#also I exaggerated here but I can't unsee it

[kozachenko]

I swear to god, Zanmu has just been on my mind recently, she's taking over my fucking brain please send help

Artist's Note:

Why is it that everytime I do a drawing of Zanmu I always make the canvas size fucking huge and it ends up being a living nightmare to fucking export. I swear to god I had to go from 1200 DPI to 600 to 350.

Exporting hell aside, I loved working on this piece. With Zanmu's design, I wanted to combine all the design details that I love and have seen in other people's drawings of Zanmu and give them my own personal touches. First of all, her sleeves were inspired by @amemenojaku's design for Zanmu, and I absolutley love that detail because not only does it make her feel more regal, it also can be a callback to Satori and old hell, and also gives me the idea that Satori's fashion sense was inspired by Zanmu because IRL a lot of historical fashion was inspired by what the nobles were wearing at the time, and since Satori was around since when Old Hell used to be Hell, she probably took some wardrobe inspo from her (or it could be my headcanon that Satori could've been Zanmu's royal advisor or she was in her court or something but that theory is kinda grasping at strings from other headcanons I have, but that's for a different post). Also, the eye makeup she has was inspired by @jothelion's drawings of Zanmu, and like, I fucking love that detail because it just adds so much like omg I just love it sm.

And now for the design details I put in. I gave Zanmu tassel earrings because I think they'd look great on her. I also really like to exaggerate her hair and really try to make it look wild, as well as having little grey hairs here and there. I also try to add some wrinkles to the corners of her eyes, but TBH I don't know how visible that detail is, since the image is pretty fucking big. I also really exaggerated the tassles/strings on her outfit, since I really wanted to play around with the potential flow they could have. Also, big fan of giving Zanmu longer sleeves and pants. IDK why but I just like how it flows better. Also big fan of making her taller, idk why a lot of fanart makes her short. Also, I placed her horns closer to the front of her head as I just think placing horns in that position looks cool.

Also, if you're wondering about the halo, I took some inspiration from a few of Caravaggio's paintings where he often depicts saints with this very thin halo around the top of their heads. I just liked that detail a lot so I thought I'd include it.

Fun fact, I was originally gonna make the four skeletons Chiyari, Biten, Enoko, and Hisami but I didn't like the prospect of having to draw four more characters, so I chose to replace them with skeletons (if you wanna get silly with it, Zanmu got Hisami to kidnap Aya, set up some skeletons with bones from her bone collection and told her to take a picture of her).

I kinda gave up on Zanmu's feet and the one skeleton's hands (as if drawing hands normally is hard enough but NOPE, HAD TO MAKE IT LIVING HELL FOR MYSELF BY MAKING IT A SKELETON) and the quality of the image may suffer because of how much I had to fucking compress it (Zanmu's presence alone was enough to make the computer lose all of it's desire and motivation to export the drawing of her lmao), but I have been hacking at this piece for a while now, plus I need to learn when to call it quits when it comes to drawings). Also as I was fixing up the hands there was one spot where I forgot to clean up with the sketch and I can't fucking unsee that now and it's going to fucking bother me until I fix it but fixing it requires going back and putting my computer through hell so yeah.

So yeah, that's about all I have to say with this drawing, it was fun but also a nightmare lol

[peppermintquartz]

Based on this post

*

"Tommy?" Buck calls out. His hands are clammy and his heart has not slowed down for the past hour. His boyfriend's car is in the garage, and his keys are on the hook, so he's definitely home, but for Tommy to go radio silent on Buck on an off day is a new kind of terrifying.

Anything could've happened. Tommy might have fallen and hit his head in the bathroom, bleeding out. Tommy might have been crushed under the car he's repairing because the car lift malfunctioned. Tommy might have been abducted.

But Buck sees the keys and he forces himself to sound more normal. He calls out again, "Tommy? Babe? Where are you?" Kicking off his sneakers, he starts from the guest bathroom which they are re-tiling, and then peeks in the pantry as he passes it, and then he heads to the master bathroom. Nothing. No one.

Buck is about to call 911 to report Tommy's disappearance when he hears it. A soft shuffle. Maybe a slight gasping inhalation.

"Babe?" He swallows nervously as he approaches the closet. "Are you... Is that you?"

No answer. With a deep breath and a fist cocked in case it's an intruder, Buck opens the closet door.

And relaxes his hand, even as his heart clenches with pity.

It is Tommy, who is curled into the corner, his big frame trying its best to compress itself into the shadowy recesses. His hand is covering his mouth and his eyes are wide and unseeing. His cheeks are blotchy where Buck can see, and there's a vulnerability in his face that Buck has never seen before. Hunkering down, he reaches out a hand and touches Tommy's knee.

Tommy jerks and coils up even more tightly.

"Babe, baby, it's me, it's your Evan," Buck says, his heart breaking. "What's wrong?"

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and his breathing speeds up.

"No no no, slow down, breathe with me. Breathe with me, please baby, slow down." Buck exaggerates his inhales and exhales, and to his gratification, Tommy seems to hear him and after four or five such breaths, he starts to mimic Buck.

Okay. That is good. Buck risks putting his hand on Tommy's foot. This time, although Tommy twitches, he doesn't pull away. He does make a choked whimper though.

"Alright. Okay, that's okay. Open your eyes, baby, look at me." Buck holds back his own fears and concerns. He has never seen Tommy like this.

Tommy blinks, his eyelashes sticking with tears, and he stares at Buck. "Evan?" he whispers soundlessly, dropping his hand.

Buck smiles. "Yeah, baby. Yes. It's me. Come out of there?"

Tommy presses his lips together and shakes his head. He seems lost.

Buck wants to drag him out, but he knows that will probably shatter what fragile trust he is building here between himself and this strangely frightened Tommy. Instead, he shuffles closer. "Can I sit with you?"

After some hesitation, Tommy nods.

It's a tight squeeze for two six foot two firefighters, but they manage by virtue of sheer stubbornness and also with Buck cradling Tommy against his shoulder. Running his fingers through Tommy's hair, Buck leans against the wood behind him and hopes he is helping.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when Tommy croaks out, "He's dead."

Buck goes very still. "Who is, Tommy?"

"My dad. He's dead. I got... I got a phone call." Tommy's voice is very small. "Suicide." He chuckles, as if he wants to rip out his throat. "Guess he finally got tired of having no one to beat up."

Shit. Buck knows that Tommy's relationship with his father is icy, that there is twenty years or so of silence between them, that for nearly the first twenty years of Tommy's life, Tommy's father ruled with an iron fist that he wasn't afraid to throw around.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you found out," Buck says sincerely.

Tommy chokes on a sob. "I shouldn't feel... Not like this. He's gone, he can't... But I can't go out there. Not yet."

"Well, we'll stay right here," Buck replies, kissing the top of Tommy's head. "We'll stay here forever if you need to."

He means it. He will live in this tiny closet with Tommy until Tommy is ready to go out there into the world again. It'll make some things difficult, but Buck will call the others, and they'll figure out a system to make it work, Buck and Tommy and their closet-sized lives.

"I wish I hated him." Tommy's voice is so small, so broken. "Hated him enough to... to feel good about this."

Buck tightens his embrace.

"He hit Mom all the time," Tommy continues, like he's in confession. "He'd find something wrong, about anything, and Mom would order me to hide, and then the beating began. Sometimes it's worse than beatings." Tommy gulps audibly and his fingers dig into Buck's shirt. "And if he heard me crying, he would hit me too, with his belt, and he would make her watch. Made her beg for him to hit her instead."

That such cruelty was inflicted on any child, let alone Tommy... Buck kisses him again, trying to convey how much he ached for young Tommy, how much he would have wanted to protect him.

"I didn't mean to... To hide. I just. Too much. Too many thoughts. My head feels. It's too much." Tommy buries his face into Buck's belly and his wide shoulders shiver, like he is cold.

"It's okay. We'll hide here until you have a manageable number of thoughts," Buck says. He blinks away unshed tears. He thinks about Tommy as a boy, skinny, still growing into his bones, terrified to be found, trying not to be a victim.

How frightened he had to have been, growing up with a father like that.

They stay in there for long enough that it becomes chilly. Tommy says, "I think we both need to get out."

Buck hides a grunt of soreness as he shuffles out of the narrow space, and then helps Tommy up. His legs and feet tingle with pins and needles.

"I suppose it's nice that we came out of the closet together," Tommy remarks, his voice sandpaper rough, and it is lame and unfunny, yet Buck starts laughing anyway, and he's laughing like his heart is breaking, and the next thing he knows he is crying, bawling even, and Tommy is kissing his cheeks and wiping away the tears with his shirt.

"I was so worried," Buck hiccups. "You didn't answer your phone. You didn't respond to anything. I thought you were hurt or dying." Or dead, he doesn't say.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby, it's my fault."

"Don't do it again."

"I don't have a second dad whose death by eating a bullet will trigger me into hiding." Tommy manages a wobbly smile.

Buck smacks Tommy's arm. "Too soon."

"Sorry." He kisses Buck. His cheeks are damp. "Sorry. I love you."

[call-sign-shark]

Reb, I'm sorry for the delay but your comment genuinely made me so happy that I didn't want to reply to it quickly. I am not even exaggerating when I told you I often re-read it-- I did it twice today. I'll try to answer by topic but please bear with me, I'm super excited so it might get messy.

The Funeral: Ngl this scene was probably what took me the most time because it's very emotions & sensations oriented than anything else so I'm relieved you caught everything I tried so hard to convey. Whether it is how Heaven is shattered by John's death (he was indeed a pillar) or the parallel between his funeral and the witch trial, you got everything right. One thing I didn't think about but now that you've mentioned it I can't unsee it: Heaven never dealt with her trauma. She just closes the door on it. Absolutely. Thank you for this because I've literally never thought about it properly.

Tommy and Heaven: Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. What a little bitch right? First of all, your gif reactions got me rolling on the floor. I swear, you want to slap him at each of his apparitions lmao. She did drop a few badass lines to shut his mouth! Let's take one minute to imagine his face teehee. Then, about that whole predator image and the description of how he moves, it's also my favorite part of the whole chapter. Whether terrified by her or not, Tommy's presence remains impressive and he has that magnetism even Heaven can't deny. All in all, she doesn't underestimate him. But let's talk about the Tommy x Heaven ship because, gosh, yes girl you spat facts here. There is definitely tension, they have chemistry, and yes that old enemy-to-lover trope... But if it makes your skin crawl it means I did my job right: Tommy's attraction is rooted in unhealthy and creepy motives. It's not about being in love, and it had never been the case. It is about owning, controlling and fueling his ego. I've quickly experienced it in this short AU but I feel like Tommy considers her more like a trophy than anything. For these reasons, I completely agree with your stance and I've always said that, if together, the relationship would be toxic and quite dark. Nothing like Arthur's unhealthy but sincere love/admiration/devotion to her happiness.

Polly's motherly behavior: gekdshtiezjrozjqo YES. I'm so surprised you've pointed this because Polly and Heaven have very few scenes together but definitely. She sees her lost daughter in her, such as Heaven sees a mother figure in Polly. That's also why she sincerely can't be mad at her. Even Polly was harsh with her for months, she's now the only person she trusts, apart from Arthur.

Arthur and Heaven: Arthur was a plain idiot and, of course, he made an awful mistake. A stupid, selfish, and cruel one but it is still a mistake because never he would have imagined all the consequences of it. I'm so happy you picked up how vulnerable he is and how it's torture for them to be separated. I'm always conscious about not explaining how co-dependent they are so it's so good you could feel it chapter by chapter, and that it is now just so natural for you to think they belong to each other (and that their bond is undescribable) because that's exactly what I wanted to do. And what I thought no one would think so. I also think Heaven gives something that Arthur never has and yet, seeks throughout the entire show: respect. Besides her loyalty and mad love for her husband, telling him about the reunion was a matter of respect. And finally about that wolf/lamb image: TEEHEE THANK YOU! What I like with these two dorks is that you never really know who's the lamb and who's the wolf.

Miscellaneous:

For Ada, YES. Things have changed a lot right? It's not like she doesn't like her sister-in-law, but something has been broken. She fears her as well as disagreeing with the use of violence.

We'll have more of how Heaven is perceived outside because I think it's interesting to view her outside of the clan!! So THANK YOU ;w;

Sorry for the very long reblog but babe, you made me so so happy. I hope it won't annoy you. Thank you again for your constant support, friendship and Xmas gift. 🖤

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Running from your past doesn’t work anymore now that you’ve been directly involved in the Vendetta. Between violence, threats and schemes, you understand that you will only retrieve your peaceful haven with Arthur if you get out of this war with blood under your nails. featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 7.5k

TW: alteration of canon events, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, SMUT +18, hint at gunplay, cockwarming, piv, non-protected , obsessive love, extreme co-dependent relationship. They are sincerely deranged, sorry about that. No proofreading, we die like men.

Notes:

✞ This is the last quiet chapter of Act II, shit will start to get real in the next part. Also, the smut is just a part of the chapter, not the entire thing.

✞ This is chapter 14 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The crackling symphony of burning wood whispered to the stillness, each pop and hiss forming the melody of a sorrowful farewell to John Shelby. Amidst the flickering glow you emerged, your white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight around your shoulders to the small of your back. The firelight waltzed upon your features, bringing up the mesmerizing interplay of diamond dust and frost that composed you.

How many more?

The question flashed in your thoughts, leaving a trail of caustic soda that scorched your skull from the inside. How many more of your loved ones should you see burn, their flesh eaten by a voracious fire, until God decided He had enough fun tormenting you? Two faint dimples appeared on your cheeks as you gritted your teeth, the cold winter wind blowing at the black veils of your long and seductive black dress that floated elegantly behind you like the sinister drapes of the Reaper's cloak. In utter silence, Arthur lowkey shifted his focus from the vardo to you with concern and, taking notice of the destructive sparkle in your eyes, pulled you closer. The sensation might have been comforting but your body didn’t answer to his affection, remaining limp and disconnected. To be completely honest, you were feeling so physically and emotionally cold that you would have believed you were made of frost if his coat, which was resting over your shoulders, and his comforting hand, that was on your lower back, weren't there to offer you a bit of warmth.

As the scent of Arthur's reassuring cologne kept you anchored to reality, you finally woke up from your gluey negativity and instinctively nestled against your husband, who placed a discreet and tender kiss on the corner of your lips. The familiar ticking of his facial hairs on your skin sent a wave of comfort through your soul and reminded you that, despite everything that had been going on between the two of you lately, he had been, still was, and will always be your only saving grace. You wondered if, maybe, it was time for you to go back home. Not that his betrayal had been forgotten or forgiven, but you needed him more than ever. For a shit ton of reasons.

“You’re frozen, angel. You sure you wanna stay hm?” He whispered, the tender gravel in his voice clearing your morbid contemplation of the burning vardo, which brought to your mind the sickening memories of your mother and little sister burning at the stake. A long exhale escaped from your fleshy lips as you tried to keep the demons of your past on a leash — and ignore a sudden wave of nausea.

“I’m not going anywhere. If John is burning I might as well freeze.” Your reply was a bit blunter than intended, but Arthur got it. The way you watched the flames climb higher and higher left no doubt about the devastating anger raging inside. They will pay, you silently swore to John, convinced he could hear you from where he was. If bringing him back was out of your abilities, at least you could avenge him by bringing upon every single man who plotted his death a demise worse than death. Just like Thomas Shelby, they would soon know how much pain you could inflict with your tiny and delicate hands, the holiness of your appearance being nothing more than a facade to mask the methodical killer you were. To hell with the promise of not killing again, having blood on your hands seemed to be the price to pay for Arthur and his love. While you lost yourself in the meanders of your thoughts, the cacophonic detonations of gunshots roared in the quiet meadow.

You had barely heard them when, with movements nimble and quick, you pushed Arthur to the ground and stood still to protect him in a reflex you couldn’t fight. The booming sounds might have been loud, they didn’t made you flinch. Quite the contrary, your aquamarine eyes stared at the horizon in search of the slightest threat, just in case the shots fired hadn’t come from the Gold. For a very short while you had been the only one standing, all the Shelby clan on the ground with hands covering their head. Even Tommy, who had schemed the attack, played the safety card and remained covered just the time to make sure the shootings came from their side.

"For fuck's sake, Heaven." Arthur barked at you as he stood up on his long legs, ignoring Tommy in the background who was keeping everyone under his control by yelling. The lanky gangster's hand grabbed your fragile wrist firmly and pulled you closer to him again, steel blue eyes glowing with disapproval at your reckless behavior.

"That was Thomas’ plan right?” You simply replied, your reliable source of information being Aberama and Bonnie themselves -- it was a part of the many perks of living with them in the nearby woods.

“Come on, Angel! A plan ain't going to be always working ay. It could have been the Ital—“ The oldest Shelby brother, with his thick brows furrowed, could not finish his sentence for you hushed him by cupping his face with your freezing little hands. Falling silent, the wolf turned into a lamb as you gently pressed his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

"Chéri." You started, the pink tip of your tongue moistening your enchanting lips. Each of your movements seemed to bewitch him, to the extent that he almost forgot why he had been that irked, the inferno of his rage instantly cooling down, "I am fine see?” Despite the softness of your voice, he could sense a bit of impatience in your steady tone. Without leaving any time for questions or protests, you laid a small kiss on his cold lips, "We are fine." The melody of your voice was merely a whisper that vanished in the howling wind when your winter lips met his a second time for a deeper kiss. Soft and glossy flesh against rough one. A wild storm of happiness coursed through Arthur at the sensation of this long-awaited mark of affection tingling on his skin, and electrifying his heart. A rapture so strong that the world blurred around him for a moment — he would have probably slipped his tongue in your mouth if the moment wasn't inappropriate. When you pulled back from him, your lips curled in a faint but sincere smile before you squished his scruffy cheeks and released his face from your cold grip. After three years together, it was only at this very moment that Arthur understood that he wasn’t the true guardian and fellow protector of the couple. You were.

Fiercer. Crazier. And certainly far more dangerous.

"Put us out there on purpose... To use John's funeral fire as a fucking beacon!" Aunt Polly's outraged and trembling voice erupted from behind, her words stabbing Tommy like red-hot daggers. If they hurt, he didn’t let it show though. Forced to part from you before his brother and aunt went for each other’s throat, Arthur intervened.

"We were never in any danger, Polly."

"You set a trap. You set a trap with us as fucking bait." She blurted out, standing from her chair and walking to Tommy with steps so furious you were pretty sure she was going to plow into him. Indignation was radiating off her, her dark eyes wishing they had the power to kill. If it had been the case little King Shelby would have been already lying in a pool of his own blood, "Who's dead?!"

After his younger brother had tried to explain to the old harpy that the victims were two Italians, Arthur went on, "We got word to them about the funeral, the where, the when… Told them where to stand for the best shot."

"And Aberama Gold will do the rest." Tommy completed his brother's sentence as if he was an extension of himself — which was the case, you reckoned, when he wasn't busy criticizing you for breathing. From then, the voices only escalated, trying to overcome one another and win the argument by screaming louder than the other until someone eventually gave up. Which was a miracle that would never happen since we were talking about Tommy and Polly. Both of them were two equally stubborn mutts fighting for the same bone and how this argument ended had been predictable: The fierce aunt left, Hell shaking under her heels.

Now was the perfect opportunity to talk.

"Arthur," Your divine voice hailing him, resounding in the meadow like a haunting siren’s song, its unsettling melody sending shivers down Ada's spine. She glanced at you and, for a quick second, the memory of you covered with blood flashed in her mind. Years had passed since you murdered Father’s Hughes accomplice with a pair of scissors but she still couldn't forget what happened back then. She wouldn’t admit it but her trust in you had never been the same from this moment.

Snatched from his thoughts, Arthur turned around, frowning. The family argument had soured his mood.

"Hm?"

"Now I wanna leave." You stated, your seraphic tone as sharp as the razor blades in your man’s cap. This hostility wasn’t aimed at him though, but at Tommy for you had pronounced these four words while glaring at him, indescribable hatred burning in your frozen iris. You might have been aware of the plan, it didn’t mean you agreed with it: the idea of using John’s funeral still infuriated you but your mourning soul hadn’t the strength to fight it. "I'm going home.” Arthur's heart missed a beat, afraid of seeing you disappear again in the depths of the woods. It had been one hell of a harsh week without you and while he — hardly — understood that you needed space, his patience was growing thin, worn out by jealousy and overwhelming dependence. After all, if Aberama was a thief, why wouldn’t he steal his most precious treasure? Or worse, he’s son. Younger, healthier and so much more handsome than him, he thought with gritted teeth and hateful eyes.

"Oh yeah? " Coming closer, Arthur tried his best not to let his murderous jealousy talk and, instead, took a long black key from the pocket of his dark duffle coat "Home ain't with the Gold. Home's—"

"57 Watery Lane. I go there, lock the door and wait for my husband. S'that what you wanted to say?" You suggested, one eyebrow raised and your pale eyes staring at him like two fathomless and cursed jewels. Arthur swallowed nervously, the intense eye contact feeling like an eternity. Besides immediate regrets, the reason for his silence was that he was convinced he messed up again, judging by your sudden cold demeanor. So, afraid you’d lash out at him for his sudden jealousy, all he did was nod and try to keep his composure in front of everyone to pretend he was the one in charge. But you knew him too well not to recognize the sadness in his beautiful but vacant steel-blue eyes. You knew exactly what was going on in his head: he was expecting you to reject him in front of everyone, just like Linda used to do. “Alright” You articulated, and yet your reaction was the strict opposite of what he thought you’d do. Bringing your hand to his, you gave it a gentle squeeze before taking the key, "That’s the home I was talking about, love." You added, your glossy lips curling in a faint but oh-so-reassuring smile that made him swoon with indescribable fascination. Punctuating your sentence with a little wink, you finally turned your heels and left the meadow, your walk as elegant and confident as a fearsome lioness coming back from the hunt.

A predatory and frightful confidence that disappeared as soon as you reached your house. You had barely heard the sound of the door closing when, sick in the stomach, you rushed to the toilets and dropped on your knees to throw up.

"Fuck..." The curse escaped from your trembling lips as you quickly wiped them with a towel, tears beading at the corner of your aquamarine eyes. Polly was right: you did know when to pick your moment. As strong as you were, you had trouble coping with the news of your unexpected pregnancy. So much trouble that you couldn’t rejoice and that lack of enthusiasm only added a layer of guilt to your restless mind. “Fuck!” You snarled, teeth bared. Fuck you, them, all, and everything.

The sound of your platform boots' sharp heels echoed in the sanitized corridors of the hospital as you headed towards Michael's bedroom, your hips elegantly swinging to the rhythm of the silent savage drums of your heart. Tommy had called another lengthy and boring meeting to discuss both the Shelby Company Limited's new installments and the Vendetta, and as well as you dreaded his presence you had to be a part of it now that you were a Shelby. Moreover, the whole mess got even more problematic since Luca Changretta had managed to find a way to break into the Shelby factory and directly talk to his turquoise-eyed opponent for the sole pleasure of seeing a sparkle of panic in his eyes when he threatened to kill the rest of his family.

Surprising as it may sound considering your deep resentment for Tommy's long speeches and the man himself, you arrived pretty early. Not for him, but for Polly Gray. By coming earlier, you knew you'd have a bit of time to talk privately with her about the baby, for she had been the one discovering your secret pregnancy. “Hey Pol’!" You cheered, a wicker basket filled with pastries dangling at your wrist, "I've brought some croissants and éclairs. Thought it could help put up with today's meeting." The bright smile you bore soon vanished from your plumped lips when your winter eyes met with the dark silhouette of your brother-in-law, standing in front of you with his calloused hands in his pockets and his cold gaze staring at your angelic complexions with an unfathomable look. Turning into ice again, your small hand immediately reached for the door handle.

"Stay. We have to talk." He stated, his tone cool and composed. As much as he wanted his sentence not to sound like an order, he ultimately failed. As he talked, all the muscles in your body tense and you felt already irked by his presence.

"Don't." You snarled, your crystalline eyes squinting when they shot him a lethal glare, "Don't fucking come any closer." The sour and threatening expression on your face had been enough to stop Tommy. He was now clenching his perfectly carved jaw. Admittedly, he had never particularly cared about your personal space, invading it on every occasion he could just to push you to your limits and make you feel cornered, but since he had a taste of the ghastly and inhumane gift you had he'd rather be cautious.

"Alright," He said, pinching the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes and moistening his lips in a surprisingly effusive pout. "No need to be that aggressive eh. Please have a sit." He instructed then, indicating a chair with a brief gesture of the hand.

"I ain't gonna sit. Polly tricked me.” You gritted through your teeth, spiteful at the thought of her betrayal. Your voice echoed through the room like sharp shards of frost falling from a winter sky. "You both knew that I didn't want to be left alone in a room with you anymore and still you schemed this twisted little plan." The cadence of your speech, though measured, carried an Arctic chill that made Tommy shiver. Even with the short distance that separated you, he could almost feel the ice you were made of burning his skin through the many layers of his expensive three-piece suit. In fact, you might be calm but Tommy could still feel the rumble of the storm hidden in that soft and enchanting lilt of yours.

"No one tricked you, and yes, indeed, I knew it. That's why Polly will be here with us. She's coming in any minute. Feel better now? Can you fucking sit?" Your only reply was a mocking snort that was quick to stir anger in Tommy's heart despite the placid expression etched on his face. But no matter how fine and cold the marble he was carved from was, you could see the tumultuous current beneath it. Maybe that was one of the main reasons why he hated you: no matter how hard he tried, you always managed to get under his skin and make him falter.

Silent fell in the hospital room, the two of you staring stonily at each other as you both attempted to decipher the opponent's intentions. "Seriously," Tommy was the first to move, coming nearer despite your warning — part of him did it only to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of you. As he approached, your sharp sense heard the faint sound of his heart beating slightly quicker than usual and his breath struggling to keep quiet. Closer he came, until he stood only inches away from you, the warmth of his body brushing your skin without even touching it, and the musky scents of his cologne ticking your nostrils. " I meant it you know ay. I meant it when I said we have to end this war between us," You remained motionless, eyes staring at him, "Shut the door on it". In the hushed ambiance of the bedroom, he started to move around you with a gait that mirrored the stealthy elegance of a beast navigating its territory. His steps were a silent predatory waltz, a calculated and deliberate one that could have been dizzying if he wasn't walking around you this slowly, "At least temporarily." The air seemed to ripple with a subtle tension as he circled you like a panther, hiding his fear of you behind an aura of primal confidence, "I'm sure we could both benefit from it, ain't that the truth." You slowly exhaled as he talked, realizing you've been holding your breath for a while.

"What about backing off me and shutting your mouth until Polly comes?" You whispered, your aquamarine eyes carefully following every step he took. Admittedly, there was an undeniable magnetism in the way he moved, almost too smoothly and captivating to be human. In a primal reflex, your lips curled and you showed your pearly teeth. Beneath the shared expanse of your untamed wilderness, a silent battle waged within, as his large and strong hand delicately found rest upon your arm. The skin-to-skin contact sent an unpleasant thrill through your body. Tommy was like a big cat facing another one, testing the waters and carefully studying the line he shouldn't cross for you to snap. All in all, it was a contest whose goal was not to be the first to shy away. His fingers ghosted over your arms, trailing down your skin with an unsettling tenderness. Unwilling to cause another scandal or murder him, you gathered all your willpower not to react even when he leaned above you, looking down at your seraphic traits with curiosity gleaming in his turquoise eyes, "How did it feel when we kissed?" His words, like tempestuous whispers, stirred a sudden symphony of panic and indignation within. "Because you've... Felt."

"I did." You finally admitted, tearing through the silence you've been walling yourself in. All the ice melted in a few seconds, and your face relaxed a little bit. Two hopeful details that ignited both Tommy's gaze and ego -- of course you did, he thought.

"Look at me." His voice turned a bit softer as you slowly raised your gaze to his face.

"Do you really need me to say it out loud, Tom?" As you inched dangerously closer to him, he heard the ambient sounds of the crowded hospital fade into a distant murmur

"I do." The drumming of his heart fastened as a faint smile toyed on your lips. The proximity of your mouth, bewitchingly close yet not quite touching, was killing him. Let alone the brush of your skin under his fingertips and the shared warmth of your breaths mingling in the same intimate airspace. How beautiful you would be together. How fierce. How... Unstoppable. That was all he could think of.

"Disgust." It fell from your mouth with the softness of a chainsaw blade cutting through his guts. Tommy's eyes widened, his ego crashing on the ground and shattering like a broken mirror. He didn't react at first, confused by your harsh words, which contrasted with your angelic smile, "I felt disgusted." You tilted your head to the side, your face turning into winter again, "Now you better move from the way if you don’t want me to crush your lungs."

Tommy was about to back off in terror when he saw you moving your fingers in that peculiar way he was too familiar with.

"Sorry for being late." Polly's voice erupted in the room, saving you from spending another minute alone with Tommy. God blessed her.

"Let me help you with that." He finally said, trying his best to keep his composure at the realization that he would never be able to predict you. Never be able to control nor to own you. His fingers closed on the basket’s handle, right above your reddened wrist, and they lifted it to relieve your frail arm from the pain before he quickly stepped away from you.

"Alright, glad to see the two of you didn't butcher each other in my absence. What a wonderful improvement."

"An improvement that is." Tommy replied, pressing his palms against the table now that he had put the basket on its wooden surface.

" I was talking with the doctor about Michael's health. We have a very short time left: he's almost done with him, and both Ada and Lizzie are coming. Heaven, dear, what about Arthur?" Polly inquired, her black eyes meeting yours.

"He's still in his office at the Shelby factory. But I must admit I thought that it would be only you and me." You stated resentfully.

"I know, love and I'm sorry about it but you wouldn't have come if I told you that Tommy was here." Her cold and sly hand gently squeezed your arm in a gentle gesture, so soft and full of motherly love that you couldn't really blame her anymore. Taking a quick look at the clock on the wall, you sighed and took place on a chair just like Polly did.

"Hurry up. Tell me what's about."

"Ain't going to keep you waiting,” Tom started and went straight to the point, motivated by the desire to see you leave this room as soon as possible, “ I want you to meet Luca Changretta."

"Thomas!" You exclaimed.

"No. You listen to me now," The gangster replied, pointing at you with his index finger, "As you know I've encountered him in the meeting room of the Shelby Company factory. We came to an agreement that stipulates that women and children shouldn't be included in the Vendetta. With that, we can guarantee a certain safety for you, Polly, Ada, Finn, and the kids."

"How... Quaint." You stated, pursing your lips in a bratty pout, "And what's the link between your deal and me potentially meeting the man who wants to see my husband dead?"

"Considering this, one of the women of this family can approach him. The idea was that Polly could meet with him and ask him to spare the family, especially Michael. In return, she would lure me into a specific place and at a specific time so that this bastard can set an ambush and kill me." As Tommy explained the original plan, you side-eyed Polly who nodded at each sentence in an attempt to reassure you.

"The problem is Luca knows the strong bond I have with my nephews. Even if I use the role of the mother ready to do everything to save her son, I fear it won't be enough to convince him. But you..." She left her sentence hanging, Tommy's raspy voice completing it. Shelbys, you swore. Sometimes you wondered if they had some telepathic shit going on between them.

"You despise me as much as Luca does but still bore the name Shelby. You'd be perfect." His gaze almost burnt you.

"Makes sense." You replied, fingers playing nervously with your dress' fabric under the table as you swallowed all the information just heard. Against all odds, his idea was impressively clever — Tommy might have a plethora of flaws but stupidity wasn’t one of them.

"Polly will help you arrange a meeting with him in a club. You talk with him, explain how you do this to save your husband, and if he asks more questions proceed with talking about our relationship." Now that they had finished revealing their plan, Tommy and his aunt were both staring at you, impatiently waiting for your answer.

"Well, I've heard enough." You simply said, getting up from your chair and making your way to the bedroom's door under the two pairs of confused eyes. Once you reached it, you grabbed the handle and watched them from above your shoulder, an amused but sharp grin dancing on your lips. "When Apocalypse comes, it seems like even Thomas Shelby wants the Devil on his team." You teased, entertained by the situation. No matter his neutral demeanor, he needed you. And that was a satisfying feeling. "That's fine with me." Your quick agreement was certainly not something Tommy and Polly expected, judging by the way they looked at you, and then at each other to make sure they heard well. But as illogical as it seemed, the reasons behind your will to get involved in the Vendetta were a matter of course: You were sick of playing the nice and fragile wife who nervously waited for her husband. You didn't come all the way back to Birmingham to be a quiet and patient little thing. You came to make them all shatter and shake at your fingertips. All you wished was to protect your man and show the world that they better fear Arthur Shelby's wife as much as him if it isn't more.

Polly followed on your heels when you opened the door, grabbing your arm and leading you outside.

"The hell you're doing?" You inquired, surprised by her sudden strength.

"One last thing. I need you to keep Arthur busy and to make him come too late for the meeting." The fierce aunt's grip closed a bit firmer around your wrist, making you wince.

"Why that ay? He has every right to attend it. He's the vice president deputy of that company as well as the oldest brother." If there was one thing Polly expected, it was you defending your husband tooth and nail. And yet she had many tricks in her sleeve.

"We don't want him to pull the trigger anymore. It's time for him to delegate and stay out of the battlefield. We didn't climb the social ladder this high to keep dirtying our hands."

Polly's speech made you blink, astonished one could scheme behind a family member's back. "Hey, that's freaking unfair for Art. You have to discuss the matter with him, it's his job we're talking. Ouch!" You whimpered when she squeezed you harder, her eyes begging you to listen.

"Think about the baby! It will need its father! We don't want him in danger any longer so please, please keep him busy just like we, women, know how to do. It's the modern approach, White Devil."

"Modern approach. Of course.”

"Oh, Angel." Arthur said, his gravel voice underlined with a light surprise when he saw you entering his office. He was putting on his long black coat, ready to leave for the family meeting. As soon as his piercing blue eyes landed on your delicate frame he walked towards you, "Why you here? You alright? " He immediately inquired, his protective nature had grown far bigger since you'd joined him in this cursed city. The soft glow of affection shone in your eyes as you looked at him, your glossy and plump lips greeting him with a bestowed smile so sweet and radiant with love that the hurricane of worries in Arthur's skull hushed down.

"Everything's alright!" You hung your coat on a hook.

"Ain't it good news, ay." He cheered despite being in a hurry, before putting his large and rough hands on your forearms with an adorable bluntness so specific to him and rubbing them to warm your skin up, "Well look, lovely to see you but I'm late for a meeting."

"Just five minutes." You asked, coming closer until your breasts flattened against his chest, "Five teeny-tiny minutes, please?" The way your eyebrows raised and your mouth pouted enlightened your angelic face with an irresistible bratty look that never failed to get him on his knees. Arthur quickly moistened his lips while weighing the pros and cons, but it didn't take long for him to make up his mind. Especially when gazing upon that woman-child face of yours.

"Alright, alright." His raspy voice blurted out. Arthur brought his fingers in your hair to slip one of your long white locks behind your ear with an indescribable tenderness. "Needy little thing already missed her husband eh?" He cooed with amusement, his strict facial traits melting as he talked to you, tamed by your presence.

"I did.” You purred with a quick but oh-so-sincere smile, “But I also need to talk to you. Sit, please?” You suggested, the amusement of your tone brightening up his dull day. Joining motion to speech, you gently pushed him back with your two index fingers pressed on his chest. Arthur followed your movements, a bewitched smirk etched on his mouth. Just like your own reflection, each time you took a step forth he took one back until the back of his knees bumped against the desk chair. Enthralled and with lust-dilated pupils, his eyes spoke a love that transcended words. Arthur’s body finally dropped on the chair, and if he was already focused on nothing else but you, the whole universe faded into utter insignificance when you sat on his lap, straddling him. The contact between your two hips ignited a vivid desire within, which spread through his bones like wildfire and got a satisfied “hum” from him.

“What it is ye want to say?” Arthur asked, the hoarseness of his voice carrying a softness no one suspected him to hide. Despite everything you’ve been through lately, including the indescribable disappointment due to his drug relapse, you had allowed your relationship to slowly heal. You had been crystal clear, now the ball was in his court. Arthur was obviously still on trial, well aware that he needed to outperform himself to gain your precious trust back but at least you came home right after John’s funeral, and that was all that mattered.

A very short but comfortable silence floated over the room at his question, your reply taking the form of your fingers losing themselves in his slicked-back hair, massaging his head.

“Are you really in a rush?” Your voice, a delicate dance of enchantment and teasing, wove through the air and left Arthur even more captivated than he already was while you relished on every little adorable of his face — his myriad freckles were surely one of your favorite features of him. Finally, a long exhale escaped from your nostrils. How much you would have loved to stay locked up here with him forever, just you, him, and the baby, far away from this cruel world… “Peu importe ce qui se passe tu sais que je serai toujours à tes côtés, n'est-ce pas?” (translation: No matter what happens you know I'll always stand by your side, don't you?)

"I know." He replied in English. The sensation of your fingertips applying the perfect pressure on his head combined with your haunting French got him definitely wrapped around your finger. The lanky gangster was at the very edge of purring, his eyes half-closed and his piercing and intoxicated iris looking at you through his dark lashes.

As he enjoyed your massage, Arthur made the most of your proximity and let his palms wander on your dainty body, unable to keep them off you. In truth, it was nearly impossible for him not to become all handsy when you were around, no matter the where and the when. His rough hands roamed all over your being, invading every part of you. He was everywhere, softly kneading your small breasts, then trailing down your ribs to finally end his exploration on your hips he seized more firmly, almost bruising them in the process “I must say ya one hell of a cruel witch, love. You come here all hot and bratty.” He cooed, the gravel in his voice rumbling. It was so low, so powerful that it didn’t even sound like a voice but a feeling. His peculiar tone was an inextinguishable fire that enveloped your body, scorched your core, and wrapped your tired mind in a comforting haze. “Makes me feel bad to leave without taking care of ya like a good husband would do, right here on me desk…” You replied with an adorable giggle and Arthur slightly bucked his hips to press himself more against you, just for the sole pleasure of feeling his body colliding with yours. It’s not enough, he thought. It was never enough. There was always too much fabric, too much space, too much of everything between you except when he was buried deep inside of your core, both of you making one as you were meant to be. Another wave of excitement coursed through you, and you had to fight against the irresistible haze he stirred within. Delicate as a feather, you put your two tiny hands on his cheeks and raised his face for your eyes to meet — flaring steel sinking in lethal frost. “But tell me, what's that important hm?”

“First you have to promise me to stay calm. Will you?” You asked, batting your eyelashes like an untamable child about to tell her dad she had just destroyed the expensive family vase. The kind of look that drove Arthur crazy. Sometimes he still found himself astounded by how your face could go from terrifyingly cold to adorably childish. Saying that your words didn’t awaken a bit of worry inside of him would be a lie, but one sole glace at your angelic traits was enough to keep his rage leashed.

“Gonna try me best for ya, hm.” His dark blue irises were enraptured by the movements of your lips each time you spoke — your words were blurring, and his attention was turning into obsession: He missed you. Body, heart, and soul. “Hev…” He sighed in delight as your small hands abandoned his face to strip him from his vest, unbutton his shirt, and then paw at his chest.

“You won’t interrupt?” You mused, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and mouthing against his warm skin. Your thumbs were now tracing circles on his chest, smoothing his hairs. 

“Told ya, angel. Your Arthur will try to be a good boy.”

“Well… I went to the hospital to keep company to Polly. I thought we would discuss trivial things but then she asked me to keep you busy.” You finally admitted, “She and Thomas wanted you to miss today’s meeting.” As painful words melt with the delightful sensations of your caresses, the sky in Arthur’s eyes darkened with black and stormy clouds. His body stiffened under yours.

“What the fuck that’s s’posed to mean?”  He growled, anger already boiling in his veins like a dangerous geyser about to burst. Fortunately enough, your calming presence helped him contain his violent temper — such was your almost supernatural effect on him. Different and yet so similar, Arthur Shelby was made of destructive fire that burnt the people around him as much as him. And yet, his fire never really intended to hurt: quite the contrary, it sought to stay warm and inviting, like a low fire dancing in a hearth. When it blazed out of control, even he couldn't prevent the damage done. You, on the other hand, were made of water. Just like a dangerously cold ocean, you were terrifying, infinite, and relentless, your calm prone to silent but always deadly tempests. “Why the fuck would they do that?!” He cursed louder this time. Feeling your man’s temper wearing thin, you gave a gentle lick on his neck to snatch his attention from his corrosive emotions. Your flat tongue trailed up his sharp jaw to his earlobe — the wet and hot caress on his skin sent thrills of arousal all over him and allowed his mind to focus on something more pleasant than this cruel betrayal.

“Because they want you to stop pulling the trigger.” You explained as quietly as you could, gently rubbing your cheek against his like a cat looking for both affection and attention. It seemed to do the trick: his face was still distorted with latent rage, the thick vein in his temple pumping, but at least he wasn’t turning the office over with his fists nor was he yelling so, overall, it was still a win.  “Modern approach they call it.” You added, using Polly's exact words to the difference that you peppered his lips with small pecs, talking between each pair of smooches to make the pill easier to swallow, “You become a general and Aberama takes care of Changretta… That’s their plan.”  

Breathing loudly through his nose, the gangster pressed his lips together until they formed a very thin line, “Modern approach ay?” Anger coiled like a snake amids the hurricane of his resentment, its hiss echoing through Arthur’s skull.  “They just wanna take me job away.” He stated, more for himself than anyone else, still digesting the news. “And they want to use ya against me? Bloody pricks.” Overpowered by an immense feeling of injustice, Arthur didn’t realize that he was digging his fingers in your thighs a bit more painfully than intended, but his roughness only fanned the flames of your own wickedness. Your skillful fingers explored him, nails brushing his ribs, then palms caressing his slim abs as if seeking to defuse the ticking bomb he was.

“I wanted to tell you everything because nothing in this fucking world will make me stand against you... I may agree with the idea of keeping you safe from harm but not at the expense of your trust.” You confessed,  finally pulling your face from his neck and wrapping him in a relieving hug with your frail arms. If he hadn’t kept his eyes open, he would have sworn that it wasn’t your arms that were surrounding him but two soft and protective feathery wings. His rough hands, which hadn't moved, spread your thighs further to feel your warmth through the thin fabric of your lace thong. Fireworks exploded in you at the hard bulge that was pressing between your legs, making you bite your fleshy lip. Arthur finally let out a long sigh and shook his head, wanting the only thing that could wash away the rage that was eating him up — one of his hands left your flesh only for his fingers to slip between your parted thighs and shift your undergarment to the side.

"C'm'here," He ordered, his breathing increasingly louder and faster.

"Love, you should really go to this meeting." You advised, shivering at the feeling of his long fingers fondling your slit.

"To hell with their meeting, they don't even want me here eh. Need ye right now." With skillful movements, he unzipped his fly and lowered his trousers just enough to free his half-hardened cock and slid it between your sensitive folds, the pleasure and anticipation crashing against you like a rogue wave against the shore. "I feel me bloody mind drift again... And I know I'mma butcher someone if yer lovely lil' cunt doesn't keep me warm." The ghost of a little smirk danced on his lips, mustache lifting on the right side of his mouth when he noticed that his words had the effect he wished for: More of your wetness trickled along his shaft and you had started to grind against him, low key moaning. “I don't fucking know what I'll do without ya..." Without waiting another minute, the gangster lined up with your begging entrance and slowly pushed his swollen tip inside.

"Yes, f-fuck them." You sighed, your nails digging into his back and your legs quivering at the overwhelming feeling of him stretching you. Usually, Arthur wasn't the patient kind and, as it was the case at this very moment, all he wanted to slam his far-too-big cock in you in one forceful thrust to have you whimper and wiggle above him, and yet, he wished to keep it languid for now. It wasn't a rough fuck he wanted, at least for now, but sexual and emotional comfort. The first sweet fantasy that plagued his mind wasn't to cum, but rather to enjoy the blissful and addictive sensation of his thick length opening your throbbing walls inch by inch and filling you entirely.

"There, I know ye can take it all." He gently bumped your cheek with his nose while his smirk turned into a sharp-toothed grin pitching half between the remnant of his anger and satisfaction.

“S’too big…” You stuttered, eyes shut and the telltale of a blush painting across your doll face. With toes curling in your high heels and your arms around his neck, you rolled your eyes in the back of your head as he pushed further. It never seemed to end, and yet it always ended up fitting despite your size difference.

“Bloody Hell, how are ya so tight after years of me ruining ya?" His words were spoken with animal growls — The truth was he had always loved the fact you were too small for him in every sense of the term. Despite the pain, a frail whimper escaped from your mouth, soon accompanied by your legs naturally parting more, instinctively submitting to him and his needs. With a meaner thrust, Arthur had no other choice but to force the way one last time to fill you completely, and when it was finally done, he let out a loud moan at the way your tight walls hugged him. "Shh, shh, that's okay." His strong hands seized your hips stronger to keep you from wiggling and pulling them back in reflex, "A good girl ye are hmm?" You nodded. It was only when his length hit your deepest spot that Arthur stopped, buried inside of you, hard and unmoving, your bodies entirely connected. Another whine escaped from your mouth, a little protesting sound that drove him mad with lust and almost made him forget that his initial desire was just to keep you sitting nice and quiet on his cock. “C’mon love, t’wasnt that hard. Ye should be used to it.” The only reply he got was you rolling your hips to adjust to his size for a comfortable cockwarming session — the most effective thing you had found to tame his wicked tantrums or his adrenaline-fueled passions. The first time had been hell for him, who seemed to be unable not to pound you once he penetrated you — and yet he had learned to love every little thing of it: The intimacy, the constant but manageable pleasure, the cock-drunk and appeased look on your face…

"Missed you, Art'...'" You breathed and hummed, barely rolling your hips but still slightly moving on his cock to enjoy it massaging your velvety walls, "Aren't you angry anymore?" You asked a bit too sheepishly to be true, laying a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Nah, not anymore 'cause yer a nice angel for your husband,” He grabbed your ass firmly, long fingers adorned with cold rings spreading on your cheeks to have a wider grip “Making him find peace between your legs ay?” The stretch had become comfortable by now, and you were both fully enjoying each other, him completely high by your warmth and wetness. “Making him pray God with your holy pussy.” 

“God…” You sighed, throwing your head back, feeling perfectly full — maybe a bit too much even though pain blurred with exquisite ecstasy. “B-But think about it, Arthur. What about letting Aberama do the job? We would stay locked up in the house and do nothing but fuck until the whole Vendetta is over and we go back home?” You suggested, flush burning your porcelain cheeks and giving them a rosy color. The melody of your words — along with how good he felt deep inside of you —snatched a low moan from him. Yet, as much as he yearned for your offer, his conscience needed blood. 

“Got no choice, love.” His two hands left your body shortly to grab each side of your lace dress and take it out, throwing the garment somewhere in his office to have you exposed and vulnerable while he was still fully dressed. Once naked, he cupped your small breasts and started kneading them with blunt caresses that made you squeal: you were already sensitive due to your hidden pregnancy. “John wants me to do it.”

"Fuck!" You cursed when he moved along with you, your hips dancing together and intensifying the burning arousal that was saturating your senses. Soon, splitting you open and having you moaning on his cock wasn't enough anymore. His arms suddenly wrapped you possessively, pulling your two bodies even closer. So close the cold gold of his cross necklace on your skin sent thrills of pleasure down your spine. "He wouldn't want you to risk your life."

“It was me who shot the old man.” Arthur’s mouth, eager to find yours, crashed against your lips in a kiss so passionate that it took your breath away. One of them rough hands stroked your back in an overwhelming cocktail of caresses and scratches, waltzing on every inch of your skin while the other pinched one of your nipples. A second kiss captured your mouth, his tongue making its way into your parted lips to seek yours, not minding the thin trickle of saliva at the corner of them. “John is dead because of me,” He breathed between two savage kisses, “And I’m gonna make it right.” His voice was merely a low whisper combined with ragged breaths and low, gravelly moans.

"S'that was you want?" You managed to ask, losing your fingers in his hair and your mind in a fog of carnal delight. Forehead pressed against forehead, you reopened your frozen eyes and dived into his, words becoming more and more useless as a tornado of raw emotions and sincerity swirled in the blue of his iris: His need to avenge John was visceral and you understood that his mind wouldn't be able to find rest if he couldn't kill Luca Changretta, hence putting an end to the vicious cycle of vengeance. And you definitely hadn't the heart to deny him this unhealthy yet efficient way of exorcising both his guilt and his baby brother's death. “So be it.” You finally granted, endless love shining in your eyes. After all, if there was something you could understand it was vengeance. Torturing and butchering five men didn’t bring your family back, but the pleasure of watching life slipping away from them had nonetheless helped you put up with that excruciating wound, "But when you’ll kill that bastard put two bullets through his head. One for you, and one for me.” You concluded, shifting your body slightly to take the gun that was on his desk before wrapping his neck with your two arms again. And then the mask of the lamb fell, shattering on the ground and revealing the wolf you were. A wolf that was smiling and moaning, its thumb softly caressing the weapon’s metal.

"I'll do that, little one." A smile beamed on his face as you allowed him to carry on his personal vendetta — or as he felt the sensation of the gun resting against his back, his joy finding a delicious echo in his body. The circular movements of his hips turned into deep and full-length thrusts that had you throwing your head back and chanting his name.

“Mr. Shelby! “

“I’m fookin’ busy!” Arthur’s booming voice roared in the office as he slammed the door right at the man’s face. The access to the room might have been forbidden to him, but the cacophony of savage fucking and the noise of the office’s blinds being shaken left no doubt on what was happening. He finally gave up, well aware that nothing would make his boss come. It was only when he told him that two intruders had been spotted in the factory that Arthur stormed out of the room, disheveled, shirt quickly buttoned u,p and with a hammer in one hand. A bloodbath was coming and since nothing could be done to prevent it, Ben went back to work and tried to ignore the upcoming mess. With a bit of luck, they would manage to put down the rabid beast Arthur Shelby was. Soon after his departure, the white-haired girl left, snuggled up in her white fur coat and walking as elegantly as always, even if she was slightly staggering on her heels after what the gangster did to her.

“Poor girl.” Barney — another worker recently hired — stated, glancing at you as you passed by. “She’s nice. Y’know she brings us treats and pastries sometimes… What a shame that young lady had been forced to elope with this bastard.”

“Poor girl?” Ben replied to his colleague, almost choking. “Forced wedding? You’re really new here, mate. Can’t believe the doll blinded you. Something’s off with her. And forced wedding… All you have to do is pay attention to the way they look at each other and then you’ll understand. And it will frighten you.”

“Ya really talking about sweet lamb Heaven?”

Ben scoffed, “A lamb… When your eyes meet Heaven Shelby’s nobody can’t tell if she wanna braid your hair or eat your heart. Lamb she’s not. Don’t get fooled by the dresses and heels, she’s not playing doll. She only makes violence look better.”

Barney became silent at his friend’s sordid statement, the far away sound of Arthur yelling, bones breaking and agonizing screams resounded in the depths of the factory along with the machines’ roars. Amidst the smells of hot metal, sweat, and paint, lingered the spring-like fragrances of your perfume, which confused him even more.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick@kxnnxy @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd

[burningarchitecture]

FANON!MATSUDA (ESPECIALLY WHEN HE'S SHIPPED WITH L) IS LITERALLY THOSE!STEPHEN I'M CRYING

[deliciouswastelandgoddess]

Acting through the eyes - Apo's Porsche

A case study of acting techniques

Also read:

Mile's Kinn

Build's Pete

Bible's Vegas

Continuing the discussion of acting techniques and how talented Mile and Apo are. One of the primary ways Apo chooses to communicate Porsche's intentions and state of mind non-verbally is through deliberate, sometimes exaggerated eye movements.

Apo does it to show confusion and awkwardness the most. He has really nailed this particular expression down to the t

To show that he is thinking through things himbo stylez

To say "oh fuuuuuuck". See how little his eyes are compared to the entire frame and this particular gif is actually cropped. His face occupies even smaller space in the actual scene but you still see his funny little shifty eyes.

Okay this one is my favourite. He just blinks and you understand the gravity of the situation. In a show about the mafia you can kind of forget how scary it can be for guns to go off near you but you really feel it here. Apo's Porsche has managed to keep his cool but it took immense effort.

Another confused + wiiii + thinking himbo stylez. And of course discomfort.

There is so much going on here. Apo has extremely expressive eyes and he has immense control over them. Within 2 seconds Apo has managed convey Porsche's hesitation, his childlike wonder at his own feelings - the nature of them and the intensity. There is also a slight fear of performance (as a romantic partner not a sexual one). He is also shy because Yok and Jom now know about his feelings.

This is just his "big being annoying" expression and it's hilarious

do I even need to explain this one?

Comedy is where Apo utilizes this shifty eye thing the most and I just love love love it. Here he is being a brat, he is being challenging. This is Porsche in his essence - a complete menace

There's another scene which I can't find - Kinn's first apology in Episode 6. Porsche takes a minute to think through it and then answer with the most awkward fist bump of the century but his eyes in the scene are just *chef's kiss*

Once you see it you can't unsee it, Apo does this things constantly in the show. It's not particularly deep if I'm being honest but it makes you stop and look at him, really look at him and feel everything that Porsche is feeling.