Gun Metal And Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 21

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)- Chapter 1

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

“NO WALK-INS ACCEPTED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur and John glanced at each other, very confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Florence Kent, I presume?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kindling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely insane” Thomas decided.

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

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

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

John scoffed, “sure you did, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thomas wondered if this woman could stand up straight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Business.” She states in the same manor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Hey! I FINALLY posted chapter 19 of GMaD! I’ve gone away for a while from uploading the chapters unfortunately, but I’m hoping to get them back up and going again!

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.

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

Thanks so much!

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

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

Sexy, right? 😂

Thanks for the love! 💕

Hey so I just had to let u know that The Anya-Margaret is one of the most interesting and special fics i’ve ever read (although there are only two chapters out so far). I love that it’s not the typical fic. I LOVE Florence and her outlandishness. Can’t wait to read more about her. I hope more people will find it and discover your talent.

Oh my! This has kind of made me very emotional. 😅

Thank you so much for your kind words, I’m not even really sure how to reply (I’m far too British for compliments like these)

So instead of being mature with my gratitude for your support (which is immense)

I decide to gift you this picture of this baby cow.

I hope it makes your day better like it did for me.

Thanks for the love! 💕