The Garrison buzzed louder than usual that morning. It wasn’t just the rare Shelby family breakfast that had everyone sitting a little straighter — it was who walked in with Arthur Shelby.

At 6'3", 32, and known as the most ruthless, wild-eyed bastard in all of Birmingham, Arthur was chaos wrapped in a Peaky Blinders coat. Madness in motion. But today, the fire in his eyes wasn’t from rage — it was from pride.

Because on his arm, glowing brighter than the morning sun, was his wife — YN.

She looked like a dream spun out of springtime: a flowing green dress brushing her ankles, baby bump soft and proud beneath the fabric. Four months along, and it was already clear — this Shelby baby wasn’t going to be small. Her thick thighs and soft curves moved with gentle confidence, chubby cheeks flushed, a bounce in her step that made heads turn. Her black hair framed her collarbones in a sleek bob, the top tied in a cute half-up, half-down style with pink elastics, and a sparkly heart clip glinting like mischief in the light.

The room hushed.

Grace, sweet and shy, offered a soft smile from Tommy’s side. Esme, all playful elegance, raised her brow in amusement. But all eyes were locked on YN — the woman no one expected Arthur Shelby to end up with. A walking contradiction to his madness. Innocent but wild. Cute, fiery, and the only person who could pull him from the edge.

Arthur didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The way his hand stayed protectively at the small of her back, the way his eyes dared anyone to even look at her the wrong way — that said it all.

Arthur (grinning proudly, with a hint of madness in his voice):
"What? Never seen a fookin' angel walk in with a devil before?"
He kissed the side of her head and added, low but deadly,
"Keep starin', and I’ll start countin’ teeth."

And just like that, breakfast had officially begun — Shelby style.