#little king shelby is such a cute name its like if tommy was one of the scrappy little dogs

[blindedbystars]

i reached too many tags so im writing the rest of my thoughts here hope you dont mind!

i loved the confrontation between heaven and tommy - like i said its born out of worry and comes from a good place initially but also because she's too unpredictable tommy can't control her the way he can everything else and that's one reason he doesn't like her

but also tommy believes himself cursed and maybe she represents that part of himself tommy is afraid of and her mentioning his son i know she's trying to help him but tommy is so untrusting it won't come across as anything other than a threat

and i know i keep saying this but i do like the little bits and pieces of her backstory she's such an intriguing character im looking forward to reading more about her

"you're here" / "told you id come back" 🥺😭😭 and "please tell me you're not scared of your arthur" this beauty and the beast situation but where they both think they're the beast "you look pretty with blood all on your face" so real girl i hear you

love that they both are same level of crazy for eahcother they want to eat eachother so bad love it

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

Summary:  This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.

Words: 5k

TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess

Notes:

✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || Masterlist || NEXT

The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away. 

"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.

The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.

When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak. 

“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?” 

Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.

“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.

“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.

“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.

“Don’t mind him eh,” 

You did not.

“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”

“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.

“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.” 

“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”

“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”

“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —��

“Yer comfy here?”

“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.

“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?” 

“That’s okay.”

“Mmm’kay” 

You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.

Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.

“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ”  The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.” 

“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.

“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!” 

Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.

“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.

“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”

You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.

You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy.  You. Smiled. At. Him.

That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile. 

Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.

Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men. 

You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man. 

You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven. 

Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim. 

“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.

“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening. 

Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.

“You really should —“

“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.

Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava,  exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked.  Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps. 

“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.

His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage. 

“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.

“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.

He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.

He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger. 

“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.

He looked at you 

and you saw the Hell in his eyes.

“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”

“P-please—“

Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“  Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh.  “Peaky —“  Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!” 

“ARTHUR NO!!!”  Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.” 

Please.

Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …”  You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.

“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you.  Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him. 

“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.”  You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.

“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above.  The king was here and he hated what he saw.

“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.” 

This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you.  “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!”  He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.

“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.” 

“No, no, you won’t come back.” 

“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.

When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.

“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.

“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.

Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,

“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ” 

“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence,  Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.

“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.

“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.

“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that.  You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”

“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.

“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.”  You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin.  Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.

“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.

"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.” 

He froze. Confused and infuriated.

You left. Hurt and bitter.

When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror.  Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.

Mom! Mom, no!!

I’ll fucking kill you all!!

You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.

Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.

As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.

“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.

“Told you I’d come back.”  

He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.

 He took a step toward you.

You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.

Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet. 

“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.

“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”  

Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.

“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.

As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble. 

You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.

For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway. 

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.

Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08

[tommyspeakycap]

can i just request some more shelby sister ? i literally can’t get enough !!! u can do anything u want with it i just want some fluff lol

letter and a pound note

found this in my drafts and trying to get back into posting and writing; just a cute lil one where Tommy’s men are losing their will to fight out in the trenches so he gives them a story as a brief reminder of just what they're fighting for. enjoy!!

It wasn't rare that Tommy Shelby felt the crushing weight of defeat. In fact, it was actually incredibly common as he sat each day in muddy holes dug into French fields by exhausted men with blistered hands. Tonight however, it was worse than ever after his men had been absolutely pelted by a wind storm carrying torrential rain which proceeded to stop only just upon nightfall to allow for the temperatures to drop below freezing. They were soaked, exhausted, cold, dirty, hungry, sore and more than anything, homesick. 

There was no gusto left in the men like there had been at the beginning, when the propaganda boasted a quick win and then home for Christmas dinner. When they called the patriots to fight for King and country. Now they had been away from an excruciatingly long 2 and a half years, feeling like they were making no gains and losing comrades by the day. 

Some worried their families had took ill and died without them to provide. Some feared their little children would no longer remember their fathers or that their wives had been taken advantage of while they couldn't be around to protect them. They longed to sit in the pub with a beer in hand, knowing they were relatively secure, knowing their routine was set in stone, the smoky Birmingham factories always ready for them the next morning. 

There was no sense of that routine here. Just cold hard pain and the hope that you can make it to the next trench without being gunned down or blown to pieces and scattered around some French field that nobody kept track of the names of anymore. 

Tommy could sense the feelings of failure and discouragement overpowering every man as they sat idle in their wet, muddy trench after spending the past two hours laying down fresh duckboards to attempt to gain some relief from standing in the puddles of the newly flooded trench. Things are pretty quiet, save for the occasional grumble of discomfort, with some men even trying to cough to hide the fact they were shedding some tears. 

Fatigue and hunger always gets the best of people.

“I’m going to check on them.” Tommy rumbles lowly to his elder brother sitting across from him. Arthur nods his head, pausing the action of using a rock to sharpen one of his pocket knives. “Alright Tom.” Tommy notes that Arthur was usually much more vocal, so it was likely his bother was experiencing the same kind of discouragement as the rest of the troops in his trench were. He pats his brother comfortingly on the shoulder as he begins to walk away.

John sits beside Arthur, slumped against the wall snoring lightly, inhabiting the space between awake and asleep cautiously; always ready to be roughly awoken by any number of situations. That was another issue. Their sleep was rarely deep enough to quench the unimaginable tiredness they all felt, suspended in a quasi-sleep state every time they even tried to get some shut eye. 

“Alright men,” Tommy calls out, catching the attention of all his shivering, crestfallen battalion. “I know it’s wet and I know its fucking cold. I know you miss your fucking families alright, but remember why we’re here.” He only gets a few nods, noticing that most kept their heads down and some even huffed. “Yeah, what’s that then Sergeant Major? Probably nothing left at home.” 

Tommy rubs his hand over his face at the rebuttal from a man who had once served him a pint in a pub just outside of Small Heath. He hadn't even known him before, and now they were expected to sacrifice their lives next to each other. Kill for each other. Die for each other.

Thomas had to wrack his brains. He had to really think hard for something to say that could change or help how his people were feeling. He felt just as shit as they did and he couldn't think of anything that anyone could say that would make him feel even slightly less shit than he did.

Well, he could think of one small thing. The one thing he was fighting for most. The one who’s safety he imagined every single battle was riding on. 

His littlest sister. 

The once Brummie gangster turned Sergeant Major reaches his hand into his inside pocket and produced two things. A crumpled photograph covered in dirt with writing along the back, and a dirty, tattered old pound note. 

“My little sister started losing her baby teeth just before we got shipped out hey,” he begins lowly, seeming to pull in the attention of every man this time listening very intently to his words. It wasn't often Tommy spoke openly. “Left the money under her pillow every night there was a tooth, told her that myth about the fucking tooth fairy every time and she got so fuckin’ excited.” His words run through every man and boy in the trench, tugging at their hardened heartstrings as their leaders voice ever so slightly shakes and forces them to remember moments similar to that with their own families. Their own children, siblings, cousins. Their people at home.

“Every time she loses one now, I get a letter and a pound note in the post. Tells me the tooth fairy left her the money but she sends it to me so I can buy myself a train ticket home. Says it every time. She’s too fucking young to know why we’re out here. She’s too young to know what we’re doing why we have to do it,” he continues, “So we have to fight so they can keep that fucking innocence alright? We fight, yeah, so they don't fucking have to. Am I clear?” His voice raises towards the end, cracking on his emphatic profanity as he fought with every ounce of his strength to not simply start crying there and then. His men nod, mumbling their yes’ and mhm’s. 

“I said am I fucking clear?” He shouts, snapping all heads in his direction as they straighten up.

 “Yes Sir!”

Tommy nods his head at the improved response. “Now try get some sleep. We’re going over in the morning.”

Tommy turns away from his men who had begun to disband to try find somewhere they could hopefully gain some form of sleep. He walks back towards Arthur and John, looking down at that picture that shakes in his hand with the tremble caused by his heartache. He misses the little girl who had become his whole world and wishes and prays with everything - literally every ounce of his being - that this war can be over before that little girl losses the innocence that Tommy is fighting and near dying for her to be able to keep.

[nightwingshero]

Character Study

I was tagged by @scarlettkat86 thank you, dear!

Yeah...I only did my favorites the ones I’m currently focused on right now. Jane is on the list, but I honestly think three is enough for this. Besides, it’s super early in the morning. 

Dahlia Strong

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE

NAME: Dahlia Mae Strong

EYE COLOUR: They’re ice green

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: It changes, darling. It’s brown, clearly, but whether it’s short or long usually goes with the trend. But it’s normally short with curls.

HEIGHT: 5′03″

CLOTHING STYLE: *sigh* obviously whatever is currently in style. Mostly a dress with heels, stockings, a clutch and a nice coat and hat to go with. Now, I have heard of the women’s suits. Aunt Pol just got one and mine are coming in soon. 

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: *laughs* All of me isn’t enough? Mmm...I would say that perhaps my eyes would be the best. Maybe my smile, it tends to get people’s attention. Although Alfie would say it’s something else...and well, that’s not exactly appropriate for polite conversation, now is it?

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR: I’m a Shelby, we don’t fear anything. But if I had to choose...losing my family and those dear to me. Our family is very close, don’t fuck with us, dear. 

GUILTY PLEASURE: I have a weakness for treats and sweets. There’s also a “baker” in Camden Town.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: Stupidity. I have little patience for it. 

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Succeeding with our family, dear. Shelby Company Limited is doing well. But I think deep down, I really would like to retire somewhere relaxing and enjoy that success. 

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: Fucking hell, what did I have to do today?

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: The business, of course. Business comes first, darling. 

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: None of your bloody business.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: Darling, I am very good at sweet talking and getting out of trouble.I’m also good at yelling at people...

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: Group date...? Is that another term for orgy? I would prefer not to, but thank you. There’s a certain...someone who would not appreciate my participation in such a thing.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Respected. People don’t listen to you if they don’t respect you, my dear. Make sure they know who the boss is. 

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: What’s wrong with having both? That’s where the power lies, dear. Always choose both.

DOGS OR CATS: I have a cat, but I also adore dogs. They’re very cute, and good to keep around the house in case of protection. 

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: If I did, I wouldn’t tell you, would I?

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: Bloody hell, of course I do. 

BELIEVE IN LOVE: Oh. Well, that’s an odd question. What does that matter?

WANT SOMEONE: *clears throat* I...I would rather not talk about this.

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: Oh, of course. I was a burlesque dancer. 

DONE DRUGS: No, although Finn tells me that snow is fun. Or well, cocaine, I should say. I haven’t tried it though, I’m rather fun without it. 

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: No. I am who I am, darling. People change to fit in with me.

LAYER 07: WHAT'S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: I like creams, grey, and blue. Also black. Very nice. 

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Animal? I like horses and deer. 

FAVORITE BOOK: I have too many to name. I have a full library. Would you like to see?

FAVORITE GAME: I like playing cards with my cousins. Arthur always gets so upset when I beat him. 

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: Oct 2.

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: 36. That’s a rude question, dear. 

LAYER 09: I...

I LOVE: My family, money...a certain man that will remain nameless, and if you say a word, I will cut out your tongue.

I FEEL: Fine. I feel fine. 

I HIDE: Whatever I have to. 

I MISS: running in the grass in my bare-feet. That is fun, darling. 

I WISH: You’d piss off. But I suppose I wish something planned out would go right for fucking once. I swear, Tommy and I will go grey from it. 

Wren Blake

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE

NAME: Wren Marie Blake

EYE COLOUR: Blue green, they kinda change. 

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: My hair is black. I either keep it in a ponytail because it’s easier, but I also wear it down, too.

HEIGHT: 5′04″, unfortunately.

CLOTHING STYLE: I like skinny jeans, honestly. With a tank top, maybe a flannel. I have some t-shirts, too. And I’ll wear a leather jacket sometimes with combat boots. I have dress pants, heels, and some button ups, along with some dresses that John bought me. 

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: My body from the neck down because have you seen my tattoos? *goes to take shirt off* I can show you if you like?

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR: Not being good enough and being alone. 

GUILTY PLEASURE: Singing in the shower. 

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: Being lied to. Don’t fucking do it. 

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Enjoy peaceful time. Is that so bad?

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: Five more minutes. 

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: How fucking stressed I am all the damn time now. Fuck. 

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: I think about going to sleep because I fucking need it. 

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: I don’t know, my sense of humor? Randy says its my talent at trying to kill people with my driving, but fuck him. 

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: Single dates. I don’t do groups of people, not my thing. 

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Both. I want people to love how much the respect me, and respect how much they love me. *chuckles* see, sense of humor. I’m hilarious. 

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: Brains. But not in a zombie way. 

DOGS OR CATS: Cats

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: I try my best not to. 

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: Eh...

BELIEVE IN LOVE: ...Yes

WANT SOMEONE: None of your business!

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: Yes

DONE DRUGS: I had some fun in college...ever had acid?

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: I’ve done it before, but I don’t anymore. What’s the point of it?

LAYER 07: WHAT'S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: Black, navy blue, and burgundy. 

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Ravens, hawks, owls, and foxes.

FAVORITE BOOK: I like a lot of things. Jane Austen is a personal favorite, along with Edgar Allen Poe. Crime and Punishment is a good one, too. But I think Carrie by Stephen King holds dear to my heart. 

FAVORITE GAME: Video games or...? Because Spider-man, the Arkham trilogy, and God of War are pretty awesome. I like kicking Randy’s ass at Uno. There’s also drinking games...

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: June 24th

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: 28.

LAYER 09: I...

I LOVE: Singing, reading, listening to music, doing whatever I want that makes me happy. My friends. 

I FEEL: Stressed. All the time. 

I HIDE: My feelings and my stash of energy drinks. 

I MISS: *sigh* My mom. I really miss my mom. 

I WISH: This shit would stop, I’m tired of the fighting. 

Randy Miller

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE

NAME: Randall Michael Miller. But just...call me Randy, okay? I fucking hate  that name. 

EYE COLOUR: Blue

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: Uh, it’s brown...and I brush it sometimes, does that...does that count as styling? I wear hats too. 

HEIGHT: 5′09″

CLOTHING STYLE: Pants, shirt, leather jacket and boots. I have suits too, I think. 

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: *laughs* arms. Definitely my arms. I tell Jane it’s my ass. 

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR: *coughs* Wren’s fucking driving. 

GUILTY PLEASURE: Fruity drinks. I don’t give a fuck, they’re good and they fuck you up quickly. Jane makes fun of me. 

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: Don’t...don’t touch my bike, man. If you don’t want your face beat in, don’t touch my fucking bike. 

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Pssh, don’t have any. Can I just worry about today? I think that’s enough. 

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: Fuck this. And then I go back to sleep. Jane usually drags me out of the house. 

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: My dogs and my bike.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: I can’t wait to go to sleep.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: Oh...I guess my loyalty? Trustworthiness? Fuck if I know...my arms? Look, I can fight, okay?

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: Eh...that all sounds like a rough time, I don’t date...well. Can...can we just skip that?

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Respected. Respect me, respect the bike, don’t touch it, and respect my dogs. Or else. 

BEAUTY OR BRAINS: I have both, so no brainer there...wait...

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs. Cats freak me the fuck out. 

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: When I need to

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: I believe I’m pretty fucking awesome.

BELIEVE IN LOVE: Why are you asking?

WANT SOMEONE: *clears throat and shifts uncomfortably* Why are you asking these weird questions?

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: Fuck no.

DONE DRUGS: I plead the fifth...Johnny taught me that one. 

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: Fuck no. 

LAYER 07: WHAT'S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: Black and dark green. 

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Hawks and wolves are pretty cool. So are bears, when they’re not trying to kill you. 

FAVORITE BOOK: I like a lot of Ernest Hemingway, but I read mostly poetry. 

FAVORITE GAME: I kick Wren’s ass at Uno. We do drinking games, too. And Monopoly, but don’t tell her I told you. 

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: July 1st

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: 31.

LAYER 09: I...

I LOVE: Fighting, riding dirt bikes and my motorcycle, my dogs...all kinds of things. 

I FEEL: Tired. 

I HIDE: My fucking whiskey because Wren and Jane steal it. 

I MISS: Motorcross racing. It’s so much fucking fun, man. 

I WISH: I had another dog. I’ve been thinking about either getting a German Shepherd, Boxer, or a Pitbull. I don’t know yet...I might get all three. 

Tagging: @pd3 @simonxriley @xbaebsae @tomexraider @faithchel @risenlucifer @abosaa @ja-crispea @dieguzguz @trialandseed @princess-underthemountain