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call-sign-shark · 2 years ago

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Eeeh don't apologize for the delay, honey! You don't owe me anything 😘! Don't worry Brummie, you shouldn't be launching your drink at the screen -- not until next chapter *evil laugh*! Joke aside, I've been having a bad mood day so far so you can't imagine how good reading your commentary is to me.

You're absolutely right, Heaven knows her husband by heart. To be true I would not have been as patient as her neither LMAO but she knows how emotionally fragile he is and she doesn't want to shake him. Sometimes you just need a bit of time to proceed with a bad mood, but she quickly understood it was more than that. That being said, I am in love you highlighted the drug parallel and you've explained their relationship in one sentence far better than me in 10 chapter!! She's his drug, and notre petit loulou cannot function without her anymore. This is something I did not really explore but they kinda have withdrawal symptoms when they are away from each other for too long -- it's especially visible in Arthur, who'll get far more aggressive and whose body tends to nervously shake.

Eeehh, I'm glad you liked these really soft anecdotes about their relationship and life, such as the garage (I honestly wanted to slap Linda across the face when she denied him the job) or how much he likes to draw his wife while being ashamed to show her the result. In the show, I loved the little fact about Arthur's love for drawing. It made me melt.🥺 He's really romantic -- or at least he is in Arthur's way!

Babe, I laughed too at the "shift these panties, woman", it was so unnecessarily aggressive lmao. I also found it amusing how he shifts into horny mode, but as you said I think it's in-character for Arthur. There are several instances of it in the show, for example during the Russian orgy, or several times with Linda. I'm specifically referring to the scene in S5 when they fight and he grabs her by the neck, kisses her and say something like "u gonna shut the fuck up, be the good wife and we're gonna go upstairs make love". With that taken into account, it's even more strong with Heaven. So I'm glad you don't feel like it's OOC or not logical!!

You said it, "great minds think alike", I cannot wait to read how you use this idea in your new chapter! I'm so excited teehee These Shelby boys are weak when it comes to sex. 😎 THANK YOU FOR LIKING THE SMUT!! I like to think she's super happy with Arthur's dominance and rough sex, but we all know she's the real one in charge. He is literally at her mercy -- and how he likes it! 😇

In truth, I'm not satisfied at all with how the last part of this chapter came out, but I just wanted to get it out of my mind. Reading that you think I did good at describing her building despair and longing for her husband really warms my heart :'( and now about that cliffhanger.... AAAHHH *smashes the keyboard* I KNOW RIGHT IT WAS SO UNEXPECTED. I love how your mind is rushing lil' Brummie teehee, let me alleviate the doubts: this is a threat from Section D! I've laughed so so much at the theory of Tommy being the one behind the threat, I don't think he would threaten her but rather be the kind of character to kill her without any warning sign! 🤔 Also you are absolutely right: her and the Shelby's enemies are underestimating her. I think it's due to the fact that they are unaware of the rumors around her, or at least they do not know the extent of her powers. But contrary you them, you know how dangerous she is ... And the girl is going back to Birmingham, ready to make them all kneel at her feet! 😈 Thank you again for your neverending support, I swear your comments always make my day. As I told you, I've been having quite a bad mood rn and you can't imagine how you made me smile honey!! I'm happy you liked this chapter 'cause I've been quite unconfident with it lately.

Love you, Brummie! Expect me for a wild commentary of Killing Me Softly's new chapter 🖤

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

Summary: All it took was one phone call and one visit from Ada to destroy the paradise Arthur had spent one full year building. No matter what he does, his past crimes always seem to catch up with him. Now that you are in danger, he decides to come back to Birmingham and handle the Changretta problem without you.

Words: 5,3K

TW: Angst, canonical description of violence, smut, foreplay, masturbation, self-harm, from the end of this chapter the story will take a darker turn. You've been warned.

Notes:

✞ Based off EP1 S4 of Peaky Blinders but contains many changes and variations for the sake of this series' plot.

✞ Each act features two chapters with smut in it, and they all serve the story's purpose. No more.

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

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When Ada’s piercing eyes finally caught sight of the house’s roof through the trees’ thick foliage, she sighed relieved. While the landscape was breathtaking, the walk from her car to the front door had been tedious despite the short distance. In fact, the only way to access the house was to walk a sloped dirt road leading the visitors up to the hill’s summit — which was an almost impossible task to do when wearing classy high heels as was Ada’s case. Arthur did not lie when he said they were living far from the city. The young Shelby sister quickly wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and knocked at the door. She was welcomed by the sight of Arthur, whose magnificent steel blue eyes lit up when he saw his sister, delighted to see her. But far from a courtesy visit, the words that left her mouth broke their siblings' reunion. Like red-hot blades, they slashed Arthur’s hopes of straying away from his gangster life.

All the quietness and peace he had built throughout the year, rendering his anger outbursts less frequent, shattered like a glass smashed on concrete under the power of one sole visit from Ada and her bitter statement: the family was in danger.

No.

You were in danger.

And it was all his fault.

Something had changed in Arthur when he came back from his little talk with Ada. He had barely stepped into the house that you noticed how all the muscles of his body were tensed and how his facial features had turned into a colder expression.

“Arthur.” It has been the third time you’d called him, but each previous attempt had been left without any reply or reaction. Slumped on the sofa, the oldest Shelby brother was staring at an invisible spot on the wall facing him, his eyes blank and his fingers nervously taping on the left armrest. At first, you thought he just needed a bit of time with himself to swallow the visible bad news he had received from his sister, but two days had passed and now his behavior was starting to worry you.

“Arthur Shelby Jr.” You called with stricter tone this time.

All of sudden, your voice cleared the black fog of his mind and brought him back to reality. Arthur blinked several times as if he could shoo his messy thoughts away by batting his eyelashes, and finally raised his piercing blue eyes toward your graceful frame, that was standing in front of him with its arms crossed. At the serious expression on your doll face, he nervously moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, his gaze not shifting from you one sole second. God, how gorgeous you were in your silk nightgown, as white as your hair and adorned with complex laces. That was the first thought that had crossed his mind when his gaze fell on you. In truth, he would have probably pinned you to the wall and made your legs shake until you could not walk straight anymore if he hadn’t been plagued by the dreadful news Ada brought upon your harmonious life “Eh, I know…” He started, slightly raising his almost empty whiskey glass towards you, “I shouldn’t be drinking.” He admitted, before lowering his eyes to look at his own reflection in the alcohol. With one small movement from the wrist, he made the amber liquid softly spin in the glass. Arthur was still traumatized by Linda’s constant snarky remarks and humiliations each time he was indulging in whisky, that was why he had felt the need to justify himself now that you saw him drink alone.

“You don’t need my permission to drink, Cheri.” You replied with a soft voice, as soft as a feather’s caress on his poor aching soul. You were definitely not like his former wife: he could do whatever he wanted as long as it wasn’t taking drugs or cheating. That had always been the tacit deal between both of you when things got serious — and to be honest, you had feared the first temptation far greater than the second until you realized that Arthur’s new favorite drug was you.

Your crystal irises had been observing the slightest trait of his face with slightly furrowed brows for one solid minute when you finally let out a little sigh and slid one long ivory strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m just worried. You haven’t eaten anything nor slept for two days straight.” Worst, he had been hugging you tight, burying his face in your breasts and trembling like a leaf because of panic attacks for the last two nights.

“Worried? Eh, no need to be worried, love. Cm’here.” He replied with a little smile, moving one of his long leg to invite you to have a sit on him.

Arthur did try his best not to make you feel anxious but the truth was he was literally unable to hide something from his beloved wife even if he had wished to shield you from it. He had been mulling the news over for days and nights, and it was starting to eat him alive.

You walked to him without further ado, your hips graciously swinging to the rhythm of your steps, and finally sat on his lap. Once you straddled him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently rested your forehead against his as you usually did. Arthur let out a sigh of relief as your bodies found each other again, his hands grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. He was often a bit blunt, but how much you loved his possessive and suffocating way of touching was indescribable, “Ye didn’t know how much I needed it, eh.” Arthur’s husky voice mumbled, referring to his obsessive and desperate need to constantly have physical contact with you, “How much I needed your touch.” His steel-blue irises dived into yours, losing themselves in the vastness of the frozen ocean that constituted your eyes. He could have stayed like this for eternity, hypnotized by your beauty and lulled by the oh-so-tender way you had slipped your fingers in his hair to gently scratch the shaven back of his head.

“There. I finally see a smile!” You faintly teased him, “Not that I dislike that adorable grumpy face of yours.”

Nothing much had changed since your wedding day, except for your family name and the regular discussions about trying for a baby, all nestled in each other’s arms in your bed with Kaiser sleeping near, in front of the fireplace. In truth, it has been a miracle you were not already pregnant considering Arthur’s stamina and unquenchable desire. The thing was you never left the honeymoon stage despite living together. Against all odds, Arthur Shelby was a sweet and caring husband. He never missed an opportunity to bring you gifts, whether expensive clothes, jewels, or just little flowers he picked on his way back home because it was pretty and made you think about you. Moreover, he had this ability to always manage to find awe in your daily routine, the last example of it being him spending hours observing you and discreetly drawing your frame in his sketchbook because he had spotted you swimming naked in the nearby lake, and was star-stricken by such a divine vision. He had felt like an incredibly lucky Greek artist catching sight of the most stunning nymph the Gods had ever created. Little you knew, his sketchbook was filled with portraits and doodles of you he was too ashamed of to show you. Not that he wanted to keep them for himself, but Arthur always ended up frustrated not being able to properly translate your mesmerizing and ethereal beauty on paper.

Besides your idyllic and peaceful domestic life far from gangster’s troubles, Arthur had also opened a small garage and fixed cars for a living, even if his past activities with the Peaky Blinders gave him enough money to live comfortably without working. But Arthur was surprisingly handy when his patience did not fail him, and he genuinely loved to fix cars — what had been his surprise when you reacted with joy and kissed him tenderly the day he suggested the idea, for Linda never allowed him to do so.

Regarding your own occupation, you had simply followed your mother’s path and worked as both a herbalist and healer — the second occupation being known among people only through word of mouth. That was what your life looked like prior to Ada’s unexpected visit two days ago. Yet, when she left, Arthur’s eyes had turned into a darker shade, the same one he had when he was in Birmingham dirtying his hands on Tommy’s orders.

“Arthur, love. You really need to tell me what’s the matter with your sister…” You gently asked, your fingers still massaging his scalp and your juicy lips sprinkling honey pecks on the corner of his mouth from which the whisky bitterness could be tasted. But despite all your tenderness, your husband remained closed to the idea of sharing his concerns with you.

“It’s… A bit difficult to explain,” He mumbled, shutting his eyes tight, “I don’t want ye to panic or something. I can handle it and…”

“Please.” You cut him off, tightening your arms around him to pull him in a deeper hug. All his body finally relaxed a little bit when your fragile and frozen being collapsed with his, your breasts flattened against his chest and your hips firmly embracing his, “When we’ve met you told me that, from now, it was us against the rest of the world. Even if it was raining and the wind was blowing. You don’t have to face it all alone Arthur, no matter how awful or frightening it is. Let me fight it with you.” You pleaded, your lips grazing his with utter desire and genuine love.

“But I don’t want ye to be in danger.” Arthur finally admitted, reopening his gorgeous eyes to look at you. How much he hated not to share information with you, but Tommy told him it would be better if you ignored everything. Yet, the sensation of your mouth brushing his without kissing it soon stirred a bit of frustration in him. It had been enough to make him flip. With a grunt, he caught your lower lip between his teeth and gently sunk them into your soft flesh, to which you replied with a small surprised moan. Now that he got all your attention, he proceeded to kiss you almost furiously, his worries, dawning anger and blazing desire mixing together. His movements became blunter all of sudden, “I’ll fookin’ kill myself if something bad would happen to ye, eh,” He growled a bit louder against your mouth, his husky voice highlighted by an aggressive tone you hadn’t heard in one full year, “But I’ll destroy ‘em first, eh. These fookin’ wops won’t lay their fingers on ye. They won’t.” He repeated, his venomous anger wakening up slowly and coursing through his rusted veins. A little surprised whimper escaped from your mouth as Arthur’s tongue forced its way between your lips a bit too eagerly.

“Arthur —“

“Fookin’ bastards, how dare they eh?!” The gravel in his voice boomed louder, underlined with a palpable rage now. As he pestered, his mind spinning in a whirlpool of negativity, Arthur grabbed your wrist and led your hand between his legs, pressing it on his half-hardened shaft, for all his brutal emotions more than often led to sex when you were around. It was his, as well as your, way to release tension, “How dare they threaten me eh?” The tall gangster started to breathe loudly through his nose as his rage was increasing. All he needed was the smallest sparkle for him to explode. While he kept your wrist in one hand, his other one ran up your thighs in a rough caress to lift your nightgown eagerly, “Shift these panties, woman.” He said a bit more aggressively than intended, maddened by the overwhelming urge to feel your wet slit all around him. Growling, Arthur’s mouth worked its way down your neck to leave small red marks on your divine ivory skin.

“Arthur, no.” You breathed as you bite down a moan, doing your best to sound strict. As good as it felt, you did not want to give in now: getting distracted by rough sex was out of question, what you wanted was the truth first.

Arthur, no. As soon as your words left your tantalizing lips, they echoed in his head and were enough to snatch him from his violent thoughts. The tall gangster blinked and raised his slightly confused gaze to you, shocked by your vivid refusal. After all, you would usually let him ruin you whenever he needed it so why would you refuse? “You’re hurting me.” You reiterated with a sweeter tone now that you got his attention.

“Oh shit!” He released your wrist in response, guilt beating him down when he realized your skin was redden because of his grip, “I’m sorry…Oh, Angel, I’m bloody sorry…”

Still, you kept your hand there to his greatest surprise. The only difference was that your free fingers went for his cheek to bless him with soothing caresses to reassure him. As always, the cold sensation of your flesh against his managed to tame the wildfire that was burning in his soul, “Calm down...” Your voice was merely a whisper now, similar to the enchanting murmur of a siren singing in the far away distance, “Is this what you want?” You backed up a little bit on his lap to create a little gap between your hips so that you could get a better grip on his bulge. The palm of your hand started to languidly rub it.

“Heaven?” He gasped, the anger in his cold blue eyes suddenly turning into an astonished and beseeching look. But for Arthur Shelby no meant no, hence the fact he did not dare to touch you back, “Oh bloody hell, please…” He gritted through his teeth. As strong as he was, he felt his body weakened and his throat tightened with an unsufferable arousal.

“Now you tell me,” Leaving your sentence hanging, you grabbed him a bit stronger and he whimpered at your unexpected roughness. A long exhale escaped from his nostrils as he focused on both the electrifying sensation that shook his core and the enchanting sight of your lips he dreamt to fuck. Yet, Arthur gathered all his strength and willpower to remain calm, afraid you wouldn’t let him sink into your welcoming warmth if he misbehaved, “What happened with Ada?” You inquired, tilting your head on the side, “What did John tell you when he called you?”

“Eh… Nothing— Ah..” Arthur’s lips parted under the coiling pleasure when you tightened your grip on his shaft, “I— Can’t tell ye, love.”

“No, no. You’re going to tell me. Do you know why? Because you’re a good boy for your wife.” You cooed. Your almost chilling aquamarine irises were anchored in his, burning with an unflickering gleam of power and confidence. Sometimes Arthur wondered how such a delicate and fragile-looking angel like you could hide the seductive and fearful which you truly were. A witch to the others, a goddess to him — And how he liked both of those facets of you, feeding his dominant behavior but also fulfilling his more submissive tendencies when he needed to but was too ashamed to admit it. To be true, you both knew how to balance the power you hold over the other one, and tonight, you were clearly the one in charge, “Are you a good boy, Arthur Shelby?” You teased, one brow raised.

He clenched his fists around the sofa’s blanket in a desperate attempt to find a way to control himself for he almost cum at your praise, “I am…” Arthur slowly rolled his hips, “I’m a good boy for me wife…“ He replied, sucking in a sharp breath, with his quivering hoarse voice, “Please…” He growled in discomfort because his trousers had become far too tight. Nevertheless, you remained unmoved by his supplications and stopped moving your hand, waiting for an answer, “Alright! Alright… Im gonna tell ye!”

“I hope so.” You replied, kneading his bulge again.

“Ada and John told me we’ve all received a Black Hand.” He started, looking at you with impatience. Satisfied, you unbuckled his belt and let your hand work its way into his underwear to grab his hardened cock by its thick base and free it from his trouser. Arthur let out a loud groan, a drop of sweat beading on his forehead. Not only at the sensations but at the sight of your small fingers around his erection.

“What’s a Black Hand?” You kept asking all the while enjoying the sight of your husband’s enamored, begging, and fascinated gaze. He was looking at you, obliterating everything else, for only the words that came from your holy lips mattered.

“Oh fook, Angel… Touch me harder.” He begged in a trembling, almost broken voice. If there was one thing Arthur could not stand that was being teased. Thus it did not take much for you to have him wrapped around your finger. He suddenly bit his lower lip, eyes glistening with ruling passion, for the way the moonlight reflected through the window behind you created a heavenly halo around your head, “Touch me!” Another husky whine. The gangster rolled his hips eagerly, nails digging into the sofa’s fabric.

“Focus, Mon amour. The Black Hand. What is it?” You repeated, pressing a little kiss on his starving and slightly parted mouth while your hand started to jerk him off in slow up-and-down movements. At first, Arthur thought it would soothe the painful hardness of his cock but your far too languid movements only worsened it.

“Ah! The Black Hand yes. It’s a death threat from the Sicilian mafia. They send one to everyone they wanna — oh fook! — wanna kill…” He said through gritted teeth at the feeling of your thumb rubbing the glistening tip of his cock in circular motions, smearing precum on his skin. Arthur rolled his eyes, holding back a desperate cry as your hand pumped him in a way that brought him closer to heaven — or closer to hell, it was getting hard to tell.

“Why would they send you one?” You frowned, stroking a little bit faster.

“Oh bloody motherfucking hell!” He yelled, the gravel in his voice making the house shake as he threw his head back. Yet, he did not shut his eyes tight for looking at you while you masturbated him only strengthened his pleasure. He felt as if he was burning from within, “Cause I killed Changretta’s dad! I’ve put a fookin’ bullet through his skull. And now Tommy wants us to have an emergency reunion!” He spat very quickly, unable to stand it anymore. With a bit of luck, you’d allow him to spill himself now that he told you everything. Arthur let out an ashamed and submissive whimper, turned into a begging mess, “Let me cum! I’ll fookin’ beg on my knees if that’s what ye want! On my bloody knees, I will! but please… Please, Angel… I can’t take it anymore, oh God.”

“Tommy wants you back. Of course.” You winced, as if the bitterness of your own venom had exploded on your tastebuds, still caressing your man absentmindedly.

“Heaven…” He lamented, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, abandoning himself to the pleasure. Arthur moved his hips, trying to thrust his length in your fist in the hope of releasing himself but it wasn’t enough. The way you stroke him kept him at the edge of climax without allowing him to reach it and it was driving him crazy. Your focus shifted back to your husband, whose legs had started to shake like leaves in the wind.

You snapped back to the present moment,“ Oh Arthur,” You purred when you realized that your poor man had reached his limits but still tried to behave himself by not throwing you on the sofa and making you pay for teasing him. Bringing your face closer to his, you laid a myriad of kisses from his scarred throat up to the corner of his mouth, his mustache pleasantly scratching the skin of your face as you did, “Cum for me like the good boy you are.” You whispered in his ear, your siren-like voice intoxicating even more and causing him to whine no matter how hard he tried to bite it down… Goosebumps adorned your body at the arousing sight of Arthur, usually tough and rough, almost crying from pleasure and frustration. A little feverish sight escaped from your mouth, your walls clenching onto nothing. It was enough: he had been good and deserved some kind of relief. Hence, you finally stroked him how he wanted to be stroked, “I’m proud of you Arthur. So proud… Cum for me, my strong and lovely husband.” Your praises definitely got everything of him. Arthur’s fingers clenched so hard on the blanket that he almost tore it. He arched his back and the gravel in his voice chanted your name on repeat like he never did for any women, whores, or good girls, like a preacher imploring the mercy of his divinity. One minute later his cock throbbed in your palm before he finally released the tension in hot spurts of milky ropes in both your hand and your thighs. With a little satisfied smirk, you brought your fingers to your mouth and licked his release while looking at your shaking man.

“Christ…” He let out a long sigh, his body collapsing back on the sofa. The arm with which he hid his face fell limp after he tucked himself back in his trousers. Left as a panting mess, Arthur was trying to catch his breath while his half-closed eyes were still staring at you with a blissed-out gleam in their magnificent blue irises. But that extraordinary post-sex peace had to come to an end: the worst part of the discussion was awaiting. Arthur moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, stars still dangling in his vision, and, without the slightest warning, pulled you in a strong hug. His arms wrapped around you, pressing your ribs so hard you almost suffocated: He was afraid. Fucking afraid to lose you, “You need to stay here. Safe and sound.”

“Sorry?” You suddenly exclaimed, lowering your gaze toward him to ensure you understood correctly what he just said, “That’s absolutely out of question, Arthur. I’m coming with you back to Birmingham. We’ll go through this shit together and we’ll be back in our forest as soon as possible.” You said, your fingers gently fondling his neck.

“No, love.” His hoarse voice, rendered raspier by the orgasm he had, retorted with a bit more authoritative tone as he regained his composure.“Ye ain’t coming with me. It’s too dangerous. Trust me, I’d love too but I would forgive myself if Changretta would hurt you.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t let you go alone and risk your life,” Panic had already started to kick in at that idea, twisting your guts and accelerating your heartbeat. Who will take care of him if you weren’t by his side? As the one who had pulled the trigger, you were more than aware that Arthur was probably the first name underlined in red on that Changretta’s list, “You know I can be useful. Arthur please.”

“I’ll be back very quick, love.” Arthur tried to reassure you, but parting from him was far too painful for you to agree with him, "I'll be back soon and we'll have a little one together right? The perfect couple…" The corner of his mouth stretched in a tender and soothing smile right before he crashed his lips against yours. You kissed him back but it did not made you feel better. Quite the contrary. Shaken by his decision, you sighed and moved away from him. Despite his attempt to hold you back, you still managed to break his embrace and walked towards the window, wrapping your arms around your own tiny frame to hug you.

Arthur bit his knuckles, frustrated by the whole situation, and utterly in pain for you had just rejected him. After a short while, he got up from the sofa and joined you near the window, his hands still weak, “Listen. You gotta trust me. I don’t want to be away from you either — God knows I’m already scared of withering without your heavenly presence and your arms around me neck. But I can’t risk losing ye. I would fookin’ die, I swear would. I want you to stay safe here, guarded by Kaiser and by the forest, rather than with me at the mercy of these Italians. If you come with me they’ll assault you… Because of me. Because yer me wife.” Arthur explained in a slow and distinct voice, his feathery fingers rearranging one of your white strands of hair. Tears blurred your vision at his words — since your wedding there hadn’t been one day you’d been away from each other more than a few hours, hence the overwhelming misery you felt that such a plan. , “Look at me,” He asked, gently grabbing your arm to make you spin. His hands, big and calloused, cupped your face, “Heaven,” he dived into your fleeing eyes, from which crystal tears were rolling down your pearly white cheeks, “Everything’s gonna be fine, ey.”

You slowly nodded, defeated. “Tout ira bien.” You repeated in French, looking at him with the most heartbreaking pout he had ever seen. In truth, you were trying to convince yourself more than actually believing it. Your little fists clenched discreetly —and they clenched so hard that your knuckles turned white.

No, it was not going to be fine.

Definitely not.

Snuggling in one of Arthur’s shirts, you buried your nose in the collar to smell the musky and reassuring perfume of your husband. A frustrated growl escaped from your juicy lips. You were sitting on the wooden floor in front of the fire, hugging your knees against your chest as you watched the flames die in the hearth. Only two weeks had passed since Arthur’s departure for Birmingham and you were already at the edge of the abyss, ready to fall into a pit of madness. Locked up here between the walls of your own house, you feel estranged from your home, trapped in a doorless maze. Just like a wonderful Siberian tigress in a zoo, you were spending your day pacing back and forth in the living room under Kaiser’s saddened and worried eyes, before collapsing on the floor or the nearby sofa. Devoured by anxiety and another frightful gut feeling no one was there to listen to, you usually ended up rolling in a ball with the guard dog’s big wet snout poking you in a desperate attempt to cheer you up. How could you carry on with your life when your soulmate was far away from you, hunted down by a whole mafia whose every member wanted to see him dead? No matter the protective spells you had cast upon Arthur, you could not help but give in to panic. After all, he was the only one you had. And you were quite unfortunate considering how every people you had truly loved always tended to end up dead and cold, six feet under.

Giving one last kiss on Kaiser’s head, you got up from the floor and went to the small silvery cigarette case that was on the coffee table. You slipped a cigarette between your plump lips and lit it up, immediately taking a long puff in the hope of calming your nerves. As the nicotine burnt your throat and lungs, you felt your nervousness alleviating a tiny bit. I should not be here, you thought, I should be by his side. These were the words that were playing on repeat in your head. In your rambling, your mind focused on Thomas Shelby, whose past mischiefs made you believe he was the only one responsible for your role —or rather for your non-role— in this new war against the Italians. Even if Arthur did not tell you anything about it, you knew he had managed to fill your man’s mind with the idea that you’d be safer here only because he did not want you back in Birmingham. That son of a bitch — he was well aware that he had to get rid of you if he wanted Arthur to behave like his dog. You let out a furious cloud of smoke from your nostrils.

As it as been the case before Thomas had sent you all in jail, your sharp witch instincts were ringing emergency alarms in your very soul. Your chest tightened at the sudden boiling rage that coursed through your veins. How ridiculous that was? You were stuck here, completely useless, as Arthur, John, Polly, and Ada were all facing unnamable dangers. Pressing your lips tight around the cigarette, you pinched your nose to calm your nerves. That was at the moment you had almost managed to calm down a little bit that one of the living room windows crashed in hundreds of little sharp shards of glass. The cacophony of it made Kaiser jump before he immediately reacted by rushing near the gaping window and aggressively barking at the outside darkness: the beast hundred pounds Cane Corso was ready to tear throats to protect you. With a pounding heart and eyes wide open, you looked at in the distance: All you could see was a car’s headlights located at the bottom of the hill, but they quickly disappeared when the driver left the place with haste.

“Putain!” You whispered, cigarette still hanging in your mouth and one hand pressed against your chaotic heart. What the hell had happened? Still shaking from the shock, you looked at all around you and noticed the huge brick that had been thrown at the window. However, what stirred your panic was not the tool of the mischief itself but rather the letter that was tied to it with barbed wires. You did not wait any longer and grabbed it, untying the letter without minding the small cuts the wire left on your skin. As you opened it, your crimson blood drenched the fabric of the paper in dozen of stains.

To Arthur Shelby’s whore,

If you think you are safe hidden here in the wild you are utterly wrong. We haven’t forgotten about you, and despite the fact you are outside of our economic interests, you evil witch have to pay for Father Hughes and Simon Conrad’s death.

We have understood from your past crimes that you are a great advocate of retributive justice so here comes the other side of the coin. Hereby, we wish to inform you that we will come for you one day. You can hide. You can run. But you won’t escape us.

In the meantime, check twice under your bed, in your closet and behind you, because we are the shadow that follows you. Also be sure that if the Mafia does not succeed in killing Arthur Shelby, we will.

Every witch can burn,

Your heart missed a beat so big you felt dizzy. The letter slipped from your wounded fingers and fell on the floor. You took the cigarette out of your mouth and, instinctively stubbed it out on the back of your wrist without the slightest wince for it was the only thing you had found to calm yourself down. The crackling sound of burning flesh echoed in the room as the red-hot ashes marked your delicate and immaculate porcelain skin with a black and red circle. The pain, vivid and stingy, did not seem to bother you though, judging by the way your face remained absolutely neutral: the truth was the burning of your wrath outmatched the one on your flesh. No matter Thomas’ orders and Arthur’s worries, you had made up your mind: you were going back to Birmingham, and you were going to make the whole city shatter and shake at your fingertips if that was what you needed to do to retrieve your peaceful life.

If all of Birmingham was afraid of Arthur Shelby more than anything, it was only because they had never seen the fury of his wife.

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