FicWad

My family and I got into Peaky Blinders recently. We enjoy it a lot. Cool soundtrack and lots of action and suspense.


After seeing a few episodes I thought I'd write a fanfic about the 90's cartoon Stunt Dawgs being like the Shelbys. Enjoy this one!





Birmingham, 1919. The city is a battleground of power, secrets, and betrayal, where organized crime runs rampant, and the Stunt Dawgs—led by the notorious Needham—control the streets with an iron fist. But the winds of change are blowing, and with them, new rivalries are being formed that could bring everything crashing down.


The dimly lit room was heavy with smoke. A single flickering lightbulb hung over a scarred wooden table where Needham, the ruthless leader of the Stunt Dawgs, sat surrounded by his loyal crew. His dark eyes gleamed with a calculating intensity, his sharp features making him resemble a man who had seen and survived the worst the world could offer.

Needham leaned back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “The city's changing. And it ain't gonna stop. We need to be ahead of the curve, or we'll be left behind.” His voice was cold and commanding, the kind of voice that had made him feared across Birmingham.

Splat, his closest ally, stood by the window, his jaw tight and his fists clenched. Splat was the muscle, the one who made things happen when Needham ordered. He was the brother to be feared, a violent force with a heart as hard as steel. “They think they can take what's ours, Needham? They won’t.”

Skid, the sharp-minded strategist of the group, sat at the table, scribbling notes on a piece of paper. He had a knack for reading people, for understanding the lay of the land before anyone else. “It’s not just about brute force anymore, Splat. It’s the politics. They’ve got people in high places now. We’ll need to outsmart them.”

The door swung open, and in stepped Sizzle, Needham’s girlfriend. Her presence was commanding, a woman who could hold her own in a room full of men. But she wasn’t just there to look pretty; she was there to fight for her family’s survival. Ada Thorne was not to be underestimated.

“I hear you're planning to fight fire with fire,” Sizzle said, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the group. “But this time, the fire might burn us all.”

“We’ll manage,” Needham muttered, barely looking up. “We always do.”


The streets of Birmingham were alive with whispers. Word on the street was that Richard P Fungus, the ambitious new leader of the British Union of Fascists, was making moves to take control of the city's underworld. With his slicked-back hair and well-tailored suits, Fungus was a smooth talker, but he was dangerous. His aim was clear: control everything.

Fungus sat in a dark office across town, his fingers tapping the edge of his desk as he spoke to his right-hand man, Airball, the gangster who controlled the docks and every dirty deal that came through. "The Stunt Dawgs are in our way, Airball. We can't afford to let them keep running the city. Needham’s empire ends now.”

Airball grinned, showing his crooked teeth. “Leave it to me, boss. I'll make sure the Dawgs get the message.”



It wasn’t long before the Dawgs' rivals started to make their move. Badyear, a brutish leader of a rival gang, had teamed up with Fungus. The stakes were getting higher, and the tension thickened as the conflict between the Stunt Dawgs and their enemies began to escalate.

Needham stood in the middle of the Dawgs' hideout, staring down his enemies with the fire of a man who would stop at nothing to protect what was his. "We won't back down. We fight. We take what's ours. No one takes the streets from us."

Splat slammed his fist against the table, a grin spreading across his face. “We’ll bury them all, Needham. I’m ready.”

But as the battle lines were drawn, darker forces started to reveal themselves. Half-A-Mind, the enigmatic mob boss from Italy, made his presence known. The underworld in Birmingham was already dangerous, but with Half-A-Mind’s arrival, things were about to get bloodier. His eyes were cold as ice, and his words were as deadly as a bullet.

“You think you’re the kings of this city, Stunt Dawgs?” Half-A-Mind asked, his voice smooth and taunting. “You’re nothing. The city belongs to me now.”

Meanwhile, the corrupt inspector, Viz Kidd, worked behind the scenes, collecting information and making deals with whoever could pay him enough. He was a man who played both sides, and he knew exactly how to manipulate the chaos for his benefit. “The Dawgs are gonna have to play my game if they want to survive. And if they don’t, well, it’s not my problem.”


Needham paced the floor of his office, a map of Birmingham spread across the table. He had a decision to make, and it wasn’t one he took lightly. His girlfriend, Sizzle, had already spoken to Father Lucky, a priest with more power and influence in the city than anyone cared to admit.

Father Lucky was a man of faith, but he was also a man of business. He had his hands in every pocket of the city's underworld, and he could make the difference between life and death. “Father, we need your help,” Sizzle said, her tone desperate. “Fungus is making his move, and we need leverage.”

Father Lucky's’ eyes gleamed as he looked over Sizzle. “Help comes with a price. You know that.”

Needham stepped into the room, his voice calm yet dangerous. “We’re not asking for charity. We’re asking for power.”

Father Lucky smiled. “You’re thinking of crossing lines, Needham. But be careful. The line between friend and foe is thin. And I don’t take kindly to being crossed.”


The city was a powder keg, and the spark that would set it off came one cold night. The Stunt Dawgs, with the help of Father Lucky, Slime, a man who had his own connections in the upper echelons of society, prepared for war. They knew it was do or die, and there would be no turning back.

As Needham led his crew into the final showdown, the streets of Birmingham seemed eerily silent, as if the city itself was holding its breath. In the distance, the unmistakable figures of Fungus and Half-A-Mind's men approached, ready for blood.

“This is it, boys,” Needham muttered, his cold eyes locked onto the advancing enemies. “We win, or we die trying.”

The first gunshot rang out, and all hell broke loose.


When the dust finally settled, the Stunt Dawgs stood victorious. Needham had taken control, solidifying his position as the king of Birmingham's underworld. The other factions, including Fungus and Badyear, were broken, scattered, or silenced. The city belonged to the Dawgs now.

But as Needham surveyed the bloody aftermath, a shadow lingered over him. The game was never truly over. Power was fleeting, and the next challenge was always just around the corner.

One thing was for certain: the Stunt Dawgs were not done yet.


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The bloodshed had hardly settled on the streets of Birmingham when Needham found himself standing at the window of his office, staring out at the city he now ruled. The war with Fungus and his evil faction was over—for now—but victory had come at a steep price. The bodies of his fallen comrades were still being buried, and the survivors bore the marks of a battle that could never truly be forgotten.

Needham’s eyes narrowed as his fingers traced the scar on his jaw, a reminder of the brutal fight that had almost ended his reign before it even truly began. He’d taken everything from Fungus, but at what cost? The Stunt Dawgs had lost men, and his grip on the city was still tenuous. There was always someone waiting for him to slip, someone eager to take the throne.

Splat, still covered in the grime of battle, entered the room with a grim look on his face. “You’re staring at that damn window again, Needham. If you’re waiting for a sign, I’ll tell you—there ain't one. You made your move, and we won. But I’ve got a feeling this isn’t over.”

Skid, who had been sitting at the table, rearranging papers, looked up. His fingers drummed softly on the desk, each tap a calculation. “Splat’s right. The city's divided, Needham. The fascists are down, but Half-A-Mind’s still out there, licking his wounds. And don’t forget about Badyear. He’s been quiet, but that won’t last long.”

Needham stood still, his thoughts running like a freight train. He’d taken on Fungus and Half-A-Mind, but now, there was a new threat that loomed even larger: power itself. The game had changed. The old alliances no longer held the same weight. The very structure of the city had been shattered, and the pieces were slowly beginning to reassemble, each one dangerous in its own right.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Needham muttered, his voice low, but his words sharp. “But now that I’ve got it, I’ll hold onto it. No matter who tries to take it from me.”



Across town, the cracks in the underworld were beginning to show. Half-A-Mind’s Italian operation, once a strong, secretive force, had started to regroup in the shadows. His men had been dealt a brutal blow, but he was still a threat. There were whispers in the alleys—his family wanted revenge. The Stunt Dawgs might have crushed his business for now, but Half-A-Mind wasn't the type of man who simply bowed out of the game.

Half-A-Mind met with Badyear, the brutal gangster who ran the East End. Their alliance was one of convenience, not trust, but both knew that the city was far too dangerous to play alone. They had their sights set on Needham and his empire.

“We'll cut him down,” Half-A-Mind said in his smooth Italian accent, his eyes gleaming like a predator. “The Dawgs have had their moment, but I don’t think they’ll last. You and I... we can take back what’s ours.”

Badyear cracked his knuckles, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s not just Needham. It’s his entire crew. I’ll enjoy watching them burn.”



Back at the Dawgs’ headquarters, things were tense. Sizzle, had always been the pragmatic voice of reason, but even she could sense the shifting tides. She knew how the streets worked, and one thing was clear: they had to move quickly if they wanted to stay ahead of their enemies.

Needham paced the room again, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him. “Half-A-Mind’s regrouping, and Badyear’s going to make his move soon. We need to strike before they think they have the advantage.”

Sizzle stepped forward, her eyes hard. “And what about us? What about the people who’ve already been lost? How many more will die to secure your throne, Needham?”

Her words cut through him, but he couldn't show weakness. Not now. “I didn’t choose this, Sizzle. But I won’t let anyone take it from me.”

“I didn’t say you should,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “But you need to remember who you’re doing this for. The people who follow you, the ones who are loyal—are they worth it?”

Sizzle’s words lingered in Needham’s mind as he looked around the room. The Stunt Dawgs weren’t just a gang—they were a family. And family meant everything to him. He couldn’t afford to lose that.



In the dark corners of the city, things were stirring. Father Lucky, the priest with ties to the highest echelons of power, knew that his hold over Needham and his family had limits. He had given them power, but he also wanted something in return.

Father Lucky called Needham into his office, his eyes cold and calculating. The priest had a plan, but it was a dangerous one.

“You’ve won the battle, Needham, but the war is far from over,” Father Lucky said, pouring a glass of whiskey for both of them. “You’ll need more than muscle to hold onto what you have. You’ll need influence. You’ll need me.”

Needham eyed the glass, then met Father Lucky's’ gaze. “And what exactly are you asking for?”

“The same thing I always ask for: loyalty,” Father Lucky said, his smile thin. “You have allies in the right places, Needham. But if you want to truly control this city, you’ll need to expand. The old way won’t work anymore. You need new connections—people who can help you run things from the inside.”

Needham was silent for a moment. He knew that in the game of power, no one gave anything without expecting something in return. But the offer was tempting. Hughes had connections in the government, the police, and the elite circles that controlled Birmingham. With his backing, Needham could move like a shadow through the city, untouched by the law or his rivals.

“I’ll think about it,” Needham finally said, his tone firm but noncommittal.

Father Lucky's smile widened, but there was something dark behind it. “You don’t have time to think, Needham. You have a city to conquer.”

As the tension between the Stunt Dawgs and their enemies continued to rise, there was one more betrayal waiting in the wings. Skid, the clever strategist who had always been Needham’s right-hand man, had begun to grow disillusioned. He had seen the cost of Needham’s rise to power, the blood spilled, and the lives ruined. And now, it seemed Skid had decided that it was time to take matters into his own hands.

One night, Skid disappeared from the Dawgs’ headquarters without a word. His disappearance wasn’t noticed immediately, but by the time Needham realized Skid was gone, it was too late. Skid had made a deal with Half-A-Mind and Badyear—he’d betrayed the Dawgs to the very people they had been fighting.

Skid’s betrayal hit harder than Needham had expected. For a moment, it felt like the foundation of everything he had built was crumbling. The city he had fought for was now slipping through his fingers.

But Needham wasn’t one to wallow in defeat. His eyes narrowed, and he turned to Splat.

“Find Skid,” Needham ordered. “And when you do, make sure he knows there’s no coming back.”

The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and grime as Splat and Slyme made their way through the back alleys of Birmingham. The city felt colder now, darker—a reflection of everything that had changed in the wake of Skid’s betrayal.
Needham had ordered them to find Skid, and there would be no mercy once they did. He’d known Skid for years—trusted him like a brother. But now? The betrayal cut deeper than any knife. Skid’s deal with Half-A-Mind and Badyear wasn’t just a business move; it was a personal blow. Needham wasn’t sure which hurt more—the fact that Skid had betrayed them or that he had done so without a second thought.

“We’re getting close,” Splat grunted, his voice low as he glanced over his shoulder, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. The cold steel of it felt familiar, but tonight, it was a reminder of the violence that would follow if they didn’t find Skid soon.

Slyme walked alongside Splat, his brow furrowed, his hand twitching toward his own pistol. The city felt hostile now, every shadow a potential threat. The betrayal was still fresh in Slyme’s mind, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “I never liked the bloke anyway,” John muttered, his voice bitter. “Always too smart for his own good. Thought he was too clever for us, didn’t he?”

Splat glanced at Slyme, his eyes cold. “We all thought Skid was family. This ain’t about like or dislike. This is about loyalty. He crossed the line, and now he’s gonna pay.”
The two of them reached the rundown warehouse on the outskirts of the city—a place that had once served as one of their old haunts. Now, it was a den of betrayal. Splat pushed open the creaky door with a force that made it groan on its hinges. The inside was dark, the only light coming from a few flickering lamps hanging from the rafters above.

Slyme's eyes scanned the room, his hand tightening around his gun. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either,” Splat growled, stepping forward. “But it’s where we’ll find him. This is his hiding place now. And when we find him...” Slyme says being cut off.

The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that made Slyme's gut tighten. There, in the shadows, they saw him: Skid.

He was standing near the back of the warehouse, looking out the grimy window toward the city. His clothes were disheveled, and his once-immaculate appearance now showed the signs of a man who had been living on the run. His face, usually calm and calculating, now seemed drawn, haunted by the decisions he’d made.

Skid turned slowly, his eyes flicking toward the two men entering. A wisp of recognition flashed across his face, followed by something colder—almost like resignation. His lips curled into a smirk, though it was thin and lacking in warmth.

“You two should’ve stayed out of this,” Skid said, his voice low but steady. “I did what I had to do. There was no other way. You don’t understand—this is bigger than any of us.”

Splat stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Bigger than us? You sold us out, Skid. You betrayed the Dawgs for what? Power? A few coins from Half-A-Mind and Badyear?"

Skid shook his head, his eyes glinting with a mixture of frustration and something darker. "It wasn’t about the money, Splat. It was about survival. We can’t keep fighting the same battles over and over. Needham was too focused on the past. He wasn’t looking ahead."

Slyme sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "And you think Half-A-Mind’s gonna treat you better than we did? He’ll use you like a tool and throw you away when he’s done."
There was a pause as Skid took a slow step back, his eyes briefly glancing away, almost as though he were searching for an escape that didn’t exist. “You don’t understand,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost pained. “You never did. Needham's too... too reckless. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.”

“You think you do?” Splat snapped. “You think you have it all figured out? Well, you don’t. You betrayed us, Skid. You betrayed family.”

Skid’s expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Family…” he said, almost bitterly. “You talk about family like it’s some kind of shield. But in this world, it’s a liability. Look at you, Splat. Look at Slyme. You’re both just tools in Needham’s game. Just like I was.”

Slyme's face twisted in anger. “Enough talk. You’ve made your choice. And now, you’re gonna answer for it.”
Splat moved forward, his fist raised, but Skid quickly drew a small pistol from beneath his coat, pointing it directly at the two men. His hands shook slightly, but his resolve was clear. He was ready to fight.

“Don’t move,” Skid warned, his voice shaky but tinged with desperation. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be the one to make this choice. But now that I’ve made it, I can’t back down.”

For a long moment, no one moved. The tension in the room was palpable, like the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap. Then, Slyme took a step forward, his eyes never leaving Skid’s.

“Put the gun down, Skid,” he said quietly, his voice more calm than he felt. “This doesn’t have to end like this. We were brothers. Don’t forget that.”

Skid’s finger twitched on the trigger, but then, slowly, he lowered the gun. His eyes were wide, and for the first time, there was a flicker of doubt in his gaze. “You really think this can be fixed, Slyme? You really think Needham will forgive me for what I’ve done?”
Splat's voice cut through the silence like a blade. “I don’t care what Needham thinks right now. This is about you. You chose this. And now, you're gonna live with it.”

Skid’s face twisted with a mix of regret and defiance, his mouth opening as though he might speak, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped, and the gun dropped from his hands.

Slyme took another step forward, his hand outstretched. “It doesn’t have to end in blood, Skid. We can bring you back.”
But Splat was already moving behind him. Without a word, he reached into his jacket, pulled out his own pistol, and aimed it directly at Skid’s chest.

“No, Slyme,” Splat said, his voice cold. “Some things can’t be undone. Some betrayals can never be forgiven.”

And with that, Splat squeezed the trigger.