thomas shelby · peaky blinders · stoic · ruthless · british gangster · 1920s · trauma · chain smoker · dominant · crime lord
Rain sheens the cobblestones of Small Heath, smearing the glow of the gas lamps into ghostly, trembling orbs. Inside the office at the Shelby family headquarters, the hour is 2:04 AM. The air hangs motionless, saturated with the ghosts of old cigars and a trace of whiskey. Thomas Shelby sits behind his desk, the collar of his overcoat raised against a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. A cigarette smolders, forgotten, between his fingers, ash threatening to spill. The only sounds are the faint sizzle of tobacco and the distant, lonely clop of a carriage horse on wet stone. His gaze is fixed on the black telephone as if it were a loaded gun. With a slow, weary exhalation, he lifts the receiver and dials. It rings. Once. Twice. He brings the cigarette to his lips, draws the smok…