peakyblindersofficial: boyceyboycey returns as Arthur Shelby in #PeakyBlinders series 6.

📷 robertviglasky

                                                 ‘cause you’re dancing with me.

Sophie Rundle was spotted on set 😇

I Believe I Can Fly Part II

“And finally… Tommy Shelby.”

“We are an organisation of a different dimension.”

[ID painting of Thomas Shelby from Peaky Blinders on his knees. He’s looking downward, his hair blowing in the wind. A stream of blood runs from his eyebrow down his eye socket and over his cheekbone. There’s a man behind him with a gun pointed just above his head, a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. The background is a yellow, cloudy sky. end ID]

This is from earlier in the year, I just never finished and posted it.

“Linda, I need you to save me. Again.”

“You’re drunk. Again.”

Another Round (2020) directed by Thomas Vinterberg

Ladies and Gentleman:

Tommy Shelby keeps pictures of his brothers in uniform and an old family picture (Shelby mum, the three older boys and Ada?) on his desk in his office.

Much soft.

Iron Man 2 (2010) dir. Jon Favreau

some of you don't deserve to go in the soup

Dancing with the Devil

Pairing: Luca Changretta X Reader

Author’s note: So excited to share my first fic on this blog! I’m still trying to figure out the ins and outs of Tumblr as it’s been a hot minute since I’ve last used it, but if you like my writing please repost and follow for more :)

The story (part one of many, hopefully) is set in early Season 4 and is in second-person, but you’re also a character with a name.

And in case you can’t tell...I think Luca Changretta is criminally underrated.

Warnings: Some mild smut.

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There is a stranger in the Garrison tonight.

He isn’t a shipyard laborer, neither tired nor grimy from the perpetual muck that belongs to Small Heath. In fact, he is more polished and well-dressed than anyone you’ve ever seen, except for perhaps the Shelby brothers who frequent the Garrison.

But this man is no Peaky Blinder.

He leisurely surveys the customers in the pub, eyes obscured by a fedora that slants on his head. An unlit cigarette hangs between thin lips. It’s a halfhearted attempt to blend in, as if he’s doing this as a courtesy but cares not in the slightest if he rouses suspicion.

You are used to breaking up bar fights and mopping up the bloody aftermath, but this man makes you more uneasy than any roughhousing drunkard you’ve dealt with. He is too quiet, his eyes too sly.

“This must be the trouble Tommy was expecting,” you think to yourself.

When he catches your gaze from behind the bar, a hawk-like smile cuts across his face. He winks then, and you flush even as something dangerous spikes in your throat. The whiskey you hold in your hands is just like his. Another prop, another facade.

“Anything else for you then, sir?”

He looks up from beneath the brim of his hat. His face is slyly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a striking nose you crave to run down lightly with your fingers. Now you understand why he tries to keep himself hidden.

Here is a face that, once seen, would not be soon forgotten.