#OC Alfi

[corellianhounds]

The Exodus

Media: The Mandalorian

Rating: Gen.

Word Count: 5,674

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Art Credit: Christian Alzmann, The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Summary: Mandalorians are adaptable by nature but often nomadic without choice. The covert on Nevarro wouldn’t have risked the entire tribe to save only one of their own, not without contingency plans in place.

Set during “The Sin,” retconning the canon idea that only Paz Vizsla and the Armorer escaped Nevarro. Mando’a translations are at the bottom.

“In the years to come, when the balladeers of Nevarro spoke of the day the Mandalorian broke the Code and signed his own death warrant, there were as many different versions of the events as there were ears to hear it.

“But it always started with the explosion.”

— The Mandalorian Junior Novel, adapted by Joe Schreiber

An explosion rocked the city above. Barely a minute of cautious, alert networking had passed before the slight frame of Jenryk Lokatta flew down the subterranean antechambers of the hidden Mandalorian enclave, fleet-footed messenger to every tribe member he saw.

The detonation had gone off somewhere beyond the marketplace, calling to it a hurrying fleet of Stormtroopers. Word travels fast on Nevarro, and as tracking fobs blinked to life in dim corners and shadowed streets, civilians and hunters alike traded news in whispers that someone was back on the Guild radar.

The thing about the Bounty Hunters Guild is that listings are largely posted based on who the ISB deems a criminal. Whether laws themselves are just or not matters little to most hunters and good money is the fastest way to find someone on the run: despite the outcome of the war, Imperial credits still spend.

A heavy infantry Mandalorian stalked through the sewers of the black market outpost, bracing for yet another battle and hasty relocation effort that ran the gamut of every possible risk. In another life the bulwark of Mandalorian tradition lived in palatial dwellings with tribute given to his family’s honorable name, his days spent facilitating trade and overseeing the expansion of infrastructure. In another life he trained cadets in green fields and laughed heartily with his comrades-in-arms, swapping tales over tihaar long into the night.

This was not that life, and now as he stormed through the tunnels he mentally spat a curse at those who had driven him and his kin underground in every sense of the word.

Despite those bitter, percolating thoughts, there was a glimmer of something mean at the back of the blue Mandalorian’s mind, raring for a good fight.

From the innermost refuge of their hidden home came the sound of sizzling slag and the *ring* of an iron forge. Steam permeated the chamber as the Armorer, civil and religious leader of the diasporic warriors, worked tirelessly at the millennium-long craft that safeguarded her people.

The silhouette of Paz Vizsla filled the doorway.

“Djarin’s in trouble,” he said. “Topside.”

The Armorer’s hammer stopped mid-swing. Her brass-toned helm swiveled to lock on him, the hum of blue flames filling the forge as he awaited her orders.

“What happened?”

Vizsla’s hand flexed, agitated. “The western scout said he blew a hole in the Stormtrooper safe house and shot his way out. They’re all dead. He’s— He took something—”

“Brevity, Vizsla.”

“We think it’s a child.”

For a singular moment the Armorer felt every muscle coiling to pounce. Clamoring echoed in the tunnels. Decisions had to be made, and they had to be made now. Their brother would not have done something so rash as to take on a squadron of Imperials by himself unless he had a very, very good reason for doing so.

And even then, he had not called for help.

”Let’s move.”

She strode out into the corridor to the assembled brigade awaiting her command with Paz behind her. “Barycir jiila,” she ordered, and the group began to split under her direction. “Tsad Solus, ready the ships for relocation— Take only what can be carried once beyond the flows and get the foundlings out. The rest of you to the south exit past the bazaar. Find him. Follow on Vizsla’s command.”

The remaining Mandalorians beat their right bracers against their breastplates in a sharp *clang* of acknowledgement and turned on their heels to leave for their stations. Shouting from above and the beginning of a firefight echoed from the street level. Foundlings darted through the corridors, hastily grabbing sparse belongings and following orders from those focused on evacuation.

“Reroute the civilians,” she told Paz as they strode through the tunnel. “Get to higher ground and do what you can to contain the firefight— Send the Phoenixes in first. Clear a path for the others and funnel his adversaries back towards the square.”

The infantryman nodded, retreating and clicking the comm on his bracer to relay the message.

“And Vizsla—”

He turned back to her, at the ready.

“Buy him some time. And keep the skies clear.”

—

Working with martial efficiency, the remaining members of the covert crammed supplies into every spare satchel and duffel available. The children crèched together under the emergency lanterns as they packed the barge, helping one another don cloaks and filters as needed while the cadets moved weapons and gear. The Nautolan boy’s hands shook with the effort it took to strap on his vest, his fingers slipping on the latches, and one of the older cadets stooped to help him. The Mandalorians moved quickly, arranging what they could onto the barge that would reconvene with them out past the lava flow at the edge of the flats. The hidden cargo shuttles camouflaged within the caves had been maintained far beyond the city walls, and with luck the fight in the streets would keep all eyes turned inward long enough for the first ship to depart.

The children were antsy, most having been woken from sleep by the urgent call to attention. The adults could hear their murmurings as they shuffled into formation.

“But why do we have to leave now?” one of the foundlings pleaded. Petulance didn’t dictate their inquiries; the children were familiar with the plans laid out for their escape if it ever came to it, but curiosity and frustration were to be expected regardless of age. The youngest just happened to be the most vocal.

Hartek, an older Mandalorian in bronze, glanced at the group from where he stood at the mouth of the cavern. He clasped his sister’s forearm in a reluctant bid farewell, then came over to address the children, kneeling to their level.

“Beroya is in trouble and he needs our help,” he explained calmly. “And he would not need our help unless it was absolutely necessary to reveal ourselves. We have to leave.”

Whispers spread amongst the children before one of the older boys hushed them, and the foundlings exchanged solemn looks. They knew secrecy was the key to their survival; too many had known guardians and kin killed for their armor or hunted for their weapons. The Empire wasn’t the only entity responsible for the destruction they had seen wreaked across the galaxy— The vacuum of power it left behind was filled with mercenaries, warlords, and syndicates of every kind. The Mandalorians protected them, and the bounty hunter had never let them down.

They understood the gravity of what was to come.

Hartek nodded in approval and turned to finish hauling the last gunlocker up onto the hovering sled.

“Remember,” he said. “Stay quiet so you can listen for instructions, stick together, and keep out of sight. Keep low, and stay calm. We’ll protect you.”

Two Mandalorians finished lashing down the barge and shoved off for the exit tunnel following the lava flow. As the cadets filed back in towards the forge the alor waved the group inside. Hartek finalized the head count as the Armorer heaved the grate over the tunnel shut behind the barge. The bronze Mandalorian tugged the end of a leather cord from the collar of his tunic and unhooked the Mythosaur pendant, beskar glinting in the rippling forge light. Another explosion rocked the street above, the Mandalorians tensing as dust and gravel fell from the ceiling. Gritting his teeth, Hartek slotted the pendant into the ridge along the back wall and twisted the latch: an invisible seam in the basalt parted with a grating slide, and the hidden passage came into view on a gust of damp air.

“Move out.”

And on his lead they followed.

Bringing up the rear, Jenryk could feel the course of adrenaline in his veins as he saw the last of the evacuation head out the tunnel that would circumvent most of the attention of the town. Once assured the passageway closed up behind them he rejoined the Armorer as she secured the tripwires beyond the forge. Down at the end of the corridor that would lead them to the bazaar, Vizsla motioned for the troop to clear out. Jenryk hesitated for only a moment before approaching the Armorer, her sharp gaze watching the last of the offensive squads split off into the hidden exits far down the tunnels.

“Alor, will you be accompanying us?”

She shook her head, not looking at him. “My place is here until those remaining are ready to depart. The forge needs dismantled, and I will stay until the rest return.”

Jenryk shifted uneasily. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he said. “The Imperials weren’t the only ones firing at him.”

“… There may be other forces at work,” the Armorer hedged. “Once you’re in the air, keep the transponders off en route. We will regroup offworld and signal for you once we’ve settled at the second camp. Do not wait for us: the second ship will depart once Vizsla confirms the Crest has made its escape.”

“… Will do.”

The Armorer glanced his way as she holstered her hammer. “Do not deviate from the plan, Jenryk,” she warned him. She started to gather her tools, retrieving the last piece of his cuirass from the forge and clasping it to his backplate. “Hartek will need you as medic.”

He nodded reluctantly as she assessed her handiwork, securing the conduit latches for the durasteel jetpack and ensuring the suit’s circuitry had fully integrated into the system. Alfi approached from her setup at the false tunnel, signing that all was set as she grabbed the last rucksack. Jenryk rested a hand on her pauldron as she passed, the two of them exchanging a nod before she took off, racing to the exit.

The Armorer returned, holstering her sidearm as she listened over the comm channel. “The firing team will reconvene from the butcher’s entrance,” she said. “Move out.”

Jenryk activated the chameleon cloak on his suit and departed from the smithy, slinking out to the pyroduct under the west side of town. He spiked into the rock face above him with the climbing gaff on his boots and ascended the winding, eroded tunnel up to the street, his heart thundering in his ears. The natural ventilation shaft spit out past the slums up above, and though it was a more densely populated area of the city it had fewer Imperial scouts stationed between streets.

Smoke and brimstone filled the air, the clamor of civilians weaving through the streets as they bolted themselves indoors. Buildings of stone covered with volcanic earth rippled around him in a near-imperceptible mirage as he cut through town, mapping the fastest route between alleyways and cataloguing potential threats once the covert had finished aiding the bounty hunter at the docking yard.

There was a scout trooper leaning against a speeder bike near the canal, but he was far enough out of the district it seemed like the original safehouse hadn’t commed for him. Two Trandoshan guards for one of the wealthy families had broadened their post outside the townhouse to include the courtyard connecting the intersecting side streets, and the lights of the banking district blazed green and bright.

Blending into the twilight, Jenryk slipped past all of them to the outer edge of town. He cleared the canal, rocking the gondolas as he leapt to the other side. Carefully, he picked his way up the dark, pitted defensive wall, slipping over and out of Nevarro’s starport city and into the night. Once they were on open ground and trekking across the flats they would be vulnerable until they reached the freighter. Dusk brought with it reptavians and other nocturnal predators, and with the cover the cloak gave him, he was the most suited to clear a path.

There were six adults, three cadets, and seven foundlings coming from the flows, himself and Alfi making up the remainder of their group. Alfi would station herself as sniper and watchman while the freighter was loaded, her and Hartek waiting on him to voice the all clear before they departed. Vizsla would be the last to leave with the Armorer on the second ship if all went well, and hopefully they would hear from each other once they were out of New Republic airspace.

This was the third relocation Jenryk had seen. The uncertainty that came with dividing their numbers was not one he missed.

A shot rang out from the street leading to the docking yard far behind him, and a volley of blaster fire followed. Jenryk steeled his nerves, ignited his jetpack, and sped out across the flats.

—

Vizsla led the firing team through the narrow alleys of Nevarro. Doors and windows shuttered at the first sign of blaster fire, and the ground shook with the aftershocks of another detonation. They honed in on the smoke emanating from the shipyard entrance, footsteps weighted down with ordnance and determination. He motioned for the squad of foot soldiers to break off from the jet team, seeing them cut smoothly down to the buildings behind the main street. The remaining troops clambered silently up rock-hewn walls, creeping across balconies and roofs to get a bead on Djarin’s location.

There was a brief pause in gunfire when they were still three streets away before Paz heard the unmistakable sound of a particle disruptor atomizing its targets and reducing them to cinders. As he rounded a turret above the market district he scoped in on the street: bounty hunters of every kind scattered as a fellow hunter disintegrated to nothing, all of them now clamoring for cover. A third shot resounded, disintegrating a Rodian as the Mandalorians advanced, then all fell silent.

Paz held up his fist, signaling for those on the rooftops to halt as the gunfire came to a momentary standstill. He turned up the audio feed on his helmet, tuning it carefully. The Guild broker’s voice projected from the archway entrance and called out to Djarin, wherever he was on the street beyond them.

“That’s one impressive weapon!”

Paz dimly heard their brother respond, tuning in again. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to my ship, with the kid, and you’re gonna let it happen.”

The broker barked a venomous order, this one loud enough to be heard by everyone in attendance:

“No— How about this: We take the kid, and if you try to stop us, we kill you and we strip your body for parts.”

The truth of the threat reverberated against the chest of every Mandalorian who heard it. Hackles raised, they advanced as one, their net drawing tighter with the impending ambush hidden by the cacophony of blaster fire. The ground team drew up sharp behind archways and corners, visages grim beneath the mask. Vizsla jabbed two fingers in a directive to ready themselves for the assault: the air team was in position. The footmen waited for his signal. He just needed to find Din so they could clear the path to the dockyard.

A plume of fire burst from a speeder on one side of the street. Vizsla narrowed his scope, adjusting the feed and impatiently waiting for the air to clear.

As hunters fell back from the blaze, the fire stuttered and dissipated, sputtering to a failing halt. The figure behind the smoke ducked back down into the open speeder out of firing range, but the armor it wore was unmistakable.

Finally, Vizsla grinned.

—

It wasn’t his reclamation of the child that deemed his actions a sin, but the initial transaction. No matter what he did in this life, Din Djarin would forever be a man who had at one time traded the life of a child to known enemies for payment. That was an immutable fact he would spend the rest of his lifetime atoning for.

He just thought the rest of their lives were going to be longer than this.

The Mandalorian looked down at the little boy he wanted to protect, stricken with the grief of his sin. He had known their chances of a hasty retreat were narrow when he left the ship to retrace his steps, but his prior confidence was founded in his determination to remedy the sacrilege of a tenet he had always held true.

Now though with plasma and fire flashing above them, the gravity of his decision was evident in the tragedy of his shortcomings. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to secure a future where the boy was safe, happy, and free. He was the one responsible for the child’s place here and now in the middle of a dark street on a blighted planet, surrounded by enemies hellbent on killing them both. The sense memory of his own father carrying him through a city filled with destruction refused to leave his mind’s eye, mingling with the guilt of knowing his circumstances and the child’s fate were of his own doing.

He had no right to pray for a painless end, but he hoped whatever life came after this one would grant him mercy for his greatest misdeed.

The child looked up at him with quizzical, sleep-filled eyes. Din stroked the boy’s head and wished he could apologize in a way he would understand.

—

A sharp whistle streaked overhead, following a streaming cascade of sparks. When the missile connected with the corner of the stone archway above the public house it exploded, sending a gunman from above toppling to the street below.

All eyes turned skyward as a figure rose above the crowd like a hawk, a dozen like it soaring up over rooftops and descending in a hail of precise, deadly gunfire.

Din couldn’t believe his eyes.

Laserfire streamed from above, hunters falling in the street. As they fired back the Mandalorians wove through the air, evading and deflecting every shot as they drew the Guild members’ attention to themselves, firing again with unparalleled accuracy into the street. More hunters appeared from alleyways but proved no match for the Mandalorians’ numbers, blaster shots finding their marks in the hearts of those now terrified by the descending ambush.

The covert had appeared from nowhere and rallied to Din’s defense, picking off assailants around him. For a singular, shining moment he was stricken with the same awe he felt when he’d first encountered the warriors as a child.

Another missle screamed from the gauntlet of a Mandalorian firing in mid-air, dodging the shots returned by the panicked and disoriented mercenaries and hunters littering the street. A fuel reserve from the docking yard exploded in front of a salvage shop and blazed up in a fireball that scattered a pack of mercs, three Mandalorians rerouting them to the square south of the bazaar. A Mandalorian in green landed behind an unsuspecting Nikto and wrapped both arms around him, jetting up beyond the buildings as the mercenary cried out in terror. Two more hunters ran for alleyways, shooting wildly behind them at the armored gunmen in the street who then gave chase, boots thumping on stone as their kin covered their backs.

In a stuttering, rapidfire flash of light, an infantryman landed near the speeder, gunning down any hunter foolish enough to have remained out in the open. The bulk of his imposing figure blocked the stone archway to the dockyard, his own aim still precise in its destruction as he cleared swaths of bounty hunters from the black market port in seconds.

Out of everybody, Din had expected him the least.

Paz jerked his head to Din, hollering, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!”

Din kept his aim level at their assailants as he hollered back. “You’re going to have to relocate the covert!”

Paz paused in firing for only a moment, nodding in affirmation. His voice was level with assurance. “This is the Way.”

And for the first time in a long time, Din felt something akin to hope.

“This is the Way.”

Din scooped the small child protectively into the crook of his left arm before ducking from the firefight and running to the Crest.

—

The Mandalorians moved quickly. The cargo shuttle was primed for takeoff, Hartek swiftly finalizing their pre-flight checks. He could see the firefight off in the distance as night fell, the rest of their crew moving around the hold below and securing the foundlings and the covert’s supplies. Time was running out.

“How many?” his co-pilot, Sapsen, barked over the headset.

Jenryk’s voice crackled over the comm’s frequency. “Twenty, more— on the way. Alfi’s— karking hell— Alfi’s pinned down, you— need to leave, now! We’ll regroup and— on the second ship!”

Hartek pressed the transceiver’s relay on his vambrace. His voice transmitted over the open channel to the helmets of the others belowdeck. “Who has the most fuel reserve?”

Two lights responded instantly over the head-up display. Hartek weighed his options but knew there wasn’t time to deliberate.

“Kyden, Whyt, jet out to the cliff and get her out of there. We’re nearly ready for takeoff. Jenryk, stay on the ground; we’ll come to you.”

“— long range repeaters,” Jenryk’s voice cut through. Laserfire screamed over his voice on the other end. “TL-50— scout troopers on bikes. They’ll see— coming, you won’t be able to get low enough— the hatch—”

The two Mandalorians following Hartek’s directive blasted from the bay doors in a stream of fire. The engines rumbled to life; Hartek pressed the command for the docking ramp to ascend, flipping the toggle to transfer control to the co-pilot. “Get us in the air. I’ll lock into the harness from the hatch— When we get to the firefight drop as low as you can and I’ll grab him from the starboard side.”

Sapsen’s voice was strained as he pulled on the yoke and leveled them with the horizon. “Hartek, it’s too risky—”

Hartek snapped the tether from above to his belt, yanking himself upward hand over hand.

“So we’ll just have to be careful.”

—

Jenryk’s lungs screamed with the effort it had taken to race over the plateau on foot. His jetpack sputtered and he could smell the fuel leak now soaking into his suit— The pack was damaged by one of the trooper’s heavy blaster bolts piercing the tank. Rendered immediately useless, he’d raced in the direction of his comrade, conveying what information he could to the others in the hopes that they could escape before the scout troopers on bikes caught up. Now camouflaged with the sparse brush, Jenryk crouched out of view, firing at the troopers when he could before pressing on.

Up on the ridge he could barely see Alfi’s red helm peek out in the twilight as she shot at the firing team below, but every time she revealed herself the heavy repeating blasters rattled the cliff edge and broke off more of the upper rock face, sending intermittent rockslides down the cliff. Even though she had the high ground, she was back-to-back with a lava flow that had broken open with fresh magma, effectively trapping her and keeping her from descending to the ravine on the west that would take them to the ships. Any time she rose higher than knee height she caught the troopers’ attention and they opened fire. If she exposed herself on a run to the ravine she’d be riddled with holes.

Jenryk’s cloak on the suit had given him a slight advantage as he shot unseen from the brush, and knowing Alfi she was just as much buying the shuttle time to escape by keeping the troopers occupied as he was. It was her idea to relay the decision to stay, and he’d never been able to tell her no.

Jenryk shot another Stormtrooper in the neck and kept moving. He switched his comm to Alfi’s frequency. “Why haven’t they left yet?”

Alfi signaled back in Dadita: “N-E-E-D-T-I-M-E.”

The remaining troopers advanced towards the trail to the outcropping. Jenryk picked up his pace before he heard one of them yell; he ducked, only narrowly missing a shot that flew by his helmet, and he heard the recoil of Alfi’s sniper rifle echo across the landscape. The heavy repeating blasters picked up again, rocks scouring the earth as they fell in a crashing wave not sixty feet from where Jenryk hid.

As the dust settled he knew he had to face the reality of the situation. By his estimate, Alfi was only a scant forty feet from the magma flow and likely cooking beneath her armor. He wasn’t going to get there in enough time to cover her escape.

He took a deep breath, his nerves settling to resolve as his mind cleared of distractions.

Jenryk spoke again, knowing she would hear him. “Move on my signal, Ori’vod. I’ll see you again someday.”

The Mandalorian armed the last two grenades in his arsenal and stepped out from the brush. He stalked toward the firing team on the ground, the waning light refracting around his figure like heatwaves in the desert, and as he drew near he upped his pace to a sprint. Two cluster grenades sang up through the air and exploded high above the trail to the ridge, eight concussive blasts following as they rained down on the troopers clinging to the rock face. Blaster drawn, Jenryk shot the heavy infantryman closest to him and leapt into the fray.

—

Alfi felt the explosions rock the cliff seconds after Jenryk’s comm went silent. Fear struck like lightning up her spine as she realized what he had done; she yanked herself up over the outcropping to scope in on the ground, seeing only a haze of smoke and blaster bolts firing in every direction. The idiot had given her the opportunity to get to the ravine at the cost of himself, and he had the audacity to keep the lenticular mirage up.

She had never been so angry with him.

Jenryk’s voice echoed in her ears, the reassuring tone doing nothing to calm her in those final seconds as she registered his farewell. Far below, the firing squad was in a disarray, at least a dozen still standing as they fired wildly around themselves while Jenryk cut through the smoke in the confusion.

Dimly, she heard the whine of a jet approaching from behind, and she whirled around to see two of their kin descending from the sky. Whyt and Kyden landed hard next to her as she jumped to her feet, signing quickly with her hands. Three laser bolts shot past their shoulders and they ducked out from range.

J fighting the group. Jetpack damaged. Need to help, she said.

Whyt shook his head and grabbed up her rifle, handing it to her. “Hartek’s on the way. We’ve got to go.”

Alfi violently shook her head, taking a step back, only for Kyden to wrap both of his thick arms around her from behind, pinning her own arms to her side as his jetpack ignited again and lifted both of them into the air. Alfi reared back in anger, a strangled yell escaping her as she struggled against his grip. Whyt followed after, flying with his back to them and firing his carbine rifle into the troopers below.

“I’m sorry, Al,” Kyden said over his headset. “We’re going to get him, just hang tight.”

Heat blazed under Alfi’s armor that had nothing to do with the river of lava streaming beneath them. She swore if Jenryk didn’t make it onto the ship alive she’d crack both their jaws.

—

Jenryk parried another blow, ducking beneath the trooper’s arm and jamming his blade into a crevice of their armor, twisting between their ribs with a snap. He yanked it free and immediately threw it into the chest of another, just as the butt of a blaster rifle came down between his shoulder blades. The fall knocked the wind out of him— On reflex he jerked his boot back, drawing a hard line in the dirt as he swept the legs out from beneath his attacker. He tried to right himself, still struggling to draw air, and a second trooper took aim, finally spotting him in the haze.

With weakening strength Jenryk pulled his arm up to deflect the shot with his bracer, the momentum of the bolt still jarring his forearm and jerking him to the side. Pain radiated from the right side of his chest, a lancing stitch pulsing with his every move. The Mandalorian tensed just as another shot hit his breastplate, sending him back several feet. The smoke was clearing from the basin beneath the cliff, and his camouflage flickered in and out across his suit.

“There he is!”

“Grab him! Don’t let him get away!”

He dearly hoped the covert had made it to safety.

Finally gasping a lungful of air, Jenryk dodged into a side roll, landing in a crouch. He shot his whipcord at the farthest trooper and yanked him into the two closing in on him and sent them clattering to the ground. A scorching volley of shots rattled his bones from the ground up as the last rapid fire gunner swung wide, coming around in an attempt to pin him against the cliff.

His eyes widened and he turned to leap up the rock face, bloodied gloves grabbing a ledge and vaulting him upward. The heavy repeater shook the volcanic earth and it broke apart as quickly as he scrabbled for handholds, barely gaining purchase against the rock. He spiked harshly into the substrate with his boot and yanked himself up. Every shot threatened to shake him off the cliff face, but still he climbed.

A loud, shuddering ripple of wind approached from behind him. Every wave of force felt like it displaced muscle from bone and it took every ounce of his remaining strength to turn his head.

Jenryk was struck with complete astonishment as he looked over one bloody shoulder to see the silhouette of a Mandalorian, illuminated by the waning sun and holding a grappling line on the outside of a cargo freighter. Bewildered hope washed over the resignation harboring in his chest, revitalizing him in an instant.

Without a second thought to anything else— not the height of the cliff side, not the blaze or gunner below, not every Imperial rat on that vile planet— he leapt off from his place against the earth crumbling beneath his hands.

And for a moment, Jenryk hung suspended in midair, one arm raised aloft as he reached for the hand of a friend.

—

Three successive shots rang out over the lava flats. Three troopers fell.

Alfi grimaced, seeing the final two run for the speederbikes. Whyt yelled something she ignored, the din of the engines drowning out the clamoring noise of the Mandalorians waiting tensely behind her as she followed the Imps with her scope. Craning out of the docking ramp, held only by Whyt’s grip on her belt, she fired again.

The speederbike in the lead crashed, digging its nose into the earth and throwing its rider up and over itself, just in time for the second rider to crash into him and for his own bike to explode on impact. Outside the outer hull Hartek clung one-handed to the grappling line and held fast to the forearm of their bloodied comrade.

Alfi handed her rifle back to another Mandalorian and gestured for Whyt to edge them down to the end of the ramp. Whyt carefully maneuvered the two of them as far as he could, still holding onto the railing as Alfi waved to catch Hartek’s attention. The older Mandalorian nodded, managing to get the message across to Jenryk that they were moving. Wind whipped around them as the freighter climbed, pulling Jenryk’s weight against the line, but Hartek’s grip never wavered.

Alfi squared her stance as Hartek heaved them both towards the ramp. Whyt’s grip on her belt tightened as the pilot’s grappling line pulled taut, and a sharp nod from Hartek was all the signal she got before he rocked back and used their forward momentum to swing Jenryk into the hold.

The three Mandalorians on the ramp crashed back into a pile, Alfi with both arms fiercely secured around Jenryk’s middle.

Whyt hauled both of them back as another Mandalorian raised the ramp, Hartek retreating to climb the hull to the hatch above the canopy. Alfi could feel her heartbeat in her ears as the hydraulics hissed and the rest of the covert behind them cheered.

Alfi lay there for several long moments, breathing heavily but grateful for the solid weight of the Mandalorian in her arms. She wished she could verbally tell him how much of an idiot she thought he was, but he was still clinging to her flight suit as his labored breathing struggled to find stasis, so she settled for knocking her helmet against his, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

Jenryk chuckled through the mask, returning the gesture more gently. “I’m sorry,” he said, warmth suffusing his tone. “I missed you too.”

The intercom in the lower deck crackled to life as Hartek’s booming voice filtered through. “All present and accounted for. Hitting atmo soon so strap in. Lightspeed in three minutes. We’ll hear from Vizsla when they’ve made landfall. Over and out.”

The Mandalorians tucked into the cramped rows of bench seats, securing the cadets and checking again on the foundlings before finding their way to their stations. The rumble of dual engines hummed throughout the ship, but for the first time since the first explosion on the streets of Nevarro, those of the covert could finally breathe easily. Triumph in the face of calamity was a rare find these days.

It wouldn’t always be like this, but for now it was enough.

Mando’a

Tihaar: a strong alcoholic spirit distilled by Mandalorians

Barycir jiila: “Deploy immediately.”

Tsad Solus: Group One

Beroya: bounty hunter

Alor: leader

Dadita: The equivalent of Morse code for Mandalorians

Ori’vod: a stronger term for a beloved friend or family member

[galahues]

Moo Moo 🐮

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

[runnning-outof-time]

The Joys of Being a Girl Dad | Tommy Shelby & Alfie Solomons (set in Girl Dad series)

Request: no - written for @justrainandcoffee ‘s 2 year ‘Alfieversary’

Pairing: Tommy Shelby (x Reader mentioned) & Alfie Solomons (x fem!OC & child OC mentioned)

Summary: Tommy stops by Margate to congratulate an old associate…adversary…friend.

Warnings: language (it’s Tommy and Alfie we’re talking about here), a slight bit of Cyril slander

A/N: I’m sorry it took me soooo long to write something for your celebration, Flor!! I guess I could call this a present for Rose’s 1 year anniversary too now, even though she’s not really in it. Thank you for sharing this beautiful au with us!!

A/N 2: I should also say that this story was supposed to be shorter, but I just kinda became invested and ran away with it…I hope you don’t mind. Also it’s been a bit since I’ve written for Alfie, so I hope he’s not too ooc here. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

“Who let you in?” the man who was sitting facing the open balcony door asked.

“How’d you know it was me?” the other man, who was standing at the entrance of the room, responded with his own question.

“Smelt the smoke and horse shit the second you stepped through that archway,” the first man mused, earning a snort from the second. “So I’ll ask again: who let you in?”

“Your wife…”

“Figures she did,” the first man cut the second off, muttering the comment under his breath.

“Your wife’s assistant let me in after she told me to get lost and slammed the door in my face,” the rest of the statement was shared, which made the first man finally spin in his seat to look back towards the archway.

Silence hung in the air for a few moments, the two men staring at each other from several paces away…much like they had on that fated day all those months ago. “So why didn’t ya listen to her?” the first man finally broke the quiet, his quip conjoined with a look of query.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Alfie?” the second man asked, his eyebrows just slightly raised.

“It has,” the first man nodded, pursing his lips together for a moment before he continued, “yet it is still sooner than the day in which I thought I’d see Tommy Shelby again.”

Tommy Shelby just shook his head at the man’s remark, looking at the ground as he pursed his lips. It didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Why’re you here then?” Alfie asked, still wanting to get to the bottom of the Birmingham man’s presence. However, he interjected again before said man even had the chance to speak: “you’ve come to finish me off, haven’t ya? Since ya couldn’t get it right the first time.”

“I’ve come with something,” Tommy answered, not even bothering to respond to Alfie’s second comment.

He then stepped towards the chair that the other man was sitting in, his hands still behind his back. Anyone else would have wondered if maybe they’d got it right…maybe he was actually there to finish his old adversary off. But Alfie wasn’t bothered in the slightest. No, he could tell from the manner in which Tommy approached him.

“I want to offer a congratulations…on your daughter,” Tommy finished his statement once he was standing in front of Alfie. Alfie looked him over with raised eyebrows, wondering just how a busy, business-minded man like him would have gotten such information. “(Y/N) told me the news. She got word of it from Rose,” Tommy gave the curious man some more information.

“That Rosie…” Alfie mused with a slight shake of his head, “I had a feelin’ that she hadn’t cut off all contact with you Shelbys.” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his wife still keeping up a regular correspondence with the wife of the man who’d shot him.

(Y/N) and Rose had hit it off practically from the moment they met each other. Their friendship went beyond their husbands’ business partnership, and so when one disgruntled husband aimed a gun at the other and pulled the trigger, the two women tried hard not to let it come completely between them. There some time where radio silence prevailed…actually most out the time over the course of the last year was filled with radio silence, but it didn’t seem like a beat was missed when Rose contacted (Y/N) to tell her of the newest addition to the Solomons family.

Although Tommy was more hesitant to make amends, he couldn’t deny his wife’s request to deliver something to the newest Solomons.

“She wanted me to give you this,” Tommy then said, finally revealing the tan, stuffed rabbit that he’d brought with him. “To give to her,” he included, making his intentions more clear.

“I knew you weren’t givin’ me a stuffed rabbit,” Alfie quipped, snorting to himself before continuing, “or at least I hope you were plannin’ to.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing that, Alfie, no,” Tommy shook his head, dismissing the comment before it gained any ground. “The rabbit’s for your girl.”

Alfie took a moment to look over the other man again. He was still holding the rabbit out in front of him, waiting for Alfie to take it. Tommy wondered how long Alfie was going to make him stand like this.

Finally he took it. “She’ll like it,” Alfie stated, eyeing over the animal from close up now. He couldn’t deny that it felt soft in his hands. Allie would surely love it. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“My three couldn’t go to bed without it,” Tommy commented, a small smile gracing his lips as he thought of his three daughters and the love they had for that very stuffed rabbit.

A look of realization flashed across Alfie’s face as he heard Tommy’s comment. He brought his hand up to his jaw and ran it down his cheek slowly, stroking his beard as if he was in thought. “Have a seat,” he then said, gesturing to the chair that was set directly across from the one he was sitting in. He waited until the other man was seated before continuing, “three girls, huh?” he mused, sounding like he was talking more so to himself than anything.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded in response.

“A proper girl dad,” Alfie commented then.

“A what?” Tommy asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“You’re a dad that’s got all girls, hence the fucking term girl dad…stick with it, Tommy,” the response came laden with derision.

Tommy raised his eyebrows at the other man’s comments, looking to the ground as he let the air cool off before he cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Yeah, a girl dad then.” He ran a hand along the back of his head as he spoke, wondering if he was even using the term correctly. Alfie didn’t comment, so he guessed that he didn’t seem to care none.

Instead the newer father continued on with the conversation. “Does it ever get hard?”

“What? Being a girl dad?” Tommy looked over at him again.

“No, not being able to hit your fucking mark when you’re fifteen fucking paces away,” Alfie retorted, “yes, being a girl dad,” he then exaggerated his words.

Tommy bit his tongue yet again. He wasn’t here to get into a fight with Alfie Solomons. The rabbit currently sitting in the other man’s lap was supposed to serve as a sort of olive branch.

“It does,” he finally answered after a moment’s pause.

“Give me some fuckin’ detail, mate,” Alfie asked.

“Fuckin’ hell, Alfie,” Tommy sighed under his breath, pressing the pads of his thumbs against his eyelids. He cleared his throat again as he thought of how he’d answer the question. “It’s been hard from the moment we brought Thea home. A different sort of hard than the ‘hard’ I’ve experienced prior. But it’s also been rewarding...with Thea, then Evie and now Juniper. I’ve learned more from them than from anything else I’ve ever done.”

Alfie took a moment to digest what his confidant had just shared with him. He truly didn’t expect Tommy Shelby to come out with such meaningful statements. I guess even the worst of men can change their tones, he thought to himself. “I didn’t know ya had it in ya, Tommy,” he commented, exuding a breath of a laugh as he shook his head.

Tommy kept his eyes locked on Alfie unsure of how to respond to his comment. He wondered if this was all some sort of game…if Alfie now wanted to toy with him; getting him to open up just to use the information against him.

“Thanks for sharing it though. I, uh…” Alfie paused, the sound of his voice cutting through Tommy’s thoughts and making him focus in again. “I’ll take all of the help I can get with this one. They say that raising a child takes a fucking village, or however that fucking saying goes.”

“There’s a great deal of joy in it too,” Tommy made sure to add, hoping to convey that having daughters, or kids at all for that matter, wasn’t only stressful. “I just know that I wouldn’t be able to do it without (Y/N) though.”

“That’s the same with me and my Rosie. A fuckin’ trooper, that woman is,” Alfie agreed in regards to his wife. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for Rose Solomons. He genuinely owed his life to her…and he was going to spend the rest of it showing her.

Silence fell between the two men then, both sitting comfortably in their thoughts of the women they had in their lives, and of how much their respective wives meant to them. The silence hung until the sound of small feet came pattering off of the hardwood in the hallway.

“Daddy! Daddy!” a shrill voice of a small girl soon accompanied the hurried footsteps. Said girl quickly appeared in the archway of Alfie office. Along with her frantic demeanor, Alfie was also able to see streaks of tears on her chreks.

“What’s wrong, Allie?” he asked her, his brows furrowing together.

“Cyril chewed on my stuffie, daddy!” she exclaimed, hiccuping as she spoke through her tears. “It was my favorite stuffie!”

“Awe now love, I’m sorry about that,” Alfie began, opening his arms to the child as she came over to him. She quickly fell into them, and he wasted no time in hugging her tightly. “He’s just a brute that knows nothing of favorite stuffies,” he consoled her as she continued to sniffle her tears away.

Tommy watched on as the moment played out in front of him. He laughed to himself as hearing the reason behind the problem at hand took him back to the moments where Cyril had chewed his girls’ stuffies; there had to have been several instances during the dog’s stay at Arrow House.

“I don’t have a stuffie now, daddy,” Allie whimpered, finally lifting her head from her father’s chest. “Mum said it was too covered in slobber to be saved.”

“Well I’ve got just the fix for ya, Allie,” Alfie began, unwrapping one of his arms from her so that he could blindly search for the stuffed rabbit that Tommy had just handed him. He continued when he found the animal, “now I know it’s no bear, and I know that your favorite stuffies have all been bears, but this lovely little lass was just placed upon my lap moments before you came runnin’ in.”

Allie’s eyes immediately found the rabbit, and she had it in her tight embrace within an instant. “This stuffie is so soft! And she has a lovely bow!” she observed, now beaming with excitement. “Thank you so much, daddy!” she smiled at her father.

“Thanks have to go to that man,” Alfie told his daughter, nodding in Tommy’s direction. He bit his tounge and stopped the urge to add ‘the one who shot your father’ because even he knew this wasn’t the time for that. He didn’t want to bring that feud into Allie’s realm.

“What’s his name?” Allie asked in a loud whisper, her shy eyes finding Tommy’s.

“Tell ‘er your name, mate,” Alfie beckoned Tommy to share the information.

“It’s Tommy,” the other man followed suit, smiling as he spoke.

Allie observed him for a moment, surely trying to decide what she felt about him. A few beats of silence passed before a smile formed on her face. “Thank you, Mr. Tommy,” she said in a small voice.

“You’re welcome, Allie,” Tommy nodded, his smile widening.

“Dad you have to yell at Cyril now,” Allie turned back to her dad, a deep frown present on her face.

“I’ll make sure he knows what he’s done,” Alfie assured her, “go play, love.”

With one last smile, Allie hopped off of her father’s lap and exited the room almost as quick as she entered it.

“That fuckin’ dog…” Alfie trailed off, shaking his head, “why’d you give him back?”

“You wanted him back, Alfie,” Tommy answered in a monotone voice.

“You may be right,” Alfie conceded, cracking a smile as he thought about the dog.

“Your daughter’s lovely,” Tommy commented.

“She is, ain’t she?” Alfie answered, “light of my fuckin’ life, that girl…both her and her mum.”

Tommy nodded, his mind going to his wife and daughters. There was no doubt that he shared the same sentiment towards his girls.

Oh, the joys of being a girl dad…even if — or rather when, because it’ll surely happen again — Tommy and Alfie were at odds with each other, they’ll always have the shared title as something they can both relate to.

MASTERLIST

The Story of Rose and Alfie

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited

@peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

@alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl

@emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife

@anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @jomarch-wannabe @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

[justrainandcoffee]

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Masterlist 3

Masterlist 4

[loulouwrites]

HELLISH . AFLIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie's secretary makes the decision to marry, it's a shame her prospective husbands seem to disappear after one meeting warnings: angst, violence, swearing, jealousy, threats, borderline stalking honestly, muderous thoughts, unedited, unrequited love word count: 3.5k a/n: i've been away for a while bc life is hard. i wanted to write a little alfie story not related to the 'home series' and came up with whatever this is so i hope you enjoy. i'm working on a taglist, so if you would like to be included, lmk <3 also lmk if you'd like a part 2 to this, i've already cooked something up!

She had known Alfie Solomons for about three years, and they had been friends since they had met.

Two years into their strange friendship, she had been sacked from her job as a secretary for an Italian businessman, he didn't say why he suddenly decided he didn't require her services, but they both knew. Tensions were rising between the Jewish quarter and Italian quarter in Camden, and everybody was sticking to their own side of town.

When she had told Alfie about it, he had offered her a job immediately - the rising tensions were partly his fault anyways.

Her mother had not been happy when her daughter came home with news she would be working for Alfie Solomons, but when she saw the stack of notes Mr Solomons had given as a 'pay advance', she warmed to the idea.

It was easy work. He had his men for the nitty-gritty stuff, she merely typed up Alfie's ramblings and sent threatening telegrams to people - it was easier than any legitimate job she had ever had, and it paid better, too.

She would often have lunch with Ollie, Alfie's second in command if you wanted to call him that. She was allowed a longer lunch than he was, Ollie wasn't supposed to have a lunch break at all, but if she were talking to him, it was rare they would be interrupted, unless there was an urgent matter to attend to.

Ollie was a good gossip, better than any of the other men in the bakery, Alfie excluded. But, unlike Alfie, Ollie had no interest in her, sexually or romantically, so she enjoyed the time she could spend talking to him, discussing rumours or chatting about their lives outside of work without it turning into something else within minutes.

"Do you think he'll let me leave an hour early?" She asked from where she was perched on the man's desk, swinging her feet back and forth.

"He'd let you leave now if you asked," Ollie replied, rolling his eyes at the girl. It was true, Alfie would probably still pay her if she didn't show up, he'd let her release a group of pigs in his office if she wanted to.

"He's in a mood, though."

"He's always in a mood."

"Not as bad as this," she pointed to their boss' office, where the blinds were pulled up, showing his figure stomping around the small room, throwing pieces of paper and trinkets onto the ground.

"Fuck," she sighed as a loud crash was heard, though they couldn't see what had bared the brunt of the man's rage from their seats.

"Maybe reschedule?" Ollie offered, his eyes not leaving the glass window of Alfie's office.

"I'm just going to ask him," she planted her feet on the ground, ignoring Ollie's protests. "The worst he can do is say no," she shrugged, walking towards the office door.

"That is not the worst he can do," he called after her in an urgent whisper.

She didn't knock when she entered, she never had, and she wasn't about to start now.

A book flew past her face when she stepped inside, and she quickly stepped to the side, it hitting the wall behind her and falling to the floor.

"What did...that Russian book ever do to you?" She asked, and his head snapped up to look at her, his eyes wide.

"Shit, sorry 'bout that, love," he sighed, wiping a hand over his face but she waved him off, moving to sit in one of the chairs at his desk.

"Bad day?"

"Better now," he winked at her, and she rolled her eyes playfully. "What do you want?"

"I want to leave an hour early," she offered him a wary smile, clasping her hands together pleadingly.

"You fuckin' what?"

"Please, Alfie-" she started, but he was up from his seat before she could finish her sentence, pacing up and down the cramped office with his hands on his hips. "It's only an hour, and I'm not doing anything anyway."

"You're not doing anything?" his eyebrows raised as he turned to face her. "You're really admitting that to your boss?"

"Please, Alfie," she stood up, taking a few steps towards him. "I never ask you for anything."

She scowled at the obnoxious laugh he let out in response.

"Never ask me for anything?" his voice raised an octave to mock her. "A pay advance that you still haven't paid back," he help up a finger as he counted. "A weekday off so you can go shopping when it's less crowded, a bonus so you can get your mum a birthday present, a day off when your fucking cat died," he stepped towards her. "Asking me to come to it's fucking funeral."

"You said it was a lovely service," she placed a hand on her chest in offense.

"You know what?" he sighed, rubbing a hand up and down his face. "Just fuck off, yeah?"

"Really?" She smiled, clapping her hands.

"But you will come in an hour early tomorrow to make up for it, or so help me God, I will come to your house and drag you here myself."

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

"Thank you, Alfie." She reached to place a kiss on his cheek, not taking offense when he reached to wipe his cheek when she pulled away, already opening the door to leave. "I'll see you bright an early tomorrow."

She couldn't make out what he grumbled after her.

Alfie waited until she had left the bakery to slink out of his office, approaching Ollie's desk, and tapping on it with his knuckles.

"Why'd she want to leave early?" he asked his assistant, not missing the way the younger man sunk down in his seat.

"I don't want to tell you," Ollie replied, sheepishly.

"Ollie," Alfie warned.

"She's meeting up with someone?"

"Ollie."

"A man. She's meeting up with a man, her mum's friend's son or something. Think she's looking to settle down, you know?"

Alfie hummed, a hand coming up to rub his beard. "Interesting," he mumbled, walking back to his office, landing a smack to Ollie's head as he passed.

Her suitor had been a perfect gentleman. Jacob had taken her to a fancy club in a nicer part of London, had bought her dinner and drinks without grumbling about the prices, and had dropped her off at home with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to take her out again the following weekend.

She hadn't thought a man her mother had set her up with would be particularly charming, but she had been proven wrong, the stupid smile she wore on her face all week being proof of that.

She had been thinking of settling down for a while. All of her childhood friends were married with several children at this point, and she didn't miss the sympathetic looks they would give her when she told them she was still unmarried, still childless, and still working.

Marriage was always something she thought would come naturally -as it seemed to do with everyone else around her - but years rolled by and she was still no closer to the life that had seemed so easily achievable when she was young. So, she had decided to take matters in her own hands, informing her mother and everyone else she could that she was ready to marry, and asking them to let her know if they knew a boy they thought would be a good match.

And, she thought she had found the good match on her first try, but when the week after her date rolled on, and there was no word from Jacob, she realised how stupid she had been.

She had been moodier than ever that week, stomping around the bakery with a scowl on her face, smacking the keys of her typewriter harder than necessary, and barely speaking two words to whoever approached her.

She was not dealing with the rejection well.

So, when a handsome worker - who she recalled was named James -- passed her desk, offering a confident smile as he did, she wasted no time.

She wandered into Alfie's office with her hands clasped behind her back, swaying slightly as she waited for him to look up from the papers on his desk.

"What?" He asked, still reading the scribbles on the page.

"Didn't know you'd taken new people on," she shrugged nonchalantly, keeping her tone light and unbothered.

"And? What about it?"

"I don't know," she shrugged again, stepping further into his office. "Just a lot of new faces around here,"

Alfie groaned, dropping the papers from his hand and removing the glasses he wore from his face. "Since when do you care about new faces?"

"I don't," she laughed defensively. "I was just wondering about one of them, is all."

"You were just wondering about one of them," Alfie's eyebrows rose, and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "What were you wondering about?"

"I mean...maybe some background..."

"Like what? His favourite fucking book? The fuck you expect me to know?"

"I was just wondering, that's all," she held her hands up in defense, and her boss' eyes squinted at her words.

"I thought you were already seein' someone, that is why you left early a couple weeks ago, ain't it?"

"Who the fuck told you that?"

"Don't matter," Alfie offered her a smile. "Didn't work out or something..."

"No, it didn't," she huffed. "So...about James..." she trailed off, waiting for Alfie to step in, but he merely offered her a blank look. "Alfie," she whined, stomping her foot against the floor."

"Don't know 'im. Sorry, love," he waved a hand dismissively.

"Fine," she spun on her heel, storming out of his office. "I'll find out myself."

James was lovely. She had 'bumped' into him when she was leaving, and it hadn't taken him long to offer to take her out for drinks when he finished his shift, which she had accepted with a grateful smile.

He had met her outside of the local pub near the 'bakery', it wasn't a particularly nice establishment, but the lager was cheap, and she supposed he didn't have the money to spend in a fancy club like Jacob had - not with the pittance she was sure Alfie was paying him.

He was funny, and quite respectful in comparison with some of his colleagues. He had asked her questions about her interests, had shared his own, and she was delighted that they seemed to have quite a bit in common.

They had ended the night at her door, with chaste kiss, and another promise to go out again the following week, and she had closed the door with a grin on her face.

"See you at work tomorrow," he had said as he walked away.

When she arrived to work the next morning, the same grin still on her face, she couldn't stop her eyes scanning the floor as she walked to her desk, desperately trying to seek out James, but, when she couldn't find him, she had shrugged it off.

Maybe he was ill or something.

It was now Thursday. Her date with James had been on Monday, and there had been no sign of him ever since.

It was hard not wonder, had something bad happed to him? Had he been hiding every time he saw her walking through the distillery? Had he been so repulsed by her that he had quit his job just to avoid seeing her again?

The thoughts had consumed her all week, and they had affected her mood significantly. Unlike with Jacob, where she had been an angry force at work, she was now forlorn, barely speaking to anybody, and zoning out of conversations with a vacant look on her face.

It was starting to worry her boss, who spent longer than appropriate watching her from his office window.

He had called her into the office that afternoon, watching as she walked seemingly in a daze, her eyes were duller, and he face appeared more sunken.

She didn't say anything when she took a seat at his desk, nor did she meet his eyes when he said her name.

"You alright?" he had asked, his tone more concerned than he wanted it to be.

"Wonderful," she replied, her voice flat, fiddling with a thread on her skirt.

"You've been wandering 'round like a ghost for the past week, love. What's goin' on with ya? Please don't tell me another fucking cat died."

She huffed a laugh that was clearly fake, still fiddling with the thread when she responded. "I think I'm unmarriable, Alfie."

Alfie's shoulder's straightened at her words, leaning his arms on his desk, he studied her face, watching as she blinked away the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"Two men in two weeks, Alfie. I have gone out with two men in two weeks and they have both disappeared...literally disappeared, I haven't seen them since."

Her eyes lifted from her dress to meet his, and Alfie was struck by how sad she looked. He had never thought she would be this upset by a couple of boys not getting back to her after one night.

"That's silly, love," he sighed. "It don't mean nothin'"

"Yeah," she scoffed, "it does."

He considered telling her in that moment, he truly did. A better man would have, would have confessed right then and there.

A better man would have told her that they had cornered Jacob after he had dropped her off at her door. How he had almost certainly broken the young man's nose before he had a chance to blink, how he had had his men hold the boy by the shoulders while he whispered a warning in his ear.

"Stay away from her."

He really should have told her that he had turned up at James' shitty flat on Monday night, waiting for the man to return from his date with her. That his worker's body had began to shake when he saw his boss leaning against his front door, his arms crossed against his chest and a cold look in his eye.

"Have to let you go, son," Alfie had said. "A worker that is more concerned about fucking my secretary isn't one I want workin' with me."

James had begun to splutter a reply, but Alfie was already heading for the stairs.

"Best you stay away from her, yeah?"

It hadn't been a question.

He really should have told her, but he didn't. Instead, he had sighed and rose from his seat, moving into the empty chair beside her.

"You ain't unmarriable, woman," he told her, patting her shoulder. "You just chose two fuckin' idiots."

"Whatever you say, Alfie," she said, standing up and walking out of the office without another word.

He should have confessed, but he didn't. He did, however, promise himself he would not get involved in her personal life anymore. The next man she met, would not have to face a threat from Alfie Solomons.

She had been leaving her home to go to work when she had ran into Elijah on the street. He had chased after her, holding an envelope in his hands, waving it frantically when she finally turned around when she heard the stranger's voice calling after her.

"I think you dropped this," he handed her the envelope, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she took it from his hands.

"Oh, thank you," she laughed. "My boss would have murdered me if I lost it."

He had laughed at her words, not realising she wasn't exactly joking about her boss.

"I'm Elijah," he held out a hand, which she took with a smile.

"He's really nice, Ollie," her words were muffled as they travelled into Alfie's office, and he had to press his ear closer to the door to be able to hear her clearly. "A real gentleman."

'A real gentleman.'

Alfie rolled his eyes, 'gentleman' was just another word for a soft prick.

"We're going out again tonight," she told her friend. "Said he has a surprise for me."

"What do you think it is?" Ollie asked her, and Alfie rolled his eyes again. Ollie was worse than a fucking twelve year old girl.

"I mean we've been seeing each other for a while, he's met my family, I've met his..." she trailed off, and Ollie's gasp was clear as day from where Alfie was standing.

"You think he's going to propose?"

And just like that, Alfie's heart dropped to his stomach. He tore his ear from the wall, storming back to his desk, dropping to the seat with a heavy thud.

Of course Elijah was going to propose, of fucking course. She had been seeing him for the better part of four months, and she spent every waking minute talking about the nice doctor, it was natural that his was how it was going to progress.

He regretted not cornering Elijah on is way to work the moment she had mentioned his name, regretted not giving him the same treatment he gave the two men that came before him. He should have, should have twisted the man's arm behind his back until he was crying like a little girl, should have had his men hold him down while he kicked him in his ribs until blood came out of his mouth, he should have put the barrel of his gun to his head an pulled the trigger.

But to what end?

She was a good girl. She wanted to get married, have a few children and take care of the house while her husband was at work.

Alfie couldn't offer her that.

Everything he could offer her, he already had. He had given her protection, a stable income, and some form of friendship. He could never give her what she truly craved. He knew that, no matter his feelings for her - feelings he didn't understand himself - he couldn't give her the life she deserved.

And that thought made him sick.

The room was too hot for him to sit in any longer. Alfie pushed through the crowd of people, shoving them harder than necessary until he reached the door, the sound of music and laughter fading as the heavy door closed behind him.

He took a seat on a damp wooden bench, his head dropping in his hands.

It had been a lovely ceremony, a bit small, and a bit cheap for his tastes, but she had managed to make it lovely anyways.

He stood when she entered, her parents on either side of her, walking her to the end of the aisle.

She didn't spare Alfie a glance, too busy looking ahead - looking at him. The bitterness twisted in his stomach and it took all the self control he possessed to keep a neutral look on his face.

Elijah met her at the end of the aisle, taking her hand and helping her up the little steps, a sickening smile on his face.

Alfie didn't miss the sympathetic glance Ollie, who was beside him, threw him.

"Not enjoying the party?" her voice was as sweet as anything, full of happiness.

"Weddings ain't really my thing, love," he offered her a smile, it dropping as quickly as it came.

"But this isn't just any wedding, Alfie," she said, taking a seat next to him. "It's mine, you should be happy."

"Why is that?"

"You've finally gotten rid of me," she laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. "You don't have to pay me to sit around and do nothing all day, should save you a bit of money."

Alfie didn't laugh with her, a bitter smile on his face as he looked down at his hands.

"Oh don't tell me you're sad about me leaving?" her voice held nothing but humour and Alfie wanted to scream at her.

How can you be so blind?

Can't you see I love you?

"Nah, I'm just upset it took this long," he said eventually, rising from his seat, patting her on the shoulder as did. "I'm gonna head out, but congratulations, love. You look very beautiful."

Her eyes softened at his words, her smile widening from where she was sat, looking up at him, her eyes sparkling.

He didn't have time to react when she shot up from her seat, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to her.

"You're the best friend I could have asked for, Alfie," she whispered, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat, pulling her arms away from his shoulders and taking a step back. "Fuck off, now. You're missing your own wedding you stupid woman."

She laughed, nodding her head and disappearing back into the building before Alfie could blink, leaving him frozen in place, the bitterness that once consumed him being replaced by what felt like an all-encompassing sadness.

'The best friend I could have asked for."

What a fucking joke that was.

[maxicaiman]

two TFP ocs just dropped!

Simon is a mechanic for the Autobots, and Alfie is his best friend who tags along! Pls feel free to ask about em if you’d like!

[call-sign-shark]

Bonus from the series Heaven in Your Eyes (Arthur Shelby x You):

Also, I was completely drunk when I made this. So, sorry for the nonsense.

[draconifay]

How did Hal's current form come about? 💫

[leenieweenie12]

You're Too Sweet For Me

Ok this is literally the first little fic I've ever written (and completed) so please give me the tiniest amount of grace, I am begging you. I am so afraid to post this but I figure, why the hell not?! Gotta live a little. Also side note, I know this is so cliche to take place in a flower shop but I am ~unoriginal~ and that's what I came up with.

Warnings: none, this is fluff

Words: 1,213

Inspired by none other than the lovely Hozier and his new song Too Sweet

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

The bell over the door chimed, letting her know that a customer had just arrived. 

“Be with you in a minute!” she called from the side room where she was arranging a colorful spring bouquet. 

“S’alright, it’s just ol Alfie,” a familiar gruff voice hollered back. 

She smiled to herself and glanced at the clock above the doorway. Five o’clock, right on time. She wiped her hands on her already dirty apron and walked out to the main shop. Her dear friend Alfie Solomons was standing with his back toward her, looking at the rows of blooms spread around the room. He had his signature long black coat and hat on, his small cane clutched in one hand. 

“Is it Wednesday already, then?” she asked, placing a hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “Could’ve sworn it was still Tuesday.”

“That’s the thing about the days, love, once one ends, the next one begins,” he put his arm around her waist and gave her a small sideways hug. “Got anything exciting going on back there?” his head tipped slightly to the side room.

She shrugged. “Nothing too thrilling. Come back and give me a hand, would ya?” 

She walked ahead of him into the small area that was dedicated to arranging. In a glass vase on the counter was a sprawling bouquet of peonies, roses, and cosmos. 

“Think Mr. Klein stepped out on the missus again,” she snickered. “This is the third arrangement he’s ordered just this month for her.” 

Alfie reached out and gently touched one of the peonies with a calloused ring adorned finger, a funny sight to see from such a burly man. “Yeah, well,  I can’t blame the man. Mrs. Klein is about as irritating as they come, with that God awful nasally voice of hers constantly droning on about fuck all.” He took half a step back to admire the bouquet in its entirety. “Put some larkspur in there, add a little height.” 

She chuckled and shook her head, “You always have to have a say in my work, don’t you?” Despite her words, she turned and grabbed a few stems of the purple larkspur in the bucket on the counter and carefully added them to the vase. “But you’re always right, which you know annoys the hell out of me.” 

The man smiled and gestured with his hands, “See, there ya go, love. Perfect.” 

She smiled and turned to face Alfie, her back leaning against the counter. She looked at the older man’s face and studied it intensely, as she had countless times before. It wasn’t much of a secret that she had feelings for him. He had been coming into her flower shop for almost two years by then. He started coming every other week to pick up arrangements for his mother. Every other week quickly turned to once weekly, then every other day. Now it was routine for them; every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at exactly five o’clock, Alfie would come to the shop. He had stopped buying bouquets for his mother after her passing roughly a year before. Now he just visited her for pleasure. They had become quite good friends in that time. Alfie would often bring her some dinner if he knew she had to stay  late to fill an order. Other evenings he would take her out either to a local pub or restaurant to enjoy food and drinks. Her feelings grew by the day but she never acted on them. She figured that if Alfie felt the same way he would have made a move by that point, so for the time being she let it go. She tried not to let it bother her too much, the ache in her heart that left a pang of emptiness. Most of the time they were having far too much fun for her to realize it was even there. But every once in a while, in the quiet moments such as the one they were having in her little flower shop, she felt it. 

There was something about that day, that moment, that she felt the overwhelming urge to fill that empty void. She would never know what it was that made her do it, but she grabbed the lapels of Alfie’s coat and pulled herself to him, pressing her lips to his. At first, there was no reaction from the bearish man, but as she didn’t back off, she felt Alfie’s large hand snake behind her neck. He deepened the kiss, pushing her back against the counter. Her arms went around his neck as he moved his own hands to her waist and effortlessly picked her up to sit her on the surface. Their lips crashed together like two teenagers indulging their pubescent hormones for the first time, tongues intertwining at a fervent pace. 

When they finally released each other, Alfie took half a step back. “Fuckin ‘ell,” he said with a smirk. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that, but what the hell are you thinking, love?” 

She looked into his impassioned eyes sheepishly and gave him a small smile. “Don’t be daft, Alfie. You know how terrible I am at hiding my feelings. Don’t tell me you’re surprised by this.” She brought a hand up to his scraggly beard and gave it a pet. 

Alfie’s gaze intensified and his brow furrowed. He looked back and forth between her green eyes. searching for some sort of answer. “Darling, I-” he started before she put her hands on his chest.

“And don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way because a kiss never lies, and the way you just kissed me revealed a whole lot of truth, Alfie Solomons.”

He snickered and put his hands back on her waist. “You got me there, treacle. Not even gonna try to be coy with you. I’m just a bit taken aback is all.”

The next few hours were spent just the two of them in her modest flower shop vacillating between conversation about their feelings for each other and intimate caressing and necking. When they finally realized how late it was by the darkness outside, Alfie turned toward her with a serious glance. 

“I’m not a good man,” he declared in a serious tone. “I’ve done awful things to a lot of people.”

She closed the gap between them and laid her cheek against his broad chest, waiting for his bulky arms to enclose around her. “But you’ve never done anything awful to me, Alfie, and that’s what I care about. Everything you’ve done you’ve done for a reason. I know that.”

He wrapped her small frame up with his own body and sighed, “You’re too sweet for me, love.” He bent his head down and gingerly kissed the top of her head. 

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” she said as she linked her arm through his and stepped toward the door. 

With the chilly night air greeting them, they strolled out to the quiet Camden street, arm in arm, both with minds racing of the future to come for their newfound romance, smiles spread wide across their faces. 

They could feel the electricity of love sparking between them, lighting up the night. This was the start of something beautiful.

[hallowshumour]

SILLY TIME‼️

🔥🥄🔤🥣

[galahues]

1AM gas stop ⛽️

[novashelby]

Don't Touch My Fuckin' Daughter

Paring: Father!TommyxDaughter!ReaderxAnnoying!Alfie

Warnings: Swearing, age gap flirting (but not dirty...banter like)

Summary: Alfie and Tommy Shelby's daughter roast him for a good five minutes.

Word Count: 2,425

A/N: This is my first time writing Alfie, so I am a little nervous. This one shot is all in good fun. :)

Please comment and reblog. Let me know how I did!

She was supposed to be studying. That’s what she had told Tommy. “Daddy, I want to go to university.” Uni-fuckin’-versity! She barely passed her secondary education. But he was willing to allow her to go under the condition…well, under three. “One,” he had started, pacing around her chair. “No fuckin’ partying! If I’m sending your modern woman’s arse to fuckin’ London to study, that’s exactly what you’re going to do!” He stopped pacing around the chair and knelt, getting real close to her face. His finger wiggling with purpose, he continued, “two, you pass your courses. You study, you do your work, your exams. And three! No fuckin’ boys.” Loud and clear, those were Tommy Shelby’s conditions for allowing his eighteen year old daughter to go to London for university. Well, not exactly university, but a women’s college. He was kind and all about it; getting her set up in a flat. It was a nice one, too, with a balcony. One room and a kitchen! Though, she couldn’t fry a bloody fuckin’ egg. 

Everyone thought it silly, but Tommy wanted to test the waters. You know? Give the girl some breathing room to flourish and grow. Despite not exactly being confident in her success. Two months. No home visits, to and from. Only phone calls and short letters. Until one day, he decided that he wanted to join his little girl for afternoon tea. Early one Friday morning, he hopped in his car with some flowers and a small gift in hopes to make it for twelve.

When her flat appeared in the distance, he couldn’t wait to see how she was doing. She sounded so enthusiastic in her letters. “Oh, daddy! I am making so many friends in my courses! And my professors really like me. Life is good here in London.” He anticipated her flat to be decorated as Polly had decorated her bedroom back in Birmingham; pink aesthetic with white trim. He jiggled with the door, flowers under his arm and gift handle between his teeth. 

“C’mon,” he grumbled in a muffle trying to shimmy the door open with the spare key. When the door finally opened the smile faded into a look of disgust. There was no pink aesthetic. No fucking white trimming. No paintings of Paris and Rome! Instead it was nothing short of the interior of an American mid-western tornado. And there was a stench of something rotten. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he whispered under his breath, attempting to walk in when he nearly tripped over a pastry box before getting his feet tangled in a pair of ladies trousers. “Shite!” he yelled out, gripping onto the sofa. He shouted for his daughter. But there was no answer. Only something of the mix of a snore and snort. He tossed the bouquet on the sofa when someone grunted. He turned his eyes and saw a boy slowly waking up, glaring up at him. On the rocking chair, there was another bloke. 

“Mate,” the one on the sofa hissed, squinting as he sat up. Rubbing is eyes, he asked, “what the fuck?” He reached over to the half empty beer bottle to swish his mouth. Tommy arched a brow, clearly appalled. 

He didn’t want to but he kept moving on, navigating the trash. He peeked in the loo and of course there was another bloke sleeping in the tub. Tommy grumbled and turned on the tap, watching the boy shoot up, cursing. “Get the fuck out!” he cursed, turning it off. The boy gave him a wild look trying to catch his breath. Before he could say anything, Tommy thumbed to the door. “Don’t you have a job to get to?” The boy blinked before replying no. “You’re fuckin’ kidding?! Get out…go on! And grab the two baboons on the fuckin’ couch while you’re at it, eh?” The boy nodded and walked past him, dripping wet and shivering. 

Tommy prayed, which he never did, before entering her bedroom. “I swear to god,” he grumbled, hand on the door handle. “Better not be what I…fuckin’ ‘ell!” He hollered, opening her bedroom door. Hanging over her bed was another bloke and laying with her on the bed were three other girls. He screamed her name and she shot up, blinking for a moment before realizing who it was.

“Daddy!” she squealed, grabbing her blanket and covering herself. Her friends were waking up, and he yelled at them to ‘fuckin’ leave’. Which they were happy to when noticing Mr. Shelby was no man to mess around with.  “Daddy! You didn’t say you were coming…why are you here? I mean, daddy, I am happy to see you…but why?”

Tommy froze, mouth open for a second before he finally said, “I didn’t think I needed permission to stop by considering I pay for the fucking flat!” She swallowed, and there was a pause. He was staring her down, shaking his head. “On Thursday night? Where do all these people live? Do these people work? It’s fuckin’ noon! Don’t you have a course at eight on Fridays?”

She winced. “Attendance…is…optional-but, daddy! As long as I do my work, and I do! I really, really do!” Tommy shook his head. “Are you disappointed?” She tried to give him the cute pout that he could never resist. Though, it was easy when the flat he paid for was absolutely trashed and his lovely daughter wasn’t attending her classes. 

“You broke our conditions!” He pointed at her. “Now, c’mon. Get dressed. I’m taking you back to Birmingham until I am sure I can trust you.” He left her bedroom and she followed, getting dressed as she walked. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he grumbled, kicking shit out of the way before turning to her. “You need a map for this place! Look at it! Navigating the fuckin’ Amazon! I’m surprised Tarzan isn’t swinging by your bloomers hanging on the ceiling!”

“Daddy, alright,” she grumbled. “Let me just find my bag-”

“You can find Noah’s lost fucking ark better than finding anything in this dump.” He turned to her. “Love! I could wiggled myself through the fucking tunnels in Paris better than I’m walking through this.”  He would not stop. “Stevie the fucking sewer rat doesn’t even want to eat whatever is growing that pan…it has fuzz! Why does the fucking pan in the sink have fuzz?!” He walked over to the kitchen shaking his head. “Tell me! Are you allergic to dish soap?! In fact, are you allergic to anything that needs responsibility! Seriously, who raised you? Because apparently it wasn’t me. No one in our family lives like this! In fact, no one lives like this.” The girl, used to her father’s antics, simply grabbed her coin purse and coat. “C’mon…what the fuck is this!?” He looked down and there was a pile of women’s panties hanging on his foot. “Whose are these?” He picked them up.

“Daddy! They’re mine!”

He started to get angry for a whole other reason. “What business do you have wearing underwear like this?” He threw them in a pile.

“Daddy!” she whined again, picking them up. “That’s the clean pile…that is the dirty pile.”

“Clean pile? Oh, so you're telling me there is something clean in this flat?”

They made their way down the stairs and to his car parked on the curb. The whole way down he complained. I bought you flowers…already wilted from the stench in there. I swear, I saw the fucking trashman in there picking through. Fuckin’ ‘ell, ten percent stuff…ninety percent garbage. The bloody fucking trenches were more organized! And on and on and on until they were finally in the car. He turned to her, giving her one last look of disappointment before saying, “I have a stop in London. You have to come with me and then we are going home…home! And when we get home, I want your keys to the car and the flat.”

“Wait, daddy, I am going to a business meeting with you? You never-”

“It’s not a meeting,” he said. “It’s just a check in, if you will.” A check in? She scoffed. Her father must do that often, she had thought. He drove for some time, every so often telling her about the new rules for when she moves back home. “Hand in your keys. No more allowance! You’ll get a job, work part time and go to school in Birmingham. Finn will be taking you to and from. And I’ll tell you another thing…no more fucking partying.” He parked the car at what looked like a distillery. She climbed out after him and followed at his tail. 

“Who are we meeting?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder, and replied sarcastically, “the Jewish spokesman…don’t speak. Just stand there and we’ll leave. The less he has to comment on, the better.” She stopped for a minute, knitting her brows before shrugging. They walked inside and down a stairwell before tucking themselves in a room. There was a man turned, mumbling to himself. Even inside, he wore a top hat and held onto a walking stick. 

“Mornin’, Alfie,” Tommy said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He looked up at his girl and nodded to the chair next to him. 

The man turned, and snorted. “It’s fuckin’ noon, Tommy.”

Tommy sighed, and nodded. “Noon, Alfie.” 

Alfie turned and raised his brow at the girl who simply smiled at him. “What the fuck is this!?  Picking up strays along the fuckin’ way?” She laughed and told her father that he was funny. 

“Yeah,” he responded, dryly, rolling his eyes. “He gets funnier as the time moves on. At least he thinks so.” He motioned to his daughter. “Alfie, this is my girl. Just picking her up from school. Thought since I was in the area, I’d pay a visit.” 

Alfie was still looking at the girl, mouth gaped a bit. “Tommy! Tommy fuckin’ Shelby, you know you don’t have to go that fuckin young? She looks like she’s still attached to her mother’s-”

“No, no! Sir,” she laughed, shaking her head. “No! He’s my daddy.”

That only made it worse. “Didn’t fucking know you were into that, but at least your money is being spent on something more than whiskey and whatever else you fucking Gypsies spend yer money on.” Tommy let out a long annoyed sigh, instantly rubbing his temple. “Well, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that! It’s your prerogative, aint it, yeah?” 

“She’s my daughter, Alfie,” he said. “Thank you for just making this short visit more uncomfortable than it had to be. On point and key, eh?”

Alfie looked at the girl to Tommy and back to the girl. He walked over, leaning into her face before facing Tommy. “She fucking looks nothing like ya’!” He went back to examining her face, smiling slightly. “That fuckin’ God…I’ll tell you that much! She must take after-”

“Adopted,” Tommy interrupted. “She’s adopted. That’s why.”

“Good fuckin’ luck that is,” he said. “Cause if I had a father that looked like you, I’d pray every fucking day I didn’t look like ya’!”

“Thank you, Mr.-er?” She winced, wanting to be polite. “What should I call you? My daddy taught me to never address an elder by their first name.” The air in the room shifted, and Alfie straightened. When his smile dropped, Tommy’s widened. “Oh! I offended you. I’m sorry. But thank you…I am also happy that I don’t share DNA with him…he’s got,” she paused, and stood, leaning into the mysterious man’s ear. “Issues.”

The smiles switched again and Alfie pulled away, gently putting a hand on her arm. “That is what I’ve been fuckin’ saying, mate! You got problems.” He looked back down at the girl, and took off his hat. “Sorry, love, I don’t mean to swear so much.” 

Tommy looked taken aback and said, “Alfie, I’m surprised. You have social awareness. Since when?” 

“Well, unlike you, I like her!” Alfie said. “She’s pleasant to be around. You, on the other hand, not so fuckin’ much.” 

“Pleasant? Keep her hair overnight,” Tommy said. “Then call me in the morning and let me know how much hair you've lost up top…not that there is much to lose. Noticed you're getting quite thin up there.”

“Daddy!” she whined, her bottom lip pouting out. She affectionately rubbed Alfie’s arm and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry. He’s always like this-”

“I know!” Alfie agreed, taking a seat and pulling her down with him. “Pass my cigar case, love.” Tommy’s jaw stiffened when her delicate hand reached for his metal cigar case. Tommy swatted her hand away. “What?!”

“Get off his lap-”

“Daddy, you’re being ridiculous,” she accused, grabbing the case and taking one out for him, lighting it. “There you go, Mr. Solomons.” 

“Call me, Alfie, love,” he said, puffing it. “You know, he comes in here while I’m minding my own business-”

“He does that to me, too!” she agreed, shaking her head. To keep her steady, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled. “Shows absolutely no respect. Just barges right in. Did that to me today, Alfie. And guess what? I’m the bad one because my flat is messy! How am I to clean it for him if I don’t even know he’s coming?” Tommy rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath unreal. 

“Un-fuckin-real,” Alfie agreed, looking at Tommy. “You could learn a thing or two from this girl, Tommy. Sweet, pleasant, and personable. She has a personality! Say, what do you have, Tommy?”

His daughter frowned. “Generational trauma…stems from his father. No doubt about it.” She turned to her father, and reached out her hand. “Daddy, it’s okay. You will be okay.” With that, Tommy stood, and fixed his coat. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “Enough of this. Come on, we are gonna head out. Alfie, good-bye. Just wanted to stop and say hello-”

“And you already did,” Alfie said. “So why did you stay so long?” He smiled back at the girl, and rubbed her arm kindly. She giggled lightly and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You come back here anytime. Makes dealing with him easier.” 

“I will, Alfie,” she said, sliding off his lap and walking to the door. She waved goodbye and left. 

“And you’re still here. The Shelby I like left, leaving the one that gives me nothing, but-”

“Alfie,” he interrupted, pointing his gloved finger at the man. “Touch my daughter like that again and I’ll fuckin’ shoot you, yeah?”

[justrainandcoffee]

Fireman!Alfie Solomons - Alternate Universe

Not for the first time the fire department received a call from that house and that young woman.

"Is it her again?" one of the firemen asked.

"The same."

"Jesus Christ," he rolled his eyes.

"Do not complain," his colleague, named Ollie, smirked. "Captain likes her."

It wasn't a secret that Captain Solomons was head over heels with that girl. And luckily for him, apparently she had a tendency to set kitchens on fire.

Or maybe she was just doing the same on purpose, to have the chance to see him. Because, how many times a person could cause an arson in their own kitchen?

I am seriously considering transform this into a miniseries. For me and my... 5 readers.

[loulouwrites]

HOME . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie comes back to a not so peaceful home warnings: unedited, pregnancy, period typical sexism, gender roles, angst, alfie isn't a very good husband but he's trying, they're a lil toxic but they're in love, swearing, slight sexual content (literally one mention of it), lmk if i missed any. word count: 3.8k

The days were too fucking long.

That's what Alfie thought as he walked through the front door, the sun had set hours hours ago, a nighttime fog clouding the dimly lit streets.

His day had been an easy one, by all accounts. He hadn't had to reprimand anybody, he had received minimal visitors in his office, and his knuckles were not bruised from where he had to smack a man for mouthing off. All in all, it had been a good day for the gangster.

Home had always been a welcome reprieve from his day job. Growing up in Camden, with no money and without a pot to piss in, he had never known the comfort of having your own home to come back to, one without the shouts of arguing neighbours coming through the walls, or black mold coming through the peeling patterned wallpaper.

Once he had finally made enough money through his multiple business ventures, he had bought a pretty house on the corner of a nice street - a street with trees that blossomed in the summer, one where the residents had time to take pride in their gardens - a truly upper class paradise.

He always thought his mother would have liked a home like this one.

It didn't come without its challenges - his neighbours would tend to cross the road when they saw him walking home, they would rush back in their houses when they saw him leaving his, even his dog was isolated from the other canine residents of the street - still, it was his home.

It was the home in which he had held his wedding reception, big enough to host the many people that came to wish him and his bride a happy life together. It was the home in which his first and second child had been born in - the first tears they cried occurring in their parents bedroom. It was the house the baby that was still growing in his wife's belly would be born in, too.

The house was different now. When he had first moved in - a single man that spent more time in his distillery than the expensive home - it had been slightly cold all the time, bare walls and empty cupboards. Now, the house was always the perfect temperature, the walls were decorated with stylish wallpaper and art he didn't understand in gold frames, there wasn't a cupboard in the house that wasn't full, perfectly organised and tidy.

It had gone from Alfie's status symbol to his family home.

It was hotter than usual when he walked through the foyer, though he didn't have time to dwell on it, the screams of his youngest child piercing his ears the second he opened the front door.

It was unusual and it made Alfie reach for the gun he always kept tucked into the back of his belt. The house was always filled with laughter when he arrived home from work, especially when he was home as early as he was now.

He crept toward the kitchen, the pained cries of his little girl getting louder with every step he took, his gun held in front of him.

"Daddy's home!"

He barely had time to register what was happening when he reached the kitchen, a harsh shove to his side sent him flying into the door frame, the gun going off and shooting a hole in the china cabinet before he even knew what was happening.

"What the fuck, Alfie?" He could barely hear his lovely wife's voice over the cries of his children. Looking to his right, his son was crouched on the floor, his hands covering his ears as he cried for his mummy.

His little girl was crying even louder now from her place on her mother's hip, her small hand gripping the woman's hair that had fallen out of her up-do.

"It was an accident," Alfie held his hands up, quickly dropping them to his side when his children cried louder at the sight of the gun in his hand, "he pushed me," he gestured to the boy that was still crouched on the floor.

"He's fucking eight years old, Alfie," his wife scoffed, rushing over to the little boy and kneeling beside him, running a hand through his hair in the comforting way only a mother was capable of.

"Stop swearing in front of the children."

"You just fired a fucking gun into the china cabinet," she shrieked, struggling to stand with the pronounced bump of her belly and child in her arms.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, tucking the gun back into his belt and running a hand over his face. "Benjamin," he held a hand out to his youngest, who had stopped crying, his face stained with tears. The young boy ignored his father, tucking himself into his mother's side, throwing a glare at the man.

Alfie sighed heavily, hands on his hips as he studied the three most important people in his life as they stood in front of him, a team that he was not on.

He was about to open his mouth and apologise when a cloud of smoke drifted over to him, stinging his eyes. He glanced to the oven, where the pot on the stove began to shake. The liquid inside bubbled furiously, its simmering turning into a violent boil. The aroma, once promising and inviting, transformed into an acrid, burning smell that hit everyone in the kitchen all at once.

"Shit," his wife spat, shoving their daughter into her father's arms carelessly before rushing to the stove, grabbing the pot with uncovered hands, and throwing it into the sink. She hissed as the pain registered, running her hands under the cold water, the skin red and angry.

"I can get these two ready for bed," he offered meekly, shrinking back slightly at the glare he received.

"Oh, how kind of you," she hissed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, turning back to the sink before anyone in the kitchen could see them fall.

Bedtimes were not Alfie's forte. He would usually arrive home after the children had been bathed and changed, just early enough to dip into their respective bedrooms and kiss them goodnight. Even when he was home, he was too tired from his day to do much more than that, leaving it to the woman that seemed to be a natural at such things.

"Bessie, please," Alfie huffed as the two year old splashed him with water. It had taken him longer than he would like to admit to even get her in the bath, her body straightening into an unbreakable line when he tried to lift her in, wriggling through his hands in a way that made him feel like he was holding the world's strongest jelly.

The little girl laughed as she continued to soak her father with bubbles, blowing them from her tiny hand in his face whenever he tried to reach over and rinse the suds from her curly hair.

He gave up eventually, hoisting her out of the bath before she knew what was happening, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to her bedroom.

She sat on her little bed, watching him with curious eyes as grumbled to himself digging through her wardrobe trying to find a pair of pyjamas.

"Don't suppose you fancy wearing this to bed?" He held up a frilly dress he remembered her wearing to his cousins wedding, throwing it back in the drawer when she giggled at him.

"Her pyjamas are in the drawers, not the wardrobe," Benjamin's voice called from the door frame. He was stood in his nightwear, his hair still damp from his own bath.

"I knew that," Alfie scoffed, slamming the wardrobe closed and stalking over to the other side of the room, pulling open the chest of drawers less than gently.

"Second drawer, not first," Benjamin stated, and Alfie failed to recall a time he felt more judged than in this very moment. He finally located a pair of pyjamas, moving to sit on the bed next to his daughter as he began to dress her, thanking his lucky stars she seemed to have burned off most of her energy in the bath, her body floppy with tiredness.

"Mummy cried a lot today," his son said, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed in a way that reminded Alfie too much of himself. "Bessie was being difficult."

"Bessie is two years old," the older man's eyebrows pinched together. "You were difficult too at that age." He finished dressing Bessie, gently pulling the covers back and placing her small head on the pillow as her eyes began to droop closed.

"How would you know?" Alfie's head snapped towards his son at his words.

"Excuse me?" The question was asked through gritted teeth.

"Bubbe came over," Alfie fought the urge to roll is eyes at the mention of his mother-in-law. The old cow had never liked him. "Mummy told her you were never around when I was little and you're not around now."

"Did she now?" He muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Bubbe said you always have been a bad husband, and you're an even worse father."

"Now you listen right here," Alfie rose to a standing position, pointing a finger at his son, his voice quiet despite the anger he was feeling, careful not to wake the sleeping terror now tucked up in bed. "I am your father. You do not speak to me like that."

"I wish you weren't."

Alfie didn't know what to say, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He had received gun shot wounds that were less painful than hearing those words come from his son's mouth. Benjamin didn't wait for a response from his father, pushing himself from the door frame and storming to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

His eyes drifted to his daughter, now dead to the world, her long eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed of whatever two year old girls dreamed about. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, his stomach clenching as the words repeated in his head.

I wish you weren't.

She was sat at the kitchen table when he eventually made his way downstairs. The shattered glass from the china cabinet had been cleaned up, and he made a mental note to have someone come out to replace it as quickly as possible.

Her cup of tea had gone cold, but she still had her hands clasped around the delicate china.

"Your hands alright?" He asked, throwing himself down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. She hummed in response, her eyes not lifting from the kitchen table. "Is dinner ready?"

That got her attention, her narrowed eyes meeting his, and she scoffed in disbelief at his audacity. Her chair scraped against the tiled floor as she stood, stalking over to the other side of the kitchen. He kept his eyes in front of him, his hands resting on the table, not hearing her until she came up behind him, throwing the burned pot in between his hands on the table.

He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the silver pot that had now turned black on the bottom, before he slammed his hands down on the table, his own chair scraping as he stood up angrily.

She rolled her eyes at him, walking out of the kitchen carelessly and into the living room, her husband hot on her heels. It was as if he wasn't there, the way she strolled into the room and sat on the dark blue velvet sofa, crossing her legs as if she were about to pick up a book.

The living room was always his favourite room of the house. It was warm and inviting, a room that had been filled with so much laughter and happiness. Now, it felt like the coldest room in the house.

"The fuck have I done now?" Alfie stood in front of her, hands on his hips and chest puffed out, ready for a fight.

"Besides shoot at me and your daughter?" She raised a brow, it could almost come across as playful to someone who didn't know her as well as he did.

"Fuck off," he sneered. "You were nowhere near."

"The bullet went right over my head, Alfie."

"I've shot a gun in this house several times - I know you're not upset about that."

"Aren't I a lucky lady?" She shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Fuck-"

"Tell me to fuck off one more time," she rose up from her seat on the sofa, poking a manicured finger in his chest.

"Tell me what I've fucking done, then," he tried to grab her wrist, but she shook it out of his grasp, taking a step to the side to avoid his reach.

"Nothing, Alfie," she groaned, running her hands through her hair. "You've done absolutely nothing."

Alfie Solomons was not a stupid man, nor was he ignorant to a woman's tone. He knew exactly what she was implying with her words, and it did nothing to stop the anger that was bubbling in his stomach, creeping up his chest, and out of his mouth.

"For fuck's sake, woman," he shouted, his anger growing when she turned her back to him, beginning to leave the room. "I do fuckin' everythin' to provide for you and this family, and you sit there with your fuckin' feet up, tellin' me I do fuckin' nothing."

She spun back around at his words, "keep your fucking voice down, the kids are asleep."

"Yeah, I know," he offered an exaggerated smile, "I put them to bed while you sat down here drinking fucking tea."

He could see in her eyes that she wanted to slap him, and in his anger, he wanted her to.

Just give me a fucking reason.

But she didn't, she barely acknowledged him, leaving the room and walking up the stairs. When Benjamin had been born, they had both agreed arguments occurred downstairs when he was asleep. Neither of them were naive enough to think they would never have fights - both outspoken and stubborn by nature - and they had honoured that agreement for the past eight years.

But not tonight.

Alfie stormed out of the living room, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. He pushed the door to their bedroom open, finding her stood there with her arms held out, a pillow and blanket in them, offering them to him wordlessly. He grabbed them out her hands, throwing them to floor without a word.

He couldn't count how many times she had rolled her eyes this evening.

"It's that fucking woman again, isn't it?" He spoke finally, and she breathed deeply at his words.

"Alfie, my mother has nothing to do with it."

"Really? Because every time she pops in you suddenly have a problem with me."

Alfie's feud with his mother-in-law predated his relationship with his wife. The woman had never liked him, her lips would purse whenever she saw him at a mutual friend's wedding, she would glare at him in the street when she was walking home from the market.

When she found out he had been fucking her only daughter, she had gone ballistic, and they had shared a mutual dislike for each other for decades now.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alfie. She hasn't even been around today."

"Oh, really?" He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips, and the way she avoided his face confirmed she was lying. “She didn't pop round, call me a bad father in front of my fucking son?"

His wife's brows furrowed at his words, her mouth opening and closing around words she couldn't speak.

"Let me tell ya, I don't give a shit what you and that woman talk about," he stalked towards her, every step forward matched with a step back from her. "But if she comes 'round, bad mouthin' me in front of my children again - poisoning their minds against me, me and you are goin' to have a big fucking problem."

"'Poisoning their minds?" she sneered. "You think they need my mother to do that?"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You think she's the reason your son fucking hates you?" He took a step back at her words, Benjamin's words from earlier ringing in his ears.

I wish you weren't.

I wish you weren't.

"You're never fucking here, Alfie. Benjamin spends more time with Bessie than you do, he's the one who has to take her when I'm sick all morning, he's the one who sees how hard it is for me. Not you. You're always at work, even when you're home."

Alfie was floored by her words. He thought back to hours ago, when he was walking through his door with a smile on his face, ready to have dinner with his wife and go and kiss his children goodnight. How did the evening get away from him so much?

"Well he shouldn't have to do that," he spoke eventually, his voice softer.

"No, he shouldn't," she agreed, reaching to touch his shoulder gently. "But he feels like he has to-"

"Why are you making him do all that?"

Her hand dropped from his shoulder heavily, moving to place it on her chest in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"He's a boy. You're his mother, you shouldn't be makin' him pick up your slack because you're not feeling up to it," her eyes widened at his words, tears pooling in the corners. "I mean, what kind of mother are you?"

"I...I..." The words wouldn't come for her, as if they were getting caught in her throat. She stopped trying in the end, nodding at his words and sniffing quietly. "I'm going to sleep with Bessie tonight."

He didn't try to stop her from leaving.

It was nearing 9 o'clock when he knocked on Benjamin's door, stepping in before the boy had a chance to say anything. He knew he wouldn't be asleep, his son - like him - was a night owl by nature, staying up until the early hours of the morning.

He was sat up in bed when his father walked in, reading a book in the dim light of his bedroom. He reminded Alfie so much of his mother.

"I talked to mum," Alfie said, closing the door gently behind him, lingering in the room as if he were a stranger.

"I heard," Benjamin said, closing his book.

"I'm sorry," the words felt wrong on his tongue, he had never been one to apologise to anybody. "I know mum asks a lot of you, but you shouldn't feel like-"

"Mum doesn't as a lot of me," the young boy interrupted, shaking his head in protest.

"Benny, I know you think you have to defend her-"

"I don't. Mum never asks me to do anything. I like helping her, someone has to."

That feeling in Alfie's stomach returned, the twisting pain in his gut, it seemed his son was determined to kill him tonight.

"Today, Bessie wasn't feeling well and neither was mum, Bessie wouldn't stop crying and mum was being sick and then bubbe came over and kept telling mum the house was too messy and Bessie wasn't dressed properly and when she left mum kept crying."

"I get it's hard, but everyone has hard days, Benny."

"Not mum. She told bubbe she's scared to have the baby because she doesn't know if she can handle three alone. Mum's never been scared before."

"She said that?" Alfie asked, his voice breaking slightly and Benjamin nodded in confirmation.

"I lied before," Benjamin told his father, ducking his head in shame. "Mum didn't say anything bad about you. Only bubbe did. Mum said you were doing your best."

And just like that, the animosity Alfie held towards his wife disappeared, replaced by a shame he had never felt before . He had stolen, betrayed and killed, and yet, he had never felt worse than how he felt in this very moment.

"Thanks for tellin' me the truth," there wasn't much else he could say. "Now go to bed, it's late." He opened the door to leave when Benjamin called out to him.

"I lied too. I'm glad you're my dad."

"So am I, son."

Alfie leaned against the closed door, his eyes on the one opposite him. His hand reached for the doorknob but he pulled it back before he touched it, making his way to his empty bedroom.

The sunlight crept in from the cracks in the curtains, bleeding into the bedroom, casting the pink floral wallpaper in an orange hue. She reached over for the little girl that had slept by her side the whole night, finding the spot next to her empty, the sheets cold beneath her hands.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, pulling herself out of bed with a struggle, the growing bump making it harder to move every day.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she kept muttering, rushing down the stairs. She had overslept and her two year old daughter was probably missing. It felt like she cried more often than not lately, tears spilled from her eyes as she glanced in the empty living room before rushing to the kitchen.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding when she entered, seeing Bessie sat in her highchair, laughing in delight at a piece of toast.

"Mornin," she approached the kitchen table apprehensively, the sight of her husband and children sat there, already dressed and eating breakfast with smiles on their faces, not feeling real. "We made toast, know that's all you've been able to keep down lately," her husband told her, standing up to pull out a chair for her. She took it with a smile.

"Aren't you needed at work?" She asked, nodding a thanks as he poured her a cup of tea.

"I am," Alfie nodded, "but Ollie can deal with it, I've given him strict orders I am not to be disturbed today."

"Alfie," she shook her head in protest. She didn't want this, for him to feel obligated to be here, for him to take over her duties in the home.

"None of that," he stopped her spiralling. "They can manage without me for a few days until we figure out something."

She smiled gratefully at him. She knew he understood, she didn't need him there all the time, she just needed a break.

"I also spoke to your mum," her brows raised at his words. The only time Alfie had spoken to her mother voluntarily was when he rang her to call her a dozy cow before hanging up without another word. "She's going to come over more, take the kids out, pick Benny up from school and all that."

"Thank you." She reached out to take his hand on the table, linking their hands together, squeezing in appreciation.

"Just don't expect breakfast everyday, that toaster is a fuckin' nightmare."

thanks for reading. i enjoyed writing and am considering making a lil series of this family so lmk if that's something you'd like to see!

[tickettride]

Like real people do

Alfie Solomons x Fem!OC

[warnings: war in itself, mentions of blood, wounds and deaths, a lot of angst, suicidal thoughts, English isn't my first language

AN: I know Child 44 isn't set during WW1 and I should be banned from using such a gif. But it's close to the representation of young/soldier Alfie I have in mind, so let's say it is, right? It’s also your sign to watch (again) my fav edit in the world]

masterlist | previous part

— two

July 1917, somewhere in France

The sky was an eerie amber, like hell itself had descended upon earth. Shells exploded so close to the tent you had caught yourself freezing in horror a couple of times, even when the other nurses yelled at each other to keep going and never stop. 

It had been your choice to come here, two years ago. Some generous act to show your parents you were a good person. The thing is, you’d prepared yourself to be working in a hospital ward in the city, not so close to the battlefield where you risked your own life every day trying to save others. 

Coward. Wimp. You’d heard them all. Only now, you were stuck here. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like helping the men. You really did. It filled your heart with satisfaction every time one of them thanked you for saving their lives, shedding tears as though you were an angel. Reality was just harsh. You’d managed to stay over water for the first months, but witnessing such horrors was getting harder every day. How could you help the men when you could barely stay alive yourself? 

Furiously blinking the tears away, you looked at the lifeless body in front of you and shouted at Ellen to get you someone, anyone, to take the young man away. Like assembly-line work–from what your dad had described back at home–the corpse was taken away, and you were met with another man bleeding to death, begging you to help him. 

So you did. Everything blacked out as you focused on the crying Tommy, thinking only of your Andrew somewhere on the line. The man looked just like him—soft eyes, freckles over his nose, and dark hair. A faraway gaze and a voice that broke your heart and your soul, until you were unable to move or say something, and your legs seemed wholly unable to hold you up in your current state. 

In the distance, the Chief Nurse shouted at Ellen to replace you. God knew how long you had been standing there, staring at the blood gliding off the scalpel and through the gaps in your fingers. It could have been Andrew’s. Your sweet Andrew, whom you’d promised to get to know better after the war ended. What if he’d already died, somewhere in the mud? Had he called for you?

“Out!” another voice yelled.

Now fully hyperventilating, you dropped the scalpel with the other bloodied tools, knocking over some supplies that fell on the floor.

Some unknown force pulled you out of the tent. 

The breeze was gentle, but it helped you stay grounded. You pressed your palms to your eyelids and counted up to ten, sweat gliding down your forehead. The display of weakness was ridiculous, especially as some walked by without really seeing you. Everyone had their own issues to deal with, you knew it, but couldn't kindness be reciprocated for once?

So you drew in a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly, just like Ellen had told you to do the first time. It'd never hit so hard, and it took forever to find some sort of peace again. Though you knew the only peace you’d meet was in the afterlife, wherever it was. 

In the shocked calm of your brain, you considered it. How easy it would be to just… stop. 

“Miss?”

Your head snapped up in fear, though it was only one of the Tommies. Freshly shaven, his eyes full of horror. And still, you wondered how he could stand so straight. 

“Miss? You’re alright?”

Deciding to be honest, you shook your head and felt your body swaying a bit, landing on the ground. You stayed there, sitting on the mud, wondering if the cries reaching your ears were only a part of your imagination. 

You hugged your legs and rested your forehead on your knees, not caring that you were soiling your uniform with mud. It was stained with blood anyway.

“The panic, eh? It grips your heart like a snake. Won’t let it go.”

Numb and unable to utter a word, you tilted your chin to look at the man who was sitting down next to you, clenching and unclenching your fists. He looked older than you, perhaps in his thirties. You’d noticed him in the ward a few days ago, but he hadn’t been as vocal as the others back then. A leg injury Ellen had taken care of, you reckoned. 

“They said it’ll be over in a few months,” the man went on, strangely soothing. “But they’ve been sayin’ the same shit for years now, haven’t they? So the people like you and me don’t give up.”

His gaze boring into yours was an invitation to be honest, as though telling you that you were safe with him. 

So you were honest.

"I won’t last.”

“Ya will, love,” he elbowed you gently, slightly leaning closer to you. “Ya will. I’ll come and find ya, and we’ll have a short conversation every time, yeah? As much as we can.”

For the first time in over a year, you smiled. Not a full grin like you’d offered people at home, but it was still something. And if there was something you had never forgotten, it was that exact moment of hope, as small and stupid as it sounded. Nurses often fell for the sweet and relieving words of the men, but you’d never considered it could feel so nice. Cheerful lads were rare, after all. 

"Right."

Even though you weren’t sure you’d see him the next week, you gave a small nod in agreement. It was bad to think he could cure your loneliness, but what else could you do? Andrew was… somewhere else. Probably dead, or writing an apology for not sending letters.

A small pause ensued. The man glanced over his shoulder, pulling at the tight collar of his khaki uniform. He looked terribly hot and uncomfortable, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Ya need to think about something that reminds you of home, eh?” 

It took you a second to realise he was still addressing you. 

“Well, I…” you trailed off, ashamed of how weak you sounded. “I wanted to think about my sweetheart, you know, but I don’t even know where he is. I haven’t got any letter in two weeks. I’m worried.”

“He must be thinkin’ of you somewhere,” he replied without a doubt. “The postmen aren’t used to workin’ so much, you see. Workin’ all day long–that’s a first for them.”

Chuckling softly, you hugged your legs a bit tighter. “I’m glad they’re here, though.”

“Me too, me too. Don't get me wrong.”

You shot him a smile, staring at his expression as he watched you back. He looked both gentle and… impressive, came to think of it. Still, you appreciated his desire to make you feel better.

“Sadie!”

Right on cue, one of the postmen sauntered over to you, holding up an envelope that looked like it had crossed the trenches and been stomped on in the mud before getting here.

“Letter for you, darling,” Rob gave you the usual crooked grin, saluting quickly the man next to you.

You took it from him, squinting as you tried to decipher who the sender was. Your mother. Like every time she wrote to you, a sense of unease filled you. Although your brother's disability had prevented him from coming to the front, you always imagined the worst.

“Thanks, Rob.”

You tore the envelope without waiting, exhaling in relief as you read that everything was fine at home, the worry that had been gnawing at you finally lifting. The letter was folded and slipped into your pocket.

The man's thick accent jolted you out of your thoughts, his eyes still trained on you.

“Good news, yeah?”

“They’re not bad,” you replied, glancing at Rob who was now handing another nurse a small package.

You wished you'd got one.

Beside you, the soldier was silent, probably feeling you needed some time. But the thought of going back inside was scarier than usual, and you were desperate to make the moment last.

“You said I’d need to think of something that reminds me of home. What helps you?” 

“Bread.”

That one-word response had you chortling. “Bread? Are you a cook by any chance?”

“Nah, something wiser,” the man tried for a smile too, though it looked strained. “I’m planning on opening my bakery, see?”

How many men had told you about their plans, only to die the day after?

“Why, that sounds lovely.”

“I’ve bought the place, right, and…” he trailed off in thought, running a hand through his short hair. “I’ve been waitin' ever since.”

“I hope you make it,” you told him sincerely, frowning at the muddy men running into the tent. 

It seemed that another horde of wounded soldiers had arrived. It made your pulse race.

“Alfie Solomons.”

Spotting his hand stretched in your direction, you met his gaze again and shook it. His fingers tracked tiny sparks across your skin until they pulled away, maybe a bit too fast. 

“Sadie Murray.”

The image of him glancing up at you as he lighted a cigarette was engraved in your mind. The beginning of a smile on his lips, and the way he ground the white stick under his shoe when you walked inside the tent. It was hard to ignore how your heart thumped under the weight of his eyes tracking you, though it should have been your Andrew comforting you there.

Through the explosions and the daily horrid cries of pain, the first meeting with Alfie Solomons was the one thing that kept you going for the next months.

tags: @hoodeddreams13 @justrainandcoffee ⊹₊⟡ (tell me if you’d like to be added as well!)