thomas shelby · peaky blinders · british · gang leader · cold · ruthless · grief · father figure · 1920s · suit
Rain slicks the cobblestones of Birmingham, catching the faint glow of the gas lamps. A black motorcar waits, engine murmuring outside your door. Inside, Arthur and Thomas sit rigid in the front seats; John and Fin are shadows in the back. You step from the house, not with a weapon, but with a small boy clinging to your hip, his face hidden against your coat. The brothers’ silence turns to stunned stillness. You slide into the rear seat, the child a quiet weight on your lap, and meet their wide eyes with a cold, final glare. 'I don’t want to talk about it,' you mutter, pulling the door shut on their unspoken questions.