wasn’t blood on the floor, no.

It was red and clumpy, and scratchy.

It was hair.

——

Thomas had rooted through his desk seven times already. He couldn’t find it.

He had checked every pocket in his coat, waistcoats, trousers, even his fucking shoes. He couldn’t find it.

That morning for the first two hours he kept on instinctively slipping his hands over the left side of his abdomen. He couldn’t find it.

He must’ve lost it. But Thomas Shelby never loses anything, does he?

Eventually he resigned to storming around the betting shop, cigarette between his lips, smoking like a chimney.

“Oi Arthur, what’s the time?”

“What’s the bloody time?”

“Fuck it—John give me your-“

——

Florence sat at the train station with a golden pocket-watch in hand.

She focused on the rims and hinges of the device and traced the golden crest that didn’t look too significant.

When the deafening sounds of the trains calmed, she could hear the trembling ticking noise that the pocket-watch produced.

Florence was waiting for the London, Euston train to come by so she could find a jeweller to value the pocket-watch along with some other items in her pockets.

A few of them being rings and golden teeth that she’d plucked from bodies sent in to be cremated or embalmed.

In front of Florence, but slightly to the left, a woman in a burgundy coat stood close to the railway tracks.

She had suitcases and carried worries and doubts on her face. Florence knew exactly what kind of person she was, right off the bat.

She saw the way the woman stood and the curiously handled bag she carried on her left arm.

Florence had seen these people in London, in France, in India, in China, in Japan.

You have to look out for these sorts of people, because they will also look out for people like you.

And no, they won’t look out for you in the way that they’d make you a cuppa to feel better, they’d rather most likely kill you; then piss on your grave. Besides, even if they were to make you a cup of tea, it would most definitely have arsenic as a sweetener.

But by the looks of things, she didn’t notice Florence. It seemed her eyes just skimmed over her.

Florence wondered how deep in the shadows that she must have become, to have the eyes of a bastard God glaze past you.

Florence sat on the brown and green bench with her head tilted to the side in its usual fashion. Although this time she had a bottle of whiskey and stolen articles.

Her regular grimace deepened as she saw and elderly gentleman approach the overly well groomed woman.

Inspector! Florence drunkenly giggled to herself as she watched the exchange between the two cartoonish looking people.

The inspector slowly extracted a hand gun from his coat pocket and aimed the barrel at the blonde woman’s head.

Oh sHIT. Florence pushed her head back against the brick wall behind her as her eyes darted back and forth between the two parties.

Things just got a LITTLE BIT TENSE. Florence couldn’t help but grin at the exchange while the inspector continued to not waver his arm.

Campbell cocked the gun. We’re just at the good part let’s go lads finish her off you hobbling bastard.

The woman raised her bag and through the leather, a shot rang out. Florence waited for the blonde woman to fall, but instead all she got was a yelp and Campbell falling head over balls.

The blonde woman trembled backwards and feverishly looked around the station to see if anyone was near by.

Oh now that REALLY boils my piss. The blonde woman gasped and jerked back when she saw the red headed girl who sat with her kneels a part and her arms rested on her lap as she leaned her head back against the wall. Yet despite all that, she didn’t move an inch.

Florence clutched the nearly empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and fiddled with the gold rings in the other. She heaved herself up, groaning with the same exuberance as the moaning rat on the floor.

The blonde woman stood stock still and faced the railway track again.

She watched from her peripheral as the drunk, inelegant woman trudged next to her, also facing the tracks.

“So you’re a spy, huh?” Florence mumbled.

“How’d you know?” The blonde woman stiffened.

“You just told me.”

“You with the Peaky Blinders?”

“You with the crown?”

The blonde woman huffed but figured the smokey smelling woman wasn’t a threat for the time being.

“Who are you?” The posh girl asked.

“Ah,” Florence took a long swig of whiskey and sighed, “who’s anyone?”

“Care to explain?”

Florence didn’t answer, instead she just let out a large belch and cleared her throat as she took out a cigarette.

“Is he going to die before you get on that train or not at all?” She gestured with her lit cigarette at the gasping man on the floor. When she flicked her hand, a small jagged piece of ash glided off and fell onto the whimpering inspectors hand, making him cry out harder. “He’s kind of a dick and I have a job to do.”

“Are you a doctor?” The blonde woman asked. She asked a lot of questions. Just like a true spy. The sound of a train on the railway thundered in the distance, slowly getting louder and more ear-splitting.

Florence took a drag of her cigarette,

“not the kind you’re thinking of.”

——

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Me, *sipping me brew*: oh! That’s too hot!

The tea:

Ozymandius

A Thomas Shelby x femm!reader story

Requested by @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby

“You are a gangleader at the top of the chain. You’re civilian occupation is being a pub owner. The Peaky Blinders were looking to either make an agreement with you, or kill you, but where’s the fun in that? Today, Thomas Shelby walked into your bar.”

Warnings: none, I think. Thomas Shelby’s a dick? Idk

Masterlist

Dylan, your secretary, slid a small piece of paper across your desk and sat in the chair opposite you. You looked up from the document you were signing and eyed the card suspiciously.

Slowly, you snatched it in your well manicured hand and glanced your eyes over the paper once. Then again. Then once more.

You looked up from the paper and grinned, holding the sheet to your chest.

Without another glance, you immediately left the room to prepare.

You, Ozymandius, King of Bristol, you were going to battle.

Although this time, you were armed with a bottle of whiskey and two drops of perfume.

“Hello.

-T.S”

----

You donned your brown skirt with your creme coloured loose sleeved shirt. 

You scanned the bar and noted the regulars along with your workers who stood idly in case something broke out.

The “King William Ale House”, your pride and joy. Of course you owned about 60 other pubs in Bristol, but this was your baby, your first one. The furniture was black leather with gold linings. It had a gramophone in the corner and often men would come in to request songs.

On Wednesday nights, you always had a slow night, so often chairs and tables would be cleared out and couples could come and dance in the evening. On Sundays after lunch, men came in and often asked for the radio to hear about the latest news or the racing broadcasts.

Today was Wednesday meaning it was slow so it would be easy to eye-fuck the Peaky Blinders.

The doors opened, in stepped one man; then another; then another; then another; then another; and a final one.

If you were a suspicious woman, you would say those were your new business associates; lucky for them, you were because you swiftly greeted them and played the slowest song you had. 

It was time to finesse your way into these gangsters hearts.

“Evening boys, welcome to the “King William Ale House”. The couples booths are in the corner and dancing is encouraged for all. Drinks?” Your accent was thick and sultry. Really, you were teasing them, but you were never one to discriminate.

“Orright. Isiah, Finn, go to the booths-” the one with the burly moustache grumbled.

“-the couples booths?” the ginger one screeched.

Another man spoke up, identical to the rest of them, “for fucks- just go, Finn. Scud can come sit by you if your pride is hurting too much.”

One of the men placed his caps on the counter. In the corner of your eye, you saw the glinting sheen of a blade sewn into the plane and rather boring cap.

So it is true?

“A bottle of Irish and the whereabouts of Ozymandius.” His voice was monotonous and deep.

“I apologise, Mister, but I do not know their whereabouts.”

The man with the burly moustache got very close to your face, “now you listen here, sweetheart-“

“-Arthur, Arthur. Calm down, eh. We’ll wait.”

The men sat at the bar and smoked. Others in the room got up on their feet and danced quietly together. In your opinion, you were rather enjoying yourself. There’s a certain rush one gets when they deceive the arrogant of the world.

You leant your back to the bar and faced the array of drinks and sours; and above the debauchery rested a plaque.

Everyday you read that plaque. Everyday you remembered where you came from and why you do what you do.

“I woulda thought the King of Bristol woulda had a watch on him, Tommy.” The one with the baby face and toothpick sneered, “I don’t like waiting like this.”

“Ozymandius is never late. They need no watch for they know that time is wasted.” You muttered saltily.

“Are you a spy?” The one with the monotonous voice asked, ‘Tommy’ you think.

You didn’t move your head from the plaque, only continuing to stare at the italic writing. “No, not a spy. Though I do like watching.”

The hush fell over the room again as you listened to the slow music playing quietly.

The door opened once more and another couple stepped in. It was Daniel and Lisa, a lovely new couple. They even had a baby on the way!

“Danny! There you are! Ah Lisa, how’re you doing? How’s the baby?” You smiled warmly at the couple.

Daniel used to hang about on the streets when he was a kid, you saw him as useful and put him to work in the local inn. He met Lisa and the rest was history. You were definitely a bit of a romantic

Danny was about to open his mouth when you heard a bottle slam on the counter again, it was the rude man with the monotonous voice. “Are you a whore, then?”

You played nice and told “Tommy” to excuse you and you carried on with your conversation with Danny and Lisa.

While watching Danny and Lisa dance and look at each other, you remembered what your mother used to say to you.

“There are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes, the men—they come with keys, and sometimes, the men—they come with hammers.”

While you were lost in your thoughts, you heard the sound of a fist being slammed into oak: the man with the moustache was having a tantrum.

“Have we been fucking stood up, Tom? Is that it? Lady-“ he took a gun from his holster within his jacket, “-you’re gonna tell us where Ozymandius is, otherwise I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out.”

You trotted around the counter to face the man head on with his gun still pointing at your face. You grabbed the gun directly from his hand and twisted it, listening for the sickening crunch of his finger in the trigger slot.

To avoid hitting anyone else in the bar, you twisted the gun down. You used your right hand to stop the wrist as you used the left hand to bend their wrist, grabbing the gun, and pushing the gun down.

After quickly disarming the man, you pushed his quivering frame to the floor. You took the gun in your hand and like a good game of ‘Simon Says’ all the others with peaked caps took out theirs as well.

You pointed your gun to Tommy who you now understood was the leader, all silent and sneer of cold command. You were no fool.

With one gun pointing to one man and four pointing at you; you liked your chances.

The one with the baby face spoke up, “who are you, eh? Who is she?” His voice was loud and maybe distressed but now was not the time for shock analysis.

You stared and got closer to the man, ‘Tommy’. He made the wise decision to not extract his gun, but his expression looked nearly bored. You admired that in a man.

“Evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m very sorry to disrupt your couples night, but for tonight, the “King William Ale House” is closing early.” Danny and Lisa along with the other couples all scurried out.

All that was left now was you against the blinders. Your men who still sat in their chairs did not move. They knew not to. They were only there in case you died. Unlikely, but you didn’t like leaving much up to chance.

You inched closer to ‘Tommy’, despite his bored exterior, you saw the curiosity that resides in his temple. “I’m not a fucking whore, eh? You hear me?” You brought the gun closer to his face, hearing the tell tale click of it’s metal as you pressed it against his face.

“Who are you then?” His eyes quivered, but his face remained like a stone, eyebrow crooked.

“My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings;

Look on my works, ye Mighty and dispair!”

You pushed the cold metal closer to his face. You sighed again, “I’m very sorry boys, but we’re going to have to cut this short. You were late for our meeting, anyway.”

You clicked back the gun on to safety and instead cupped Tommy’s jaw. You leaned in close, making an effort to fan your breath.

“I’ve read about you in the papers, Shelby. Maybe next time, don’t be late for our evening date?” You felt his spine shiver as you spoke. “Two weeks. Meet me back here. Same time. Bring your cleanest suit and maybe some flowers, just for me? Yeah? Alone and sweet; how quaint.”

Leaving the frozen men behind, you toddled back around the counter and started washing glasses that sat there.

Slowly while swaying to the music that still played, you hummed the tune to yourself. When you looked up again, the men were still standing there like ninnies.

“What’re you lot still doing here? I told you, we’re closed.”

You carried on your work of cleaning glasses while heavy boots shuffled on the ground, and two of them picking up the groaning man with the burly moustache.

You placed down your glass and leaned back against the counter again. Looking up at the plaque, you read aloud:

“I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

——

Based off of ‘Ozymandius’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby) - 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.”

Masterlist

The now worryingly intelligent girl sat crosslegged in the grass with the latest edition of ‘Pudd’nhead Wilson’. She stole the book from her mothers bedside and was now reading it in the cold morning sun while her bum got wet from the dewy grass.

Her hair no longer fell in front of her face or itched her shoulders. Now it sat jagged and pinned back by the nanny who desperately tried to fix the choppy mane.

——

Six months had passed since that night at the train station and since then, Florence made an agreement with the Shelby’s and dealt with their corpses.

It was safe to say that everyone was pleased with the arrangement.

Thomas and Florence never really conversed much, aside from when Thomas needed to fling a body into her cold room. Though their chats were cold and kurt, they appeared to be able to at least stand each other for the sake of business.

——

1

“Orright, Mr Shelby, let’s see what you’ve gifted me today.” Florence rubbed her hands together in her regular slouched posture. She had a cigarette in between her lips and by the state of the floor, she’d had seven already that morning.

Thomas entered with two other men who heaved a pale woman on the table.

The woman had reached full rigor mortis so it had been dead for a while. This was going to be a juicy one.

“Tell me about ‘er. ‘Ow’d she die?” Florence poked at the face and peeled open the eyes to get a good look.

The other men shuffled out, seemingly disturbed by the body.

“Her name’s-“

“I don’t care about ‘er name. Gimme ‘er death admission.”

Thomas sighed and lit a cigarette, it was going to be a long day. “I don’t know how she died. She was actually just dropped at our door. No note, no clear signs of threat or who dropped her there.” He rested against the stone wall on the opposite side of the room and tried not to watch as Florence stuck her WHOLE HAND down the lady’s THROAT.

Charming.

Thomas instinctively swallowed and blinked away the nausea.

“Oh now that’s a good fucking story. Are you sure she didn’t just ‘ave wee too many drinks?” Florence crooked her arm and plunged her other one underneath her elbow as her hand tried to find equipment on the table.

“Mind handing me those pluckers?”

Thomas only raised a brow she didn’t see and continued to lean against the wall.

Florence sighed and rolled her eyes, “puh-lease, can you hand me those them there pluckers?”

Thomas, being the stubborn bastard that he was, didn’t move an inch.

“I’ll give you her silver tooth, eh? Is that good?” Florence dipped her head. “Would you like that?”

Thomas straightened up and approached the high table cautiously.

For being such a hardened man, he did not do well with the kind of work this woman did.

He took the ‘pluckers’, which he was fairly sure weren’t called pluckers, and tried to just hold them by the ends, afraid he’ll catch something if he gets caught in the snippy parts.

“Oh just give them here, you ninny.” She shook her open palm and Thomas quickly and silently placed the instrument into her hands but surprisingly didn’t move at all.

He leaned over slightly and tried to watch through the flurry of arms and worrying creaking sounds.

He didn’t actually see anything inside the mouth, but what he did see was that the neck and chin was kind of turning a blueish, greenish colour.

Thomas’ throat made an inhumane noise as he tried to grab onto the table, but in the process, one of his hands actually clutched the dead woman’s feet and he let out a strange ‘yelp’.

Florence didn’t make a comment but she did pause for a second to furrow her brows and truly reconsider where this man stood in the Birmingham hierarchy.

She dove back into the woman’s mouth and dislodged the silver tooth from her gums with a sickening squelch.

“Hand.” She demanded.

Thomas, considering what he was going to get out of this, held his hand out to the waiting woman. She carefully placed the silver tooth with blood on it, into his hand, making him recoil slightly.

Florence then jammed her ‘pluckers” back into the woman’s mouth, but this time it was a gold tooth.

She held it up to the light and nodded when she was satisfied.

She looked over to Thomas who stood there with a highly unamused look on his face. “Well off you pop then. Unless you want to sit here and watch me bleed her, then I don’t know what you want.

He pocketed the tooth without another word and went on his way.

——

2

“Hello there, Beastie!” Florence cheered as the door to her cold room opened. In stepped the usual attendees as they dumped the body on to her table.

Thomas had gotten used to seeing the hunched woman with a cigarette in her mouth, but for some reason or another, she didn’t today. Instead she looked out of it, like she was high or dying, Thomas didn’t know.

She did her usual routine of scanning the figure; checking inside their mouths; cutting their clothes to prepare for the medical procedures.

Thomas never knew why he stayed around for a while, the whole ordeal was sickening and the woman wasn’t exactly fun to be around.

She sighed when she found nothing, instead she took the wrist of the corpse and waved it about. “Cooey!” She played around with the limbs, using them to wave at Thomas who stood unamused in the corner.

She heaved the body into sitting position and made it do a little jig. Thomas always thought the woman to be clinically insane, but this really drove the point home.

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that right?” He lit a cigarette and stared on at the woman who was having a bit too much fun.

She dropped the limbs so they fell heavily on the table again, resting her hands on her hips, “and you’re a killer. We all have our quirks. Isn’t that right beastie?” She turned to face the body again, but this time she actually got to work. This was Thomas’ cue to leave.

——

3

“Hello Beastie!” Florence chimed, cigarette already between her lips, along with the cloud that always loomed across the ceiling.

Thomas shuffled into the room with a body behind him, a regular sight by now.

As the men plonked the body on the table Thomas scurried to the edge of the room to lean in his dibbed spot.

This time though, instead of a cold wall that sent shivers down his neck, there was a chair. It was small and breakable with no real speciality to it. But it was a chair.

It made him pause for a moment. It was a chair. It wasn’t there last time. Why now?

He didn’t say anything though. He just sat down and lit his cigarette.

Florence wondered why the man stuck around for as long as he did. Unless all he was waiting for was the potential gold tooth or earrings, he really had no reason to stay.

She understood the absorbing life of being a leader like Thomas. Florence figured that maybe, despite the vile climate, the mortuary was almost like a getaway for him. The chance to have a smoke and just deflate.

Florence sat against the table legs, also looking tired and deflated.

She held a cigarette between her index and middle finger with her knees up to her chest, the crook of her elbow on her knee.

Thomas watched her for a moment, both of them unmoving.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Thomas piped up quietly.

Florence jerked her head back from her stare at the floor, hitting the table leg with a thud, but it didn’t seem like she minded.

“Heh, sounds about right.”

The silence resumed, Florence didn’t even start to move to examine the body, only sitting on the floor, cigarette in hand.

“Does anyone live here with you?” Thomas inspected.

“What? No, no one but me and me buddies.” She flung her hand up onto the table, and patted the dead mans hand, as if it were a loving partner.

“You seem awfully dedicated to your work?”

Florence was silent for a moment, “‘ow you mean, Shelby?”

“Well you seem to only ever leave this house once a week and even then, it seems like there’s no activity in the house.” He observed.

Florence pushed the cigarette end into the floor and got up, stamping on the fuse. “Is that why I’ve seen your men outside me ‘ouse?”

She strutted out of the room, and Thomas didn’t move from his spot, only staring at the crushed cigarette on the floor.

Before he could reply though, Florence huddled back in with her signature waddle of sorts. She had a bottle of rum and two glasses. She sat back down again, leaning against the table leg with the remains of the cigarette still next to her.

She placed the two glasses on the floor loudly, taking the cork off of the bottle with her teeth and lazily pouring the contents into the two glasses.

She leaned back against the table leg again and sighed when she drank the liquor.

Thomas watched the other glass and assumed that was his. He crouched down to the floor and scooted over to the glass and where Florence sat. Instead of going back to his chair though, he sat his arse onto the cold stone floor with her.

She only crooked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything more.

“So what about you’re family? What about them?” Thomas leaned forward.

Florence stared at him blankly, only chugging the rest of her glass then proceeding to bite the cork off of the rum bottle again, then spitting it out an impressive distance.

“I’m gonna need to be a lot more drunk for this conversation.” She took a large swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I would question you why you’re asking me these questions, but you’re probably just gonna give me some bullshit answer anyway.”

Thomas shrugged and didn’t say anything, only watching her switch from cigarette to rum with splendid rhythm.

She topped up his glass one final time before she took one last big gulp and downed the rest of the bottle. She peered through the bottle head as if there was a flaw in the design like there was a hole in the bottom.

She sat for a moment before she coughed out “what was your question again?” She rubbed her eyes.

“What about you’re family, I don’t think they live round here do they?”

Florence belched loudly before answering, “dead. All dead. But ‘‘tis life, no?”

“So no friends or family? Surely you must’ve had someone?” He inquired more and more.

“Questions like that can get you killed where I’m from, love.”

“And where are you from?”

Florence got very close to his face. He could smell the stench of rum and cigarettes on her breath. “I’m from a place where the ocean does not apologise for its depth, nor the mountains make excuses for the space they fill. I went there, I went there to learn from them. You. You with your small mindedness arrogance could not fathom those hills nor those lakes.”

She leaned back again, reaching for another cigarette to get her through the conversation.

“Besides. I’ve got the dead. They don’t speak too loud or ask for presents on their birthdays.” she shrugged.

“Do you usually drink like this?” Thomas gestured with his free hand to the everything in the room.

“Yeah, just you came in early today. I’m not about to let that stop me from my day drinking.” She took a drag from her cigarette, “if I’m not drunk by noon then the day’s wasted.”

“Have I ever talked to you sober then?” Thomas recounted all their meetings in his head.

“Nope. You wouldn’t like me sober, anyway.” She grinned. “When you’re sober, you start to notice just how depressing all this really is.”

“Your job or just life in general?” Thomas chuckled humourlessly.

Florence cleared her throat, “I’m sure you already know the answer to that question, Beastie.”

——

4

Thomas entered the private mortuary, the air was more smoky and thick than usual, which wasn’t worrying, more just confusing.

He stepped into the cold room and made space for the men to put the body on the table.

“Miss. Kent?” Thomas called.

“In here, Beastie.” He heard her voice from behind a door he never really noticed before, it just matched the body cabinets.

He opened the cold door and a gust of hot wind blew in his face.

“Welcome to the cremation zone. Keep your arms and legs to yourself, lest you want me to confuse your limbs for someone else’s.”

Thomas peered at the giant stone furnace that stood proud and tall in the middle of the room with a roaring fire inside its walls.

It had four pillars around the edge, disconnecting the slab to the chimney.

He looked through to the other side of the room through the stone pillars and saw Florence staring intently at the fire.

“Mind the-“ Florence started, but Thomas had already tripped over the arm of a carcass on the floor.

“Why the FUCK do you just leave bodies on the floor? Isn’t there regulations for that shit?” Thomas nearly screeched.

“Yeah, but I seriously can’t be arsed to read them. I did my school years, what’re they gonna do, take away my other non-existent medical license? I don’t think so, Beastie.”

Thomas came round to her side and followed her stare into the fire, finding the way it licked the air to be mesmerising.

“Beastie? Who’s Beastie? Why’d you keep saying that?” Thomas stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“You, you ninny. I thought it was rather fitting, really.” Florence quipped.

Thomas only nodded and shifted his gaze to the body still on the floor, “you gonna put them in or do you just have the room for the view?”

“Oh yes! I forgot!” She scurried around and heaved the legs up the best she could.

The carcass, though dead, was quite a large carcass. “Mind helping me here, Beastie?”

Thomas swallowed his bile and took the figure in his arms to heave up onto the stone slab. Florence then rolled the body into the fire. The body didn’t land in a flattering position as it turned face down in the flames.

“They’re very needy the dead.” Florence mumbled, “and they rarely give back—unless you’re delusional or religious.”

Thomas, for the first time in the company with Florence, actually laughed. It was broad and loud and even made Florence chuckle a bit.

——

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Peaky Blinders | Tommy Shelby

like or reblog ⋮ © vicacomcderp

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Tommy Shelby

like or reblog ⋮ © vicacomcderp

don’t repost our edits

Tommy Shelby

like or reblog ⋮ © vicacomcderp

don’t repost our edits