#goodbye alfie

[lolly-in-a-strange-land]

Taking a break from my regular content to say, please hug your pets for me. I lost Alfie yesterday. It was so quick. He was diagnosed on Friday with an osteosarcoma in his back leg. It was eating his bone in his hind leg. The diagnosis was fatal and couldn't be cured. They could amputate, but it wouldn't extend his life as the cancer most likely would have already spread. I had to make the decision to have Alfie put to sleep. He enjoyed his final weekend. He had McDonald's, a steak dinner and a Sunday roast. Alfie lived a happy life, one full of love, cuddles and gravy bones. I am beyond devastated. I keep hoping he'll walk into the room and that it was all just a nightmare. His bed, toys and favourite food is here, and he's not. I want him back. I'd give anything to have him back, but he's gained his wings and flown over the rainbow bridge. I hope he's OK. I hope the angels treat him well and tell him he's a good boy.

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

I just finished Emily in Paris and I knew Emily and Alfie wouldn't last. He was always just an obstacle for her and Gabriel so was always going to only be around for a short time BUT he's so much better then Gabriel! HE moved to Paris for her. HE doesn't have feelings for another woman. HE is not stringing two women along at the same time. HE hasn't been emotionally cheating

[trappednyourheart]

A family visit

Alfred has been granted (Force) by the bats a week off, and whatever way would he do in a week?, visit his Father of course!

Alfred didn't really have a word into this, he only just been given (forced) a week off, he reason with the family ( it always works) but to his surprised! None of it came through there heads! ( Somehow they got lucky from Alfred's reasonable scolding)

What about the manor? Who would care of it? Who would assist? What will happen if-

How many times he reason and tried to budge it in there minds, none of it work?

Alfred is in horror, so the only thing he can only do is accept, remind them what's not do and do, (every single details) or atleast the common things to do, which he thinks they can handle it- if not, if he sees the house in shambles or in the news, he can now have a reason to not always take a weeks off.

In Alfred's room, he was packing some pairs of clothes, a coat, a medical kit, pairs of shoes, a book, his dark shawl that is covered with a lots of constellation's from his papa's gifts, (he always take good care of it when he left on his own, he couldn't leave his shawl even in the time of his work,) and whatever he needs.

He decided to visit and have his week's off to his papa's, it's been quite a long time ( maybe 60 years or so-)

It's not like he was an absent son, he was just busy, he would occasionally send letters or his baked cookie's ( he's own recipe but still came from papa's original treats).

The Batfam does know Alfred had a dad who's still alive?( Which the kids would joke about how his dad is immortal) outside his life here in Gotham as the only staff in the Wayne manor.

While they were chilling in the living room, they could see Alfred heading towards the door, before he stop and took out a letter, and as he did a ring in the bell could be heard, Alfred open the door, and greeted..

The mailman? ( A very hardworking ghost mailman, just saying “Jolly ho!- how may I help send! Deliver, or even package international!” which Alfred replying “International please, for in this ### #### ## address, I need it quickly delivered through his doorsteps” then the Mailman just nodded, Alfred payed him and he just disappeared)

And Alfred sighs in relief and went to get his luggage, and bid the Batfam goodbye without even explaining what was happening (Bruce dropped his newspaper)

They might had ideas Alfred wasn't human or normal, but after that bombshell, they just can't stop the urge to find out ( like the usual thing the Batfam does, but only minimal like just knowing where he went and they wanted to have Alfred privacy)

Alfred was on his way to his papa's home very much missing the feeling of home in Britain now it's been quite a long time almost but he's getting second thoughts, what would his papa think?

( and yes, hes dad was wealthy, and through family too, He lived in a manor too,

which was a very old money manor, cause Danny? he's literally the ghost king)

Alfred decided he got this, so he took a step and took a deep breath In the front door of the home he loved and cared for in his childhood, knocking three times and the only thing he imagined is that his papa would give him a big warm hug like old times when Alfred would visit once a while before he truly left home.

The bats were in disguise, well partially disguise, the british neighbors nearby can see them looking at them like there were weird (stalking is not a healthy way...sometimes) And how can they even see them?! There literally in a camouflage!!

They saw how Alfred took a step, and knock three times...the door open and there they saw- a kid? Wait what? The black haired and blue teenager might be 16 who looks like could be adoption bait look surprised and happy and he give Alfred a hug, and Alfie just return the gesture, they were having a conversation, they couldn't here it because they were out of range and no hearing gadgets ( damn it Bruce)

Then Alfred and the teen went back to the house, and the door could only shut blocking there view of Alfred and the teen.

[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. 

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Jan behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

The hour goes pretty quick, either way, and Kon mostly keeps the kids distracted, and even a little bit entertained. He’s a performer at heart anyway, so he figures it’s his responsibility. 

If it's not, he's gonna make it his responsibility, at least for the next hour. 

A lot of people clear out of the camp in that hour in erratic fits and spurts, with alternate versions of their families or friends or just themselves, and Kon feels a little better about the idea of clearing out himself. He'll keep an ear on the camp until it's all cleared out, for sure, but at least he thinks it should be okay to leave it. 

Jon needs–somebody, yeah, before something happens. Something always happens, when you're wearing the “S”. 

Or you just find something that you have to happen to. Like, ethically speaking or whatever.

Kon figures he can keep an eye on Jon until either they all get home or this reality's Superman notices he's got an extra kid around. Assuming he's got a Jon here to recognize the heartbeat of, anyway. He probably does, if Kon's around and recognizable in the tabloids. Like, the timeline should be to that point, is all. And obviously Lois is gonna be a thing, so–yeah, he's gotta have a Jon by now. Maybe actually an older one than this one, come to think, but it's not like Clark wouldn't recognize his heartbeat anyway. Perfect recall and all, and he's had Jon's heartbeat memorized all his life. 

Kon's pretty sure Clark still doesn't know his, but . . . 

Never mind. Not important. Stupid thing to think about. 

To care about. 

Kon swallows. Keeps grinning for the kids, keeps coming up with new games for them to play, and waves goodbye to each one who gets collected by an aid worker and taken to whoever’s come to take care of them. 

He wonders, again, if Ma and Pa would've come for him, if . . . 

Stupid. Really, really stupid. 

He wouldn't bother them with something that stupid anyway. He's a superhero. And he can take care of himself. He always has, hasn't he? 

He'll take care of himself here too, even if . . . 

Even if . . . 

Kon tries not to think about . . . Kara. About Karen. Or “Paige”, or whatever she's going by now. 

If she's still alive to be going by it, anyway. 

If he isn't currently following in her footsteps, and won't ever see his reality again. Or her. Or . . . anyone he knows. 

People who look like them, sure. People who came from the same concept of a person as them. 

But not his own versions of them. 

Not the versions who he belongs to. 

He doesn't know what he'll do, if he can't get home this time. 

He doesn’t . . . 

He feels Rita approaching with his TTK–recognizes the shape of her body and the cut of her hair and the specific chip in the corner of her clipboard–and glances towards her, and is mildly surprised by who she’s with. It’s someone he definitely recognizes, but it’s not anyone he expected. At least not here and now, anyway. 

“Your ride’s here, sir!” Rita says, looking as relieved as every aid worker who’s come up with a local host for somebody. Well–understandably, he figures. 

“Hey, Rita. Hey, Alfie! No rest for the wicked, or just too many cooks in the kitchen again?” Kon greets with a grin, which is the easiest code phrase to use here that Tim gave him to start off with if he ever ran into an interdimensional Bat and the local Tim’s obviously gotta be the one who sent him, and Jon grabs onto his sleeve and blurts: “It’s dark this morning!” 

Okay, Kon doesn’t recognize that one, but it’s definitely a Bat-phrase too. Jon was not particularly smooth about making it smooth, for one thing. 

Alfred–impeccable as always in the full buttling uniform that Kon has maybe only seen him out of twice, and both of those times were blood-drenched emergency situations–smiles at them both without visibly reacting past that, though Kon hears his heartbeat spike in recognition. Since he was presumably expecting to see the pair of them, or at least him, Kon can only assume that’s code-phrase-related.

“Hello, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, smooth and pleasant, and Kon . . . blinks. “Please allow me to escort you and your young charge to the manor.” 

Wait.

What? 

“Uh,” Kon says slowly. “O . . . kay? Uh–thanks, Alfie.” 

“Of course, sir,” Alfred says, and his pleasant smile turns just a little less polite and a little more sincere. “Interdimensionally displaced or not, we’d hate to leave you out in the cold. No matter what time of night it is.” 

Well, “out in the cold” is what Tim told him to look for in response to “no rest for the wicked”, and he’s betting the “time of night” comment is meant for Jon from the way the kid perked up at hearing it, so . . . yeah, alright then. This is apparently just what’s happening now. 

[artyandink]

amoralism | fifteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Dean’s the mole, childbirth, Lucifer being a little shit, angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Tattoo - Loreen

chiaroscurism

The air in the warehouse was thick with dust, the stagnant kind that settled over years of disuse. Your boots echoed with every step you took, the concrete floor rough beneath them as you walked deeper into the dimly lit space. It was cold, the chill biting through your coat, but you barely noticed. All your focus, all your energy, was consumed by one thing—one person.

Dean Winchester.

You hadn’t seen him since everything went sideways. The day he disappeared from the FBI, seemingly without a trace, no explanation, no goodbye. No answers. Just gone. It had been months, and in that time, you’d learned the ugly truth—the one you still couldn’t fully believe, the one that twisted your stomach and clawed at your chest every time you thought about it. Dean had betrayed the FBI. He’d betrayed you.

But you had him now. You had the proof, you had the intel, and you had him exactly where you needed him. It hadn’t been easy to track him down, to get the right people to feed him the information that would lead him here. But you had, and now you were standing in the middle of this forsaken warehouse, waiting for the man you’d trusted with your life.

A shadow shifted in the doorway, and there he was.

Dean stepped into the light like a ghost, the years you’d known him weighing heavily on his face, his body. He looked the same, yet entirely different. His leather jacket was more worn, his eyes harder, a shadow of something darker hanging over him. You could see it in the way he moved—like he wasn’t just Dean anymore, like something inside him had broken and reformed into something else. Something colder. Something lethal.

“Figured you’d be the one to show up,” Dean said, his voice low, rough. He stopped a few feet in front of you, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets, like this was just another day. Like this was normal. “Always were the clever one.”

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Every instinct told you to run, to turn around and leave before this confrontation went somewhere you couldn’t come back from. But you couldn’t. You needed answers.

A WEEK PRIOR:

The kitchen was alive with the familiar smells of roasting vegetables and sizzling chicken, the comforting warmth from the oven filling the space. You stood at the counter, chopping carrots while Sam darted around the kitchen with the awkwardness of a man who was both too big for the space and too eager to be helpful. Jess stood next to you, her swollen belly pressing against the edge of the countertop as she kneaded dough for bread, a serene smile on her face that could only come from a woman who was about to bring life into the world.

It was peaceful, domestic, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the warmth of it. It felt good to be here, in this house, with these people. Sam and Jess had been like family to you for only a week, but the easy camaraderie, the laughter over the clatter of pots and pans, was a welcome escape from the tension that had been gnawing at your insides since Dean disappeared.

But tonight wasn’t about Dean. It was about Sam and Jess, and the new baby they were so eagerly awaiting. Alfie, their three-year-old son, was upstairs, likely lost in a world of toy cars and action figures, his little voice occasionally drifting down from the second floor. It was perfect—almost too perfect.

“Can you believe it?” Jess asked, her voice light with excitement as she shaped the dough into a neat ball. “This little one is almost here.”

You smiled, nodding as you dumped the carrots into a bowl. “Feels like it’s been forever. You’re ready, right?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Sam interjected, pausing long enough to flash you a sheepish grin as he adjusted the oven temperature. His face was a mix of excitement and nerves, that underlying tension in his shoulders betraying how on-edge he really was. “I mean, we’ve done this once before, but…”

“But it’s never the same,” Jess finished for him, laughing softly. She placed a hand on her belly, rubbing it gently, her gaze far away for a moment. “This one’s been kicking like crazy, though. Probably wants out.”

“Any day now,” Sam added, trying to sound calm, though the way his eyes kept darting toward Jess’s stomach betrayed him.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you began slicing a loaf of bread. “You’re gonna do great. Alfie’s a sweet kid, and this one’s gonna be just as perfect. Plus, you’ve got a lot of help this time around.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice tinged with a touch of unease. “Speaking of help, thanks again for coming over. I mean, with everything you’ve been dealing with, I know—"

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you interrupted softly, offering him a reassuring smile. Sam didn’t need to know the weight you carried—the constant ache in your chest from everything you’d learned about Dean. This wasn’t the time or place for that. Tonight, you were just here to be a friend, to support them.

Jess laughed, shaking her head as she swatted at Sam with a flour-covered hand. “Stop stressing, Sam. We’ve got this. Besides, what could go wrong? We’re practically experts at this by now.”

The words barely left her mouth when it happened.

Jess’s face went suddenly rigid, her hands flying to her belly as a sharp gasp escaped her lips. The sound was so abrupt, so out of place, that it startled you, the knife in your hand clattering against the counter as you spun around to look at her.

“Jess?” Sam was at her side in an instant, his large hands hovering over her, unsure of what to do. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

For a second, Jess didn’t respond. Her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth biting down on her lip as she breathed through what was clearly an intense contraction. When her eyes finally fluttered open, there was no mistaking the look on her face—pure, undeniable panic.

“Oh… oh, crap,” she groaned, her voice tight with pain. “Sam, it’s time.”

“Time? Time for wha—oh my God,” Sam blurted, his face going pale as he realized what she meant. “Now? It’s happening now?”

Jess nodded, gripping the counter with white-knuckled fingers as another wave of pain hit her. “Yes, now. I told you the baby’s been kicking—oh, holy crap, Sam!”

You were already moving, the calm facade you’d worn earlier shattered by the sheer chaos that seemed to explode into the kitchen. You rushed to Jess’s side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help steady her. “Okay, okay, it’s happening. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Sam was already panicking, his massive frame moving awkwardly around the kitchen as he tried to figure out what to do first. “Uh, okay, okay. Hospital. Where’s the bag? Did we pack the—no, wait, we packed it. Where is it?”

“It’s by the door, Sam,” Jess hissed through gritted teeth, her voice thick with irritation and pain. “But we need to go now!”

The situation escalated quickly from controlled chaos to complete mayhem. Sam scrambled to find the car keys, while you helped Jess navigate the narrow hallway to the front door, her steps slow and labored. Her breaths were coming in short gasps now, her face pinched with pain, and for the first time, you felt a surge of panic rising in your chest.

“Sam, get the keys!” you yelled over your shoulder, trying to keep Jess calm as she gripped your arm.

“I’m trying!” Sam shouted back from the kitchen, the sound of drawers being yanked open and slammed shut filling the house.

Before you could yell at Sam again, a shrill voice pierced the air.

“Mommy?”

You turned to see Alfie standing at the top of the stairs, clutching a stuffed dinosaur in one hand, his face scrunched in confusion. His little voice trembled as he called down again, “Mommy, are you okay?”

Jess’s face softened for a split second, despite the pain she was clearly in, and she tried to offer her son a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, sweetie. Just… just go back to your room. Mommy and Daddy are going to the hospital.”

“Is the baby coming?” Alfie asked, his wide eyes darting between you and his parents.

“Yes, buddy, the baby’s coming,” Sam said, finally appearing in the hallway with the keys in hand, looking disheveled and frantic. “But you need to stay here, okay? Aunt… uh—your aunt’s going to stay with you until Grandma gets here.”

The lie slipped out of Sam’s mouth so easily, and you gave him a quick, understanding nod. Of course, no one had called Grandma yet. There hadn’t been time. You’d figure that out once Jess was safely in the car.

“Okay, Alfie,” you said, your voice gentle but firm as you crouched down to meet his eyes. “You stay right here, and I’ll come check on you in a minute, okay? We’re just going to get Mommy to the hospital.”

Alfie looked unsure but nodded slowly, clutching his dinosaur tighter. “Okay.”

Jess groaned again, clutching your arm as another contraction hit her, this one stronger than before. “We need to go now.”

Sam practically flew out the front door, the hospital bag slung over his shoulder as he ran for the car. You helped Jess out the door, every step slow and measured as she fought through the pain.

“Breathe, Jess, just breathe,” you reminded her, though it felt almost pointless to say. She was already doing everything she could just to keep it together.

Finally, you reached the car. Sam had the back door open, and between the two of you, you managed to ease Jess into the seat. She immediately curled in on herself, her hands pressed to her belly as she tried to find some relief. But there was no relief to be had—not with the baby coming this fast.

Sam jumped into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys before finally managing to get the engine started. You barely had time to slam the door shut before the car peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing against the pavement.

The ride to the hospital was anything but smooth. Sam, usually the calm, collected one, was a mess of nerves. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, and every few seconds, he’d glance in the rearview mirror at Jess, his voice cracking as he asked, “You okay back there?”

“Do I look okay?” Jess snapped, her breath coming in sharp bursts as she fought through another contraction. Her face was flushed, her hair sticking to her forehead, and she was visibly trembling now.

You sat in the backseat beside her, one hand on her shoulder, the other gripping the seatbelt for dear life. “You’re doing great, Jess,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “We’re almost there.”

The hospital was only fifteen minutes away, but every second felt like an eternity. Jess’s contractions were coming faster now, each one stronger than the last, and there was no mistaking the urgency in her voice when she spoke again.

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it.”

Sam’s eyes went wide in the rearview mirror, panic written all over his face. “What do you mean, we’re not gonna make it? We’re almost there—just hang on a little longer, okay?”

But Jess’s grip on your hand tightened, and you could see the fear in her eyes. “No, Sam. The baby’s coming now.”

For a brief, horrifying second, you thought she might be right—that this baby was about to make an appearance in the backseat of Sam’s car, whether you were ready or not. But then, through some miracle, the hospital came into view.

Sam screeched to a stop in front of the emergency entrance, leaping out of the car and yelling for help before you even had a chance to unbuckle your seatbelt. Nurses and doctors swarmed the car in seconds, and you barely had time to step aside before they were rushing Jess inside.

As you stood there, breathing hard, your hands trembling from the chaos of it all, you realized you were still holding the bag of carrots from the kitchen.

You dropped it.

The sterile scent of the hospital hit you the moment you walked through the double doors. It wasn’t unfamiliar to you—too many times you’d rushed into places like this on cases, running after answers, running after Dean. But today was different. Today, you were walking toward life, toward something good. And yet, the knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen.

You hesitated by the nurses’ station, fidgeting with the strap of the baby-blue gift bag you’d brought, the pastel wrapping paper peeking out from the top. Your nerves hummed under your skin, not because you weren’t thrilled for Sam and Jess—you were—but because part of you had no idea how to feel anymore. The weight of Dean’s betrayal lingered like a shadow over everything, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it clung to you.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to focus on the moment at hand. This wasn’t about Dean. Not today. Today was about Sam and Jess and their little girl.

Gathering your courage, you made your way toward Jess’s room, following the directions Sam had texted you earlier. The hallway felt endless, each step echoing in the hollow silence of the hospital wing. When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the handle.

Could you really do this? Be the supportive friend when your own world was unraveling? You’d spent so much time chasing Dean, drowning in the chaos of his decisions, that you didn’t know how to be anything else.

But Sam and Jess needed you right now. You could put on a smile for them, at least for a little while.

You knocked softly, pushing the door open a crack.

"Come in!" Jess's voice was soft but bright, tired yet filled with that unmistakable new-mom glow.

You stepped inside, and immediately the warmth of the room hit you—a stark contrast to the sterile halls outside. The fluorescent lights were dimmed, the room quiet except for the soft beeping of the monitors and the gentle hum of Jess's voice.

Sam was sitting beside the bed, his massive frame somehow dwarfed by the sight of the tiny bundle cradled in his arms. His face was softer than you’d seen in weeks, the stress lines eased as he gazed down at his newborn daughter. He looked peaceful, content, like the world outside didn’t exist right now.

"Hey," you greeted softly, closing the door behind you. The sight before you was enough to make the knot in your stomach loosen, even if just a little.

Jess beamed at you, looking tired but radiant, her hair a little disheveled from hours of labor but her eyes sparkling with joy. "You made it."

"Of course I did," you said, stepping closer, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face. "I wouldn’t miss this for anything."

Sam looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. "We wanted you to be one of the first."

Your heart swelled at the words, and for a moment, you forgot about all the darkness you’d been carrying. It was just the three of you—four now—in this small, quiet world.

"Can I…?" You motioned toward the baby in Sam’s arms, unsure if it was too soon to ask. But before you could even finish the question, Sam was already standing, gently transferring the tiny bundle into your arms.

As soon as the baby girl was in your arms, the world outside the room seemed to disappear. She was so small, impossibly small, with delicate little features and a head full of soft brown hair. Her eyes were closed, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions in her sleep.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you gazed down at her, the weight of her settling against you like something sacred. The innocence, the purity—it was overwhelming, like this tiny little person had the power to heal all the cracks in your heart.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t a lie. She was perfect, a fragile little miracle in a world that had felt so broken to you lately.

“Thank you,” Jess said, her voice soft, but you could hear the pride in it. “Her name’s Claire. Claire Mary Winchester.”

You looked up, meeting Jess’s eyes, and you saw the meaning behind the name. “Mary,” you repeated, your throat tightening. Sam’s mother—Dean’s mother. You weren’t sure why, but it hit you harder than you expected. It was a name full of love, full of history, full of meaning.

Sam cleared his throat, a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned back against the hospital bed. “Jess and I talked about it a lot, and… well, there’s something we wanted to ask you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your gaze darting between the two of them. “Ask me?”

Jess nodded, her hand resting on Sam’s arm. “We’ve been through a lot together, and you’ve always been there for us—for Sam, for me, for Alfie. And we know how much you’ve been carrying lately. How hard it’s been.”

You swallowed hard, trying to fight back the surge of emotion that threatened to spill over. They knew. Of course they knew. Sam had seen the toll it had taken on you, how Dean’s betrayal had fractured something inside you.

“But we also know how much you mean to us,” Sam continued, his voice steady and full of warmth. “And we wanted to give you something good, something to hold on to. Something that we trust you with completely.”

Jess smiled softly, her eyes bright as she added, “We want you to be Claire’s godmother.”

The words hit you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mind raced, struggling to process what they were offering you, what they were trusting you with. You blinked, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as you looked down at Claire, still fast asleep in your arms, blissfully unaware of the storm of emotions swirling around her.

“Me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You want me to be her godmother?”

Sam nodded, his expression serious but full of affection. “Dean trusted you. I trust you. And Jess…” He glanced at his wife, his love for her written in every line of his face. “She trusts you too.”

Jess reached out, her hand finding yours as you clutched Claire a little tighter. “We couldn’t think of anyone better,” she said gently. “You’re family to us. You always have been.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The lump in your throat was too big, the emotions too overwhelming. All you could do was stare at them, at this family that had welcomed you into their lives, that had seen you at your worst and still wanted you to be a part of their world.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally managed, your voice thick with unshed tears. “I… I don’t deserve this.”

Sam’s face softened, his eyes kind as he stepped closer. “You deserve more than you know,” he said quietly. “And you need this. You need something good right now. We all do.”

You looked back down at Claire, her tiny hand resting against your chest, her little fingers curling and uncurling in her sleep. She was so small, so fragile, and yet she was so full of life, full of promise.

The tears slipped free then, but you didn’t wipe them away. You just let them fall, let them cleanse you of some of the weight you’d been carrying for so long. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed—a reminder that there was still good in the world, still love, still family.

“I’ll do it,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. “I’ll be her godmother.”

Jess let out a small, relieved laugh, her eyes shimmering with tears of her own. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It means the world to us.”

Sam smiled, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re family,” he repeated, and the weight of those words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, comforting and steadying you in a way you hadn’t expected.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the ache in your chest eased just a little. The wound Dean had left wasn’t gone—it might never be—but here, in this room, with this tiny little baby in your arms and the people who had become your family surrounding you, the pain didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

You gazed down at Claire, your heart swelling with a love you hadn’t even known you were capable of. “I’ll protect her,” you promised, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll always be there for her.”

Jess and Sam exchanged a look, their smiles soft, filled with gratitude and affection. They didn’t say anything, but they didn’t need to. The moment spoke for itself.

You stayed like that for a while longer, the three of you talking softly as Claire slept peacefully in your arms. Eventually, a nurse came in to check on Jess and the baby, and you reluctantly handed Claire back to her mother. But even as you left the room, the weight on your shoulders felt lighter than it had in weeks.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you had something good to hold on to.

And as you walked out of the hospital and into the crisp evening air, you knew—deep down—that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay after all.

A FEW HOURS PRIOR:

The air inside the abandoned factory was thick with the mingling scents of rust and decay, the long-forgotten machinery casting twisted shadows in the dim light. It was the perfect place for a covert exchange—secluded, out of sight, and just the right amount of grim. Dean Winchester stood at the far end of the cavernous space, his eyes scanning the shadows, his muscles coiled with a tension that came from more than just the impending deal.

Lucifer, the crime boss who had woven his web of influence over the criminal underworld, was late. This wasn’t surprising—Lucifer was never punctual, always fashionably late, as if his time were more valuable than anyone else's.

Dean’s mind was elsewhere, though. Ever since the lead had come through, the stakes had shifted. Tonight wasn’t just about the drop—it was about you. The fact that you were part of this world again, that you were closing in on him, made every moment fraught with a personal edge.

Footsteps echoed through the factory, drawing Dean’s attention. He turned to see Lucifer sauntering in, a smirk dancing on his lips. The man was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his appearance in stark contrast to the grim surroundings. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he approached, and there was something almost theatrical in the way he carried himself.

“Dean, my boy,” Lucifer greeted, his voice dripping with sarcasm and a mocking tone. “How’s the night treating you?”

Dean’s gaze was steely, but he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Cut the crap, Lucifer. Let’s get this done.”

Lucifer chuckled, a sound that was equal parts charming and unsettling. “Always straight to the point with you, isn’t it? No room for a little small talk, no time for pleasantries?”

Dean didn’t respond, his silence urging Lucifer to get to the matter at hand. But Lucifer was nothing if not theatrical, and he had a penchant for dragging things out.

“So,” Lucifer continued, strolling around the space with a casual grace. “I heard a little rumor. Apparently, you’ve been rather… preoccupied with someone from your past. A certain someone who used to be quite close to you.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”

Lucifer’s grin widened. “Oh, come now. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I hear she’s been causing quite the stir. They say she’s got a knack for showing up just when you least want her to.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have time for your games.”

“Games?” Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m just trying to understand how someone like you, so deeply entrenched in this lovely little crime syndicate of ours, deals with old flames. Especially when those flames seem to have a tendency to make everything complicated.”

The way Lucifer said “complicated” was loaded, as if the word itself was a taunt. Dean’s hand twitched at his side, a sign of his growing frustration.

“You’re not exactly known for your subtlety, Lucifer,” Dean said tersely. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”

Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though the amusement in his tone was still palpable. “Oh, I’m just curious. I’ve heard tales about your little escapades. The kind of stories that make one’s eyebrows raise in surprise. And I’m wondering—will your little lady be a problem tonight?”

Dean’s eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lucifer’s grin grew even more malicious. “Really? I thought we were friends, Dean. Surely you remember the stories? The way you used to get all tangled up with her, the way she had you wrapped around her little finger.”

Dean’s fists clenched. “What the hell are you playing at?”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he started to pace, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Oh, come on, Dean. Don’t be coy. Everyone talks, you know. And the things they say about you and her… let’s just say they paint quite the picture.”

He stopped, facing Dean with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. “I mean, really. What was it like? All those nights spent together, her body pressed against yours, the way you used to whisper those sweet nothings in her ear. Did you have any idea what you were getting into?”

Dean’s face was a mask of frustration and fury. “Enough.”

Lucifer’s laughter was light and mocking, a sound that grated on Dean’s nerves. “I’m just trying to picture it. What was it like to have her so close, to feel her against you, to know that in those moments, she was yours and yours alone?”

Dean’s mind was reeling, the memories of you crashing over him in a wave. He could see you lying beside him, could hear your laughter, your whispered words of affection. The warmth of your body, the softness of your touch—things he hadn’t thought about in weeks, things that now felt like a sharp pain in his chest.

Lucifer continued, oblivious to the storm raging within Dean. “Did she drive you wild? Was it the kind of passion that had you both wrapped up in each other, unable to think of anything else? Or was it more than that? Was it… meaningful? Did you think it was going to last forever?”

The taunting was relentless, and Dean’s anger flared. “This is a waste of time. Either we do this deal or we don’t.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from amusement to something more calculating. “I’m just trying to figure out how much of a threat she’ll be to me. She’s got a habit of showing up at the worst possible moments, doesn’t she? And you—well, you’ve never been particularly good at keeping your personal life separate from your professional one.”

Dean’s temper was barely in check. “I said, enough. If you’re done playing games, let’s get on with it.”

Lucifer’s gaze was cold, but there was still a trace of the earlier mockery in his voice. “Fine, fine. I just wanted to have a little fun. But remember this, Dean—your past has a way of catching up with you. And if she’s going to be a problem, you might want to deal with it sooner rather than later.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

Lucifer shrugged, the motion nonchalant. “I know enough. And I know that you’re not exactly the best at handling things when they get personal. But that’s your problem, not mine.”

Dean was about to snap back when a low rumble echoed through the factory—the unmistakable sound of a truck approaching. Both men fell silent, the tension in the air crackling as the vehicle came to a stop outside.

Lucifer straightened, his demeanor shifting from playful to professional. “Well, it looks like our little meeting is about to get underway.”

Dean’s eyes followed the movement, his mind still reeling from the taunts and insinuations. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t afford to let Lucifer’s games get in the way.

As the vehicle’s doors creaked open and the first figures began to emerge, Dean took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. But the echoes of Lucifer’s words lingered, a painful reminder of what had once been, and what could never be again.

Lucifer clapped Dean on the shoulder with a grin that was both mocking and somehow sympathetic. “Let’s see how this all plays out. And remember, Dean—things are never as simple as they seem. Especially when old flames are involved.”

With that, Lucifer turned and walked toward the incoming figures, leaving Dean standing alone in the shadows, the weight of the past pressing heavily on him as the present loomed ever closer.

You lay on the couch, eyes half-closed, the soft hum of the ceiling fan filling the quiet of your apartment. Outside, the rain tapped gently against the window, a steady, rhythmic sound that pulled at the edges of your memory. The day had been long—too long—and you’d come home exhausted, your body aching with the kind of weariness that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

As your head sunk deeper into the pillows, you let your mind wander, let it slip away from the present and into the past—a time when things were simpler.

It was late at night, and you and Dean were lying in bed together, limbs tangled beneath the heavy comforter. The room was dim, only the faint glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the space. Dean was on his back, one arm draped casually around your shoulders, his other hand resting on his stomach. You could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

“You know,” Dean had said, his voice low and a little rough with exhaustion, “we should just stay here. Screw the rest of the world.”

You’d chuckled softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “You’d get bored after a day.”

“Maybe.” His lips curved into that half-smile you loved so much. “But it’d be one hell of a day.”

You’d shifted then, tilting your head up to look at him. The soft light of the lamp cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He looked peaceful in that moment, the usual tension that clung to him like a second skin noticeably absent.

“Dean Winchester, homebody extraordinaire,” you teased, and he snorted, the sound warm and comforting in the stillness of the room.

“Hey, I can do domestic,” he argued, but there was no bite in his voice. Just the soft warmth of someone who, for once, didn’t have to be anywhere else.

You’d kissed him then, slow and easy, your lips barely brushing his. It wasn’t about passion, not that night. It was about comfort, about the quiet moments that you both clung to between the chaos. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you there for a moment longer, and you could feel his breath mix with yours, the familiar scent of leather and soap grounding you.

Dean had pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes dark and serious. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in all this crap, you know that?”

You hadn’t known how to respond to that—not in words, anyway. So you’d kissed him again, your heart swelling with something too big to name, too fragile to hold onto for long.

Those nights had been rare. Too rare. Dean was always running, always chasing something—whether it was a lead, a case, or the ghosts of his own past. But in those stolen moments, in the quiet spaces where it was just the two of you, he was yours. Entirely yours.

Now, in the quiet of your apartment, you could almost feel him again, the warmth of his body beside you, the steady cadence of his breath. You could hear the low rumble of his voice, the way he’d murmur something half-asleep, only for it to trail off into nothing.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed that until now.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you shifted on the couch, your hand unconsciously reaching for the empty space beside you. It wasn’t until your fingers brushed against the cool fabric of the cushions that the illusion shattered, the memory slipping away like water through your fingers.

Dean wasn’t here.

He hadn’t been here for a long time.

And he wasn’t coming back.

The knot in your chest tightened as the reality of it hit you all over again. Dean wasn’t just gone—he was lost to you. He’d made his choice, left the world you’d built behind for something darker, something dangerous. And no matter how many times you tried to understand it, no matter how many nights you spent going over it in your mind, the truth never settled right.

He had betrayed you. Betrayed everything you thought you knew about him.

But you still loved him.

A sharp, shrill ring broke the silence, yanking you out of the depths of your thoughts. You blinked, disoriented for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as your phone vibrated on the coffee table beside you.

It took a second for your brain to catch up, to realize that the memory was gone, and you were back in your empty apartment. With a sigh, you reached for the phone, your fingers fumbling as you grabbed it off the table.

The screen lit up with a familiar name: Director Singer. Your stomach sank.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, swiping to answer the call before it could go to voicemail. You weren’t in the mood for this—whatever it was.

“Yeah?” Your voice came out rougher than you intended, but you didn’t bother softening it.

“Where the hell are you?” Bobby Singer’s gruff voice snapped through the speaker, no preamble, no pleasantries.

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to shake off the remnants of the daydream. “I’m at home. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a situation,” Bobby said, his voice tense, and you could hear the faint sound of someone talking in the background—a clipped, official tone that told you he was still at headquarters. “Something big. We need all hands on deck.”

You closed your eyes, already dreading what was coming next. “What kind of situation?”

There was a pause, the sound of papers shuffling, and then Bobby’s voice came back, lower now, more serious. “It’s Dean.”

Your heart stopped.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The name hung in the air like a loaded gun, and everything inside you went cold.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

“We’ve got a lead on him,” Bobby continued, his voice steady but laced with something that made your blood run colder. “Intel says he’s gonna be at a drop tonight. Hell’s moving something big, and Dean’s gonna be there.”

You sat up, the exhaustion that had been weighing you down moments ago evaporating as adrenaline flooded your system. “Where?”

“An abandoned factory out by the docks,” Bobby said. “We’ve got a team assembling now, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Figured you’d want to be there.”

Your mind was racing, a thousand thoughts crashing into each other. Dean. You’d been trying to track him for weeks, following every breadcrumb, every lead, but he was always a step ahead, always out of reach. And now, suddenly, there was a chance—an actual chance to confront him.

But what would you say? What could you say?

You swallowed hard, pushing down the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. There was no time for that now. You had to focus.

“I’ll be there,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.

Bobby let out a grunt, the kind that said he’d expected nothing less. “Good. We’re rolling out in an hour. Don’t be late.”

He hung up before you could respond, leaving you sitting in the quiet of your apartment, the weight of what was coming crashing down on you.

Dean.

You stood up, your legs unsteady as you paced the small space, your thoughts tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. What were you supposed to do when you saw him? What could you possibly say to the man who had once been everything to you—who had been your partner, your lover, your friend—and who now stood on the opposite side of everything you believed in?

Your chest tightened as the memory of his voice crept back into your mind, soft and warm in the darkness of your bed. The way he’d held you, the way he’d made you feel like, for just a little while, the world wasn’t such a terrible place.

But that was before.

Before everything had changed.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down. You couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud your judgment. Not now. Not when everything was on the line.

You grabbed your jacket from the back of the couch, pulling it on as you headed for the door. Your mind was already shifting into work mode, cataloging the details, preparing for the operation ahead.

But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the thought lingered in the back of your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore.

What if this was your last chance to bring him back?

What if this time, you didn’t just lose him—you lost yourself too?

NOW:

“How long?” Your voice came out stronger than you felt, but that was all you had now. Strength. Determination. The raw ache of betrayal that burned through your veins. “How long have you been with them?”

Dean’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a grim acknowledgment. “What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference to me,” you snapped, the words sharper than you intended, but there was no taking them back. “You just—disappeared. Left everything. Everyone. You left me.”

That last part slipped out before you could stop it, but it hung in the air between you, undeniable. A confession, maybe. Or a reminder of what once was.

Dean’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t entirely gone. Not yet. “I had to leave,” he said, the words clipped, harsh. “Had to do what I had to do.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you shot back, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You made a choice. You chose them.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Dean’s gaze bored into you, intense and unreadable, and for a moment, you almost thought he’d walk away without another word. But he didn’t. He took a step closer, his presence like gravity, pulling you in even though you tried to resist.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Dean said, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Not one that would’ve kept you safe.”

That was the breaking point. The words felt like a slap, stinging and confusing all at once. You laughed, bitter and hollow, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty warehouse. “Kept me safe? Don’t put this on me. Don’t you dare make this about me, Dean.”

But it was already about you. It had always been about you, and you both knew it.

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you until you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to see the tight line of his mouth, the haunted look in his eyes. “If you didn’t want me in your life, you could’ve just said so,” you whispered, the words trembling on the edge of a sob you refused to let out. “You could’ve told me I meant nothing, that I was just a partner, just another face in the crowd. I could’ve moved on.”

Dean’s face twisted in something like pain, and for the first time since he’d walked into the warehouse, his facade cracked. You saw it then—the guilt, the regret, the war he’d been fighting inside himself. But it wasn’t enough.

“Tell me,” you pleaded, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold it together. “Just tell me you don’t love me, Dean. Tell me I never mattered to you. Tell me so I can walk away.”

For a moment, Dean didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at you like you were asking him for something impossible, something he couldn’t give. His hand twitched at his side, and you thought maybe, just maybe, he’d do it. He’d tell you the lie you needed to hear so you could finally stop tearing yourself apart over him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, pulling you toward him with a force that took your breath away. His lips crashed against yours, desperate and rough, like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words. You froze for a second, shocked by the suddenness of it, but then your body responded, melting into him, your hands clutching at his jacket like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

It was a kiss filled with every unanswered question, every unspoken emotion, every broken promise. His lips were hot against yours, his stubble scraping your skin in a way that was almost painful, but you didn’t care. It felt like fire, like drowning, like something you couldn’t let go of even if you tried.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours as you tried to catch your breath, tried to make sense of what just happened. His hand still gripped your wrist, tight enough to leave bruises, but you didn’t pull away.

“Dean…” you whispered, your voice shaky, uncertain.

He didn’t let you finish. “Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse, ragged. “Don’t say it. Don’t ask me to lie to you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the sting of tears that you refused to let fall. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to get closure, supposed to get an answer that would let you move on. But all you got was more confusion, more pain.

Dean let go of your wrist, stepping back, and the distance felt like a physical blow. He shoved his hands into his pockets again, his expression hardening, that coldness slipping back into place like a mask.

“You need to stay away from me,” he said, the words sharp and final, like an order. “This is the last time, okay? Don’t come looking for me again.”

Your throat tightened, your heart screaming at you to say something, to stop him, to make him stay. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You’d seen enough, heard enough. Dean Winchester was gone, and in his place stood a man who belonged to something dark, something you couldn’t save him from.

“Why?” you asked, the single word laced with all the sorrow and disbelief that had been building up inside you. “Why did it have to be this way?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking to the floor for just a second before meeting yours again. “Because I’m not the man you think I am anymore,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I’m sure as hell not the man you deserve.”

You stared at him, waiting for something, anything, that would give you hope. But there was nothing. Just the cold, empty truth hanging between you, an impenetrable wall you couldn’t break through.

Dean took another step back, his shoulders tense, like he was fighting against everything inside him that wanted to stay. “Take care of yourself,” he muttered, his eyes flickering with something too brief to name. “And don’t follow me.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. You stood there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest as the reality of it all sank in.

Dean Winchester—the man you loved, the man you thought you knew—was gone. Maybe he’d been gone long before you even realized it.

And all you had left was the cold, aching silence of the warehouse.

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[everythingelseisextra]

Come Home (Tommy's Perspective)

Part Fifteen: David and Goliath

Description: Tommy doesn't tell you everything. So much gets stuck in his mouth, including his business. Warnings: PTSD, language, Tommy being angsty I guess Word Count: 4796 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @Majesticcmey @Optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

12 Hours before the attack on the barn

When she leaves, my mind clears. I think differently when she’s here. Softer, like a spell cast to make what I’ve learned and what I’ve made myself less important. She leaves out the front door, and I walk back through the house. Footsteps echoing through the halls like a heartbeat. It’s easy to slip back into a routine, to abide by the list that creates itself somewhere in my head. I find the phone and dial the number without thinking about it. Pick it up, hold it to my ear, wait.

“Hello, Tommy.” Arthur, the usual rashness to his words drowned out by the phone’s crackling. His drawl is recognizable to me like I’d know my own hand, and it’s something of a comfort after the talk I’d had with her. “Why’re you calling me at this hour?”

I forget he’s not awake nearly as early as I am. My day, and her day, too, starts before the sun. I don’t give it any pause. He doesn’t care about the real reason I’m calling him. Wants his orders from his sergeant major and to put his head down and do it. “I need you to start what we talked about, Arthur. With the girls. Talk to ‘em, get what you can out of them, see if you can find any of the men who hold their leashes.” 

“On it, Tom.” A rustling of movement tells me he’s just finishing getting dressed. “That all?” 

“Tell John to do the same. Stay on the outside, don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” I can smell breakfast in the air. All I want is a drink and a cigarette. Too early for that. Need to eat. “Tell me what you find.”

“All this for that woman who sprayed you with the hose, eh?” There’s amusement in his tone that I don’t like. Like he’s caught me on some trick I took, like he has something on me. Maybe he does. 

“Yep,” I say shortly, not inviting more questions. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing. Just looking out for you, Tom, that’s all.” 

“I know what I’m doing.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop my hand. “Goodbye.”

“We’re worried about you here. Seems a bit soon, doesn’t it? After Grace and all that—”

“Goodbye, Arthur.” I put the phone down and huff out a breath. 

Seems a bit soon. Maybe it is. Maybe I’m all up in my head, afraid to be alone at night, so I attached to the first kind face I saw. Maybe our meeting was some mistake made by me to draw her into the dark. 

No. She carries the same burden as I do, in a different form. If our meeting was anything, it was mercy. If some cosmic mistake is what brought us together then it will take another one to tear us apart. 

—

Alfie Solomons leaves after the briefing on the Russians. The door remains open. My brothers stay. Their eyes flick down to the ground and stay there, and I slowly sit back down onto my chair. None of them want to be the first to talk. I look to Arthur, let him feel my gaze. If I feel something at their reluctance to leave, it’s too deep for me to be aware of it. I shy away from feeling too deeply. Nothing set in stone, and yet, everything a dirt road. Tread the same path too long and it will become the only path there is. I refuse to be limited by my own emotion. 

“So, Russians, hey?” Arthur tries at skirting away from whatever shames him. I stare up at him, unamused. “We— we uh— we fucked up, Tom.” Arthur stumbles over the confession and John shoots him a look of venom. “I fucked up.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting. 

“One of the girls— well, you know how they are— I had some drink in me and she— she asked some questions. Shouldn’t have answered them, Tom. Should’ve kept my bloody mouth shut. It doesn’t matter now, they know. I told it to ‘em, and now they know. Nothing to do but—”

“What do they know, Arthur?” I keep my voice even. My head throbs where the stitches were taken out months ago, another sign of my dawning insanity. 

“You know how it is, they act all nice to ya and—”

“He told them about hose-girl.” John cuts in. “He told them that he knows about the one that got away.”

My eyes lock onto the drawer in the desk where my gun sits, hidden. “How much did you tell them?”

“Ah, well, it was all very— I mean, I told them—”

“Get to the fucking point.” Inside that drawer is a weapon I’ve held to the temples of many a man, myself included. Inside that drawer is the hope I have of protecting my own. Including her.

“I told them she has horses. That’s all. That she has horses and doesn’t live in town. All I said, I swear it.” His voice carries bravado, covering up for the anxiety I know he has. He doesn’t like displeasing me, and he certainly has. 

My words come short and quiet. “You gave them definitive information about a woman they’ve been trying to find for years.” 

His silence resonates. 

“Answer me, Arthur.” I tear my eyes from the drawer to pin him down, trying to lock onto his shifty eyes. 

“Yes, sir, I did.” He looks to John for support, pleading with him for backup. He finds nothing but a stony face. 

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this before I planned to meet with the fucking Russians?” My voice threatens to raise and his eyes grow furtive. 

“I thought—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you thought!” I stand, slamming a hand down on the desk in front of me. Arthur flinches. “Her blood is on your hands, and you’re standing there telling me what you thought?” 

“It was my mistake, Tom, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking sorry. We’re all fucking sorry.” I grit my teeth, grind them, and walk out from behind the desk. They turn on instinct, soldiers at attention, their eyes on my back. “We go to the Russians, and we go to save what’s left of her. Understood?”

“Yes.” John’s voice.

“Arthur?” His name is rancid on my tongue. I grow antsy, a green horse on its first ride, flinching and preparing to bolt. I should be by her side, getting her out of there. I should be hunting down the man who thought he could own someone like her. 

But I have business. The world slowly lowers down on my shoulders, and I am not Atlas. I cannot shrug. 

—

I leave the Russians with the scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and Tatiana’s perfume lingering on me, and the thought of Grace stuck in my head. I was careless, and now I’m hungover, disorganized. The night is still young, and we reach home before the moon is bright in the sky. First thing I do is pick up the phone and call Moss. I ask him about a woman in a barn outside of Birmingham, and he tells me they found two dead bodies with her. 

“She’s safe?” 

“She is for now. She won’t talk and she has no record, Mr. Shelby, we gotta take her in.” 

“No.” I shake my head. “Keep her. See if she’ll talk. I’ll come get her.”

I need an ally. I need help, with everything, not just the quiet things. I need someone who can stare down the barrel of a gun and keep their mouths shut. I need someone who ignores the urge to run, who knows that they’re a monster, too. Two dead bodies found at the barn. One smashed, one shot. When I close my eyes, I can see myself pulling the trigger, smashing the skull. When I think about it, I can feel her fear and determination. My brow furrows, my lips part. She sits alone in a cell while men she doesn’t know interrogate her. 

“Is that all, Mr. Shelby?”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, a headache stretching between my temples. “Don’t make her talk. Let her wait. I’ll be there.”

“Yessir, Mr. Shelby.”  

“That’s all, Moss. Goodnight.”

I put the phone down and make my way to the bathroom to clean myself off, to rid myself of the smell of other women and spirits and the taste of Grace on my lips. So that she doesn’t smell it, yes, and so that I can forget it ever happened. So that I can wash off the shame and fear and overwhelming sense of loneliness. So that the path I tread doesn’t become beaten. 

—

After I’ve cleaned the wounds on her head, after the blood has been washed off, after the sins of my war have been confessed, she sleeps in the bed next to me. I’m on my back, but my head is tilted. Her eyes flutter beneath her eyelids. Her lips part slightly. Moonlight shines on her skin. A swollen bump grows underneath her chin, skin broken. 

If I could love her, it would be heavy. Something to carry with me. My love, I’ve learned since Grace, has teeth. Maybe it isn’t love. Maybe possession, maybe control. I can grip with clenched, white knuckles. I can force someone to come back to me, not because they want to, because they have to. I want to love her but I doubt that I can. When I try, something hurts, and I cannot tell her where, only that it does.

A desperate part of me that I do not visit often wants to know what it’s like to be consumed. I am always the possessor, not the possessed. I want to be claimed. I want her love to have teeth, like mine, that can show me that my armor is only skin. If she was the one to cut me, I would bleed forever. That desperation believes that, even with Grace’s death, there is a person out there made exactly for me. That desperation believes that the war I fought in might be echoed in someone else’s. That desperation believes that I have found her and I am ruining it. 

I get up from the bed and my body aches. Faint bruises form on my trachea, where Tatiana pressed down. I look at myself in the mirror and empty eyes stare back. There is fear behind them. I want to lay back down with her and forget about last night and tonight and all the regrettable nights I will undoubtedly have until she is brave enough to touch me. 

In three days time I crawl back into a tunnel, deep underneath the earth, with the pressure of the world lying over me, precarious. I brave the underground for the sake of a robbery that could make or break my career. I promised Grace to stay legal. She’s dead. And the company runs.

—

“We have your son. Get in the car.” 

Rain patters on the outside of the car. I’m in a tinfoil box, and my son is out there. “First. Is he safe?”

“Of course he’s safe. All children are dear to me.”

Michael’s voice, his confession, speaks to me from memory. My son, in the hands of men who have little respect for physical boundaries. Who have little respect for children themselves.

“You have all the cards. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will certainly do it.” My words are choked at the ends, not broken, but holding anger and panic. 

“You ever drive one of these beasts?”

“I’m asking you to conduct business.”

“I borrowed it. Lent it. By a lord. For the duration of this business.”

My head bowed, my eyes unblinking, staring forward, waiting for the order that will save my son. I breathe heavily. I have no choice. I have to comply. “I will certainly do what you need me to do with no complaints.”

“We were forced into doing this awful thing. We did warn you that your son would be in danger if you deviated from the plan.” The priest speaks to me like I’m thick, words slow and gentle and pretentious. “It was you who made a mistake, you understand that?”

“Yes.” Anything. Anything to get him back. 

“What mistake did you make? Do you even know?”

Now it’s a game. A show of power. I have no choice. I must comply. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You made a deal with our enemies.”

“I will do what needs to be done.” “You went behind our backs to stop the Soviets from blowing up the train. But it’s alright. It’s alright. We’ve rectified your mistake. You ask me ‘what do I need to do?’ Well, here’s what you need to do, you fucking mongrel, you.” He hands me an envelope. I take it with shaking hands. “But since the Bolsheviks will not be blowing up the train, you’ll blow up the train yourself. It’s always been about the explosion. From the beginning. The bang. The outrage. Understand?”

I nod, unable to do anything else. A mechanical movement, trained into me, comply, comply, comply. 

“Those are notes and fragments for you to scatter in the wreckage. Implicating named officials from the Soviet embassy.” 

“I will scatter them. It will be done.” 

“Good. Our friends at the Time and the Daily Mail will do the rest. And once the British government cuts diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, that will be our mission accomplished. You’ll have been part of a fine adventure.” His eyes land on me. I can feel his gaze, despicably soft brown eyes, a red herring. “To help with the outrage, we need people to die in the explosion.” 

I feel nothing. I am an empty shell of a man, puppeteered by a God that despises me. “How many?”

“Let’s say; six? Rail workers, perhaps. Men from the factory.” 

I nod. That's all I can do. “And I want my son returned to me within an hour of the explosion.” 

“Oh, it’s conditions now, is it?” The amusement in his words sends chills down my back. I shift forward.

“We need to fix the handover in advance.” Firmness. Clinging to what little power I have. 

“I haven’t finished with you yet, Mr. Shelby. We also hear you’re digging a tunnel. Mining for precious stones under Wilderness House. I’m told they have a faberge in the strong room. The Lilies Of The Valley Egg, made in 1898. One of the Odd Fellows has a wife who’s obsessed with faberge. He wants to give her the egg for her birthday…”

“He will have it.” Comply.

“And the economic league will take all the jewels that you steal, to cover our considerable expenses. The fight against communism isn’t cheap, you know? So if you want to see your—”

“I will bring you all the jewels.”

“A bang first. Then bring everything you’ve stolen to your office at dawn.” 

I shake my head. “No. No. I’ll not be able to get the jewels to you by dawn. The tunnel has hit clay.”

“If the Saint Andrews clock strikes 5:00 am on the night of the robbery, and we don’t have everything that we’ve asked for, the bell will be tolling for your boy.” 

Thunder rumbles. I nod, closing my eyes. My son. The last piece of Grace I have. 

“Now get out of my fucking car.”

—

A day has passed since I’ve seen her. She has her horses. She’ll think of me when she has the time, wonder where I’ve gone off to. I have no doubt she’ll worry tonight. She’ll pace the room we share and think she’s made a mistake, some blunder that’s chased me away. I think as I drive that this might be the end. My disappearance, my lack of communication, my lies, might be the final straw for her. She knows nothing of the Russians or the Soviets, knows only little of the priest. I’m sure she expects me back when the sun starts to go down. I’m sure her sleep will be fitful or impossible without knowing where I am. 

I won’t be going home tonight. She will rise before dawn, when I crawl out of a tunnel, and she will wonder where I am. Perhaps she’ll call Ada, who’ll tell her nothing. I am Midas. When I touch her, she turns cold, so I don’t. I don’t tell her of the business I conduct because she doesn’t deserve to be part of this bloody fucked up world I’ve created. So, she’ll wake up, and I’ll be gone. No explanation, no contact. And I’ll come home when the sun has risen and I’ll explain nothing. I protect my own. 

I protect my own, but I’ve chosen Charlie over her, and of that I am guilty. 

There’s gray in the sky when I arrive at the tunnel. Johnny Dogs shouts at me, seeking an explanation for my sudden appearance. I shout back something about my boy and the priest and midnight, and before he can stop me, I climb down into the tunnel. 

I don’t feel. I try to chase away the ebb and flow of my head during daylight, above ground, when the danger separates itself from the soldier I used to be. I’ve built a dam between myself and whatever wave of emotion comes crashing in. I can see it come, but I am never drowned by it. Not when I’m on top of the world instead of underneath it. 

I am trapped in a birth canal of mud and the sound of picks against clay. I cannot move in any direction without being pressed against some wall. I watch the only way out disappear behind me. There’s no escape except to complete my mission and pierce through the earth. Some nightmare shakes the earth around me. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m covered by dirt and it staunches the blood from the abrasions; from the axes, from the rough stones, from myself, that mark my shaking body. 

The single lantern flashes shadows and I can hear the Germans against the barrier in front of us. A race against time begins. No apparatus supports us, all we have are pickaxes to eat away at the earth in front of us. Tunnel warfare springs to life, and my head pounds, and the dam is broken. My hands shake and my eyes are wide and there’s no doubt that I am terrified. Doesn’t matter. I can be scared and still work, still function, still complete the business I’ve forced myself into. There are men by my side that inch forward with every second, who I trust, who know the tunnels as damn well as I do. 

I am ripped into being alive. Sensations, doubts, fears, absolute terror, things I have not felt since the war. On hands and knees, chipping away at impossibility, the earth rumbling with soldier’s feet and mines exploding on the no-man’s-land I tunnel beneath. Strangely, there is fear, and next to it a sense of belonging. This is my grave that I dig, and I am meant to die here, underground. This is my home, the first place I learned to run from, the first place I promised myself I would never return. 

One of the men seizes and I do nothing to help him but send him out. On the edge of the shakes myself, I am wired to do nothing but dig. Forcing the wet clay apart, blood and sweat dripping from my forehead, inching forward bit by bit with the other men. 

I remember rot. I remember bodies buried in the clay. I remember the sun being a dream. I remember each shake of the earth a bad omen, each sound of picks on the other side a forewarning to our deaths. God watched idly as I buried myself and other men in a grave I dug myself. We told each other not to listen when we screamed, when we convulsed at night, when we broke from the pressure of the world on our shoulders. 

I can feel sludge beneath me, slipping, and I know I’m going too fast. My men build supports with timber to hold up the earth on weak substructures. Condensation drips onto me. The ground around us shivers, rocks tumble from around the supports, and we pause, waiting, expecting to be buried. Nothing. 

Gasping for breath. Body bruised and battered. Swimming in the suffocating pressure of the earth surrounding us. Trying desperately to dig upwards, to save our own lives. To survive. None of it real, just the sound my picks and the men building supports.  

I reach the end and plant an explosive. Backing away. Blinking the blood and sweat out of my eyes. It goes off, and I expect to be buried but have no time to fear it. Before the smoke clears, I’ve escaped the tunnel, and I can breathe, if only for a moment. My shaking hands scoop jewels into a canvas bag, giving no thought to what I grab, where I grab from. I take and take and take. 

There’s a shout that I don’t have much time. I suck in a breath, snatch blindly at the last few jewels. Crawl back into the tunnel, throwing the bag of jewels in front of me, following the men as they begin the creep back up. 

I’m the last out. The other men have gone to clean themselves up. Panting, I lie in the dirt where I belong, and roll onto my back to stare up at the black sky. My breath fogs the air. Bits of my body stings where the skin was scraped off. And I pant. 

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. 

—

Somehow, I manage to drive. I don’t see the trees around me, don’t see the grass or the hills, just look straight ahead as my destination grows on the horizon. A single phone booth on the side of the road, resolute. I don’t turn off the car, stepping out and walking unsteadily over to it. I place a coin in, turn the handle, and wait. 

“Let me speak to him,” I say.

My son’s babbling fills the phone and I smile. “Hello, Charlie.” 

He’s unharmed. He’s safe. The nightmare, for now, is over. A lump forms in my throat and I don’t understand it. I’m smiling. I’m relieved. My hand shakes. There’s extra liquid in my eyes. 

“Hello, Charlie,” I say again. He responds with a quiet dadda and nothing else. 

“Can you hear me?” I sniffle and fend off the rising pressure in my chest, holding it off until I’m done, until I know he’s safe. 

He mumbles something about being tired and I smile again, heart simultaneously filling and being stabbed with something cold. “Yeah. You go to bed. Good boy.” 

The call ends and I put the phone down. Something in me bends and bends and bends and then, finally, snaps. My brow furrows and I squeeze my eyes shut and a small sob wracks my body. 

It was a success. My son is safe. The jewels are ready. I should be fucking grateful that I survived this. That we survived this. 

There’s a sense in me that there was no success, only what appears to be one. There’s a sense in me that tells me I’ve pushed those I want close further and further from me. There’s a sense that I will never be the man I hope to be because it’s hard when I’m always fucking unwanted. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel unless I blow it up. There’s no joy to be had unless I force it. 

And I sob, because I feel everything. There’s an ache in my chest and a hole in my heart. There’s pain through my body and a horrible loneliness in my head. There’s relief, pure and unadulterated, and there’s terror lingering from the tunnel, images flashing through my mind of what burned itself into my mind in France. Claustrophobia burns through me. I sob over what I’ve destroyed like I want to stop and worship it, and soon, I’ll be back with a pick in my hand and explosives waiting. 

My son has grown up barely knowing me because I’m consumed by business. My heart has been broken too many times and I fear that it will never be made whole. I am a soldier with only the cause of ambition to guide me. And I feel everything, even though I try to hide it. 

I take a breath, pressing my eyes closed, then pull myself together and straighten. I call her. I suspect she won’t pick up, but I try anyway. 

There’s a click and her voice, distorted by the distance, says my name in a tone I can only describe as fearful. “Tommy?”

“Yes,” I say, words still choked. 

“Where have you been?” Not steady, not brave, not the tone I know from her. 

“Business.” It’s the only explanation I can give. 

“Business? For two days straight?” 

“Yes. For two days straight. You need to know who I am.” I squeeze the earpiece, stopping my voice from wavering. “You need to know that I can’t give you what you want.”

There’s quiet on the other end of the phone. My hand continues to shake.

“What happened?” The fear is gone, in its place, worry.

“Nothing happened,” I lie. “Do you understand me? I can’t be the one you need. You think I’m going to change but those fuckers out there are worse than I am.” 

“I’ve never wanted you to change. I’ve never asked for that. And no one can be everything to someone. I’m not expecting that from you. I just want you to tell me when you’re going to be gone like this.” 

“They’ve issued an arrest for my family and I have to let it happen.” 

“What?” 

“For my brothers, for Pol, for Esme and Linda. I made the wrong enemies.” Please, forget about me, choose to leave. “You should go before it all goes to shit.”

“Tommy. I’m not going. I’m staying with you. You’ve made a mistake, that doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you. I told you I would forgive your rottenness and I plan to keep that promise.” Her voice is strained. “Tom, just come home, we can talk—”

“I’ve gotten mixed up in something too big for me.” I close my eyes, a small tear dripping out. “I won’t have a family after this.”

“Thomas Shelby, I swear to God, if you don’t come home, I’m tracking you down and dragging you here myself. Okay? So get back in your car and drive your ass home. You’re gonna be fine, you’re not gonna end up without a family. You’re going to be fine.” Her voice softens towards the end and I feel myself drawn towards her, despite everything. “You won’t be alone.”

“I fucked another woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Quit trying to make excuses for me to leave you. Come home, we’ll calm you down, and we’ll talk about it.” 

“My brothers told them where you were. The attack was my fault.”

“I get what’s happening here. Something scared you, and you think you’re hurting everyone around you, so you’re self-sabotaging. Come home. That’s all I want. Don’t you want to give me what I want?” 

I do. I always want to give her what she wants. There are better men out there who could love her. There are better people who could protect her without making the mistakes I did. 

They’ll have to get through me, though. 

“I’ll come home.” I open my eyes and blink hard, ridding them of their bleariness. “I’m not the man you want, love.”

“So you keep saying.” Her words grow wry. “You forget that you don’t get to tell me what I want. And I want you. I don’t know how to make that any clearer to you.” 

I nod and give in to the words she speaks. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon, Tom. Yes?”

“Yes. Goodbye.” 

I put the phone down. This shallow world, this twisted and broken body I live in, this mind that I cannot control, somehow she is a master of all of it. Somehow she puts me at ease. Love, I think, is two people inspiring each other to live. And she gives me a reason, and she stays by my side. 

Dawn breaks, and I walk back to my car in silence. 

[acewritesfics]

Drabble 09 | Alfie Solomons

Request: from @/liliac-dreamer

Word Count: 250

Warnings: none

Alfie Solomons Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“I suppose you want your shirt back,” Y/N smirks, sitting propped up by the pillows on their bed. She’s sitting in her panties and the shirt Alfie had been wearing before she lured him back into bed. The buttons are undone, and the shirt is barely covering her.  

“Keep it. It looks better on you," he tells her, pulling out a clean shirt from his dresser.  

“How can I keep it when we live together. Once it’s been through the wash, it’ll go right back into your dresser,” she chuckles keeping up with the playful banter they have going on.  

“Put it in your dresser,” he suggests. “That way it’ll be yours.”   

“What if I don’t want it to be mine?” she asks, moving off the bed and over to him. Wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, she places a kiss on his back. “What if I want to keep stealing it from you?”  

“That’ll be a sin and I’ll have to punish you,” he says.  

“What will this punishment entail?” she asks, her hands moving under the new shirt she’s wearing.  

“You’ll find out when I get home,” he tells her, moving out of her grasp before she lures him back to bed once more. “I’ll have all day to think about it.”  

“Don’t let it distract you,” she chuckles as she buttons up the shirt she’s wearing before following him to the door. Giving him a kiss goodbye, she whispers, “Have a good day, my love.” 

[justrainandcoffee]

Goodbye, my hopeless dream (Alfie x Tommy)

Hunger Games AU

Summary: That's the last night together and Alfie and Tommy are the last ones alive in that special edition of the Hunger Games. Only one of them was going to leave the Arena alive and it's not Tommy. Alfie and his ghosts are alone now. And his heart is forever broken.

Warnings: Angst. Major character death. Description of killings. Please, remember the kind of world Panem is. If you don't know, well, just know that kids are forced to kill other kids. || MxM love. || Bittersweet ending. ||

Words: 2k. || Tofie masterlist

"Because you'll find someone else to love. I won't."

Alfie woke up with a startled again. He was transpiring despite the cold winter.

His clock announced that it was 2 in the morning. The night was quiet in District 9 but especially in the Victor's Village… because hus house was now the only one habitable there.

I should be fucking dead.

But he wasn't because destiny in that world was a cruel beast. Especially for unfortunate people like Alfie Solomons.

"He's synonymous with luck," people commented. "The two times winner of the Hunger Games Alfred Solomons."

In district 9 he was a hero. He did what the powerful districts couldn't do. The eyes of Panem were in one of the poorest places of the country, because of him. He deserved the glory, the cheers.

But people didn't know the kind of man Alfie Solomons was indoors. Or worse, how he was inside his own mind.

The ghosts he saw, the screams of pain he heard in his dreams… his eyes.

A year and a half ago.

The Quarter Quell was presented as la crème de la crème. The elite of Panem facing the Arena once more. The Quarter Quell meant that the victors of previous games were going to participate in the 75th edition.

They promised them another thing. They promised them freedom. They promised them not to kill again.

And yet…

The rebels were ready to. It was now or never. They were going to kill Coriolanus Snow and free Panem of the tyranny he was. But that was before he and his men killed every single one of the rebels. Even kids. For the right price someone talk and give all the names. Like Judas. And also like Judas he hang himself.

If any rebels remained free, then they were hiding in the shadows. The last massacre was a reminder that as long as Snow was alive, the games still existed. Punishing the rebels not once, but twice.

They were rude, strong. Not like those malnourished children that the whole country saw year after year. They won and they were rich, well fed. Like they were once. In consequence, that was the 17 night there. The longest games ever, but that edition was also finishing. Only four remained alive.

Alfie was resting against a tree with his scythes dropping blood in his hands. He was looking at the sky and paying attention at his surroundings.

He didn't want to see Tommy's face projected on the dome, but he didn't want to be the one killing him either. Alfie couldn't kill him. Alfie won't kill him.

How do you kill the love of your life?

They only could see each other every year for only two weeks maximum, three if they were lucky, but it was enough for them. The kisses in the balcony, the lovemaking in their beds. Alfie's beard tickling Tommy's neck, Tommy's hands on his chest. The stolen smiles. His blue eyes on him like Alfie was the most important man in his life. He was. The nights comforting each other every time a kid of them died. The joy they experienced when the other finally could transform one of their tributes into a victor. The promises of love.

"We're going to be happy together, Alfie, when we can go to district 13."

"I know, Tom. We can live in district 4 afterwards, next to the sea."

"I'd like that."

All those words vanished in the air when they knew that Snow killed the rebels. And even more when he announced the Quarter Quell. Alfie felt the frustration in his bones. The unimaginable anger.

All those promise of eternal love never were going to be possible because happiness and Panem never were in the same sentence.

The sound of a cannon startled him. If it was Tommy, it was going to be easier. Killing the tributes from 1 and 4 was going to be easy for him because he had nothing to lose.

But the image on the dome showed the face of the tribute from 4.

Of course it wasn't him. Thomas Shelby, from 12, was tough as nails. His Tommy.

But, who was going to comfort him during his nightmares if not Alfie? Tommy told him more than once that even when his aunt, sister and brothers were there, the real comfort existed only in Alfie's arms. And same as him, Alfie knew that Tommy won't be capable of killing him.

Tommy was braver than him, Alfie thought. Tommy clearly could commit suicide if it was necessary to erase his pain from Earth. But he couldn't. Otherwise, he could have made it the first years after winning his first games.

Before knowing Tommy, Alfie's life was a constant battle between keeping himself awake to avoid nightmares and and sleeping to forget what being alive meant. He found in casual, meaningless sex a way to numb his brain. Then, one day, one the latest victors approached while they were in the Capitol's Tribute building. Alfie watching at Tommy thought that he had the prettiest eyes he ever seen. Tommy was just 18 and Alfie 20. Fifteen years passed since they met. Fifteen years together. Stolen moments once a year, but for them were precious.

"I love you, Tom."

"I love you too, Alfie."

Why was the world was so cruel? Why couldn't two people in love live trying to leave the cruel past behind them? Why couldn't Alfie wake up with his lover in the same bed and enjoy life? Maybe even getting married?

Alfie opened his eyes again. He heard a noise behind him, between the trees. Only the moonlight illuminated the landscape. His scythe was ready to attack the tribute from 1 and killl him right in the spot. Decapitating him if necessary. He did it before. If not, that bastard could kill his partner and no one was going to kill Tommy.

But it wasn't the remaining tribute, it was Tommy himself.

"What're you doing here, Tom? I thought… we talked…"

"I know, Alfie, we said that the best thing we could do was to be apart. But this is the last night, sweetheart. The last one."

His words hurt him. Alfie loved Tommy sincerity, even in the darkest times. The last night together it was supposed to be in the future decades from now, when one of died of old age. Not now in their 30s.

Tommy sat down next to him resting his head on Alfie's shoulder.

"Remember what you told me once, Alfie?: No one can separate us. That's what you told me. I guess we didn't put Snow in the equation."

The sound of the canon made Alfie opened his eyes.

No. No.

"Tommy, Tommy… damn, what did you do?"

"I cut his femoral artery. He bleed himself," Tommy said quietly. "Just you and me now, Alfie."

Alfie dropped his scythe far away from him. He didn't need it now, not ever again. He hugged Tommy.

"You're freezing, pet."

"It's cold. Kiss me."

Alfie didn't waste his time and did it. He gave a fuck if a whole nation was watching them. The man next to him was his love and he didn't care about anything else. Tomorrow morning one of them was going to die.

Tommy moaned when Alfie's tongue found his. How do you tell the love of your life that you're already dying? He couldn't, not now. Tommy layed down on the sand and Alfie did the same but in top of him.

Without stop kissing him, Alfie's hands found his hair, now wet, and ran his fingers through it.

"I love you," Tommy repeated.

"No, I love you."

"I know."

This time it was Tommy who kissed him. His strong Alfie but soft Alfie. He wished he'd have more opportunities to say him how important he was to him. Because Alfie was everything he had.

The tribute from 1 was a beast of man. Stronger and younger than him, but Tommy was smarter. He tricked him and managed to cut his leg, causing an instant bleeding. But the tribute also managed to stab him in his liver. When Tommy started to walk towards Alfie, he removed the knife from his body but the damage was irreversible and Tommy knew it. At least it was going to die in Alfie's hands and he was going to be the newest victor. Two times winner.

"I love you," Alfie said again against his mouth. But when he touched Tommy's abdomen felt the inconfundible warmth of blood. It was too dark to see it, but it was there. He smelled his hand: it was definitely blood.

"Fuck, no! Tommy, no!"

That's why he was cold.

"It's too late, Alfie. And it's better this way, eh? You didn't have to kill me and I don't have to kill you either."

"It wasn't supposed to be this way, Tom! It wasn't! I was going to protect you! I promised you…"

"It's not like we can avoid death, love."

"Fuck. FUCK!"

Tommy put a hand on his face and stroked his beard. He was going to miss him.

"Better me that you, Alfie. You'll find someone else to love. I won't. If something happened to you, then I was going to kill myself and in revenge Snow was going to kill my family. This way, they're safe and you too."

Alfie shut him up with another kiss. Slower this time. His stupid Tommy always taking unnecessary risks. Alfie felt his lover's hands on his neck, caressing his hair and took his time to savouring him.

"Live your life, Alfie. But try to not forget me."

What do you say after something like that. Alfie started to cry in silence. His tears mixed with the tasted of Tommy's lips.

"I won't forget you," Alfie said.

Tommy was curled up against his body when the last cannon sounded. Alfie hid his face on the shoulder of his now dead partner.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the 75th Hunger Games, from district 9: Alfred Solomons."

Now

"Live your life, Alfie but try to not forget me."

"I won't forget you."

Alfie couldn't and definitely won't forget Tommy. His eyes, his kisses… him.

But there's someone else now. She's good and they have a little girl named Allie who's sleeping in her bed hugging her teddy bear now. One day in some years, Allie will be old enough to be part of the Hunger Games and the only thing that Alfie could do was to beg for her name was never selected.

"Protect her, Tommy."

He has to believe that the man who gave his life to protect him, somehow is also protecting his little daughter.

Tommy will protect her. Tommy wishes he could say that to him. Allie Solomons will never be reaped. She never was going to be forced to kill anyone.

An invisible hand touches Alfie's shoulder. There's nothing he can do to erase his pain but trust that time and love will heal his heart.

"To another life, my hopeless dream." Tommy thinks.

Maybe next time they will be luckier. Maybe.

[his-saiko]

Sleep - 3:23

Tsukishima was lying next to you fast asleep while you’re watching videos on your phone. You happen to come across a very sad one and couldn’t stop your tears from falling. You only sniffed once.

You felt the bed shift and you see his large frame rise. He looked down at you with furrowed brows since he’s in the middle of waking himself up. “What’s wrong?” He asked with a groggy voice.

“I was watching someone say goodbye to their pet.” You muttered with a pout.

He clicked his tongue and flopped back down beside you. He sighed as he relaxed. He pulled you to him and pet your head. “Can’t you just sleep as well?”

You giggled as you nuzzle his chest. “I didn’t mean to worry you like that.”

He hummed. “Sleep.”

© 2022 Alfi. Do not repost any of my work

[anotherblinder]

Talk

Previous Parts || Betrayal P1|| Reunion P2 || He Wanted His POV||

Summary || After finding Alfie, you go talk with Thomas

Word Count || 1.1k

Pairing || Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings || Alfie s4 spoilers, mentions of being shot, swears

Notes || Yes this series is still going! There will either be one or 2 main parts after this one and one side one like He Wanted. I hope you all enjoy! And since this is my story Reader and Alfie still have Cyril. special shout out to @runnning-outof-time for helping me sort a few things out for this chapter. please go read her her she's amazing!

Rage, fear, pain. All those things you felt as you look at your husband. Lying in bed, nearly dead from a gunshot to the head. You’ve barely slept as you’ve tended to him. Alfie hasn’t woken up yet, it’s given you plenty of time to figure out what to say when he does. God, he thought the best way out was by having him killed. How selfish could he be? The deal was in sickness and in health. Did Alfie really think you’d turn away from him because of his skin cancer? Using the betrayal to Thomas as a way to get a quick death. Or maybe you were being selfish excepting him to fight through it. 

Damn Thomas Shelby for doing as he asked. He could have just walked away, he should have. You knew he was a man of his word though. It was something you admired about him. Even now. Sighing, you stood from your seat and lightly placed your hand on Alfie’s cheek as you leaned over him and placed a kiss on his head. Scratching Cyril’s head as he lay next to Alfie, you left the room. You had a destination in mind, you needed to talk to Thomas.  

A wave of nostalgia hit you as you walked through the door of the Garrison. You haven’t been here since that night. Could never bring yourself to come in because he owned it. Thomas would always be there and you never wanted to see him again. Now you wanted to shoot him in the head yourself. But since he’s been working with Alfie you’ve felt yourself slightly soften on him. Slightly. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when you walked through those doors again.” 

Turning your head to the familiar voice, a smile came to your face. One of apology and greeting. Polly gave you a smile, as she always did, as she walked up to you.  

“Neither did I, but I have to speak with,” You hesitated almost calling him a more familiar name, “Thomas.” 

“He’s home right now. But I have something for you.” Polly said 

Curiosity took over as you watched her walk away to the back office. What could she possibly want to give to you? Moments later Polly came back holding a letter. Now you were really curious. The smile she gave you held something you couldn’t really tell. She handed it over and you saw your name scribbled on top of it with his writing. There was a hesitation in taking it. You never fully forgave Thomas, so you weren’t sure if you wanted to take the letter, she was giving you. Sighing, after a moment you took it from her and stared at the paper in your hand.  

“Tommy always talked about giving it to you. Just never got the balls to do it. You need to talk with him.” 

“About more than one thing it seems.” You muttered 

You opened the letter and read over it. A feeling came over you, one you couldn’t place. It was obvious he wrote it after the fight years ago. You were tired, you missed him. Over the years you grew over your anger. The only one that stood right now is he shot your husband. Folding up the letter, you said goodbye to Polly and left the Garrison. The drive to Arrow house wasn’t bad as your mind was too preoccupied with what you were going to say. You wanted to keep a level head as much as possible. The car stopped and you stepped out. Not bothering to wait for your door to be opened. Walking up to the door you knocked and patiently waited for an answer. Not long after the door was opened, and you came face to face with a woman. From her outfit she is a maid in the house. You gave her a smile and fought the urge to just turn around and drive back home. Having some regret in coming to talk. 

“May I help you ma'am?” She politely asked  

“Yes, I’m here to talk to Mr. Shelby.”  

“I’m sorry he’s not taking people at the moment.” 

You held back a sigh as you looked at the woman. You knew she was just doing her job, but this was slightly getting on your already worked up nerves. Discreetly you let out a sigh and gave her a nod. Maybe you should just turn around and go home. This could be a sign to just say fuck it and never come back again. Then you saw the image of Alfie lying there in bed and couldn’t bring yourself to leave. You had to talk to Tommy, it was years overdue. 

“Tell him Mrs. Solomons needs to speak with him, please.”  

The maid paused at the door, and you could tell she was just as annoyed as you were. It was obvious most people just walked away hearing that. Only you weren’t leaving and if he said no, you were going to storm into his office yourself. Going home without a talk wasn’t an option. After a moment she opened the door wider and directed you to step inside. 

“Please wait here as I talk to Mr. Shelby.” She informed you  

“Thank you,” you replied as she walked away. 

It was a nice home; you were glad Thomas was finally getting the life he deserved. Well, some of it at least. You’d be lying if you said you never imagined this being your home with Thomas by your side. It seemed the future had very different plans for you. You saw the picture of Grace and still couldn’t help the pit of hatred you felt for her. Had she never gotten into his life, you’d still be in it. But she sabotaged your relationship with him. For that you’ll never forgive Grace. What you could feel happiness for, was the joy and happiness she brought to Thomas in the time they were together. For that you will be forever grateful to her. Heels clicking against the floor brought your attention to the maid coming back over to you. Seemingly annoyed but doing a good job masking it. Only you could see right through it.  

“Mr. Shelby will see you in his office. If you’ll follow me, please.” She spoke 

“No need, I can get there myself. Thank you.”  

You walked past her and walked over to his office door. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room. This wasn’t the first time you’ve been here. No, you’ve been a few times when Alfie had to deal with business and wanted you by his side. This was the first time you’re here alone. Thomas sat at his desk, but his attention turned to the door as you came in. Both of you stared at the other in silence before you fully stepped into the room and closed the door behind you. 

“Tommy, we need to talk.” 

Tags || @violet-19999 | @dreamy-caramel | @selenaelena | @slytherinambitious | @andreead | @janelongxox | @bdudette |

if you want to be tagged/untagged in this please let me know! if i missed you i apologize!

[evita-shelby]

An Eva masterlist for all your #Evacore needs

Banner by @cillmequick

Peaky Blinders

#evacore by others

Tommy x Eva

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Nothing more difficult than love (arranged marriage au)

You read me poetry while i wash the dishes (Eva x Tommy oneshots)

A different sort of man( btsats!Tommy and Eva accidentally switch places with season 3!Tommy and a different version of Eva)

An Unholy Alliance (Grace x Tommy, Tommy x Eva)

The Duke of Saxon Shore (two shot where Duke Shelby exists)

A witch and a rose (eva & Rose Coldwell (@justrainandcoffee)

Tommy x Eva x Heaven (@call-sign-shark)

Garden of Eden

tommy x eva, tommy x Lucy Winters( @mischievouslittlecreature )

look both ways

The Wreckage

tommy x eva ft evie shelby( @novashelby )

a tale of two evies

Mr. Chang

Luca Changretta x Eva

Incantatrice

To love and say goodbye(one shot collection)

Not so different ( crossover with @peakyswritings Heart, Body and Soul fic ft Nina Ferrante)

Luca Changretta x Tommy Shelby x Eva Smith

The View from my window

Jack Nelson x Eva

National Anthem

Like an American

What happens in Vegas (modern!Au)

They didn't know we were seeds(Hunger Games Au)

violent delights( 17th century knight au)

Mrs Nelson(original two shot with canon!Jack)

The Two Mrs Nelsons(part two of mrs nelson)

The Wandering (Jack x Eva ft The Wandering Jew!Rose x Alfie(@justrainandcoffee)

Dreams Unwind(inception au)

Brilliant Cheng

Necromancy

Vēnor

The Eva-verse

Devilry dancing in her blood

Eva x Tommy/Alfie x Rose

Forbidden

Strings of Fate (smut 🔞)

Cillianverse

Love's a State of Mind (Robert Fischer x Eva)

The witch and the scarecrow(Jonathan Crane x Eva)

Mr and Mrs Smith (mr and mrs smith inspired Raymond Leon x Eva)

Frecheville-verse

Two Souls Bound for Hell (Martin O’Feeney x Eva (Aoife))

The Locket (reincarnation au)

The First Date (Teeth from the Royal Hotel(2023) x Eva)

MCU

Of Gods and Witches (Namor/Kukulkan of Talokan x Eva)

Moodboards

Brilliant Chang x Eva

Eva ft Megara

Ship in 5 minutes

Tommy x Eva

Jack x Eva

Luca x Eva

[darklydeliciousdesires]

For the Love of Dogs - An Alfie & Beth Solomons One Shot Story.

I think writing that long overdue check in with these two made me realise how bloody much I'd missed them, besties. Here, another installment in their story. I do hope I will have more ideas for further stories to follow :)

Words - 7,890

Warnings - Mention of death, but lots of fluff!

She entered the house on complete, brain disengaged autopilot, her outstretched finger finding the keypad to the alarm system, punching the code in and then simply standing in the welcome hall, a home much, much too quiet for her liking. The heaviness of it squeezed her heart, sniffing hard, rubbing her thumb over the soft leather of his collar. A collar now redundant.  

Her beloved Cyril. Their beloved Cyril.  

“Come ‘ere, darlin’.” Beth wouldn’t have been able to get through it, the last goodbye with their faithful family dog, without her husband at her side. Sinking into the comforting bulk of Alfie’s embrace, she wept against his chest, hearing him sniffing back further tears of his own. He hadn’t been afraid to cry as they’d both sat out on the grass behind the veterinary surgery, Cyril wrapped in soft blankets in a dog bed provided by the staff, the birds tweeting as they’d told him how he was loved, how much of a good boy he was.  

The gargantuan mastiff had taken his last breaths feeling warm, calm and safe, his mum and dad right there with him. Thirteen years had come to a peaceful end as loving hands stroked his soft fur, leaving a hole behind in the lives of his family that far eclipsed his own huge size.  

“If it’s anything to you, thirteen is simply unheard of for a Bullmastiff to reach. You both cared for him exceptionally well, truly.” the kind vet had offered sympathetically. She’d also been the one to suggest they put him to sleep outside, a practice that they’d had to develop over the Covid-19 lockdown, and one she now offered as a much nicer alternative to pets being euthanised upon a table, in a room so many of them felt anxiety towards.  

The children were with their auntie Magda, their parents feeling it best they didn’t attend. It was heartbreaking enough for them as two adults; it would have been much too upsetting for the little ones to witness. Abe and Flora had said their goodbyes to him earlier that morning, sitting with him in their pyjamas, Beth calling the school and explaining they would not be attending on account of the event that afternoon, explaining she felt they would be too upset and distracted to concentrate in class. Luckily, the secretary had been understanding.  

Instead, Magda had booked a day off work and taken them out to keep their minds off it, Thorpe Park being her chosen destination for them to visit. “Ain’t no bother at all, sweet. I could do having a day with me kids, unwind a bit. Poor little mites. Don’t you worry at all, and I don’t want no money, either. I’m treating them, whatever they want, they get.” Beth had been eternally grateful to her children’s godmother for her kind assistance.  

Venturing into the house, Alfie pulled her wine bottle from the rack when they reached the kitchen, pouring out two glasses. He seldom drank, but felt like he needed something in that moment. His heart was truly broken, to be without the loving dog he’d had in his life for so long. Watching girlfriends come and go, his business empire going from strength to strength, meeting the woman who would eventually become his wife, adding children to their family, it had all been with Cyril by his side. 

His loss was profound, sitting down at the island, passing a glass to Beth. “To the best bloody dog who ever was, baby beast.” They chinked glasses, smiling sadly as they remembered Cyril fondly. Their first child, as they always called him. Beth still hadn’t released her grip upon his collar, and for the rest of the afternoon she held onto it, thumb still stroking the leather. 

“Would it be wrong of me if I decided to blow off my article and get pissed out of my face?”  

Alfie’s smile tilted his lips, reaching to stroke her face. “Nah, treacle. Did Mags say she was taking the nippers for dinner an’ all while they’re out?” 

“Yeah, she just texted me, actually. They’re currently at TGI Friday’s awaiting a plethora of their favourite foods.” She smiled at the thought, knowing how Magda loved it there just as much as the kids. “I don’t feel much like cooking for you and I, though.” 

“Ain’t no bother to me, darlin’. I was gonna suggest we order from that new Italian place we like. I ain’t much in the mood for eating, but a bit later I could probably see off a piece of that lasagne they do. Tell you what, why don’t you go for a nice, long soak in the bath. I’ve got a few calls I need to make anyway.” 

She took him up on his suggestion, kissing him before sliding from her seat, placing a kiss upon the collar still in her hand, too, before putting it up on one of the shelves behind the breakfast nook. She’d get to putting away all of Cyril’s other belongings at some point, but couldn’t face it right then. His bed they’d had to throw away that morning, the dog having an unfortunate bladder accident upon it. It had sealed to them that they were doing the right thing in putting him to sleep.  

His toys remained, Beth looking at them mournfully where they sat in the basket for that storage purpose, deciding to move them to a place the kids wouldn’t see upon their return. Picking up his plush frog, she couldn’t resist sniffing it, smelling his lovely fur upon it, her eyes filling with tears all over again. They had decided to have him cremated, the vet advising that his ashes should be back within the next ten days. She knew she’d be in floods all over again then, too.  

Trudging up the stairs, she felt weary with grief, knowing that she had to brighten by the time the children got back, for their sakes. She was expecting them to be upset, returning to a house without Cyril in it, although Magda had stated during various text check ins throughout the day that they seemed to be taking it well. Thorpe Park had proven to be a good distraction, it seemed.  

While the bath ran, she tidied up her little office area, smiling as always when her eye was caught by the framed article from The Times, her very first being published within the newspaper. It had been a gift from Alfie upon her moving in with him. She could scarcely believe it had been ten years since her move into St Mark’s House. It sometimes still felt like ten weeks ago.  

The smell of her Jo Malone bath oil caught her nose as she shuffled the last stack of papers, the notes of English pear and freesia crisp in their aroma, Beth stripping off her white shirt and jeans, placing them into the laundry hamper. “Need to get a load of laundry done.” she noted to herself, seeing the basket just over half full. It could wait.  

The hot water provided a nice, comforting surround of relaxation, her eyes flitting over to the wall by the stained-glass windows, once again viewing her paint swatch choices. She tired of white, wanting something a little different for the space. So far, the smoky blue was a definite front runner, but she also did favour the deep, mustard yellow, almost a dark gold in hue. Hmm. She’d live with the dashes of paint a little longer before deciding. The pink which Flora has suggested was a definite no.  

Once done, she got out, dressing in her favourite, comfortable loungewear set, heading back downstairs. The doorbell sounded just as she was about to head to the kitchen, her path swerved back out towards the front door.  

“She fell asleep about half an hour away,” Magda whispered, passing a sleeping Flora into her mother’s arms, kissing her cheek. She turned, giving her to a suddenly present Alfie, her husband stating that he would see to putting them straight to bed since Abe also looked shattered. “Got bellies full of pizza and chicken wings, they have. Had a right ole’ feast, we did. I swear, I reckon I’ve put on a bleedin’ stone and I only had the Jack Daniel’s chicken!” She then paused, reaching for Beth’s face, her thumb skimming the apple. “Bloody horrid, ain’t it? Coming back to a house without ‘em in it.” 

Of course, Magda understood the pain only too well, losing her beloved Claus only five months before to cancer. Luckily for her and Dennis, at least they still had Marley and Karma. She nipped that little slither of envy immediately, though. “It is, mate. It really is.”  

“Well, I know it ain’t much, but I got you a little something.” Reaching into her gorgeous Fendi tote, Magda pulled out a bottle of her favourite Casamigos tequila, handing it over with a smile. 

“Awww babe, love you,” Beth cooed, giving her a kiss.  

“Love you too, sweet. Open it up, get nice an’ sloshed, and thank me later. Right, I better get moving, gotta go feed his highness and walk the pups.” 

“Thanks again for taking them today, Mags. You made a hard situation just that little bit easier,” she spoke fondly, Magda waving her hand. 

“I had a right good time with them, babe. Always do.” Beth waved to her from the door as she drove away, thinking herself so very lucky. A little while later, the doorbell trilled again, Alfie answering it that time. The cause was in his arms as he entered the lounge, handing her a gigantic bouquet of beautiful flowers.  

“Whoever sent these fuckin’ mugged off half the Chelsea flower show, bloody ‘ell!” he exclaimed as his wife took the blooms, pulling the card from the top.  

“Sending all our love to you, Alfie and the babies. We loved darling Cyril so much, too. Lots of love from Mimi and Kinga xxx” 

Her heart was beyond touched at the generosity of her girls, getting together like that for her to gift something so lovely in her grief. They understood, though, how dogs truly were family. Those surprises didn’t stop coming in the wake of Cyril’s passing either, Beth’s breakfast with her dear Oliver a few days later yielding another beautiful surprise.  

“I hope you don’t get upset, darling, but Brett and I wanted to do something nice in his memory, so this is for you.” He passed the brown paper Habitat bag across the table, Beth pulling out a well wrapped, rectangular shaped gift from within. Tearing open the chic wrapping paper, her throat pinched with emotion, seeing a beautiful black and white photograph of Cyril that Oliver’s husband had taken of him the previous summer, lying outside on the patio, looking so regal in the fading evening light. “Brett says he was the most photogenic dog he’s ever met, and I quite believe that to be true.” 

She couldn’t speak for a few moments, sniffing hard, flapping her hand as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you both so much,” she eventually managed, placing the framed picture down and exiting her seat to give him a huge hug. 

“And we love you too, baby. He was a splendid chap, old Cyril. Remember how scared of him I used to be, back when I first visited you at home? And then by the end of that night, he was sitting next to me on the sofa, resting his massive head on my shoulder?” His fond words sparked the memory, Cyril indeed taking to Oliver very much. 

She nodded, taking her seat again. “I do, yes. Gosh, it was so long ago. I remember when he first met Brett too...” 

“And humped the hell out of his leg!” Oliver finished, clapping his hands together with mirth. What he shouted, too! “Oh, my Jesus, he’s going to give me ligament damage! Queen down! Queen down!” Her emotional wobble was forgotten as she burst into hysterics, remembering Brett literally knocked to the floor while she’d wheezed, Oliver in tears, Alfie having to detach a rampant Cyril from the object of his affections. To Brett he had been known primarily as big gay dog ever since.  

They shared a few memories of him before their conversation moved on, both discussing work, Beth enthralled by his tales from New York Fashion Week, from where he had not long returned. He’d also brought with him another gift he alerted her to in the bag, some of her favourite American sweeties, two big bags of Milk Duds present when she looked again. How well he knew her.  

After breakfast, she had work commitments to attend, calling in at London Life and Style to discuss an article she’d submitted, her little sheen dented by the fact that the viper, also known as Madeline Arlington-Smith, had dissected it thoroughly.  

“I feel that if we leave this part out, this part too, it shall be more in accordance with the overall opinion and not merely a fanciful display of the world according to Beth Solomons.”  

She remembered back to being much more novice in her journalistic endeavours, seated in that very chair ten years before, taking the heat for an article Madeline had thoroughly given the bloodletting treatment to. It has preceded her first meet with her now husband, seeking refuge and Cabernet Sauvignon in a bar that belonged to him. “Then why on earth ask me to write the article, Madeline, if not from my own perspective?”  

“Because you are commenting on the zeitgeist from the perspective of your peers, not simply you, you, you. How does the subject make women of your age feel, what emotions does it drive, how does it affect you all on a whole? I would like a little more of that. We go to print in two weeks. Please have your corrections submitted within the next seven days.” 

The viper was not aware of it, but she narrowly avoided an outburst, Beth physically biting her tongue as she rose from her seat. “I will make sure of that.” Striding from the office, she felt her chest thickening, nodding and smiling at a few of the staffers as she passed them by on the way to the elevator. She knew it was because she was still raw over Cyril, she knew that, not being able to take her critique on the chin with her usual good nature. When she arrived home, though, she succumbed slightly. 

“That bloody bitch effing bloody woman!” 

Alfie raised his eyebrows, looking at her as he clicked a pen against his teeth. “Madeline’s well then, yeah?”  

“She’s right on bloody form, she is! Oy!”  

He chuckled at his wife’s continued exasperation, making a motion for her to take a seat on his lap. Welcoming her into his arms, he kissed her head, rubbing her back where she was tense. “How about I take you out for lunch, ay? Somewhere fancy, then we’ll go pick up the babies from school? I know you’re still heartbroken over Cyril, and as such you ain’t takin’ whatever the fuck the cobra woman told you...” 

“Viper,” she interjected with. 

He waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever the fuck they call her, she’s still a bloody snake, innit? So yeah, you ain’t taking it as good as you normally do, right, so let me take you out and get your mind off it.” 

Her face crept into a grin. “Can we go to Jean-Georges?"  

He could have guessed that’s where she’d request. “You bloody want caviar, don’t ya?” Her rapid nodding confirmed. It was only in the last few years that she’d really relaxed her moderately Kosher diet to such a degree, telling Alfie it was his influence, turning her into an equally bad Jew as he labelled himself. “Good job I’m worth a mint, innit? Fuckin’ wives and their disposition for pricey fish eggs, I dunno. Let me call Stace and see if she’s got a table.” 

Stace, or rather Stacy, was the Maitre'd at Jean-Georges at the Connaught, the hostess always taking good care of them when they visited, as she did with all of her exuberantly wealthy clients. “Stace! How are ya, flower? Yeah, ain’t bad, sweet, ain’t bad. Yeah, you gotta table for about an hour from now? You do? Lovely, treacle, yeah put me down, just me and the missus. Alright, love. See you in a bit.” He then turned to his beaming wife. “You’ve got twenty minutes to go and faff. Hurry up.” 

She placed a big smacker on his lips, rushing upstairs to quickly check her face, refresh her deodorant and perfume, and change into something more suitable for a restaurant with three Michelin stars. One pair of leather leggings were pulled on, along with her beautiful, grey cashmere sweater, her red Birkin bag selected, and contents transferred from her other bag, her feet jammed into her black Louboutins, and she was good to go.  

“Oh blimey, my hair!” Circling back, she quickly picked up her brush and gave it a once over, hearing her husband boom from the stairs.  

“Five minutes, Bethany!” He entered the bedroom, pulling off his sweatshirt, giving her an approving once over. “Love them lovely legs wrapped in leather.” A smack placed to her bum echoed through the bedroom, Alfie chuckling with mirth as he shed the rest of his clothes, heading to the ensuite and getting into the shower.  

“You said five minutes!” she yelled, giving his nudity an appreciative once over while leaning against the bathroom doorframe. 

“I’ll be out in twenty seconds, darlin’.” She had to envy him sometimes, how he could go from casual to restaurant ready in a matter of minutes. Styling his hair took him all of a minute, whereas for her, she’d battled through her thick mane with the straighteners for half an hour that morning. He dressed in a grey suit with a black shirt, not bothering with a tie, handsome, yet sophisticated and casual. A spray of aftershave had him ready with forty-nine seconds to spare. Yes, Beth had counted. 

One drive across London later, and they were being seated at one of their favourite restaurant by Stacy herself, who was as attentive and polite as ever. He ordered his usual sparkling water, Beth a large vodka over ice, since it went best with what she was soon to be enjoying. The way he worded it too, when her caviar arrived, she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Enjoying that, darlin’, having a load of sturgeon reproductive goo in your gob?”  

She almost sprayed half of them back out again. “Stop it! And yes, I am.”  

He chuckled, winking. “Anything I can do to put a smile back on your face, petal.” He paused, sipping his drink and taking another bite of his souffle. “Kids are taking it better than I expected ‘em to, ain’t they?” 

“They really are, yes,” she confirmed, smoothing more of the beluga onto a toast point. “Better than me, I think. I burst into tears as soon as I opened Oliver’s gift earlier.” She’d shown it to him before they’d left, Alfie placing it upon the hallway table, next to one of their wedding pictures. He’d loved it, assuring her he’d call Oliver and Brett personally to offer his thanks later that evening when they’d both be at home.  

“Kids are so much more resilient than we give ‘em credit for, I think. Flora had a little wobble this morning on the way to school, but she was fine by the time we got to the gates. Told her about rainbow bridge, she seemed to like that.”  

The rainbow bridge story. Her heart fluttered at his tenderness with their youngest. Leaning over, she gave him a kiss, Alfie accepting it, albeit with a slightly affronted look.  

“Ugh, get away with your fish eggs! Bleedin’ stink horrid, they do!” No, he was definitely not a fan of the delicacy. Still, it didn’t stop him from buying them for his wife whenever she wanted them, though. They followed their starters with a steak for him, Beth choosing the grilled lamb, much too full for dessert. He did, however, stop by at her favourite chocolatier on the way back to Chelsea, spoiling her a little more, purchasing a few treats for the kids, too.  

Once home, Beth sat with the children in the lounge, going over their homework tasks with them while Alfie returned to his office. While there, he found himself periodically checking his watch, the habit pure muscle memory. At 5pm every night, he’d leave his desk to walk Cyril. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face, absently stroking his beard as he leaned back and thought of his furry best friend.  

God, he missed him.  

They’d known for a while that his declining health meant only one thing, both making the decision not to keep pumping him full of painkillers for his arthritic hips, and eventual failing organs. It wouldn’t have been fair, they’d decreed, to keep him going just for the sake of their hearts. He’d outlived his life expectancy by three years, it was his time.  

Rather than continuing viewing his acquisition profits for the last month, he found himself looking through various dog rescue sites, smiling at the sweet, hopeful faces of the residents. He decided right there and then that when the family were ready, they’d rescue as opposed to buying a puppy. Maybe they could take in more than one? He’d only been looking for a few moments when he felt uncomfortable, knowing it truly was too soon to even consider any dog other than Cyril being in the house, no matter how cute they all were.  

Weeks passed, the family getting used to the lack of his presence within the house, life carrying on. For Alfie, with the kids being on their half term break from school, he threw himself into being a present dad, knowing his empire wasn’t going anywhere and would certainly not crumble for him taking time away from it, enjoying days out with them in abundance.  

It was while he was out with his offspring one morning that Beth decided to take up an offer extended to her and try something new. Mimi had been raving about her love for Thai boxing for a good few months, attending both mid-morning and evening classes at her local gym, finally talking Beth into attending one with her.  

“You know Abe thinks you’re a ninja now, don’t you?” she spoke as they ran through warmup stretches, Mimi chuckling softly.  

“Well, if you enjoy it and keep it up, he’ll be able to say you are, too!” 

“Oh no,” she scoffed, reaching to her toes. “I’m still smelly fart head. And Nagatha Christie, thanks to him overhearing Alfie calling me that.”  

Mimi all but exploded laughing. “Oh my god, he doesn’t change!” She remembered back to when she’d been dating him, him calling her exactly the same whenever she incisively bent his ear over something. “So, where did you say they’ve gone today?” 

Taking to the floor, they sat opposite each other, legs wide and feet pressed together, taking turns to pull back on one another’s hands to experience the deep stretch. “Chessington World of Adventure. They’ve never been before, you should have seen them this morning. God, Mims. The squealing!” 

“Awww,” she cooed, leaning back as she softly gripped Beth’s hands. “I can’t wait for Lis to be big enough to appreciate all of this and go there, too. I was actually talking about it to Josh a while back, but I can never remember it’s called Chessington, so I was calling it Chesterton Theme Park and he was like, “erm, what, babes? Where’s that?” until I realised that I was flubbing the name. Typical me.” 

It truly was. Mimi would not be Mimi if she wasn’t getting her words confused. Beth still wasn’t over her recent blunder of calling chicken pasta Alfredo, “the Alfred pasta.” Her and Kinga had fallen apart completely while a totally nonplussed Mims had continued browsing the menu. She was a pure joy if nothing else.  

As Beth very rapidly discovered once the gloves had been put on and focus mitts brought out, Mimi was also one hell of a mean shot with her fists. Then the kicks happened. 

“Jesus bloody Christ!”  

“Oh, don’t be daft, mate. I’m not that strong!” Mimi exclaimed, a well-placed kick sending Beth a couple of feet backwards.  

She gathered herself, holding the kick pad firmly once more. “I beg to differ!” 

By the time they were done and meeting up with Magda for a little shopping and lunch, the latter having enjoyed a blissful morning of nothing due to her booking some time off work, Beth could barely move.  

“Alright, tin man.” 

Magda’s words earned her a scowl, Beth kissing her cheek. “It isn’t funny, she beat me up!” Turning, they both witnessed a triumphant Mimi flexing her muscles, cracking up at herself and moving to greet Magda.  

“Tiny, little blonde Bruce Lee, is it?” 

“Not quite,” Mimi muffled from the crush of Magda's usual, warm, bone crunching hug. “But you should come!” 

She should have expected the face she got in reply to that. “My love, the only exercise I get is running me gob. You know that. Right! Let’s go be fancy bitches then, shall we, ladies?” The women were heading to Mecca, otherwise known as Covent Garden, their favourite place to shop. Magda’s contact at Chanel and subsequent discount didn’t hurt either. Not everyone was a wealthy as Beth.  

She still found it bizarre, though, even ten years into being the girlfriend and then wife of a billionaire, to be able to spend an unlimited budget on herself. She and Alfie did offset it by giving an awful lot of it away to charity, though. Or, as Beth often did, heading to the bank, withdrawing a few hundred pounds and giving out little wedges to any homeless people she happened to see along her way. It made her feel better about the huge divide in the country between the very wealthy and very poor.  

Still, the Chanel employees relished in seeing her name down in the appointment book, knowing they were about to receive a very nice commission.  

“Mrs. Solomons, welcome,” she was greeted by Leighton with, the chief sales attendant. “Oh, this cardigan is a dream! Is it an Oscar?” he asked courteously, smoothing the black cashmere of her sleeve.  

She leaned in close to whisper. “No, it’s actually M&S!” 

His mouth dropped open. “Oooh, I love a good bargain! Can I offer you ladies a drink? Coffee, juice, champagne?” Of course, they all chose the latter. Once furnished with drinks, Leighton allowed them to browse unassisted, Magda deep in conversation with her friend Hannah, who managed the store while Mimi picked up a bottle of her usual perfume, and Beth browsed the bags.  

She ended up choosing two of the boy bags, quilted effect design with a chain strap, one in grey and another in pink. The pink one was hidden, though, since the recipient wasn’t her. She ferried her choices to Leighton, asking him to gift wrap the pink one, moving to the shoes and selecting a pair of turquoise sandals she liked, too. Those, a skirt and pair of trousers later, and she was done. 

Once Magda was done chatting, choosing a scarf and a new pair of sunglasses for herself, and another item also not destined for her, they paid for their purchases and left, hopping into a taxi and heading over to Shoreditch. They had a table booked at Camino, Mimi’s favourite tapas restaurant, a meal she had no idea she was being treated to by her friends in lieu of being able to celebrate her birthday with her on the actual day, Josh taking her for a long weekend in Italy the following week. Hence the purchases at Chanel not destined for their own wardrobes. 

“Right then, little miss almost thirty-two,” Magda began, bobbing her tongue between her teeth as Mimi cringed. 

“Oh, don’t remind me! I was twenty-one five minutes ago, I feel old!” 

Beth snorted, lifting her eyes from the menu. “Oh, stop it. I just turned forty!” 

“And I’m hitting the big five zero in six months, so you’re still the bloody baby of the group, ain’t ya?” Magda chimed, giving her a soft poke on the wrist. “Anyway, as I was saying, since you’ll be enjoying pasta and cannoli's over in the motherland on your actual birthday, you get your gifts from us now. Happy birthday, babe.”  

Mimi’s mouth fell open when from beneath the table, two double C branded boxes were pulled out and passed to her, a long, high pitched squeak emanating. “Oh my fucking god! You didn’t!” 

“We did, now shut your gob and get ‘em opened!”  

She did, choosing Magda’s first, her mouth flying open again when she pulled out the long, gold and blue Chanel nameplate style necklace within.  

“Oh, darlin’,” the lady herself cooed, Mimi in tears as she immediately put it on and then rushed to hug her. “You like it, then?” 

“I bloody love it, Mags! Thank you so much, I love you!” 

She was so touched, Mimi always so sweet when presented with gifts. “Love you too, sunshine, and you’re welcome.” Taking her seat again, she then moved onto Beth’s present, almost passing out when she saw the bag she had so coveted within, her hands flying to cover her open mouth with a gasp.  

“Beth!” Those hands then began to flap, more tears coming. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Once again, she was out of her seat, wrapping Beth in a huge hug. “I love it, and you! Thank you!” 

“You’re welcome, darling,” she told her warmly, kissing her cheek a few times. “We know you’ve had a rough year, so we wanted to spoil you a little.” 

Indeed, it had been a bad year for Mimi, finding out in January that she was pregnant again, but sadly losing the baby just a week before her first scan. She’d been so sad for months about it, her friends trying hard to pull her out of her funk and be there for her during her period of grief.  

Beth knew the pain well, she and Alfie suffering the same between her having Abe and conceiving Flora, so had been a pillar of support for her during that time. It was also one of the reasons why she’d taken up Thai boxing, needing something to take out her anger at the injustice of losing her baby on, choosing the sport to help in catharsis. The fact that she happened to be very good at it and already training for her orange belt was a mere bonus.  

After enjoying their lunch, they were about to get a cab back over to Chelsea, since the women were heading back to Beth’s for a girl’s night that evening, when one of them saw something in the near distance she couldn’t ignore. Thai boxing had also made Mimi very brave where conflict was concerned. 

“Oi! Oi!” She shouted, pointing. Her heels were off, Mimi sprinting barefoot up the street, Beth and Magda turning to search for what on earth had caused their friend’s sudden reaction.  

“Oh, shitting hell,” Magda quietly hissed, beginning to run after her as they witnessed the object of Mimi’s anger, Beth hot on her heels. “I know she’s got all this newly found Thai boxing mettle, our Mims, but she can’t take on some scummy roadman by herself, fuck!” 

A roadman was Magda’s preferred slang term for an undesirable man, usually donned in sports clothing, who stank of weed and thought himself to be some kind of hard arsed gangster. A large dog upon a lead that was much too large for purpose was usually involved, too, which in this instance was what had drawn Mimi’s attention. Or rather, the way said roadman treated the animal in question. 

“Stop it! You can’t treat a dog like that, what the fucking hell is wrong with you?” she exclaimed, the young man of about twenty yanking the poor, skinny but still sizable, dark grey dog by the heavy choke chain around his neck. “He’s just a baby, you bastard!” 

“Yo, what’s it to you, though, yeah?” he spoke, sucking his teeth. “Ain’t got nuttin’ here, girl. No business with me, ya get me, blud?” 

“You’ve got a bloody chain about the size they use to secure fucking motorbikes around his neck and you’re yanking him up the street! I’m not standing by and watching that shit, mate! Fucking stop pulling him!” 

The man even had the gall to smirk. “Ain’t nuttin’ to you. Yo, don’t touch me, fam!” He tried to shake her grip on his arm loose, Mimi fighting to secure the lead from his grasp, people all around stopping to stare. “Fuck, I’ll fuckin’ stab you up, bird. Ya get me?” 

Magda and Beth arrived with them, the former immediately imposing herself. “Threaten her with a knife again, boy. Go on, sunshine. Fucking dare ya.” 

“And who are you, old lady? What ya gonna do, yeah?” 

Magda laughed, still imposing into his space. “Who am I? Someone who grew up on the fuckin’ roughest estate in Brixton is who I am, you little roadman twat. I’ll take the chain you’ve got round that poor animal's neck and fuckin’ knock every single one of your fuckin’ teeth out your mouth with it if you threaten me or my friend again. Ya get me, blud?”  

Her mimicking of his vernacular drew a few laughs from those watching, Magda unblinking, Beth feeling her pulse escalate with nerves. Just then, her focus was drawn by the sudden feeling of softness pushing against her hand. Looking down, she saw the dog moving closer to her legs, Mimi successfully yanking the lead free from the grip of the man still facing off with Magda.  

She crouched to him, stroking his crinkles. He was shaking. “Hello, lovely boy. Are you alright? Goodness, this chain is cutting into your neck, you poor soul,” she cooed, checking him over. He was in a state, that was for sure. She recognised his breed, but he looked the furthest from how the huge, proud looking Neapolitan Mastiff should have appeared. He was young too, she noted, nowhere near the full-grown size but still, so undernourished. Looking into his big, soulful eyes as he softly thumped his tail and licked her hands, covering her in a generous slick of slobber, her ears caught the tail end of Magda’s tirade.  

“Now, I’ll give you a choice, mate. Walk away and leave the dog with us, or I’ll fuckin’ get the law on ya for animal abuse and threatening my friend with a knife. What’s it to be? Because you ain’t lookin’ after that dog at fucking all, are ya? Look at him, barely out of his puppy months and he’s skin and bone! What’s it to be?”  

She stood firm, the man shrugging before cussing under his breath, his teeth sucked again before he simply walked away. He didn’t even fight for his dog, so little was the care for the creature beyond having a status symbol at the end of a lead. A few people applauded, a man coming forth and offering his hand to Magda, telling her how well she’d handled it.  

She then turned to Beth, taking the lead from Mimi and handing it to her with a curt nod. “Don’t say I never give you nothing.”  

Immediately, tears spilled from her eyes, hugging the dog as she cried into his soft, yet dirty fur. He stank of cigarettes and weed. “Oi, come on, babe. Hold it together, eh?” Magda continued, crouching to put her arm around her, Mimi dipping too to offer support. “Right, nearest pet shop. He needs a bit of proper dog clobber and not this nasty chain. Look at it! You could tow a fuckin’ Jeep out of a bog with it! Poor puppy, Christ! He can’t even be one yet.” 

A quick hail of a black cab got them the transport they needed to reach the nearest pet shop, the large puppy more than happy to head along with the three kind ladies who made such a fuss of him. 

“He’s a lovely chap, ain’t he?” the cabbie chirped, looking in the rear view. “Please make sure he don’t slobber on me seats though, girls! How long you ‘ad him for?” 

“About five minutes,” Beth quipped, the cabbie looking confused. “My besties here commandeered him from a roadman lad who was mistreating him, so yes, I went out handbag shopping and ended up with a couple of them, and a dog, too.” 

“Bet you couldn’t pick one of them up in Chanel either, right?” His words had them laughing, obviously noticing the branded bags they all carried from their little splurge in that very store. Once at the pet superstore, they paid him with thanks, Beth taking some tissues from her blazer pocket and wiping up where the dog had dribbled on the floor.  

“I can’t take you in on this,” she spoke, removing the chain. “Are you going to be good and stay with me, or do I have to put my back out and carry you?” He must have weighed a good twenty plus kilograms already, Magda noting on the way over that he was probably under a year in age. “Come on.” She made a kissy noise with her lips, the dog tilting his head before lolloping along with them, pinning himself at Beth’s side.  

Just twenty-five minutes into his new life, and he seemed to feel safe enough to revert to how he should have acted. Carefree, silly and happy, as all puppies should. He drew a few questions from the staff, Magda explaining the story while Beth sorted him with a new collar and lead, another member of staff coming over and advising on a harness, too.  

“You’ll of course need to come back and fit him with a larger one once he’s fully grown,” he spoke, making adjustments, noting the state he was in. “Flipping well done to you all, too, taking him away from that vile person. I can’t bear to see animals mistreated.”  

It was one of those pet superstores that also contained a veterinarian clinic as well as a groomer, Beth pleased to learn that they actually had a few appointments spare for each a little later, waiting around for forty minutes after making the purchases of food, a new bed, toys and everything else he needed before going in to see the vet.  

“From his teeth, I would estimate he’s around eight months old, no microchip either, so we can pop one of those in for you, too. I’m going to say I very much doubt he’s had his vaccinations either, so I can start a file for you with a card. I will recommend a course of wormer and flea treatments as well which we sell down in the store. Can I take your details please, Mrs. Solomons?”  

She duly gave those details, the vet speedily typing them into the file. “And the dog’s name?” 

Oh. She had no idea. Thinking for a few moments, she felt a little on the spot, feeling like it should have been a decision she consulted Alfie and her kids over. It then came to her in a flash, the perfect name for her brand-new companion. 

“Wilson.” she smiled. After all, they had been on Wilson Street when they’d found him. Once his microchip had been sorted, the little wounds caused by the chain upon his neck bathed and flushed, the vet made a few more recommendations, Beth taking Wilson’s new vaccination card and thanking him.  

They then went to the groomers section of the store, Beth remaining with him while he was attended to, for the sake of it all being so new and not wanting him to feel like he was being abandoned. The colour of the water that ran off him made her insides pinch. She guessed he’d likely never been washed. She was only surprised he didn’t have fleas or skin conditions, the state he’d been in. 

Once bathed, Beth held him while he was dried, Wilson swiping at the nozzle for the dog dryer with his paws, comically trying to bite it as well, his large, floppy ears he hadn’t quite grown into flapping around all over the place. He tilted his head back, his big, blue eyes staring at Beth with all the love and trust in the world, his tail thumping. He knew he was safe, and it melted her heart to see him accept his new life so willingly. She could only imagine just what the hell he had come from.  

With some flea treatment and wormer purchased, another cab was called for, Mimi calling for an Uber pet service, the girls and Wilson all piling in.  

“Oh god, I hope Alfie doesn’t go mental at me for bringing him home. Thank the stars you two are staying for dinner, he’ll make less of a scene with his best mate and the woman he’s terrified of there,” she exclaimed, both snorting with laughter.  

Magda pointed at Wilson, reaching to rub his ears. “How the flip can anybody go mental at this face? Look at him! Bloody lovely thing, he is!” He was, that much was true, but just nine weeks after Cyril’s passing, Beth worried that it was much too soon to consider another canine companion. Then again, what were she and her girls meant to have done? Let the poor creature remain with the scumbag who previously owned him? Taken him to Battersea? He had a new start right there waiting for him. It seemed silly to bypass such a fated meeting.  

Once back at home, Magda grabbed as many bags as she could, Beth leading Wilson to the front door while juggling his new bed under her other arm, Mimi bringing the rest. Placing everything in the kitchen, Beth unfastened Wilson from his harness, the three standing back while watching him begin to explore his new surroundings.  

“Might be a good idea to steer him in the direction of the back door, just in case he isn’t house broken,” Mimi suggested, Beth widening her eyes. 

“A very good point, my friend! Oy, could you imagine if he pissed up the sofa before Alfie even gets home to either love him or shout at me?” 

Magda snorted. “Babe, he ain’t gonna shout, you’re fine! Look at him, bloody little smasher, he is! Besides, didn’t you tell me you guys wanted to rescue? Well, he was rescued, so there you go.”  

Following the dog, they all herded him in the direction of Alfie’s office, Beth jogging to open the door that led to the garden. Once outside, his nose didn’t leave the floor, tail wagging, letting out a few excited baby barks as he sprinted across the patio, chasing a butterfly. Three hearts all melted immediately, Beth’s then catapulting into her chest when she heard the front door opening.  

“Stay out here with him, let me go and face the music.” Turning she strode through the office, welcoming her family, Alfie’s eye as eagle as ever. 

“What’s with this, this shifty look on your mug, ay?” he spoke slowly, pointing at her face and giving her another kiss.  

“Um... something happened today. Kids, go and take your coats off and wait in the kitchen. Abe, sort you and your sister a juice each, there’s a good boy.” 

His eyebrow rose. “And?” he spoke, the kids obediently trotting off down to the kitchen.  

“And...” she began, hearing a little commotion, and a soft yapping bark before turning to see Wilson slip out of Magda’s grasp and come hurtling towards them. “And we have a puppy.” 

“What the fu...” he began, his eyes widening as his mouth dropped open. “Hello, you! Fuck, look at you, bloody hell! Little tank, innit? Bit thin though, ain’t ya, ay? Hello mate!” Reaching down, he easily lifted him into his arms, Wilson showering him in puppy kisses. “Oi, no biting the beard, yeah?” More washing continued. “Where’d ya get him from? I thought you birds was off up Covent Garden? Last time I checked, they didn’t sell no mastiff’s up there!” 

“You’re not cross with me?” she asked, her hand rubbing Wilson’s wriggly legs.  

“Nah, darlin’! Bit surprised, like, but I ain’t mad. Look at him, he’s a right little champ, ain’t ya?” 

“Told you,” Magda called, ducking her head back in from where she was smoking a cigarette, swiftly going on to explain what had happened, Alfie and Beth joining them outside.  

“Bleedin’ might’ve known you two would have something to do with it!” he exclaimed, pinching Mimi’s nose between his fingers. “Thinking you’re some kind of street fighter, takin’ on roadmen, you fiery mare!”  

Mimi beamed, giving him a few playful punches. “Worth it though, wasn’t it? Puppy boy here got himself some lovely new parents and a lovely new home!” 

“Yeah,” Alfie began, setting him down on the ground again, Wilson lolloping off, “a home he better not bleedin’ take to chewing. Ain’t having none of that game, I ain’t. You got him toys and all that, baby beast? Or we gotta go out again?” 

“Nope, all sorted. Hold on, let me go and get the kids.” Rushing back to the kitchen, she retrieved her children, telling them there was a surprise waiting for them outside. When they saw him, oh, their little faces. Excited squeals filled the space, happy tears were shed, and a very big, very wriggly puppy introduced himself with lots of kisses.  

Suddenly, the house wasn’t so quiet for the new member of the family settling in, the girls night turning into a family night as they all watched Wilson happily acclimatise to his new surroundings. He played with the kids for a full two hours before flopping into his bed, asleep within moments. Since it was the weekend as well as half term, the kids were allowed to stay up late, their dad treating them to pizza while Beth ordered in a Chinese takeaway for her and her friends, eating it upstairs in the cinema room while they watched Pretty Woman.  

While taking a pause between that and the next film, she came downstairs to grab another bottle of prosecco from the fridge, pausing at the entrance to the lounge. There, all snuggled up on a nest of blankets and floor cushions, her husband sat with the children stroking Wilson, who was stretched out on his legs. Noticing his wife there, he smiled, winking. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too. All four of you.” 

And by god, how she did. With the arrival of one dog who needed them just as much as they did him, their family was whole again. Wherever the spirit of Cyril was, she couldn’t help but think he’d approve, too.  

The End.  

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Kisses for Bad Days

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Warnings: talking about depression, language

A/N: A few days ago I was having what I call a “low day”. Transparently I’m going through my summer of healing, so I’m doing a lot of heart work and sometimes I get down. So I wrote this to just… idk cope I guess. If anyone struggles with this kind of stuff, just know you’re loved, and you’re wanted and needed. - Mo

As an aside, I’m running out of ideas!! Send me some ideas if you wantttt!!

The day started out well enough. The weather had finally turned a sweet cool, and there was a beautiful sunrise. You and Alfie shared a good strong cup of tea, he read the morning paper to you, and you gave a him more than a few kisses goodbye as he left for the office.

It was setting up to be a good day. You had a list of chores you wanted to get done, and a great meal planned out for tonight. It should have been a good day. It should have. It really should have.

Nothing, happened, per say. It was just your thoughts getting in the way. It had been like this for a few years now. Where you would get your hopes up for a good day. Have your plan. Get excited for the day. But as the day went on, you felt your body aches, your heart turning heavy, and your mind would just race without peace. Sometimes, you could control it and push through. But some days. Some days you could only lay back down and cry. Ever since you’ve started living with Alfie, you tried to keep your crying to a minimum, not letting him see you. But he’d caught you sometimes. And he’d worry and caress you, asking what was wrong, if he had done anything. Bless him. He didn’t do anything. He never did anything. Nothing happened. Nothing caused it. It just… washed over you. Shrouded you like a massive blanket that you couldn’t get out from under.

Today was a crying day. You did the best you could. The laundry was never folded. The grand meal in your mind turned into pot roast to roast in the fire for the rest of the day. Then you just crawled into bed. Laying there. Staring into space, watch the plaster on the walls change in shape. Listening to the wind and voices outside your window. Hours passed. Tears fell. And soon enough the evening sun came, and the front door rustled with the sound of Alfie’s boots.

“Darling! Sweetheart I’m home! Oh it smells great my dove. Dove? Darling?”

When Alfie heard the rustling of the sheets, he knew what kind of day it was. He just sighed, taking off his jacket and boots. He hated seeing you like this. Not because it was inconvenient or bothersome. No, just because it broke something deep within him. His darling, suffering so. Alfie was someone who found the solutions. Always had the answer. Always was able to piece together the broken china, fix the squeaky door, figure out where the draft was coming from. That’s what he does. He makes his sweet heart smile. Makes her day better. That’s what he does. It’s his joy.

Alfie knows the sadness is no one’s fault. He knows that it just is, and maybe one day it’ll leave you. He just wishes he could take it from you. He wishes that if anything, he could hold it for you. He felt helpless not being able to carry it for you. All he could do was be there.

He find you huddled in the sheets and quilts that you’ve made and collected. No longer in the dress he left you in. Your hair is loose, spread around you like another blanket, and you have one of his shirts wrapped right around you like a shield. Alfie changes from his outside clothes, and lifts the sheets and blankets up, “All right little bird, scoot over yeah? Yeah let me get next to you. No no don’t worry about your face and tears I don’t wanna hear it. Now come here, tell your old husband what’s the matter. What’s got my little wife upset. Your mind playing tricks again eh?”

You buried your face in his chest, just letting the tears flow freely. Alfie just hummed to you, patting the top of your head. Eventually, your breathing evens out, and you let your fingers trace the unruly curls on his chest. You finally feel ready to talk, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me Alfie.”

“No no nothing, is wrong with you pet. Ollie, he’s got something wrong with him, that silly little boy. You are perfect sweet heart. So what you let your tears ruin all my shirts?”

“Alfie!!!!!”

“Oh my dove I am just teasing you. No no don’t be cross with me please treacle. You know those shirts were ruined before we even met.”

He places his palm beneath your quivering chin, tilting your face to look up at him, "You're safe little bird. No one is upset with you. You've done nothing wrong my darling."

Though his words were so soothing to your racing mind, you still felt the tears well up, "I just don't want you to feel like I'm a burden."

Alfie shook his head quickly, kissing the tip of your nose, "You've never been a burden to me dove. Frankly, I wish you would be more of a burden. A little too independent, leaving your poor old husband in the dust."

You let out a small giggle, and Alfie felt his heart lighten, and he just pressed your closer to him, "Oh my sweet girl. My sweet sweet girl. I know it hurts. I know. But I'll always be here to hold you. You trust me?"

You nodded kissing the corner of his mouth, "I trust you Alfie."

"Good, but you missed treacle lets try that again yeah?"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes and try to push him away, but his strong arms just pulled you right next to him, allowing him to pepper your face with his scratchy and bushy kisses. Once you both were thoroughly out of breath from roughhousing, Alfie just stared into your eyes, pushing the stray hair out of your face, "I love you so much darling. More than you know. Why don't you take a bath, and meet me in the parlor? We'll listen to the radio and play cards?"

You nodded in assent, kissing him gently but fully.

Days like this were hard. Sometimes it felt like the loneliest island in the world. But with Alfie, there was a saving grace. There you could escape from the loneliness and find safe harbor in his arms. With Alfie, you could survive anything. You could thrive. You could have a beautiful evening. You can feel love where you still need to love yourself.

[runnning-outof-time]

K’s Reading List — AUGUST

Hey there! Thanks for stumbling upon this reading list! I figured that as a way to support the lovely writers within this fandom that I’d compile a reading list of all of the stories I read over each month.

August was a wonderful month filled with incredible stories. Below is the list of stories that I read. I hope you will find some that you like as well!

As always, please make sure you heed to the warnings on each fic!!

🧡 — denotes story written for my 3.5k celebration

@youtifulsunshinelixfics (was @/acewritesfics)

Prove It - Tommy Shelby x Reader blurb **

Serves You Right - Tommy Shelby x Reader blurb **

It Led Me To You - Tommy Shelby x Reader blurb **

Dirty Dishes - Tommy Shelby x Reader **

**Changed username, so links may not work**

Peaky Caps and Razorblades - Tommy Shelby x Reader — this link works!!

@peakyswritings

Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman Like Me To Have - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains dark themes!

Pinkie Promise - Tommy Shelby x OC (prewar)

Heart, Body and Soul - Tommy Shelby x OC (on- going series)

Too Young To Love You - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@lis-likes-fics

A Deal’s A Deal (pt. 2) - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@notyour-valentine

Welcome to Downton, Mr. Shelby - Tommy Shelby x OC (on-going series)

@holacia3

Tommy Shelby Gif Blurb — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@brummiereader

Killing Me Softly - Tommy Shelby x Reader (completed series) — contains dark and 🔞 NSFW themes!

Happy Birthday Love - Tommy Shelby x Reader (from Killing Me Softly universe) — contains dark themes!

@gypsy-girl-08

Blind Date - Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader (on-going series) — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@zablife

My Sun, My Moon, and All My Stars - Luca Changretta x OC (Aurora) (on-going series) — contains some intense themes!

Pearls from Tommy - Tommy Shelby x Reader headcannons — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

Funeral - Tommy Shelby & Sister!Reader

Pretty When You Cry - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@shelbystales

Story Time - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@peakyltd

Unexpected Friendship - Arthur Shelby x Reader

@writers-hes

Protection - Tommy Shelby x Reader (on-going series)

@weaponizedvirtue

The Face We Hide Behind - Tommy Shelby x OC

@everythingelseisextra

Casual - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Only The Wild Ones - Tommy Shelby x Reader (on-going series) — contains dark themes!

@look-at-the-soul

Skyfall - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@little-diable

Sunshine - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@call-sign-shark

Hey Bunny - Yandere!Arthur Shelby x Reader — contains dark/mature themes!

Birthday Blurb - Arthur Shelby x Reader

@holacia3

Blurb - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@there-goes-thefighter

What Did You Say? - Tommy Shelby x Reader

The Task - Tommy Shelby x Reader blurb

Love You Goodbye - Arthur Shelby x Reader blurb

Cake On the Dance Floor - Tommy Shelby x Reader blurb

Monster - Michael Gray

Bury the Hatchet - Tommy Shelby

@multifandomwriter56

A Good Dose of Laughter…Or Lack Thereof - Tommy, John, and Arthur Shelby & Sister!Reader

Blurb - Tommy Shelby & Daughter!Reader

Five Sentence Blurb - Shelby!Reader featuring young Finn Shelby

Gif Blurb - Tommy Shelby & Daughter!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

Emergency Call - Tommy Shelby & Alfie Solomons (feat. Cyril)

Just Another Test - Alfie Solomons x OC

“Yes or No?” - John Shelby x Reader — 🧡

@moral-terpitude

The Talk - Tommy Shelby x OC

@shelbydelrey

Mrs. Shelby - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@pacifymebby

Peaky Blinders Headcannons - several Peaky Blinders characters — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@cillmequick

The Dress, part 2 - Cillian Murphy x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

The Dress, part 3 - Cillian Murphy x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@teenwolf-theoriginals

Happy birthday, my love - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@peakbys

A Minute And Gone - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@kitixie

The Sapphire Ring - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@valentine-in-my-quinjet

Best Made Plans - Tommy Shelby x Reader (prewar)

@dreamlandcreations

Imagine Tommy Coming To You All Bloody After Meeting With Alfie - Tommy Shelby & Sister!Reader (Alfie Solomons x Reader hinted at here)

@jomarch-wannabe

Control - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

What Was I Made For? - Tommy Shelby x Reader — 🧡

@dearshelby

NSFW Alphabet - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@amysteryspot

Jay Halstead Blurb - Jay Halstead x Reader — from Chicago PD

@notyour-valentine

Welcome To Downton, Mr. Shelby - Tommy Shelby x OC (on-going series)

@zkvry

Are You Laughing At My Brother? - Shelby Brothers & Sister!Reader

@noforkingclue

Dark Promises - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@loverhymeswith

Let’s Be Alone Together; part 1 -Tommy Shelby x Reader

Let’s Be Alone Together; part 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 30/?

Prev | Next

Avril is back, and she's here to make Jason angry.

Jason took out the chocolate chip scones from the oven. He used Alfred’s recipe, so he knew they would be a big hit. They were flaky on the outside and soft and moist on the inside.

The first PTA meeting had come and gone. They were going to do a fundraiser and auction to help raise money to get the school more books, new computers, and better instruments for the kids. Jason signed up to make the scones.

He missed Alfie, and this was a way to have his grandfather close to him.

Jason breathed a sigh of relief when the last batch was on the cooling rack. He had been up since five in the morning making a hundred and fifty scones. Hopefully, they would sell. If not, he could donate what didn’t.

He sat down and let his head fall on the table.

“You’re done?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah,” he said without raising his head. Jazz had volunteered to drop off Danny and pick him up. She was also going to watch him while he was at the fundraiser.

Jazz hummed and then put something by him. He raised his head to find a glass of iced tea. He drank it happily.

“I met your friend Avril. She’s quite the character.”

Jason frowned at the mention of the blonde woman. She had tried to humiliate Jason in the first PTA meeting. When he had signed up for the fundraiser, and she saw he had put down scones, she laughed at his face and point blank told him that the fundraiser bakery had to be done by the parents, not store-bought. Jason had to sell more than her. For the kids, of course.

“She’s not my friend,” he muttered.

Jazz hummed and looked at Jason with knowing eyes. Why did he feel he was being dissected all of a sudden?

“Don’t let her get to you. She’s not worth it. People like her need to find victims to feel better. It’s best to ignore them.”

Jason said nothing. He refused to be anyone’s victim. Not again. Especially a PTA mom.

“Don’t let her get under your skin, Jason.”

Danny ran into the kitchen before Jason could say anything.

“Those smell good, daddy. Can I have one?”

“Not those, chum, they’re for the PTA fundraiser. I made some earlier just for us.”

Jason got a bowl covered with a cloth from the top of the fridge and put it in front of his vibrating son. Danny struck like a snake, getting a scone and stuffing it in his face.

“Wowb, dabby, dese are sooo good.”

“Danny, don’t eat with your mouth full,” Jazz scolded the little boy, “you can choke.”

“You like them, Danny?”

Danny nodded as he got another one. Jason couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he should bake more often. His little boy seemed to like the scones. Why not make other things Alfred had taught him?

Well, thoughts for another day.

Jason packed the scones in boxes he bought and put them in his car. He kissed Danny goodbye and waved at Jazz.

“Thanks for watching Danny for me. I’ll be back by ten, I hope.”

“No problem, Jay. He’s my little brother, after all. Don’t let her get to you, and keep a cool head!”

Jason pouted at Jazz’s remark. So what if when he got angry, things tended to smoke? He’d gotten a better handle on his fire powers thanks to Raven’s tips on handling his emotions.

“Bye, daddy, love you!”

Jason smiled at his son, “Love you, too, chum.”

Jason made it to school in record time. He looked for his table and noticed it was the farthest from the entrance. He frowned, likely a ploy from Avril. He refused to let that get to him, though, and he started setting things up.

Then, the she-devil herself entered the room.

“Just set the baskets down here,” she told some guys carrying ribbed baskets, and Jason could see red gingham peeking out. He decided to ignore her and went back to setting up his table.

Jason ignored the chatter going on around him.

Ever since his transformation, his hearing had gotten better, and he could listen to every conversation if he wanted to. It had taken a while to learn to control the volume. He was vaguely listening toward Avril’s table when he heard ‘blueberry scones.’

“It’s a recipe that has been handed down for generations now,” she bragged.

He looked up, and lo and behold, she had, indeed, brought scones. Avril looked straight into his eyes and smiled at him.

Jason felt heat rising from his chest to his face. He glared at the woman’s table, wishing he could burn it to the ground. Smoke started rising from her tablecloth. Jason looked away and took deep breaths. No, he couldn’t burn down the school just because Avril was being a bitch. Thankfully, nobody had noticed the smoke.

Jason took a look again and saw her scones. They didn’t look good.

They were dense and heavy. From where he stood, he noticed the lack of color on them. She must’ve not used cold ingredients, either, because they weren’t flaky at all. He looked down at his and smirked. Avril had wanted to humiliate Jason.

Instead, the opposite happened.

Jason watched throughout the evening as Avril’s smug smile fell. People could see her scones weren’t good, and very few bought them. Jason’s scones sold quickly.

People had come back with family or friends to buy more. In the end, he had run out of scones while Avril still had most of hers in the baskets. Some people had even asked Jason if he baked to sell.

“Unfortunately, no, I don’t.”

“That’s too bad,” a black-haired woman said, disappointed, “I would’ve ordered scones from you for parties I throw.”

Jason laughed. No way was he going to do that. He was exhausted just doing it one day. He couldn’t imagine doing it for a living. (It’s not as if he needed the money, anyway.)

Jason could feel Avril’s glare as he cleared his table. He couldn’t help but throw a smug smirk. That’s what she gets.

Jason spent the rest of the evening walking around before the auction started. He even bought some pastries and little snacks. He was munching on a pretzel when they started announcing the auction.

Jason took a number. He doubted anything would get his attention, but he never knew. He took the list and quickly browsed through it. A romantic package for two, a golf package, a parent getaway package (no way he would ever leave his little boy behind). So far, the list had yet to get his attention.

Hmm, a guitar would be nice to have. Maybe he could pick another hobby.

“I want to thank all the parents who participated in our fundraiser with their baked goods. Special thanks to Avril Dubois for helping us set all this up.”

Jason rolled his eyes as the woman stood up at the applause. Desperate much?

“Now, let’s get on with the auction. Our first item up is the romantic package for two.”

Jason was bored throughout the auction. How had Bruce put up with stuff like this? He halfheartedly bid for the guitar but let the balding guy have it instead. It looked like he needed a win.

Jason was about to leave when the next item came up.

“Our next item is two benches dedicated to the highest bidder. These benches will be made of oak wood and put in the front of the school. Bidding starts at two thousand dollars.”

Avril immediately put up her number.

“Two thousand five hundred.”

Nobody else raised their number. Well, it was pricey—for other people. Jason smiled evilly. Oh, he was about to ruin Avril’s evening even more.

“Three thousand,” he said.

Avril looked back and glared at him. He smirked at her.

“Three thousand five hundred,” she countered.

“Four thousand five hundred.”

She didn’t look back, but Jason saw her back stiffen.

“Five thousand.”

“Five thousand five hundred,” Jason said.

“Well,” the auctioneer said, “it seems we have a bidding war.”

“Ten thousand,” Avril said. She looked back at Jason and smirked. Oh, was that it?

“Fifteen thousand,” Jason countered with an evil smile thrown at the woman. She scoffed and didn’t raise the bid again.

“Fifteen thousand going once, going twice. Sold! To number 34.”

Jason didn’t care about having something under his (fake) name, but by the Ancients, it was nice to see Avril lose.

It was worth it, even as Jazz scolded him for letting Avril get under his skin.

Thanks to this chapter, I now know how to (theoretically) make the perfect scone. Alfred would be proud of Jason's pettiness.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife