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fraeyawrites · 1 year

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Plot Twist || Finn Shelby

Summary: Jo O'Brien had written stories of knights in shining armor slaying a ferocious dragon with a glistening sword. Jo O'Brien's reality was far from her fantasies.

Warnings: Period typical sexism, language, angst

Word Count:

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Jo O'Brien used to write as though she was running out of time.

The red feather quill that she insisted upon using would delicately glide across the page. The blank ink would be cursed as it smeared when her left hand dragged across it. Dozens and dozens of papers would stacked neatly atop one another until they nearly toppled over.

Writing was one of the few things that brought Jo peace. In a world of war and economic collapses, the chance to write about a different one was one Jo leapt at. She would scribe novels of fantasy or works of literature criticizing the issues in her country that are in need of changing. The latter of the two were the ones that she tended to keep hidden in order to not stir up conflict.

Jo adored burrowing away in her novels, learning from the greats such as Shakespeare, Homer, and Dante. Often times she would spend more time annotating these books then actually reading them.

She was content with her life.

Until January 21, 1919.

Jo was 12 years old when the Irish War of Independence commenced. It was the climax of a centuries long struggle for control of Ireland. There had been many bloody wars fought and revolts against the British rule, but the War of Independence was one unlike any before. Patrick O'Brien, Jo's father, was one of the many who decided to fight against British Security Forces and Irish Loyalists. It was not long before Jo's elder brothers joined the battle.

All five of the O'Brien men died in the year of 1920. Jo, at the ripe age of 13, was orphaned. Her mother had passed in the autumn of 1918 and all relatives that were not deceased had no interest in caring for the O'Brien girl.

So, Jo packed her belongings. Her three finished novels were shoved into a knapsack, along with the few banknotes that had been hidden in a jar in the kitchen. She fled from Ireland on foot.

But it was not safe for a young girl traveling alone.

Her once waist length hair was chopped. It is now settled around her ears. Her chest was bonded with bandages. The curvature was erased. Her dresses were traded. They were replaced trousers and button up shirts.

Jo O'Brien was no longer the lady her mother had raised her to be.

Jo O'Brien did what she had to to survive.

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Jo O'Brien was running.

Her feet carried her down the crowded streets of Birmingham. She spared no time in shouting apologies to those knocked into, nor did she waste a moment to glance behind her to see if they were still chasing her. She knew they were. She could hear their shouts. She could hear their heavy footsteps. They were closing in on her. It was one of those moments when a predator is chasing its prey, and no matter how much you wish the gazelle or zebra would escape the cheetah or lion, you know the outcome.

Jo couldn't say she doesn't deserve what is coming to her. She also cannot say she regrets what led to her being chased throughout Small Heath. Robert Walsh, in her opinion, needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. Teaching him that lesson just so happened to fall on her shoulders.

"Come back here you coward!" Robert's shout erupted from behind her. The sound of his furious tone only encourages the girl to increase her pace.

She does not make it more than five steps before a hand tags the back of her charcoal black jacket. She is sent sprawling to the concrete sidewalk in a loud heap. Her head ricochets off the pavement beneath her and a high pitched ringing fills her ears. Her eyes glaze over in what she can only assume to be tears.

Blurred figures enter her direct line of sight, the closer they get the more lucid they become. Robert's smug face is before her. The left side of his head holds a vast, bleeding laceration, courtesy of Jo. He harshly grabs her by the collar of her white button up and hauls her to her feet.

As Jo attempts to regain her balance she takes in the elder boy before her. He stands near a head taller than her and has to look down over the bridge of his crooked nose to glare at her. His pasty white skin only accentuates the vivid blue of his eyes. His once white shirt which has now been colored shades of dirt brown and scarlet red tightly hugs his muscular form. Regardless of whether he was about to break every bone in Jo's body or not, she had to admit, he was attractive.

She is quite literally knocked out of her thoughts by Robert's fist slamming into the left side of her face. Due to the tight grasp the boy had on her collar she does not fall to the ground as she so wishes to do. Her knees nearly give out at the brute force of the punch. Another one of the boys who was formerly chasing her wraps his arms under Jo's armpits and lifts her into an upright position. As his hands near her wrapped chest she suddenly begins to struggle. The last thing the girl wants to happen, on top of being beaten by three of the toughest boys in the school, is Birmingham finding out about her concealed gender. Her struggling is immediately brought to a stop when the wind is knocked out of her, courtesy of Robert's fist. Jo starts to cough in an attempt to regain the breath that was stolen from her.

"Not so tough now, are you paddy?" Walter Jackson insulted from his place behind Robert. Jo does not satisfy him with a quick witted retort as he expected her to do. She instead smiles towards the boy across from her, her teeth coated in the red of blood. This action only rewards her with a fist to the face. Her ears are filled with the high pitched ringing once again. She desires nothing more than to welcome the black oblivion of unconsciousness. If she were to do so though, her chances of waking up are slim to none. So, in a split second decision, her head slams into the face of the boy restraining her. She listens to his cry of pain, but pays no mind to it. Instead, she wriggles out of his now loose grasp and begins to run once more.

No thought is in her head. Adrenaline runs through her veins alongside the blood, the two blending together into a perfect concoction of energy.

Jo can hear the shouts and curses from behind her, yet she does not hear the trio of boys chasing after her. She does not dare to glance back however. Her gaze remains straight ahead and her focus on maintaining her fast pace. As she sharply turns the corner she collided with a trio of men.

"Watch it, boy!" Arthur Shelby cried, shoving the girl backwards. Jo stumbles slightly at the force, but managed to maintain her balance. She of course immediately recognizes the men before her, as would any person in Small Heath. Everyone knew of the Shelby brothers.

"Sorry, sir." Jo apologized, lowering her voice by multiple octaves to keep up her male facade. She maneuvers around the company of three and begins to sprint once more.

She does not feel that gaze of Thomas Shelby following her.

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Jo O’Brien’s pale skin now bears a collage of purple and blue bruises. Her thin face has become slightly more wide due to the wound that has inflated on her cheekbone. The back alleyway that she is slumped over in reflects her current emotions.

Despair.

Despondency.

She feels as though she might as well be another brick in the wall she is leaning up against. Just one in a sea of thousands.

Silently, the teenage girl crawls over to a flipped over garbage can. It is tucked away in the corner, away from prying eyes and potential thieves. She gently tilts it over. Beneath the metal can is all that Jo owns. Three books are there, one of her own created and the other two classics such as the Iliad and Dante’s Inferno. A roll of bandages that the girl uses to restrain the curvature of her chest lay on the ground. And finally a small pile of loose change that Jo has managed to collect over the years.

Carefully, she picks up the worn leather bound copy of the Iliad. Tucked neatly within the yellow pages is a black and white photograph. A family of seven can be seen, all smiling widely towards the camera. Jo trails her finger over the faces of her deceased relatives. She takes a staggering breath before flipping the picture over. Written neatly in black in is the date, as well as the signatures of those photographed.

At the sound of footsteps nearing her current home, the girl shoved her photo in between the pages once more. She places the book beneath the garbage can and looks to the entrance of the alleyway.

Isaiah Jesus and Finn Shelby pass by. They falter mid step however at the sight of the beaten up ‘boy’ at the back of the alley.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Finn questioned, lightly gesturing to Jo’s bruised and beaten face.

“Robert Walsh.” Jo responded, her voice deeper than it should be as as 16 year old girl. Slowly, the two Peaky Blinders nod their heads in understanding, having both had their fair share of incidents with the Walsh boy. Jo takes note of the laceration running across the left side of Finn’s face and juts her chin towards it.

“What the fuck happened to you?” She interrogated, her head tilting to the side.

Finn lightly smiles as the memory comes rushing back.

“Had a run in with Vincent Bourne.” He replied as though it is no big deal.

“And you lived?” Jo asked, amazed that anyone could have an altercation with Vincent Bourne and walk away less than ten broken bones. Isaiah claps his companion on the back in pride.

“Not only that. He won.”

Jo whistles, impressed. She’s witnessed someone step up to Vincent Bourne and to imagine anyone beating him is a fabrication of the mind.

“What’s your name?” Finn suddenly questioned, his eyes narrowing as he looks over the seated girl. He’s lived in Small Heath his whole life and he can’t recall ever seeing this ‘boy’ before.

“Jo.” She stated, wincing as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Jo what?” Isaiah queried, equally as curious as his friend.

“Jo O’Brien.”

“Never heard of you.” Finn told her. Jo shrugged her shoulders, having expected this. Since she came to Birmingham she’s done her best to lay low. To avoid the suspicious stares of the people who have lived there since birth.

“And who are you?” Jo questioned, knowing full well who both the teenagers before her are. The pair look at one another, surprised at what she is asking. When they glance back to her she breaks out into a grin. “I’m just fucking with you.”

The two Peaky Blinders follow her lead and smile as well. It has been a long while since someone has had the guts to mess with one of them, let alone both.

“Where are you two headed?”

“The Garrison.” Finn answered. An idea suddenly pops into his head. “Do you want to come?”

At the invitation, Jo’s eyes light up. It has been a long while since someone has invited her to do anything other than fight. She quickly nods her head, much to the amusement of Isaiah and Finn. She is gestured out of the alley that she stands in and to the sides of the two Peaky Blinders boys. Together, they begin their trek to the Garrison.

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Jo O’Brien has never liked the taste of alcohol. She never liked the way it burned as it traveled down her throat, nor did she enjoy the way it left her tipsy after the first sip. But when given a drink on the house, she is given no choice but to down the whiskey. She is quick to mask the wince as the liquid meets her tongue and send a smile to the two boys beside her.

“What’d you do to piss off Robert?” Finn suddenly interrogated, looking over to where Jo is seated.

Absentmindedly, the girl shrugs her shoulders.

“You had to have done something!” Isaiah cried, desiring the information of what earned their new companion the injuries her face holds.

“Walsh needed to be knocked down a few pegs.” Jo told them before taking a sip of her now refilled drink. “So, I punched him.” She finished, grinning proudly when she is clapped on the back by Finn.

“Attaboy!” Isaiah cheered, making Jo falter. She is reminded in this moment that she is not the girl her mother raised. She is Jo. The same Jo who traded her dresses for pants. The same Jo who has pretended to be a boy since she was 13. The girl her mother raised no longer exists.

“You alright there, Jo?” Finn questioned, breaking the teenager out of her trance like state. Jo quickly nods her head, practically dragging the smile back to her face.

“Of course.” Jo confirmed. She silently listens to the conversations that are occurring around her by the other patrons of the pub. Some are discussing business, others are discussing personal life. These discussions all quiet when the door to the Garrison opens. Jo turns around in her chair to see the three eldest Shelby brothers standing there. Quickly, Jo faces her glass of whiskey once more, hoping to avoid eye contact with the men.

“Finn boy!” Arthur cried, stepping over to his youngest brother’s side and slashing him on the shoulder. Jo sees in her peripherals Thomas taking a seat beside her. She can practically feel him staring at her.

“Who the fuck are you?” He interrogated, bringing silence to the already quiet pub. Jo hesitantly glances over to Thomas and points to herself, as if she is asking “me?”.

“Yes, you.”

“I’m Jo.” Said girl introduced herself, holding out her hand for Thomas to shake. He does not. Jo slowly lets her hand falls down to her side and returns to staring at her glass of whiskey.

“Jo here, punched Robert Walsh.” Finn told his brother. Thomas hums in acknowledgment, sizing up the ‘boy’ who is seated beside him.

“What a fucking prick!” John cried, recalling a conversation he once had with Robert. It did not end without violence. Jo snorts at the declaration, agreeing with what the man had to say.

“Doesn’t look like you won the fight.” Arthur commented, scanning over Jo’s bruised and bloody face. Jo blushes at this, but shakes her head nonetheless.

“That’ll happen when he has his two friends hold you back.” She told him.

“We’ll get him next time.” Isaiah told his new friend.

#Finn Shelby #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders fanfic #fanfic #Thomas Shelby #love story #John Shelby #Arthur Shelby #Polly gray #Michael gray #love #slow burn

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