#cyril fetch

[puhpandas]

R.I.C.E

(3,837 words)

Hadi and Cyril walk in on Greg's Dad grabbing him just a bit too harshly. They help him treat the bruise.

warning for bruises, child abuse, mentions of death and corpses, blood, & decapitation. if u read the book ur probably fine but better safe than sorry

"I think I flunked the test."

Hadi glances over Cyrils hair to look at Greg. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I didnt understand the majority of the questions on the sheet." Greg says, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. "Half of it I didnt even recognize."

Hadi just furrows his brows. "Is it because of..." He trails off.

"Yeah." Greg confirms what Hadi had been thinking. "It's gotten worse, I think. But..." He sighs. "I don't know."

Hadi and Cyril stop on the sidewalk they'd been walking on to get to Greg's house, and Greg instinctively pauses as well.

"Nothing you've tried to help has worked?" Cyril asks.

"No... well, I don't know. I havent really tried anything." Greg says, running the hand that's not holding on to his backpack through his hair.

"You need to try to find something online tonight, dude." Hadi suggests. "Try anything. If it works, it works. If it doesnt, then no harm done."

Greg supposes Hadi's words ring true, but he still frowns.

What is he supposed to do, anyway? He's pretty sure remembering something bad that happened to you is something everybody goes through. Besides, even if he did try to search for a solution online, what is he supposed to search?

'How to stop remembering how an evil dog that loved you too much killed your crush, bit off your uncles finger, and killed his neighbors dog and delivered their corpses to your front door in class so you can focus and stop flunking'

Yeah. It sounds as crazy as he thought it would. Another thing hes sure of is that what he went through wasn't normal. And normal problems don't have normal solutions that you can find on Google.

"I'll try." He says anyway, because at this point, he's willing to try anything.

It's not that he's not smart enough. He's had good grades all of his life. He likes science, and with science comes math, and like his friends and the other kids always like to say, if you actually like math, then you're a nerd. And if you're a nerd, then you're really smart.

It rings true, he guesses. But that's not what's holding him back, anyway. It truly is just that he doesnt know. If you asked him, Greg couldn't tell you what was taught in any of his classes yesterday. Or today, for that matter.

He can't stop seeing visions of the bloody, beige sheet sitting in front of his bathroom door, or the neighbors dogs organs spilling out onto his front porch beneath his eyelids in the middle of class. And with that comes missing every single word said by his teacher as he desperately tries to send the memories away.

It's taking its toll. The fact that it happened at all is already bad enough, the fact that his failure is always plastered against every wall of his mind, pushing through every thought to remind him of the dog, finger, or person he couldn't save...

Kimberly's parents moved away. His neighbor got a new dog. A cute, fluffy brown dog that reminds him too much of him. Uncle Dare still talks about 'The Magic Finger Of Luck', and Greg still desperately tries to shove away the memories before they creep back up on him every time he does.

Hadi and Cyril are the only other people that know, and they try their best to help him, even though they didnt see what he saw.

"Let's go." Cyrils voice rips Greg out of his thoughts. "Let's get to your house so we can help you study."

Greg rubs his eyes again, but he's thankful that his friends are willing to help him get caught up so he doesn't get into even more trouble.

"Okay." He says, and it's not long before they get to Gregs house.

Greg tries not to look down when he steps onto the walkway leading to his front door, and eventually his 'welcome friends' mat, and just uses his keys to unlock the door.

The car in the driveway goes unnoticed as Greg steps into the house, Hadi and Cyril caught up in some hushed discussion behind him, but he pays it no mind, just kicking off his shoes and slinging his backpack off of his shoulder to bring it to his room upstairs.

He gasps harshly when a hand suddenly grabs at him, fingers curling around his forearm tightly.

He tugs on instinct, and he can hear Hadi and Cyril have gone silent behind him.

The hand tugs back. Greg finally forces his head to swivel to see who the culprit is.

His Dad stares back at him, something angry in his eyes with a sneer on his face.

Greg immediately knows what's going on.

His Dad doesn't usually bother him, only when he does something he doesn't like, or... sometimes what he doesn't do.

But Greg was sent to the principal's office today because of how much his once perfect school performance had plummeted in such a short amount of time, and...

Crap. Why did he not realize this sooner?

He glances back to the front door, where Hadi and Cyril hang back, a confused expression on their faces as they duck behind the frame of the doorway.

He almost curses. That's not good. He doesn't want his friends too see this. He doesn't want them to know. Not yet at least.

He would be worried that his Dad would be mad he isn't gracing him with eye contact, but he hasn't respected his Dad enough to look him in the eye in years.

He would be an idiot to not expect this from him by now.

The iron grip on his arm squeezes a bit tighter, and Greg instinctively wraps a hand around the free part of his wrist, a grimace twisting on his face.

"The school called today." His Dad says, confirming exactly what Greg assumed. He looks down at him with slitted eyes, his gaze cold and angry. "They say that you've been slacking in class, son."

Greg doesn't say anything. Just stares at the ground besides his arm. What is he supposed to say, really? 'Sorry, Dad. I've been slacking because I can't stop being haunted by the evil robot dog that killed Kimberly and ate Dare's finger, so I can never pay attention.'

He thinks his Dad would lose even more respect for him, but realistically, Greg knows that isnt possible.

Dad grips his arm even tighter, his nails digging into Greg's skin, and Greg cant bite down the grimace that stretches across his face.

"Nothing to say to that, huh?" His Dad taunts.

Suddenly, Greg's arm is tugged harshly, and he has to try really hard to not stumble and fall to the ground as his Dad yanks him forward.

"I will not have a deadbeat delinquent for a son." Dad whispers harshly into Greg's ear. Greg furrows his brows and tugs on his arm instinctively as his back twinges, but all he gets from it is another tug from a titanium hold.

"You will fix your grades, and your mistakes." His Dad tells him, hes not asking. He's ordering him. Telling Greg what to do so confidently, because he knows Greg will always do what he says, no matter how much it makes Greg bristle for acting like an obedient dog.

(Not a dog. Never a dog.)

His Dads hot breath is harsh on his face, and Greg makes a face when he starts speaking again.

"Maybe then you'll be good for something."

Gregs Dad gives his arm one last agonizing squeeze that almost makes Greg cry out from the pain. He can feel something give, or twist, or something from his Dad's white knuckled grip, but then, he finally releases him, sending Greg stumbling for footing.

It's only after hes gathered purchase that he becomes painfully aware of his arm. Its pulsing, each wave sending an electrifying ache of pain down his forearm, and he can feel some stinging from where his Dads fingernails no doubt broke some skin.

Greg peeks at his Dad through his curtain of blond wavy bangs, and doesn't even bother trying to hide the way he grits his teeth when his Dad is staring at him with the same look Greg is so used to.

Disappointment, indifference, and a third thing Greg could never put his finger on, but he's pretty sure is hatred.

Greg should be used to this by now. He is used to it. The way his Dad has never celebrated anything Greg has ever done, and the way his Dad has always told him he'll never be good enough.

Just like the other times, he scolds himself for the way his chest tightens and hurt stabs at his heart.

He's used to it. Has been for years now.

So why does he still let it get to him?

Hadi and Cyril apparently decided now was the right time to walk in. They step next to Greg, Cyril hovering, not too confident in the same presence as Greg's father, but Hadi puts a steadying hand on Greg's shoulder. Comforting, and in solidarity. Its almost like it tells him I'm on your side.

Nothing like the white knuckled grips of his Dad after he had a bad report card, or he got in trouble with the neighbors, or Greg would watch documentaries a little too loud up in his room and disturb his Dads work.

"Hello, Mr. Smith." Hadi says, his tone cold and accusing. "We just came to help Greg study."

Greg almost bristles at Hadi's confidence, at his bravery, but Greg gets one look at his Dad, who's staring at Hadi and Cyril with something Greg has only seen on his Dads face a few times.

Fear.

His Dads never been caught by anyone but his Mom before.

Hadi and Cyril don't hang around for his Dad to come up with an excuse. For him to try his hardest to erase what Hadi and Cyril weren't supposed to see from their minds. They push Greg up the stairs, and even when they're almost all the way up, where the light doesn't hit, he doesnt need to see. He can feel his friends concerned eyes on his back.

He ignores the familiar twinge in his gut and the ache of his heart as Hadi and Cyril follow him into his room, where he collapses onto his bed as soon as it's in sight.

Theres a stretch of silence after Cyril shuts and locks the door. Nobody says anything, and Greg is thankful. He's not ready for his friends inevitable concerned questions.

He never even wanted them to know up until recently, after... you know. When he stopped wanting to hide things from his friends. It isn't a big deal, really. His Dad is nothing he can't handle, if the fact that he knows how to use makeup to cover bruises and knows how to make them stop hurting is any indication.

But his father already looks at him with pity enough, like he's a small, pathetic bug that will never be enough to achieve greatness. Even though it wouldn't be the same, he doesn't want his friends to look at him the same way.

Theres another beat of silence as Greg just lies on his bed, his good arm slung over his eyes as he wills himself to stop feeling like crap.

The silence is broken by Cyril.

"...You never told us your Dad was..." He trails off.

"Like that." Hadi finishes. Greg finally let's his arm slide off of his face to sit up to face his friends. It's a little difficult with his still throbbing, sore arm, but he manages.

"How long has this been going on? How long have we not known?" Hadi asks, and he moves from his spot in the middle of Greg's room to step up to the bed, looking Greg straight in the eyes. "We could have helped."

Greg doesn't say anything, just heaves out a sigh as his body deflates a bit, but he tenses right back up at Cyrils next words.

"W-We need to tell somebody." He says, brows furrowed and eyes darting to the door like Greg's Dad will suddenly decide to mow it down to murder them all. "I mean... right?"

"No!" Greg springs up, eyes wide as he holds a hand out to Cyril. He doesn't mean to sound so desperate, but he does. "Just... no."

"Why?" Hadi asks, and Greg turns to look at him again. "He hurt you, Greg. And this isn't like last time, where nobody would believe us if we told somebody."

Greg knows exactly what 'last time' Hadi is talking about. Last time, Greg had to lie to the polices face about Kimberly's death, because if he had told the truth, he would surely be somewhere else entirely right now.

He shakes the thoughts away. "No, Hadi. It'll just make things worse."

Hadi doesn't look convinced, just staring at him with almost smothering concern, and Cyril still looks on edge, more scared than Greg himself, even though Greg was the target of his Dads aggression.

"Its nothing I can't handle." Greg insists, offering his friends a smile. "My arm isn't that bad." He holds out the arm in question to show them it's fine, but he can't stop the way his brows pinch when another wave of soreness washes over his arm when the skin stretches.

Hadis eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Your arm!" He exclaims, and dives for Greg's arm so fast hes afraid he'll grab ahold of it like his Dad did, but he slows down at the last second, instead taking it and holding it gingerly in his hands.

Greg's brain takes an embarrassing amount of time to catch up while Hadi rolls up his jacket sleeve, sucking in a harsh breath when the place his Dad grabbed becomes visible.

Greg himself finally takes a look, and he too gasps at the sight.

It's worse than he thought. Theres a nasty, swelled up imprint on his arm in the shape of a hand, fingerprints curled around his forearm like a snake coiled around and squeezed. The area is a nauseating reddish-purple with flecks of blue and green, with the area underneath having red, inflamed, crescent shaped punctures with a small bit of dried blood around the edges.

Greg's mouth twists into a grimace, and although he himself isnt too worried about it, Hadi looks like somebody just died right in front of him.

Cyril squeaks when a door slams below them, muffled and faraway, and Greg can see him slightly relax when they all come to the conclusion that Greg's Dad just left the house.

Hadi startles when he remembers what's really important.

"Come on." He says quietly, because he's mildly horrified or because he wants to be comforting, Greg doesnt know. But he appreciates it all the same. "Let's go fix your arm up."

Greg just nods. He's gonna have to fix it up at some point, anyway. And probably cover it up with some of his Mom's makeup before school tomorrow, but if helping Greg bandage his arm is what makes his friends feel better, Greg isnt going to complain.

Hadi doesn't let go of his loose grip on Greg's wrist, just below his bruise, instead, he just leads him to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

"We have to ice it, first." Greg says, and he tries to ignore the heat on his face when Hadi doesn't let go even when they're out the door. "There's some zip-locks in the drawer we can put some ice in."

Hadi and Cyril both look a little sad at the fact that Greg knows the steps, but they nod nonetheless.

"Okay." Hadi pauses. "I'll go get that, and you go sit in your room while Cyril finds some bandages."

Cyril nods at the task given to him (Not a task. Never a task.), while Greg sputters.

"My legs arent the thing that's bruised, you know." Greg says. "And I still have a good arm."

"You're hurt." Is all Hadi says, pausing at the mouth of the stairs while Cyril heads down to find bandages. "Just let us help you, dude."

Greg bites the inside of his cheek, but relents. "Okay."

Hadi smiles at him before heading downstairs, and Greg averts his eyes before he can stare for too long.

He heads back to his room and waits on his bed, resting his arm on a throw pillow, and he's only been waiting for a few minutes when Hadi and Cyril come back through the door.

Hadi shuts the door behind him when they both enter the room, Cyril setting down a roll of bandages next to the throw pillow. Hadi walks over to where Greg is sitting on the bed and holds the ice pack over Greg's arm, hovering.

"You ready?" Hadi asks him.

Greg's shoulders loosen a bit at Hadis soft words, even though he didnt realize he was tense at all. "Ready."

Hadi doesn't beat around the bush any longer. He sets the ice pack on the nasty, purple area on Greg's arm and holds it there.

Greg would be lying if he said he didnt wince at the pain that was sent through his arm like an electric current at the ice packs pressure, but he bites down any other sign of being uncomfortable, and when Hadi and Cyril look at him with concern, he just smiles for them.

He doesn't want them to worry. He really is alright, after all.

"So... how long do we keep it on for?" Cyril asks.

"Twenty minutes on and off." Greg says. "That's what Google says."

Hadi and Cyril just make that sad face again, and Greg resists the urge to comment on it.

They're just worried. He has no reason to get angry at them for that. He can ignore his self pity, he just want to appreciate that his friends care this much.

The forty minutes go by fast, the only buffer being taking the ice pack off after twenty. Its been silent most of the time. They're all just... thinking, he supposes. Nobodys really in the mood to joke around after what had happened.

"I'm going to get rid of this." Cyril says, holding up the homemade ice pack that's just a bag of lukewarm water at this point. "I'll be right back."

Greg and Hadi both nod, both knowing that Cyril is just using the ice pack as an excuse so he doesnt need to be there for when the bruise is uncovered for the world to see.

He's always been a bit squeamish.

Cyril heads downstairs, and this time, Hadi doesn't ask. He just waits for Greg to offer his arm out and begins bandaging.

Theres a stretch of silence as Greg just watches Hadi hold Greg's arm delicately, like its porcelain glass, and wrap it with the fresh white bandages. But eventually, the silence is broken.

"Why do you not want to tell anybody?" Hadi asks out of the blue. Greg startles, glancing up at Hadi when he pauses bandaging for a moment. "Your Dad. He hurt you."

"I know." Greg says, staring at his lap. "It wouldn't solve anything."

"How?" Hadi asks incredulously. He continues bandaging, and when he wraps a little too harshly, at Greg's wince, his eyes soften and he takes a deep breath, slowing down. "I mean... people could help you."

"You're helping me. And Cyril." Greg smiles, but it's gone as quick as it came. "It would be more trouble than it's worth. I can handle a few bruises," He gestures to his arm with his good hand. "And..."

He trails off. Hadi slows down with wrapping, just looking at him questioningly. "What kind of trouble?"

"...Money." Greg says simply. "And my Mom. If my Dad were to be separated from us, well... he's our main source of income, and me and my Mom would probably have to move, and that means leaving you guys."

Hadi is silent, just tucking the end of the bandage underneath the surface layer to hold the bandage in place.

"Its too many things that would go wrong." Greg says, flexing his newly bandaged forearm, then letting it drop.

"...I dont know if I could stand being away from you guys." Greg confesses, staring at his lap with furrowed brows and playing with the hem of his jacket. "I mean... after what happened with Kimberly, and-- and--"

"I get it." Hadi interrupts, and Greg is silently thankful. He doesn't look up to meet Hadi's eyes, not until Hadi takes the hand of his injured arm and laces their fingers together.

Greg whips his head up so fast it could be equal to the speed of light, and Hadi laughs at him.

"I won't tell." Hadi promises, finally meeting Greg's eyes. They're a deep, almost royal blue, not too different from Greg's own, and he has to fight to not look away. "I promise. I'll tell Cyril too."

Greg can feel a weight be taken off of his shoulders when a burden he didn't even realise he was carrying is lifted away. "Thank you."

Hadi doesn't speak for a moment, just staring at Greg's comforter, but then, he shifts, and Greg is immediately made hyper aware again of his own hand interlocked with Hadis.

"But you have to promise you'll let us help. Dont hide from us," Hadi says, squeezing Greg's hand to make him look him in the eye. "okay?"

"Okay." Greg promises. And he really means it, too. It's nice to finally not have to hide things from his friends anymore. Especially after... him, Greg doesn't want him and his friends to be strangers towards eachother.

They went through that together. They were his only allies. Even if Greg was really the only one truly involved, that just makes his friends sticking by him that much more meaningful.

He doesn't want to hide things from them anymore. Maybe this wasn't exactly the way Greg wanted them to find out about his Dad, but it's done now, and Hadi and Cyril had done everything they could to make him feel safe and comfortable.

Hadi is still staring at him, and when Greg catches a glimpse of his face, partially obscured by his mop of wavy blond hair in his mirror, he can see pink dusting his cheeks.

Cyril suddenly peeks into the room from the doorway.

"...Are you done yet?" Cyril asks. He seems to have come to the conclusion that neither Greg nor Hadi were fooled by his excuses and gives up with the charade.

Hadi slips his hand out of Greg's, but it's okay. They both just look at eachother and laugh.

Cyril steps into the room and says something, but Greg doesn't hear it.

He'll be fine. He has Hadi and Cyril.

He'll be okay.

ao3 link

[cookieruma29]

Fetch trio

[randomnameless]

I recently saw some nice Cyril discussion/posts on the dash and I remember why, despite liking his Ashe support, it still rubbed me in a wrong way -

Sure it's a nice support where he ultimately finds a friend, but...

Ashe of all people?

Ashe's who's all "I want to be a model knight like Lord Lonato", the very same Lonato who tried to kill the person Cyril loves the most and came to see as a surrogate mother?

In the same vein, Cyril is the ward/son of the woman who gave the order to kill Lonato, and killed Christophe, Lonato's son and Ashe's beloved brother.

Considering Ashe might not be the kind of person who would blame Cyril for what Rhea did (even if CF!Ashe... well), would Cyril accept to be helped and ultimately become friends with him without having to tackle this issue?

Cyril "her enemies are my enemies" would be mature enough to engage in a conversation and friendship with the son of someone who wanted to kill Rhea?

Also, thinking about Ashe... Lonato became chummy with the Western Church after Christophe's death, and we know the Western Church hates the Central Church because they're not xenophobic enough.

So, Ashe's dad joins a xenophobic group, but the guy still strikes conversation with an Almyran (and a Duscurian)? Or he admires Lonato but dismisses his association with the xeno group as, idk, "ramblings" or not being something serious and doesn't follow/listens to him when he goes on Western Church rants about how Almyrans and Duscurians shouldn't be in Fodlan (or at least in Garreg Mach?) but then what is he admiring in the man?

Like, can we imagine Ashe writing a letter to his dad and gushing about Dedue and mentionning how he made an Almyran friend... or Ashe would know better than to write those things to Lonato since Lonato turned xenophobic after associating with the Western Church?

Likewise, if Cyril told Rhea he became friends with Ashe, would she be worried about it, because as Lonato's kid, he might want to target her through Cyril to get revenge for his brother and father?

I don't remember the "nickel meme" that well rn because it's late lol, but it's still weird how 2 of Cyril's support completely elude what I'd call "character essential writing" to give instead a generic support - Hilda learns how to not be racist anymore without adressing her House's issue with "captured Almyran children who are fed once in a blue moon but still have to work themselves to the bone to be able to eat", and Cyril learns what friendship is, without adressing the small issue of "the man you admire tried to kill the person I care about the most and is part of a group who hates people like me because I'm a foreigner".

Masterful character writing everyone.

i swear it's not like I have this scene in some AU plotbunny where cyril and ashe disagree about lonato in the lonato mission, and cyril believes that he has to be "there" for ashe because of this friendship thing and he wants to help/apologise after calling Lonato trash since he's somehow like "Ashe's Lady Rhea" so he joins the group during the Lonato mission

but like, in this AU Rhea herself went to confront Lonato because this nonsense has been going on for too long and it must stop before too many people die, of course Cyril is caught by Lonato's forces who try to pull the "a son for a son" nonsense (+ calling cyril with a racist slur), Rhea having none of his bullshit (tfw people pulled the same shit using Willy back in the days!) and ultimately crushing him to rescue Cyril because you.never.ever.threaten.her.family. (especially not her children! She couldn't save Lycaon so this time she'll protect (lel) everyone). More Rhea BaD shenanigans, Cyril and Ashe's friendship deteriorates (Ashe'd feel xtra guilty since he told Lonato in his latest letter that the CoS doesn't preach the same things as the Western Church does since his Almyran friend is close to the Archbishop herself!) even more, Dimi's ideal that peaceful/bloodless resolution of conflicts is in shambles but maybe a convo with Rhea that this ideal is something that should always be sought, and yet rulers should use force/authority when needed and it's up to him to learn when force is necessary.

[william-ba]

Will retrieve

[fazfrightsquotes]

Cyril: Why are you on the floor?

Greg: I'm depressed.

Greg: Also I was stabbed, can you get Hadi, please.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

A Brother for Cyril

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader, fluff

733 words; Alfie is tricked into getting you a new dog...and it's all Thomas Shelby's fault.

Warnings: Swearing.

“Now Tommy… what the hell is that?”

“It’s a dog Alfie. A very sweet dog that you will love.”

“You silly boy that is not a dog. That thing is a rat. Cyril, now that’s a dog yeah? That thing is smaller than my boot, and I can’t even see it’s rat face. There’s nothing there. It’s a ball of hair.”

“Well it is a puppy Alfie. And it isn’t a rat, they call it a shi tzu. All the finest ladies have one.”

“...Are you trying to tell me something Tommy?”

Tommy Shelby rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to give you the dog. Lizzie refused to take it and Polly doesn’t want animals in the house. So I thought, ‘Hey. Mrs. Solomons is a beautiful woman, and Alfie could probably use help spoiling his wife.’ You’re welcome Alfie.” 

Alfie leaned forward, with an accusing finger twitching at Tommy, “Listen to me yeah? Don’t talk about my wife, in fact don’t even think about Mrs. Solomons alright? That woman is an angel, and there is nothing holy that goes around that twisted little mind of yours. Now, regarding the… thing. I can assure you that Mrs. Solomons will not want -”

“What won’t I want darling?”

Both men have their heads snap to you in the doorway, with a soft smile on your lips, and a curious twinkle in your eye. Alfie quickly looked at the clock, 2 p.m, he should have been home an hour ago for lunch with you. Despite Alfie’s insistence that you don’t come to the office on weekends, even when he was here, he knew that you would always disobey to come fetch him. Before Alfie could say anything to you about going back home with Ollie, Thomas Shelby beat him to the punch, “Alfie was just saying how you will not ever want to be parted with this… adorable little animal.” Thomas held up the small ball of fur, as little whimpers began to emanate from the puppy. 

“Oh my goodness Alfie you shouldn’t have! Oh darling he is precious! What a sweet precious baby! Oh now Cyril will have a little brother won’t he! Alfie you spoil me so, thank you so much darling!” You immediately took the little dog into your arms, pressing kisses to the top of it’s head, and the dog nuzzled its small face into your chest, soon falling into comfortable sleep. 

Alfie stared at you, mouth agape. For someone who could be so vicious with her words when the occasion called for it, you really babied the animals you came across. You walked behind the desk to kiss Alfie tenderly, “I was so upset that you didn’t come home for lunch, I’m so sorry my love, I didn’t realize that you were picking up such a darling little thing.”

As you kissed his cheek, Thomas Shelby smirked in the face of Alfie’s scowl. Once again, Thomas Shelby had manipulated the situation to his benefit, and now Alfie was left with this… dog. A happy wife too.. But also another dog that Cyril could eat. But how could he say no to you when you were so incandessently happy and kissing him the way you were? “That’s right my darling I was bringing you a gift, and you are most right, Cyril does need a brother to look after, earn his keep yeah? Now my dear, what do you think you’re going to name him?”

“Hmmm, he does look like a Bartholomew to me. And we can call him Barty for short.” 

Thomas began to cover his mouth to smother his laughter, a ridiculous name for such a runt. But Alfie just scowled at him, if you gave the name it was perfect, “A wonderful name treacle. Now let’s get home and introduce the boys to each other yeah? Tommy? Get the fuck out, I’m taking my wife home. Ollie!? Get the car we’re going home.” 

As Alfie wrapped his arm around you to lead you out with him, you turned your head to look over Alfie’s shoulder at Tommy, “Goodbye Mr. Shelby! See you soon! Give your Aunt Polly my love.”

Tommy tipped his hat with a smile, “Goodbye Mrs. Solomons, a pleasure as always. Enjoy Barty. See you Monday Alfie.”

Alfie just grunted and pulled you closer, wanting to get away from the thorn in his side. 

[edenxroseyposey]

“Watcher Rites”

Word travelled fast around the Necropolis when a skeleton crew excavating a newly turned corner of the Necropolis discovered a newborn, swaddled in an old Watcher banner and surrounded by rather protective wisps. Helena Ingellvar, a Watcher mage and head of the excavation, brought the child to her colleague, a Tevinter magister and spiritual scholar who was fascinated by the child’s strange circumstances and early bond to the spirits of the Necropolis. Declaring himself her patron, Cyril named the child “Vespyr”, evening star, and found lodgings for her within the city until she was of an appropriate age to return to the Necropolis. Helena insisted the child have a proper Nevarran family name, and bestowed her own.

Vespyr Ingellvar returned to the Necropolis at age 6, learning among the scholars and living among the undead. She was raised jointly by Helena and Cyril, receiving both Helena’s strict instruction and Cyril’s doting indulgence. When it was found that Vespyr would not turn out a mage, Helena fetched for the finest trainers to teach her in the way of the blade. Vespyr grew into a fine fighter, a passable academic, and intuitive force among the undead. After her initiations she was often tasked with clearing the crypts, earning her the title of “mouser” by sneering peers. She often kept to herself, finding it difficult to connect with her classmates and teachers. Vespyr spent many evenings discussing discovery and theory with Cyril and Helena over tea.

[drabblesandimagines]

Request for Joshua getting married?

I got a bit carried away from a drabble with this one. Anon, please lemme know what you think! x

-- Joshua Rosfield x female reader, fluff, tiny smidge of suggestive spice at the very end

It was foolish to think the two of you would’ve ever got away with a quiet affair, not when the Bearer of the Burning Quill was around. When Joshua had announced his intention to marry you, Cyril had appeared laden with parchment denoting the wedding rites of the Phoenix over years upon years.

The Undying had been so loyal to Phoenix that he had found them quite impossible to refuse, especially when some had expressed their joy at the prospect of being allowed to see such a ceremony, unsure if it would be held in their lifetime.

“A small, short ceremony at Phoenix Gate,” Joshua had proposed as a compromise. “Then whatever else you want, wherever you want, my love.”

How could you refuse?

The gown is prepared for you, a vibrant red, off the shoulder sleeves, gold threads embroidered throughout in the pattern of feathers by hands far more skilled than your own – the same hands that now help you dress, murmuring words of how much it is an honour to prepare the Phoenix’s bride. The finishing touch is to be a circlet of pure gold, studded with rubies, fetched from the vault below the sanctum.

“Every partner of the Phoenix has worn this as long as the records have been kept,” Cyril had said in his usual soft manner as he placed it upon your crown, before stepping back with a bow. “Long may the tradition continue after today.”

You barely have time to look at yourself in the mirror when you are ushered out of your chambers and towards a waiting carriage.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” Clive offers you his hand as you emerge from the sanctum at dusk. As the First Shield, sworn to protect the Phoenix, it is only right he is charged with escorting the bride to him. “I will go as far to say that you will render my brother speechless and I know we would both admit that will be quite the feat.”

You smile, thankful to have him there. “Thank you.”

You accept his hand, squeezing it a little too firmly as you step up into the carriage, wary of the adoring eyes of the acolytes on you, those not granted an invitation but wishing to catch a glimpse all the same. You let go of Clive’s hand as you situate yourself on the bench within and he soon joins you, sitting opposite. A lantern burns brightly from the ceiling and the windows are shuttered – not that it matters as the sun continues to set.

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask as the carriage sets off on its journey. He looks perplexed at your question, so you continue. “With the ceremony being at Phoenix Gate, I mean.”

“Indeed - I made my peace there a few years ago. It will be nice to make a happier memory there of gaining a sister, though.”

“Mm.” You smile at his sentiments. “I am afraid I am a little nervous.”

“Allow me to assure you that Joshua will be even more so.”

--

The ruined stone walls of Phoenix Gate have been ladened with candles – the flickering flames greeting you as Clive once again offers his hand to escort you down from the carriage. The ceremony itself is going to take place within the chamber – right in front of the door Joshua was due to enter all those years ago.

A single Undying acolyte waits by the entrance, head bowed low, heavy brown cloak in hand. They hand it to Clive, wordlessly, before retreating into the chamber, not once raising their eyes from the ground.

The First Shield shakes out the cloak from its folds and pauses. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He drapes it over your shoulders, fastening the clasp underneath your chin before gently pulling the hood down low over your face. He guides your arm through his and steps forward, kicking at the door once with his foot before they are opened before you.

It is hard to see beneath the hood, but from the shadows on the floor you know the chamber is littered with even more candles. Dozens of Undying are lined up along the sides and the whole room is silent, besides the occasional spit of flame and scuff of yours and Clive’s footsteps on the stone.

He leads you up to the makeshift altar and you so desperately wish to lift your head, to see Joshua’s eyes but the scorn of Master Cyril prevents you from doing so. If you can just be patient for a few more moments, you can stare into his eyes as long as you like.

“We are here this night,” Cyril’s voice booms around the chambers – much louder than you’ve ever heard him speak before, “to witness the union of the Phoenix and his beloved. First Shield, do you confirm the one you have escorted here is the one the Phoenix wishes to wed?”

“I do confirm.” Clive’s hand then takes your own and he holds it out in offering. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you feel Joshua lace his fingers with your own – though it had only been a day, you had missed his touch something awful in the lead-up.

“Phoenix, do you confirm this is the one you wish to bind your heart with?”

Joshua’s other hand grips your chin, tilting your head up so you can finally meet his eyes. Tears brim his own as he smiles – not being able to see you has been akin to torture. He is dressed more or less the same as usual, though his somewhat frayed red cowl has been replaced with a new one, embroidered with the same gold thread pattern as on your gown.

His hand moves from your chin to grip the hood of the cloak – a flame dancing between his fingers as he does so. In a blink of an eye, the cloak disintegrates in a flash of fire, revealing your gown to an audible gasp from the acolytes watching. Joshua’s face slackens, rendered speechless as Clive foretold, wide-eyes… Cyril gently nudges his foot with his own, a reminder he does need to answer.

“I… I do… I do confirm.” He’s almost breathless, before the boyish grin creeps back into place. “Absolutely, completely confirm.”

“And, my lady,” Cyril turns to you, your fingers still entwined with Joshua’s, “do you confirm that the Phoenix is the one you wish to bind your heart with?”

“I do confirm.”

“Then may the binding of your hearts here on this night shield the firebird’s flame forevermore.”

Joshua wastes not a second before he has wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you forward into a deep kiss – as if he needs you to breathe. For once, you are unaware of the eyes of the Undying upon you, feeling that you and your husband are the only ones in the chamber before the silence is broken by applause over your shoulder – Clive trying to bring a little joviality into the crowd. Slowly, the acolytes join in and Joshua pulls back from the kiss to murmur in your ear.

“Thank you, sweet one.”

He tucks his arm through yours and leads the two of you back through the chamber, the Undying bowing their heads as you pass, back to the carriage you and Clive left only minutes ago – Joshua had promised the ceremony would be short, after all.

Aided by Joshua’s hand, you climb back up into the carriage and he follows to nestle in at your side, shutting the door before peppering your face and neck with kisses.

“Joshua,” you giggle, the carriage once again lurching forward. You were heading back to the sanctum where more Undying will be waiting to see the Phoenix and his wife and at this rate you’re going to be as red as your gown by the time you arrive.

“I can’t help it,” he withdraws. “It’s this dress – you look… I mean…”

You laugh again, cupping his face with your palm. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He moves your hand from his face, kissing your knuckles. “So much.”

You stare into each other’s eyes, soaking in your first private moment with your husband -  the word makes your stomach flip – before he lets go of your hand and plucks at the fabric of your skirt.

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?”

He bites his lip before he responds, the boyish grin returning. “I am wondering if, when we enter our bedchambers, this gown will burn as quickly as the cloak did.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[adarkrainbow]

To conclude my series of posts about "Frau Holle" (honestly this character is so cool, why isn't there more of her alongside other "great archetypal fairytale witch-goddesses"? She's clearly equal to the likes of Baba Yaga), I will share some elements highlighted by Cyrille François in another article which focused on the brothers Grimm's edit of their fairytales... The article initially covers how the story of "Frau Holle" evolved from the Grimm's first collect/first edition to their final "product", the one we know today.

Because if you didn't know, yes the brothers Grimm collected faithfully all sorts of oral tales around them... But the fairytales we know today are edited versions of the text they collected. For example, when they collected several variations of a same fairytale, they tried to fuse them into one story (this is why the German "Little Red Riding Hood", or rather "Little Red Cap", has two wolves instead of one). They also were known to modify their tales to make them more "German" because their entire point was to collect and preserve purely German folklore. They notably removed all French elements from the fairytales - elements unavoidable since before them THE dominating continent of fairytales was the French one, but elements hated since the French were perceived as the enemies and invaders of Germany... This is why the first edition of the brothers Grimm fairytales contained German variations of purely French stories such as Puss in Boots, Blue-Beard or "The Orange Tree and the Bee", that the Grimms promptly removed upon identifying their French origin ; and this is also why in the first-edition version of several fairytales we can find terms of French origin ("Fee" for "fée", "fairy" or "Prinz" for "prince"), that the Grimms also promptly erased...

Here are some key points of the evolution of "Frau Holle", from the first edition to the last:

In the first edition, the good girl went to the well to fetch water. This made the story closer to its "ancestor" and French counterpart, Perrault's "Diamonds and Toads". By the second edition onward, the girl goes to the well to spin straw ; this was also made to highlight the presence of Frau Holle, which in German legends is a figure associated with spinsters and weaving. It also makes the story more cohesive.

Up until the 1837 version, the text is unclear and vague enough that a possibility is left open: the girl might have thrown herself into the well as an act of suicide, caused by despair. Of course, the Grimms couldn't have that - after all the heroine of a fairytale can't be rewarded for trying to kill herself - and so from 1840 onward it is explained that she jumps in the well to fetch back what fell at the bottom.

In the original version, there is no mention of anything between the moment the girl falls down the well and when she wakes up - later editions precise explicitely that she lost consciousness as she fell, to highlight how the transition went from one world to the next.

In later edition, the brothers Grimm decided to add a mention of the girl's courage and braveness when she accepts Frau Holle's other, as a way to highlight how spooky and threatening the character must look, and how counter-intuitive the choice to serve her is.

The brothers also added several details here and there for practical effect: for example they added that she removes the bread with a baker's shovel (before we didn't know how she removed it), or that she doesn't just pick the apples but also puts them neatly into a pile.

As usual, but it is no surprise to those who know the Grimms: just like in "Hansel and Gretel" or "Snow White", here the wicked stepmother used to be the girl's biological mother, similar to Perrault's "Diamonds and Toads". But the Grimms, due to their worship of the mother figure and the idealization of the family decided to turn the bad mother (such a horrible idea!) into a wicked stepmother (an outsider entering in the family to break it apart, now that's acceptable). [The text notably points out M. Tatar's chapter within her "The hard facts of the Grimm fairytales" called "From Nags to Witches: Stepmothers and other Ogres"]. The change from mother to stepmother also helps the Grimms "rationalize" the mother's favorotism, due to the bad sister being of her own blood.

Originally the character of the bad sister was more akin to the one of "The three little men in the forest", and her main crime was to answer in a bad and dishonest way to the various entities she met in the otherworld. The Grimms only decided later to highlight her main "crime" as sloth, by adding the element of her pricking her fingers to make it believe she spun thread until she bled, as her sister did.

Finally, the Grimms, still out of their desire to present family as some sort of fundamental and essentiel value, changed the passage where the girl wishes to return home. In the original text, it is just said that she grows sad living at Frau Holle's house, and thus demands to leave. In later editions the Grimms explicitely added that the reason for her melancholy was because she longed to return home and to her family: as such, they again point out that, in the moral system they developed, the faithfulness to the family, even if they treat you badly, is a virtue and a sign of goodness. (Again, we all know how fucked up this can be and how fucked up this entire moral ended up becoming in other centuries, but again, that was the Grimm's big thing... They were ALL about family, these two.)

[tobymybaby]

Headcannos for Greg (fetch)

1. Greg’s dad is an asshole and has hit him multiple times

2. Greg is a cat person (for obvious reasons)

3. Greg has ADHD (he just like me fr)

4. Eventually Greg and his mom had enough with the dad and the mom divorces the dude and they live with Uncle dare.

5. Hadi and Cyril are some of his only friends

6. Greg and Kimberly are both into each other but they don’t know it

7. Greg eventually meets Devon and others fazbear frights protagonists

8. Fetch does happen but the one who dies is Greg’s dad

9. Fetch almost kills Greg because yes

10. After staying in the hospital for like a month Greg and Kimberly confess their feelings for each other and they start dating.

10/10

GOOD BOY FETCH KILL THAT SHITTY EXCUSE OF A FATHER 😈

[pacifymebby]

I’ve had the WORST day and I just know that a big snuggly bear hug from Alfie would fix me!

I hope u are okay bestie love u xxx

🐻 Alfie anon

Aww bestie no what's happened come rant to me!!!

Also, u didn't ask but...

🐻 Alfie is so in tune with your emotions that at around 11 o'clock that morning he just had a sense that something was wrong, that you were having a bad day. He would have been scowling about it all morning knowing there was nothing he could do until he saw you that evening...

🐻 and as the day progressed and your day got worse his day got worse too so that by the time he could finally go home to you he was certain you must be truly miserable.

🐻 so on his way home he swipes a bottle of Solomons best rum and stops at several stalls down Camden market before he returning to you. It means it takes him slightly longer to get home and that does irritate him because he's anxious to get home to make sure you're alright...

🐻 and when he does get home he finds you in the kitchen, you look so tired out it breaks his heart, he can see it in your eyes that you're upset, so frustrated you're on the verge of tears and before you can say anything he's set the flowers he brought for you down on the table with the rum and your favourite sweet treat from the bakery which he waited an extra ten minutes for so that it would be fresh and warm.

🐻 When he approaches you he's gentle, let's out a sigh and opens up his long coat to welcome you into a cosy embrace. He closed it around you and hugs you snug and tight letting you bury your face in his shirt.

🐻 it doesn't take very long for you to start crying and when you try to stop yourself and say sorry he just shushes you.

🐻 "now now ziskeit, we'll have none of that, this is what am here for ain't it poppet so you just carry on an let it all out alright my little ziskeit," he hushes you talking gently as he keeps you snug and wrapped up in his coat, your head held against his chest as he bows his and kisses your forehead.

🐻 he'll hold you for as long as it takes for you to get your frustration and tears out of your system shushing you and kissing your head until you've stopped crying. When you're just sniffling and wiping your eyes he'll catch your hands in his and brush the last of your tears away with his thumbs before letting you go from his coat. You don't really want to let go and he doesn't really want to let you go but he's got plans, knows exactly how to relax you after a difficult day...

🐻 "Don't you look at me like that ziskeit," he told you waggling his finger at you with a teasing little smile, "cause see I reckon I know exactly how to cheer you up yeah, after your long an 'orrible day right and my plans do unfortunately involve you letting go of me for a minute or two yeah? I know poppet I know, pains me too really and truly it's agony yeah, right here I feel it right here.." he says prodding himself in the chest to emphasise his point before catching your cheek in his hand and brushing his thumb over your skin, making you look up at him when he finishes his orders, "but I promise you it'll be worth it so... Go and get the blankets yeah, and Cyril get Cyril... Can't let our old boy miss out on this alright..."

🐻 so you do as your told, fetching the blankets from your bed, bringing Cyril down following your footsteps to the little living room where Alfie's set the fire going and closed the curtains. It's dimly lit and the heat of the fire flushes your cheeks. He' plated up your baked goods and poured two glasses of rum, brought the bottle in too.

🐻 "Ahh, there she is," he sighs dramatically when he sees you, "light of my life, my sun my stars my darling angel from on high," he says layering it on thick trying to make you squirm and blush just so he can see you smile. "Come here ziskeit, come sit in your old man's lap poppet, come tell papa all about that 'orrible rotten day of yours" he says patting his lap, waiting for you to come sit in his lap.

🐻 He feels so much better once he has you cradled to his chest, he's certain he won't be letting you up for the rest of the evening. Just wants to keep you snuggled up in his lap wrapped up in your blankets getting drunk on good rum.

🐻 "See now this is better ain't it poppet, what did I tell you eh ziskeit, you come to papa and he'll make it all better right..."

🐻 cyril would be snuggled up by your feet and he'd like nudge you with his head and let out s big huff of a sigh as if to agree that everything sucks but he's here for you too. A real ally.

🐻 He'll let you rant all about how bad your day was, encouraging you to say the bitchiest things about all the people who upset you, then teasing you for saying such bad things when you're supposed to be the sweet one. Really though he's just trying to make you smile, trying to light you up the way he likes to see you.

🐻 will pay special attention to the names of those who wronged you throughout the day, will jokingly offer to murder them for you but honestly... If something bad happens to any one of these people in the next week you will be wondering whether your Alfie had anything to do with it.

For reals bestie I hope you're feeling s little bit better after this and just know u can rant to me about Ur bad day whenever u like xxx

[timberllania]

Collins Household - Spring, Year 1

Paloma played fetch with Duke for a while, and, after seeing he is a friendly dog, took him inside to meet Emma. The little girl loved Duke, looks like she loves animals just like her mom.

Unfortunately, he left soon after. Paloma hopes he shows up again, even though Cyril really dislikes animals. She doesn't care what he thinks.

[zablife]

Rainy Day with Alfie

Created for the lovely Flor @raincoffeeandfandoms 's 2.2K follower celebration. Congrats, darl! 💕

You and Alfie get caught in the rain during your morning walk with Cyril. By the time you reach home, you're soaked and freezing cold. Cyril doesn't help matters, giving an energetic shake of his hindquarters, drenching you yet again. You can't help but laugh and Alfie smiles at his good natured partner who loves his dog as much as he does. To show his appreciation, Alfie runs a steaming hot bath and fetches a warm cup of tea for you. As an added measure, he carries you to bed for cuddles as the rain continues to tap against the windowpane. However, it isn't long before you feel the bed dip with the weight of your curious feline Cedrick and, of course, Cyril. With the whole family assembled, you take a much needed afternoon nap.

[phoenixfiiire]

@gcldfanged from [x]

He couldn't be truly angry with the Undying. They were his protectors. They cared for him - or for the power that lived inside of his body. They had nursed him back to health, had helped him regain his strength, taught him how to walk away, taught him how to use a knife. All of it for their own ends, he knew that, but they still cared for him. Even if that care and love was buried beneath the belief that the Phoenix was all that mattered.

But Founder, how badly did he wish he could feel genuine fury toward them. That he could turn and yell, scream even. Demand that they leave him alone, tell them that he was going to run away and they would not find him if he wanted to stay hidden. Having to just bite his tongue when they told him that Jill was better off with the Iron Kingdom, or that Clive was happier as a bearer.

This was too far.

A thief could present a danger, especially if they had managed to steal any of the artifacts that were being studied regarding information on Ultima, but those artifacts, the books and tomes and tapestries of old, were stored where Joshua himself would be unable to find them unless he had been granted permission. At worst all the young man could have done was taken some gil, or perhaps some book that might have been able to fetch a tidy sum with the right noble. Annoying, but not a danger.

Annoying also because it would mean the entrance he had stolen in from would have to be fully sealed, and the entire hideout may even need to be abandoned, but that was not the thief's fault. It was a lesson to be learned, and if one person could already slip in, others would be able to as well.

'We will kill him.' That had been Cyril's decision. Joshua knew he couldn't outright defy him, which meant moving before the Burning Quill could.

The Undying keeping watch over the chained up man turned to face Joshua. He could hear their inhale of breath that was undoubtedly going to be followed with my grace, and he silenced them with a wave of a hand. "Don't. Leave here, now."

"-My-"

"Leave." A small burst of flame danced around his fingers, briefly illuminating his face from beneath his hood and making it easy for both to see his glare. It faded quickly as he added: "I have been given instructions on how to deal with the intruder. I will see that he is dealt with. Now, go."

He was the Phoenix. They could not outright deny him, even if they wanted to. Their reluctance was palpable but they did turn to leave after a long moment, their footsteps echoing in the distance as the door clanged shut behind them.

The thief was certainly a mouthy one. It was a bit admirable, really, to try to cling to such bravado when it was clear there was nothing that you could do to help yourself. For a moment Joshua felt something uncomfortably close to a surge of pity; surely he could have been doing something better with his life. But... life was not kind to anyone in Valisthea. Not anymore.

"Stand and turn your back toward me." His words came out sounding harsh and clipped, and Joshua grimaced. His act had only been to sell his cover story to the guards, and he found himself struggling to slip away from it. He moved to reach into his pocket, pulling free a set of keys that had been stolen from Cyril's desk.

"I will not be able to reach your bindings if you do not, and I fear there will not be much time to debate this."

[anonymooseforever007]

The Bestest Ring Bearer

Cyril was ABSOLUTELY the ring bearer at Alfie's wedding and I will not be convinced other wise!!!

He wore a matching bow tie to Alfie's and it had the same flowers as the Bride's bouquet weaved in also. They strapped the rings in a little pouch on his back and paved the path down the aisle with treats for him to follow. Ollie also had an emergency squeaky toy if that didn't work. (He also stole Arthur Shelby's left shoe at the reception but they ended up using it for fetch so it's ok) But it went great and he was absolutely brilliant!!! And it would have looked something like this. But so much better.

That is all :)❤️❤️

(if anyone's down this please let me know, I want some fluffy Cyril at a wedding in my life😂😂❤️🥰 also FYI: not my photos they were online)

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

ANGELLL!!! I AM OBSESSED W YOUR ALFIE FICS. I loved your 'A brother for Cyril' fic and I wanted to ask if you'd consider a kinda 'sequel' of Alfie and his wife introducing the two dogs and Alfie thinking they'll hate each other only for them to actually become the perfect dog siblings?! Please don't feel bad if you need to decline, I'm just throwing random ideas at the wall as I saw you were seeking some. sending you lots of love always and thank you for the work you do ❤️

Anon!!! Hi friend ah this was so so sweet!!!! Thank you for sending this in this was literally such a kind message I feel so blessed!!! I hope you enjoy this story, I took it a little further than I anticipated, but I hope it satisfies 💕💕💕 sending my love! - Mo

A Brother for Cyril: Part 2

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Warnings: language, mentioning pregnancy

One thing is for certain... Alfie could never deny you anything.

To someone on the outside of your relationship, it would looked as though you were irreperably spoiled. Alfie absolutely doted on you... in his own way. It didn't make sense to those on the outside. One moment you two were fighting as if your lives depended on it, hollering and shouting obscenities, arguing about the best way to handle something. The next moment he had you in his lap, chuckling into your neck, 'begging' for forgiveness with kisses and whispered promises, "Oh treacle don't be cross with me now! Give a kiss yeah? You can't be mad at your husband forever!"

And you couldn't. You could never be truly cross with Alfie. Even when you were fighting, it wasn't truly directed at him. It was just your passions overflowing and exploding, ignited by his own stubborness. And God did you love setting each other off. For the making up was so sweet.

Alfie loved spoiling you. He loved giving you things. A sweet treat from the bakery. Delicate earrings and necklaces from his jewelry shop, engraved with his initials. A bouquet accompanied with a sonnet of his own composition. Alfie loved to dote on you endlessly, and loved to give you any type of happiness.

But this was a rat dog.

Alfie could not believe that he was actually stuck with this piece of lint. And was even more in shock that not only was he stuck with it, but you loved the piece of fur. Alfie was struggling to keep the scoffs at bay, as he watched you coo and caress the puppy, as it gave small kisses to your fingers. “Oh Alfie I’m so happy we’re going to have another dog. We really did need another puppy.”

He prayed you didn’t see the rolling of his eyes. This wasn’t a dog. Cyril, now that was a dog!! This ball of fur was pathetic! Cyril was big and strong, and was good at things! Like guarding the house and playing fetch and roughhousing on the floor. And Cyril just looked impressive! What would people think if they saw this piece of dust walking on the end of a lead held by him? Could it even walk? It was being cradled like a human baby the entire time. It was tiny… what if Cyril ate it? Alfie placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, “Now darling, don’t be shocked if Cyril and…”

“Barty.”, you reminded him.

“Yes right Barty, if they don’t get along. Cyril is a man’s dog. He probably won’t want to fraternize with the likes of Barty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at your husband, “Fraternize? Alfie, Cyril is a dog. I don’t think he’s overly concerned with social standings in the dog park.”

“Well dear see that’s where you’re mistaken. Me and Cyril yeah we talk. Man to man. And I’m not sure little Barty here will be able to keep up. He seems a little delicate.”

“Alfie you’re not even giving him a chance!! He is just a baby!”

You held up Barty to look into Alfie’s eyes, “Look at his face darling!! He can fit in! Cyril and him are going to get along perfectly!! He just needs your love and acceptance!”

Alfie stared into the barely open eyes of the puppy, and just squinted, as if trying to measure the baby’s spirit. You moved Barty closer to Alfie, being nearly nose to nose, neither Alfie nor Barty blinking. And then Barty licked Alfie’s nose with a yip.

“OH LORD! BARTY!” Alfie lurched back, spluttering and rubbing the minimum slobber off his nose. You just cackled in your seat at your ridiculous husband. The mad baker of Camden upset by some dog slobber! “Alfie! It’s just a kiss! And Cyril’s slobber is much worse!!! You don’t care when it gets on you! You don’t mind his kisses!”

“Well first off Cyril does not kiss! Cyril snarls! And Barty and I just met! Where does he get off kissing already!”

You couldn’t stop laughing and teasing your dear husband. He was such a secret to the outside. To everyone else, he is ferocious and unfeeling. Absolutely mad and vicious. But your Alfie… your Alfie had such a different side to him. You weren’t naive. You knew what this life entailed. Hell, you were his secretary before you were his wife. You knew what Alfie was, and knew what it took. But you weren’t afraid of him. Alfie wasn’t just the King of Camden. He was an animal. But he was also tender and artistic. He bellowed and roared and tore through men like nothing. But he also whispered his undying love for you every night, and pressed hot kisses to each of your fingers every morning. Alfie was everything. And that’s what people missed. And it’s what you cherished. That you got to hold the Mad Baker and Alfie Solomons in one.

When you got to the house, Alfie waved to Ollie goodbye, and guided you through the door, hand firmly on your waist. As soon as he opened the door to your home, the pounding sounds of massive paws fill your ears. Cyril makes a bee line to his father, and immediately starts pushing his head against Alfie’s stomach, “Hello my boy! My Cyril!! You miss your papa and mum yeah? You’re so good, you watched the house for me yeah?”

Cyril’s sweet face broke out in a large smile, panting and leaning in to Alfie’s touch. After giving all the love his boy needed, Alfie finally straightened, preparing to witness what may be a bloodbath. “Alright Cyril sit my boy sit. We have brought you something.”

Alfie motioned for you to hold out Barty, “Cyril my boy, mummy and papa have decided that you need a brother. This here is Barty, and you’re going to teach him how to be a real dog.”

“Alfie!”

“Well he’s not a dog darling! Go on put the little runt on the ground, let Cyril sniff him out.”

You gently put Barty on the ground near Cyril’s front paws. You stand back up, shifting closer to Alfie, waiting for what was to come.

Barty managed to pull himself onto his tiny paws, sniffing the air around Cyril. Cyril’s head went to the side, as if trying to understand what was just put in front of him. He leaned all the way down sniffing Barty for a long time and then… gave him the biggest kiss Alfie had ever seen.

Cyril began to bark, and bounce around with all his young dog energy. Barty began yipping excitedly hopping around Cyril’s feet. “Barty! Are you so excited to meet your big brother?” You we’re so excited, so happy that the dogs were getting along, and Barty had been accepted into the Solomons pack.

After dinner, you and Alfie took your tea in the parlor, nestled together, enjoying each others presence and the radio playing softly. Cyril and Barty were snoring together close to the fireplace. Barty was snuggled right against Cyril’s stomach, legs kicking ever so often, lost in a dream.

“I cannot believe this… Cyril has gone soft.”

From your place on Alfie’s chest you swat him, “Leave them alone. It’s sweet.”

“He romped. He’s never romped before.”

“Well you did tell him to teach Barty how to be a dog. He’s just being a good big brother. I saw him trying to play tug of war with him. It was very sweet.”

Alfie just grunted, staring off into space. Until he hummed out, “Sweet heart?”

“Yes darling?”

“Would you ever want… human puppies?”

You sat up straight, “… do you mean babies?”

“Nevermind it was stupid.”

You laughed loudly, grabbing his shoulders for him to face you, “No you stubborn man! It’s not stupid, I just have never heard someone say 'human puppies'."

He just mumbled to himself, as he typically does, but still grabbed your wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. Meeting your eyes you feel those butterflies in your stomach that still haven’t left after all of these years, he presses you “Well?”

You sigh, smiling softly, thinking and considering as your fingers comb through his hair, “Hmmmm I’ve thought about it. Had dreams about it. I’ve always wanted a big family, just like how I grew up. I’ve thought about you holding and playing with the children. Absolutely spoiling them with your affection. Teaching them. Being the man that I know you are. I just didn’t think you wanted kids.”

Alfie leaned into your touch, still holding your hand, “I just didn’t think I’d have the chance. You know… to have a family. Thought I was getting too old. Then here you come… crashing in my bachelor life. And now… I just keep thinking about it.”

You leaned in, heart glowing at his vulnerability. You knew it was sometimes hard for him to discuss those deep feelings, it made him feel exposed. But the fact that he still opened up like that to you, it spoke to the volumes of trust between the two of you. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips you whisper, “If you want children Mr. Solomons, let’s have them.”

You think you see a small glitter of a tear threaten to show itself in his eyes, before he says, “Cyril could teach them how to be dogs too.”

The rest of the evening flows in laughter and kisses. As you dream with him about what the future holds, Cyril admires from his place on the floor, keeping his new little brother safe, and thinking about the new siblings sure to come.