REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

HELLO!

If anyone want to send in a request for a head cannon or a One Shot or imagine or whatever you like; then I’m happy to oblige. I’m not big on writing smuts or lemons, but everything else should be okay! Please don’t be shy, I love writing and would love to write other characters other than my beloved Dorothy Monroe!

Thanks! See ya next time!

Gun metal and daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 3

“Are you a whore?”

Masterlist

But he, that dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.

Maybe it was the way in which he said it that made her not want to answer him. Maybe it was the way he scrutinised her under his stare.

Dorothy stares back at Thomas. She reckoned if she put on the same face he had, then he'd back down.

She was wrong.

Dorothy squinted her eyes at him and wrinkled her nose up in a fashion that looked like he was a foul smell that didn't go away.

She surprised both of them when she spoke, "what made you think it was okay to build a house in the woods?" Her glare, though weak, was still harsh and scratchy.

Thomas did not answer, he didn't look at her at all, in fact. He only shifted his gaze to the whiskey bottle in front of him, reading the contents of the drink.

Dorothy huffed when she realised she wasn't going to get any answers from him.

It was in that moment Dorothy had a small revelation, though it was a bit late coming, "why am I still here? He can't keep me here, I need to go home and cook food for Papa."

With a huff and a bit of stumbling she lifted herself out of the chair that felt like it almost consumed her body when she sat down in it.

Stalking towards the door slowly, she pondered over what she could make for a dinner that evening only to be stopped by a gruff voice that made her squeak, quietly, startled.

"And where do you think you're going?"

She stared back at him, a sense of rage bubbled inside her, but she would not let it get the best of her.

"Home?" She answered as more of a question than statement.

He sighed again, he seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.

"No. No you're not. You need to stay here til tomorrow, if those coppers see you outside of this house before tomorrow, then they'll come back here to check this house again." His explanation, though justified, felt like a weak excuse in her eyes.

"Why should I care about helping him?" A much ruder side of her brain argued.

Even though this man had threatened her and put her in a VERY uncomfortable situation. She decided that he clearly was in need of her assistance in whatever he had gotten himself into, and had the guts to ask. Sort of ask.

She walked back to the armchair that seemed innocent enough to the unsuspecting soul, and stared at it as if it was going to eat her whole. She knew the truth, she knew it would. Bastard.

Thomas was about to comment on her strange behaviour, when she did something even more strange.

She gasped, as a look of horror passed over her face.

She started scanning the room for something, it was at this point Thomas came to terms with the fact that he was going to be spending the night with someone who was supposed to be in the Nuthouse.

When she rushed over towards the direction of the door again, he did not say anything, only watching her.

Dorothy bent down and picked up, what looked to be an assortment of jagged metal and glass, only which turned out to be a camera. A camera in two parts.

She assumed that she must have dropped it in her shock of being pulled into the house.

Cameras at were bought at a costly expense, though he'd never really come into contact with many, he knew they were somewhat hard to come by.

Dorothy did not seem as fazed by the fact that her probably quite expensive camera was in two parts. Instead, she sheepishly smiled at the man in front of her.

"You don't happen to have a screwdriver, do you?"

She honestly didn't know how to fix it, but she thought she could give it a go. It seemed easy enough.

Thomas shook his head at the curious question.

"A coin?"

Thomas sighed, "how much do you want?" Thinking that she was going to demand money for what he's put her through this evening.

"Oh no! No not that, I don't want your money or anything!" She rushed to explain, "I only need one to help put back in some of the bolts and screws to get this back together again!"

Thomas doubted he she could put the camera back together herself. He also doubted that he could put it back together himself as well.

"Give it here. I'll take it to someone to get it fixed then I'll get it back to you. Ok?" His statement prompted an unusual response: she puffed out her cheeks and and held the broken parts closer to her stomach, leaning further back in the chair.

'Who the HELL do you think you are, trying to steal MY camera away from ME?'

Is what she wanted to say, but the majority side of her brain decided that shouting will only embarrass her further.

"No, no. It's alright I'll just get someone to fix it at home." She shook her head.

Home. Oh how is she going to explain her absence to her father when she gets back, he might think the worst, she doesn't want to worry him.

She shook her head again. It's a matter for tomorrow, the situation was out of her hands as of right now.

Tucking her legs underneath herself, she now spent the time actually looking around the house she sat in.

The walls were an off white colour that had beams of dark wood running up the lengths and across the ceiling.

The furniture was an assortment of reds and golds with a dark coffee table in the middle. Next to the man there was, what she assumed was a liquor cabinet. There was another room off to the side, which she assumed would lead off to a kitchen area of sorts. The stairs looked old and worn, despite the fact that this house clearly was new, as she hadn't seen it before.

"Are you gonna drink that?" The same gruff voice pulled her out of her thoughts, she looked back at the man in front of her, he was pointing at her glass of whiskey.

"Oh no thank you. I don't drink." She smiled apologetically. He only nodded and tipped the contents of the glass down his throat.

It was only now Dorothy had a good look at the man.

He wore a suit, it looked like it wasn't expensive, but it was definitely very smart for the working class man. He had a peaked hat on the table. After closer inspection, she noted it had its shiny label sticking out of the front of the cap. She shook her head at the mismatched way the man in front of her dressed himself.

"So, uhm, what's your name?" She had a small smile on her face, seemingly trying to start a conversation with the man who didn't seem interested in anything she had to say.

Thomas was surprised at the revelation that this girl did not know who he was. She was clearly Brummie, but seemingly had no clue of his notorious identity.

"What's your name?" He clipped back.

She huffed at his response, this wasn't how she wanted this conversation to go.

The more stubborn part of her brain decided not to answer. Only 'glaring' at him again.

His next choice of words surprised her:

"Are you a whore?"

Dorothy froze at this question, she unknowingly tightened her grip on her broken camera. She really didn't like this man.

Dorothy was not a weak girl, not by any stretch, but she was unsurprisingly sensitive, it was both a curse and a blessing.

Tears seemed to well up in her eyes, she was offended, hurt by this man.

"No. Not at all." She rambled on, "why would you think that? Is my dress too short? Oh I knew it was a bad choice for today. Is it the makeup? I swear I only ever wear lipstick!" She worked herself up more.

Once she had finally seemed to calm down from her flustered state, he stared at her. He wasn't expecting any answer really. He thought she would scoff and leave it be.

Thomas continued to be baffled by this girl.

He subtly looked her over. She wore a blue dress, a tea dress, which folded around her frame and tied together with a belt. She wore stockings and had boots on that she left beside her, as to not get the armchair dirty.

She didn't look like a whore.

He shook his head and stubbed out his cigarette.

Eyes drifting over at the clock on the wall, he noted it was now 9:30.

Only 9:30 and Thomas was bored out of his wits. He didn't even want to fuck, he was so bored.

He was pulled out of his bored thoughts by the sound of the woman's stomach groaning.

Dorothy blushes harshly and her hand shot like a light to her stomach. She smiled sheepishly at the man in front of her.

He nodded his head towards the kitchen, "there's some food in the kitchen, go get some." She did not move an inch.

"Oh, I could not take any of your food, just ignore me, I'll be okay to live until tomorrow." She smiled sweetly as to hope he would drop the subject.

Thomas shrugged, he wasn't going to force her to eat. He tried his best to be hospitable (though it was a poor attempt) and she didn't want any food. Not his problem.

After another five minutes of him smoking and Dorothy being thoroughly uncomfortable, she looked to her left and saw a bookshelf. Surely he wouldn't be offended if she just picked one up?

After shifting the broken parts of her camera onto the table in front of her, she shuffled over to the book case.

There weren't many books there, just enough to make the bookshelf useful. She picked up Great expectations. 'Dickens' she mused.

Ignoring the mans burning gaze, she sat back down, got comfortable and started reading. It was going to be a long night.

Thomas watched as the woman in front of him only seemed to get to page 7 before slowly dozing off in her chair; resting her head on her hand which was on the arm of the chair. Her neck sitting at a weird angle but she didn't seem to care.

It seemed time kept slipping away as he was left with his thoughts. Before he knew it, it'd was 4 o'clock in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, hoping for sleep but at the same time dreading ever falling too deep into it.

He stared at the broken camera in front of him. He slowly leant forward, careful not to make any noise. He picked it up and inspected the two parts.

Slowly, he figured out the mechanics of how the two pieces fit together. He took out his coin and got to work.

——

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

I just found out about Mangalitsa pigs and, ho boy

“In the garden I will die. In the roses they will kill me. I was going, mother, to pick roses, to find death.”

Polly Gray Story

Anonymous request

Warnings: period typical racism, swearing, mentions death and disease, angst.

Inspired by the poem: To this Day

Masterlist

She has been through hell.

So believe me when I say,

Fear her,

When she looks into the fire and smiles.

Polly looked down through her glass, past her cigarette, to the folded piece of paper on her desk.

Thomas had put it there. Walked in, slid it across the desk and left. Leaving with the feeling he’d just cursed his aunt to eternal turmoil.

She knew what was in the note. She knew exactly what it was about. She took a final swig of her drink and ripped open the folds.

Maybe if Polly’s God smiled down on her more, then she’d know the colour of her daughters hair.

She read the lines twice before taking her cigarette and pushing it into the words. Leaving it to smoke in the ash tray.

Without another word, she got up and left.

——

Polly approached the brown door with skittish feverance. The weather was humid and suffocating, the people of Small Heath always walked like zombies, but today you could just smell the rotting.

Polly put a bright smile on her face, today was the day that she got her life back. The other piece of her whole world.

She knocked on the door and on the other side she heard calls and lovesick giggles.

The woman who opened the door had dark brown, unruly hair. Her eyes were wide in warm brown doe eyed shape. Polly smiled at the woman, taking in her features. Lastly, the woman had a long scar, that covered the left side of her face, from her temple to her chin.

“Anna Gray?”

The woman sniffed, “Anna Clive-Wright.”

Polly pursed her lips to surpress a smile, she was married.

Maybe she didn’t recognise Polly?

“You’re my daughter, I’m Polly Gray. You were take-“ Polly tried.

“I know who you are. I know exactly who you are.” Anna sighed exasperatedly.

“I heard... you were taken to... Australia? You had spring fever?” Polly attempted to gain traction in the conversation.

“Yes. Yes I did have spring fever. I remember during my recovery- I remember the time I put my feet on the ground for the first time in weeks. I threw roses into the abyss and I’d say: ‘here is to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.’Some days I wish I’d died.

“I wish something would have taken me away. ‘Cause some nights, Polly, some nights; all I wanna know is that I’m not fucking crazy for feeling the way I feel, after going through all that bullshit that I’ve been through!” Anna slammed her fist against the doorframe.

“What are you talking about, Anna? They aren’t nothing but savages over there. Killers.” Polly furrowed her brows with concern.

“It’s Mrs Clive-Wright, thanks. They aren’t savages, not really. And killers? Really Polly? That’s rich coming from a Shelby. We’re all killers. We’ve all killed parts of ourselves to survive. We’ve all got blood on our hands. Somewhere, something had to die. So we could stay alive.” Anna looked down at Polly with a glare to send a vipers nest fleeing.

Polly matched her stare. One might think the two were related if one looked hard enough. They were, but only one party believed so.

“You have a family here, Anna. Us Shelby’s stick together. They’ll love you- I’ll love you. Like I’ve done for all these years! You were taken, I never got the chance to love you properly.” Polly’s eyes widened in pleading while Anna’s squinted in disgust.

“Family, eh? How dare you talk about family in front on me. How many sons and daughters have you Shelby’s cut? Huh? How many family’s have you torn a part? How dare you come here and talk about family.” Anna snarled.

“...What did they do to you over there?” Polly shook her head. She didn’t know what went wrong. Where did she fail?

“This isn’t ‘bout what they did to me! This is what you- you and your Shelby- Peaky bastards did!” She had strong features that looked like they’d never broken once, “somedays I wish I’d have died. I wish the sickness had devoured me whole, or at least in my head, so I could pretend all this- all this SHIT- wasn’t really real.” She waved her arms around flamboyantly, scoffing at the irony. “However, if I’d have died, I’d never have met my husband; and if I’d never have met my husband, I wouldn’t have had my son... But then again, I wouldn’t have lost my son, either.”

Polly understood now. She put the pieces together and felt a new sense of guilt. There was low-hanging tension in the air. It was held down by sorrow and weighted with tears only a mother could cry.

“How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we never became, Polly?” Anna was staring past Polly. She didn’t want to see the tears in her mother’s eyes, nor the tracks they’d leave down her face, no. “That’s right. We don’t. So don’t come here, knocking on my doorstep, invading my home. Don’t come here raving about losing sons and daughters and love, all the while you’ve created losses in others. This world isn’t a meritocracy. You can’t kill mothers sons until no one has any left. Leaving you to finally take the crown of the best mum of the year.”

The sound of heavy footsteps on floorboards invaded the silence, “everything alright here Anna?” A big burly man with a slight limp and kind face appeared next to Anna, kissing her chastely on the cheek.

Anna places a hand on his chest “of course, James. Go put the kettle on for me will you?”

“For how many?” James looked up at the Shelby woman, taken aback by the celebrity appearance.

“Just us, love.” She kissed his cheek and he limped away slowly.

The silence crept in again, “Husband?” Polly asked.

“Husband.” Anna confirmed. “Y’know Polly, life can be cruel. I don’t believe Michael and I should have been taken, but I do believe you should never have parented us. I have this mark that takes up a little less than half my face. Kids at school used to say I looked like a wrong answer someone tried to erase, but couldn’t quite get the job done.” Anna scoffed.

“Anna, I love you and I just-“ Polly was near sobbing at this point.

“I remember growing up and believing that I’d be lonely forever. That I’d never meet someone. To make me feel like the sun was something they’d built in their work room, just for me.”

Anna sniffed again, her breathing was jagged and wavering. Her voice was rising slowly, “I emptied myself of everything I held dear. So I felt nothing- don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone. That an ingrown life is something Doctors can cut away. That there’s no way for it to metastasise? Of course, it does!” Her voice was scratchy and feral, she snarled like a wolf who saw a bear take its food.

“Anna, I just want my daughter back.” Polly pleaded.

Anna roared, “and I want my FUCKING son back!”

The door slammed shut, and Polly was left to wilt on the other side. She put a hand to her mouth but made no attempt to stifle her sobs. She placed her hand on the door like she could reach through and touch her daughters face.

The fight was over and the matriarch lost. For years onwards, insomnia would plague her mind, as it romanticised the idea of the stars and made the moon seem like perfect company.

Polly was tougher after that. Smiles rarely spouted and her eyes never twinkled in the sun. She screamed and screamed at Thomas that day. Cursing him for the business and all he had to say.

Years on, she’d never forgive herself, she though of her daughter as her head went through the noose that her nephew placed.

...and when I greet death; I hope it’s gentle. I hope it’s like going home.

——

Thanks for the request! They really keep me motivated and give me something to do.

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Feedback and comments are wanted.

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“ART IS THE WEAPON AGAINST LIFE AS A SYMPTOM.”