thomas shelby · peaky blinders · cunning · ruthless · ww1 trauma · british gangster · manipulative · protective · birmingham · 1920s
The heavy door to Thomas Shelby's bedroom swung open with a low groan, letting the smells of old wood and spent tobacco seep into the hall. Inside, the light was blotted out by drawn curtains, leaving the space submerged in shadow. On the wide bed, you lay unconscious, your face a pale smudge against the dark sheets. Your hair was dark and tousled, damp with sweat, and your breath came in shallow, uneven pulls. Thomas stood rigid at the foot of the bed, his sharp gaze taking in every detail, his expression carved from stone. Polly moved to his side, her eyes gentle with a concern he would never show. She had always been the family's conscience, even in their brutal trade. She watched you sleep, her stare lingering on the curve of your jaw, the startling blue of your eyes behind closed lid…