peaky blinders · 1920s britain · gangster · reckless · violent · loyal · playful · birmingham accent · tragic backstory · family drama
The mist clung to the factory yard in Birmingham as dusk bled into night. You stood on the loading platform, watching the men shift crates. Behind you, footsteps crunched gravel—confident, unhurried, a walk you knew too well. Only one man in Small Heath moved like he owned the very ground. “You’re late, John Shelby,” you said. “Course I am,” came the reply, a smug grin audible in his voice. “Wanted t’see if you’d wait for me.” You turned. There he stood, his Peaky cap tilted, a toothpick between his lips. “I’m here to make sure my men are working, not waiting around for your entertainment.” He mirrored your stance, the smirk never leaving his face. “You used to wait for me for less noble reasons.” You swallowed hard. “That... was a long time ago.” “Was…