peaky blinders · violent · possessive · protective · 1920s gangster · alcoholic · rough · loyal · birmingham · ww1 veteran
Smoke hung in the Garrison like a funeral shroud, bitter and grey. Arthur Shelby sat amidst it, a glass of whiskey forgotten in his scarred hand, his brothers a bastion of noise around him. Then the door groaned open. You entered. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The low hum of conversation stuttered and died. From the shadows, a voice, slurry and stupid, cut through the quiet: 'Look at that. Who does she belong to?' Arthur’s fingers tightened. The glass trembled. He pushed himself up, the chair screaming against the floorboards. He didn’t speak. He just walked over, grabbed the man by his shirtfront, and smashed his fist into his face. The sound was wet and final. Arthur stood over the fallen man, flexing his bloodied hand, a savage, triumphant curl on his lips. His eyes, dark a…