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runnning-outof-time · 5 months

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How the Bestest Boy Celebrates the Holidays

Request: no - @raincoffeeandfandoms and I were talking about Christmas Cyril and this popped into my mind.

Pairing: no pairing … just Cyril, Alfie, and Tommy with the mention of the lovely OC Rose Solomons

Summary: Cyril’s two dads owners discuss how their canine best friend should be treated on the holidays.

Warnings: language (Alfie’s present…does it even need to be a warning?), two gangsters who are secretly softies when it comes to a certain dog - this is just a silly little story, y’all.

Word Count: 629

A/N: I hope you enjoy this little piece that I came up with after chatting with Flor….Cyril deserves to have the best holidays! Also thanks to the lovely Flor for this amazing picture - it’s what sparked this entire idea. Enjoy! :)

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

“You’ve got Cyril’s presents all ready, yeah?” Alfie Solomons asked as he leaned back against his office’s chair, the phone receiver pressed to his ear.

Tommy Shelby sighed. The man on the other line hadn’t even greeted him. “He’s a fucking dog, Alfie,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please don’t tell me this is why you called.”

“He’s our fucking dog though, Tommy. He deserves some fucking presents, don’t you think?” Alfie quipped back, waving his hand in the air even though he was sitting by himself.

“I’ve been too busy to deal with it,” Tommy tried another strategy to deflect Alfie’s topic.

“And you think I haven’t been busy? Hmm?” Alfie quickly shot back, “you think the reason why I traipsed my way over to your fucking gaudy mansion for four of the last eight fucking days was to see you? You’re wrong, mate. I came for that dog. I only come for that dog. And then he enjoyed himself at Margate for the final four, was pampered like he should be. His gifts were custom-fucking-made, Tommy. But now you’re going to sell him short.”

“You made all of his presents?” Tommy picked one of the points Alfie made and asked him to elaborate on it, trying so hard to stay interested in this conversation. The conversation that was centered around a dog, and how said dog should be treated during the holidays.

“Nah, Rosie made most of ‘em,” Alfie answered nonchalantly, unable to stop a grin from forming as he mentioned his wife, “she sent me out to grab the rest…like the treats and whatnot.”

“And I’m needed to do the same now?” Tommy asked another question.

“It’s what’s right, Tommy,” Alfie insisted, “unless you want him thinking that Hanukkah is better than Christmas…then by all means, keep fucking it up for yourself.”

“Christmas isn’t until the 25th of the month, Alfie.”

“That’s just a week away.”

“Yeah, so I’ve got a week to get what I need for him.”

“It should be ready for when he returns, which is tomorrow.”

“Alfie…”

“Thomas,” Alfie leveled his tone to match the Birmingham gangster’s. “It needs to be right for him.”

Tommy let out a long sigh. There was no way he was going to beat Alfie Solomons at this fight, not when the other man’s mind had already been made up. They’d known each other too many years now for Tommy not to realize that that was how the baker from Camden Town operated.

“Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?” the blue-eyed man asked after a few moments had passed, deciding to change the topic of conversation. Silence came in response. “Alfie?” he checked to see if his confidant was still on the other side of the line.

“Nah, mate. That was it,” Alfie’s response was quick, and it made Tommy sigh again, “just make sure that dog’s presents are sorted, or it’s your fucking head on the line, got it?” The second half of his statement held a threatening tone.

“Got it,” Tommy responded. He was unable to get another word out before the line clicked and went dead. Alfie had hung up on him.

Tommy sat the phone back onto the hook before pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a sigh. Alfie was taking this whole holiday thing way too far. He was making a much bigger deal out of it than was needed.

Besides, if he knew the Peaky Blinder as much as he claimed he did, he would have known that Tommy already had all of Cyril’s presents purchased and in order…and that he had had them ready weeks ago.

That’s what the bestest boy deserves on the holidays, right?

I’m really not sure who I should tag in this … so I’m just gonna add some mutuals/people on here who might be interested - I’m sorry if I forgot anyone! Hopefully it gets sent out…..

@raincoffeeandfandoms @zablife @call-sign-shark @evita-shelby @cillmequick @emotionalcadaver @toms-cherry-trees @look-at-the-soul @thomashelbyswife @loverhymeswith @shelbydelrey @brummiereader @peakyltd @forgottenpeakywriter @there-goes-thefighter @hoodeddreams13 @peakyswritings @theshelbyslimited @gypsy-girl-08

MASTERLIST

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders imagine #tommy and alfie #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #…i’m not sure how else to tag this

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juliakeyoto · 5 months

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Alright I need to rant.

So Cyril right? You know him, but probably not well. So how exactly did he end up in Rhea’s dragon claws?

Okay so Rhea rescued Cyril, right? Pretty good of her, right?

Why the fuck is she letting a 12 year old work for her? Almost all his lines are about work this, work that, Rhea that. Like, he’s a child. Someone get this child into childcare services or something. No offense to him, but he deserves better then working under the church.

Edit: I ALMOST FORGOT. HE CAN’T READ. Why isn’t Rhea teaching this poor kid to read wtf

#fe cyril #fe3h #rhea negative #rant

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look-at-the-soul · 9 months

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Cia my darling Cia, you always provide the best inspiration 🥰 when I saw this gif, this blurb came to my mind.

And it’s also a little celebration for @raincoffeeandfandoms 🌻

Tommy Shelby x reader (x Alfie x Cyril)

A weekend at the Margate beach goes out the wrong way

Tommy saw his wife pacing around the room, from one corner to the other, her hands moving frantically.

Their weekend in Margate wasn’t going as she expected, she had dreamed of finally having Tommy to herself for a few days, long walks on the beach, some quality time. But no.

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out? Hmm?”

Her hands were over her hips.

This had been going on for the last forty minutes since he came back from the Margate beach, when she asked what the hell had happened to his arm. At the beginning she was deadly worried as she looked at the stain on his clothes, but he made the mistake to explain the reason behind his injury, that was nothing but a slight graze.

And that’s when she started scolding him, telling him he was going nuts and he made a terrible mistake.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Her voice made him go back into reality.

Tommy used the back of his hand to rest his chin. His eyes danced from the window and back at her. Clearing his throat he dared to answer; “he deserved that.”

“He fucking what?” Y/N asked him.

But she wasn’t actually asking him to repeat what he just said, no she was giving him the chance to redeem himself.

“Well it was either Alfie or Cyril.” He snapped feeling his head pounding, the small injury throbbing, he needed a glass of whiskey. But before he could have the chance to do so, Y/N pulled him from the collar of his jacket.

“What happened to Cyril?!”

“The hell do I know? He was there beside Alfie, the fucker asked me to watch over his dog.” Tommy scoffed.

“He better still be there Thomas.” Y/N spat storming towards the door to leave their room.

Oh fuck, he was in serious troubles. When she used his full name it could only mean that.

He asked his wife to wait, but she started walking faster. He definitely shouldn’t have underestimate her ability to walk around on those heels.

“If he asked you to watch over Cyril, you take care of him. We’re taking care of him.” She wasn’t giving him the chance to make a choice. “Flor is going to kill you for shooting Alfie…”

“Y/N it’s just a do-”

“Don’t you dare, Thomas… he’s more than just a dog, I gave Cyril to Alfie and Flor as a thank you present for setting us up on that double date. And now you just fucking shoot Alfie.”

Tommy sighed, defeated. The was no way he could win this.

“We’re taking care of Cyril from now on and you better pray nothing bad happens to Alfie.”

***

Masterlist

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @zablife @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra

#that’s what Cill said #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby imagine #Alfie Solomons imagine

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justrainandcoffee · 3 months

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Like roses and bread (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc + Luca Changretta) [Part 1.]

«Crime sometimes smells like roses and bread...»

Alfie Solomons x Rose Coldwell (ofc) masterlist

Summary: Crime not always involved murder. Sometimes it's something harmless for the rest of the world, like money laundering. The problem is that now, a private detective is behind them and for the first time maybe they're about to be exposed. The couple needs to be smarter than Detective Changretta, something not easy at all. Not even with the help of Alfie's ex: Tommy Shelby.

Warnings: None. || Next chapters Tommy will be part of it.

Words: 1.8 k || Series Masterlist

2021

A bald man was sitting in front of Detective Changretta. The day before he called him asking for an appointment and Luca agreed.

The man was in his 40s and his clothes were smart. He tried to hide it, but Luca could see an expensive gold watch and his perfume was clearly one of the finest you could find.

Something about him disgusted Luca. He was arrogant and the kind of man who thinks he's superior to the rest of the humankind.

The kind of man Luca despised.

Luca's orange cat named Dante jumped on the desk and the man tried to push it but when Luca stand up, the man thought it better.

"If you don't like my cats, Mr. Ferguson, then you should've read the sign on my door first. If I were you, I'll think twice before trying to do it again."

"I'm allergic."

"Not my problem. There's the door, go to another place, find another detective. There are thousands."

Ferguson shook his head. "You're the best, that's what people say. My boss needs the best."

"Yes, your boss. Talk to me about him. Who's your daddy?"

His client gritted his teeth. If the detective weren't so prestigious, then Ferguson could spit on that face. Luca Changretta was nothing but a cockroach compared to him. Fuck him and his ugly cats. And yet, Ferguson answered to him.

"It doesn't matter who he is. He wants to remain anonymous. The thing that matters is the people who you need to investigate."

"The owner of the Inn: Alfred Solomons." Luca checked the notes he wrote the day before.

"Yes. And his woman."

"Just two civilians. I don't investigate people who just work, Ferguson."

"That's the problem. They're not just two civilians…at least him. We don't know the woman but we suspect that she's his accomplice."

"Of what exactly?"

"He stole money from my boss' account." Ferguson, cleared his throat "last year, during the quarantine. In June."

"Really? How?"

"Solomons played dirty. My boss didn't know the kind of man he is. Solomons is a corrupt man!" One of the veins in his head was throbbing.

"And so is your boss. I don't think he's a little lamb."

"How dare you! He's a good man, a man who cares about people."

"Yes, sure." Luca rolled his eyes "Do you know I'm not cheap, Ferguson? Don't you? High quality equals high price. I want 60% in advance plus extra cash because I'm about to be a father, so, my baby needs a present. I know you can afford it. Do it for her."

Luca stared at him. Ferguson disliked him and it was mutual but he needed the job and that's why he accepted the case. It was true that he was going to be a father. His ex wife was pregnant and the baby was his. Despite they were exes, one night they shared a moment together and that same night she got pregnant. Now, eight months later, Cathy was waiting to arrive in their lives. And for Luca, both mother and daughter, deserved the best.

Ferguson gave him a cheque, before standing up and walking towards the door "Just do your job, detective Changretta."

"Just don't be an asshole, Ferguson."

Never trust a person who doesn't like cats, thought Luca. And Ferguson, clearly, disliked cats.

In the same city, but far away, Rose were working on their new place. The inn "The Wandering Jew" was open and Alfie was, of course, still his owner. But at the same time they opened a bakery months ago called "Cyril's cakes."

It was a project that both of them thought about during 2020 and finally it was real. And it was quite successful, too. They had to hired another baker to help Alfie while Rose was in charge of the customers.

Nicely decorated, delicate colours and always smelling like fresh bread, "Cyril's cakes" was famous for having a statue of Cyril itself. People, kids especially, used to take pictures next to it. The real dog was never there, so, for customers that was the nearest they could be to him.

That particular morning, she smiled when saw Alfie crossing the door. They've been together for over a year now and even when it was quite recently, it felt like much more than that.

Alfie removed his mask to gave her a kiss. COVID was still a real thing and every precaution was necessary. Still, he didn't want to waste another minute to greeted her. Not that she resisted him.

"Fucking missed you. Horrible day," she let him put his arms around her waist "Karens everywhere."

"Story of my life," he responded, kissing her now blonde hair. "I'm here now, love. Anything new?"

She shook her head. It was an ordinary day and apparently it wasn't going to change. In fact, the whole week was ordinary. Until, it wasn't anymore.

That morning at the bakery had been the calmest of the week, which Rose was grateful for, considering that dealing with difficult customers took a lot of her energy. Of the list of people who had placed an order for that day, five of the six had already gone to pick up their cakes. So only one remained. The rest of the customers were just casuals who were just dropping in to buy something before going on their way to work or back home.

Rose was texting her brother when a tall, thin man made her lift her head. His curious hazel eyes were looking around him and had a mysterious aura. Behind his mask, Rose could notice that he was smiling.

"Good afternoon, miss."

"Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?"

Luca looked at her. He assumed that she was Alfie Solomons' girlfriend although, for the moment, he knew nothing about her. Not even the name but he did know that the woman worked there.

"I ordered a cake two days ago. I'm Vicente Young." Luca said. He used his father's name and his ex's last name to cover his real identity.

There was the last of those who had placed an order. It was a chocolate cake with cherries, simple but tasty. She asked him to wait while she went to the refrigerator at the back of the bakery. Luca just nodded.

There was nothing in particular that caught his attention and definitely if what Ferguson said was true, then the evidence wasn't going to find it there. Still, pretending to be looking at his phone, Luca snapped several pictures of the place. Including Rose. Luca tucked his device into his pocket just as the man of interest appeared behind her.

Alfie Solomons was there. Wearing a flour covered apron that he took off and left on the back of the chair where Rose was sitting moments before.

"I have to go with Ollie," he said "the boy doesn't know how much one plus one is. But it's all done."

"Ok. I'll see you at home later then. Take care of yourself. Love you."

"Love you too. See you."

Alfie barely glanced at Luca as he passed, just gave a nod of his head by way of greeting and continued walking out of there.

"Your husband?" Luca smiled amicably, trying to take information away from her.

"No," Rose replied, letting out a chuckle "We've only known each other for a year."

"So you met during the pandemic?"

"Yes. Long story. I was stranded in London and during that time I met him and well, a year later here I am."

"A good 2020, then, more than most people can say. He's the one who's in charge of baking?"

"Yes. Cooking in general is not really my best ability, let alone baking. But he's really good and enjoys it," Rose's phone on the counter began to vibrate. The incoming call cut off the conversation between Luca and her.

Luca pretended to look for money or a card in his wallet to pay for the cake while she took the call. The detective didn't know who was on the other end of the line but clearly the woman had been forced to give her name and in the process, Luca had saved himself a step in finding out her identity. So Alfie Solomons was dating Rose Coldwell who, according to her, had been stranded in London the previous year and had been there ever since. The detective was still amazed at how easy it was to get information if you knew how. People, as a rule, were too trusting.

Luca said goodbye to her after paying and left. For a first meeting that wasn't bad at all. In addition to the two names of the people he was interested in he had gotten a third: an Ollie who he would find out who he was. He needed to go back to his office and use one of his whiteboards exclusively for this case he called "bread and roses."

There were times when the work was repetitive, but this didn't seem to be one of them. If there really was something illegal behind this recent pairing then there were also more people involved than just the two of them. There were always more people, the issue was who. And finding out was the best part of it all.

He thought about going to see Aveline. But at that hour, Linnie was sure to be taking care of her sick mother so he decided to see her later and ask her personally if she needed anything. For the time being, he would go back to the office .

The sun had been out for at least half an hour. Cyril's cakes was already closed for customers and Rose was ready to finally rest on her couch, cuddling next to Alfie. That was the best part of the day. Rose had secured the door and was pulling down the blind when something that looked like a rock hit her shoulder, causing her to groan in pain. But when she turned to see what was happening, she only saw a hooded figure running away.

"What the…"

The rock on the floor was wrapped in paper and she picked it up. Only two words were written on it:

Enough to make her heart beat fast. We know.

Rose quickly got into the car and drove home. Now she really needed to see Alfie.

We know.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons x oc #peaky blinders #tom hardy #peaky blinders x oc #modern au #luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #tommy shelby

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nostalgiachan · 1 month

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Pillow Talk

Eighteenth Prompt: When was the exact moment Vier fell in love?

C/W: It gets mildly spicy at the end

Summary: Astarion finds himself curious as to when Vier first fell in love with him. (1492 words)

---

“You know, for the longest time, I thought it was the night of the party.”

Vier lay nestled snugly within Astarion’s arms in their bed, her head resting against his bare chest. His pale skin had grown rather warm with how much of her heat it had absorbed, and if she didn’t know better, she might have thought she’d heard his heart beating in his chest for just a moment. For a moment, she wondered what a vampire’s equivalent to a racing pulse was. Was there a magical sort of sensation unique to them, or did the heart still remember what it felt like to throb and summon up its phantom?

She continued, “I told you about that one, right?”

“Not so much ‘told me’ as ‘showed me through that ghastly tadpole the night I confessed to you,’ but yes,” Astarion replied, his right hand idly running through Vier’s sussur bark hair. “My little ‘I love you’ hit harder than you expected, you snuck out of camp to have a moment to yourself, and…you cried.”

As he recalled the vision, he pulled Vier just a bit tighter to him, just as he had on the night he’d first seen it. “I’m still sorry for that, you know. Of course, at the time I didn’t much care, but…had I the ability, I’d go whip my own arse for putting you through that torment.”

“Water under the bridge, I assure you,” Vier said with a gentle pat to Astarion’s pec. “Anyway, I thought that moment, hearing that ‘I love you’ which I absolutely knew was a lie but which set my heart afire regardless, was it. But in retrospect, I feel like that was simply the moment I realized I had fallen in love. There had to have been some earlier turning point, something else to make my feelings change from merely wanting to help you as I was helping everyone else.”

“I take it you’ve put quite a bit of thought into this, then?” asked Astarion with genuine curiosity.

“Of course,” Vier replied. “A common part of our daily meditations in the church is self-reflection. It’s good to understand how my thoughts and feelings develop, so that I might continue to nudge them in a positive, productive direction. But getting back to the point, I thought back over the days leading up to the party and tried to comb through for that one moment. Obviously, the first turning point was the night I let you bite me.”

“Which I still look back on fondly,” Astarion sighed, cuddling Vier closely for a moment. “Gods, if only I could’ve truly appreciated that moment more. Ah, it was so sweet how lost in the moment you were, how lost we both were.”

“Well, I don’t wish to burst your bubble any, but that was only the first moment of attraction. It certainly wasn’t love at first bite, as everything else about you was still deeply frustrating.”

Despite the fact he absolutely agreed, Astarion still couldn’t help but pout a bit at Vier’s blunt assessment.

“It wouldn’t be until you first opened up to me about Cazador that I would start to properly care for you beyond a surface-level carnal desire. You reminded me so much of how I’d been before Cyril took me in; I was hateful, power-hungry, indiscriminately murderous, just as you were. It may not have been my place, exactly, but I wanted to show you that you could be so much more, that you deserved to be so much more. But it was still far too early to call that ‘love’. I wanted purely to help you, and I told myself that however you hissed and spit, I would treat you fairly and compassionately…well, unless you were being just a right prick, and then I’d get harsh.”

“So if that wasn’t it, then I had to keep looking. It definitely wasn’t the night we first slept together, either.”

Again, Astarion couldn’t keep a pout from his lips. “Aww, not even that did it? I had that romantic setup and everything.”

Vier propped herself up to place a gentle, reassuring kiss on Astarion’s lips. “And it was absolutely wonderful, don’t get me wrong,” she said as she pulled away and tucked herself once more into his side. “But it was me giving in to physical desperation, and it was tempered by the fact I knew you didn’t feel the same. I may not have known the depths of your wounds yet, but I certainly knew you were only doing that to manipulate me.”

“True, that would make the whole thing a bit less romantic,” Astarion sighed.

“But if that wasn’t it, then it didn’t leave too many more specific moments that it could’ve been,” Vier continued. “I looked back over everything, up to and including the time you salivated watching me get beaten to within an inch of my life in the goblin camp.”

“What happened to ol’ Abdirak, you think?” Astarion idly mused. “Think that cheeky pervert is still out there somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s opened up shop in another dank dungeon somewhere,” Vier harrumphed. “Still can’t believe you liked watching me get beaten with a mace.”

“It was just the blood I liked, I swear! And I’ll remind you, I have not once asked if I could smack you with a mace.” With a purr, Astarion added, “I know you prefer getting scratched, anyway.”

“A-ny-way, the more I thought, the more I started to realize: I don’t think there’s one particular moment that I fell in love.”

“What, really? Well, that’s a let-down after all that.”

“Just wait. There’s no one particular moment, because there’s so many little moments. As silly as I’m sure it sounds to you, I like to think of my love as a seed of hope from Lathander’s hands planted in the garden of my heart. I worked to keep it pruned, keep it reasonable, to neither let it run rampant and grow into blind obsession, nor to let it wither away to base tolerance or worse. But every time that I saw you were being truthful with me; every time those gorgeous eyes grew wide with genuine surprise; every time you were vulnerable, that seed grew. When I promised you I would protect you from Cazador? I meant it. I didn’t care that I was just one cleric, if he had shown up right then, I would have gladly laid down my life to buy you even a moment to flee because I loved you. I may not have realized it at the time, but I did. I loved you and I wanted better for you.” For a moment, Astarion was quiet, and as Vier looked up to meet his gaze, she saw that his darling red eyes were brimming with tears. Swiftly, he wrapped her in another tight embrace, his lips pressing kisses to the top of her head.

“Gods, how do you make me cry so easily?” he half-whined between each kiss. “I don’t think I have half this effect on you.”

“Oh, believe me, you do,” Vier chuckled in return, “in myriad ways.”

Suddenly, Astarion rolled, keeping his grip tight upon Vier as he straddled her waist. He cupped both of her obsidian cheeks in his pale hands, red eyes gazing into red eyes. “Well, I want to do it more. In only the best ways, of course. I want to flood your heart with even half the joy that you’ve brought me. And I think the very best way to do that would be to fuck the rest of this day away. Unless you don’t think you’re ready for round two just yet?”

“Are you certain you want to?” Vier asked, a genuine look of concern in her eyes. “I don’t want you to force yourself to–”

“Darling, believe me, I know you don’t want me pushing myself,” Astarion replied with a well-meaning eye roll. “You’ve been quite effusive about that. So trust me when I say I absolutely–”

His face inched closer to hers at the word.

“--positively–”

And closer again.

“--want to.”

Barely a mote of air separated their lips. “I appreciate your compassion more than words can say. So let me say it with actions, darling.”

How in the sweet hells did he still have the power to turn her into a blushing, fidgeting mess after everything they’d done together? Gods, she hoped he never lost that ability.

“Aw, but your words are plenty pretty, too,” Vier still managed to taunt him, and her heart turned a flip as she caught a mischievous glint in his eye. His mouth slipped past hers and traveled all the way to one of her pointed ears.

“Then I shall sing your praises passionately, my love,” he moaned, his voice reaching into the recesses of Vier’s mind and setting her body aflame once more.

And with a kiss, the night began in earnest.

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #drow tav #cleric tav #vier alurlssrin

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karin-gespenst · 4 months

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CtM CS 2023 first rewatch and further thoughts

early foreshadowing for Mr. Sharma: he says "I can find my own way." he's clearly referring to his navigator skills.

Angela's teacher promised her "house points" for making the scrap book. Can somebody tell me if "house points" is a common thing for teachers to use? I've only encountered the term in fiction books.

Fred calling Angela treacle was very sweet. Now that I think about it, Fred probably sees more of the Turner children than of his own grandchildren, or Violet's. He always organising something for the kids in the neighbourhood, from running the cubs to joining the bus ride to see the Christmas lights and sending his paper boys to the clinic for working children, and now he's the lollipop man. Good on him!

Tim passing his driving test reminded me of the giant bills I've been paying in the last few months for my kid going to driving school. And then I noticed that Shelagh still does not drive. Chummy learned and Sister Winifred and I'm sure by now Delia has taught Patsy as well. On the other hand, Patrick is always using the car, Shelagh would have to get her own vehicle if she wants to drive.

Meanwhile, Miss Higgins is aquiring new premises for the clinic, and shows her best no-nonsense attitude while the badminton match is going on behind her. It's hilarious.

Sister Monica Joan is not impressed by Apollo

her complaint about Patrick is exquisite: "Can you not remove this man? He seems to be pleading the case for eternal life."

Trixie in her hostess gown! Opinions? I like the gown better than her new hairdo.

Matthew cooking a festive dinner for them - good on him!

Geoffrey! So much to unpack there, he'll get his own post. What's his profession again? something with the expat community in Malta?

Brenda and Toni together in the maternity home, being honest but kind and sharing their fears, that is just beautiful. Having family around is lovely, but the kind of support and understanding that young mothers can give each other is really one of a kind.

Mr. Sharma in the hospital deserved more real attention instead of just well-meaning words from the staff, so they could maybe have lessened his fear and avoided his running off out through the snow without understanding why he's feeling so unwell. Without Cyril's patient kindness and the respectful trust he established this could have gone much worse.

Filming in the ambulance must have been exhausting. Birth scenes are always strenuous, but with three or four adults and several babies in the cramped space, I don't fancy being the cameraperson. The only other mother in labour who had Patrick sitting behind her as support was Shelagh, so Brenda is expertly looked after at this point.

What kind of care did the specialist give to Brenda during her pregnancy? apart from that one palpation he's just parading around and celebrating what he sees as his own achievments, when the development of fertility drugs is a joint effort of many people and the mothers are bearing most of the actual load.

I've noticed Nancy is more comfortable now reassuring mothers who share some of her experiences. Having a safe space to live together with Colette has given her calm and happiness.

I've had a two-hour-drive today in the dark and I did not like it. Phyllis driving home in pain through the snow makes me want to reach through the screen and pick up her car like a toy and place it safely in front on Nonnatus house. Glad to see her snapping many, many photos at the Christmas party.

Tim at the church organ made me smile. The entire scene is magical, brimming with detail, and everyone playing their parts proudly. Apart from maybe baby Mark, who was not quite aware of the backstory.

#call the midwife #call the midwife spoilers

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epicsandwich301 · 3 months

Text

HELLO TUMBLR ITS MY SECOND ATTEMPT TO LIKE

EXIST HERE AND IM STILL SCARED AF, WELL ITS MY FIRTS POST AND UHHH

MA NAME IS SANDWICH OR БУТЕР/БУТЯ (if u know cyrillic)

I’m obsessed with Garfield currently and I regret it

So very much I am eating nothing literally

That’s why I am here, and I’m terrified BUT EXCITED!! :D

Here’s Lyman sketches because my man doesn’t get nearly enough attention and he deserved better

Also I have ZERO idea how to use this app whatsoever so if any of ya have tips on how to like make posts smaller or pretty let me know :DD

#garfield #lyman #digital art #doodles #I’m shaking and screaming why am I so desperate for Garfs in my life #Garfield fanart #god bless tumblr for writhing in tags culture #blep from Pinterest HIII

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buttercupsandboys · 1 year

Text

Sunshine & Rainbows

Alfie Solomons x Livy (OFC) — Chapter 14

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 14: descending into madness

Summary: Alfie meets with Bernard and discovers Livy is missing. It doesn’t go well.

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, violence and angst

Word count: 4376

A/N: It’s been a while, so here’s a quick recap! (Or click here to read Chapter 13 again!)

Alfie and Livy were having a private moment by the Cut when they were interrupted by Thomas, and Livy learns the men are working with Bernard McCall from the High Rip Gang—the man responsible for her abuse and trafficking as a child. Livy panics and flees with the help of Polly and Esme.

This chapter starts with a small time jump. We’re back at the Cut, only this time, it’s from Alfie’s point of view…

"Livy, I need you to know that I—"

… that I love you.

Fuck, he was so close to saying the words that had evaded him for weeks, but as always, Thomas Shelby has the worst possible timing.

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't. Leave before I shoot you in the face."

Alfie refuses to turn around, his broad shoulders shielding Livy from view, his fingers gripping her hips as he contemplates pulling the trigger.

It’s fucking tempting. After a long week, the last thing he wants to do is talk business. Especially not now, with Livy in his arms, staring up at him with wide eyes and swollen lips. How someone like her finds pleasure in his company, Alfie will never understand. She deserves better, surely, but it’s too late for that. She’s his now, and he’s going to finish telling her how much he loves her just as soon as he can get rid of—

"Bernard and his boys are making a move."

Oh, for fucks sake.

Alfie knew getting involved with those useless cunts from up north would end up biting him in the arse. He curses, slamming his fist into a crate, wishing he wasn’t right all the damn time.

"He's on his way from Liverpool. He knows about Sabini and would like to renegotiate."

"Yeah, I bet he does," Alfie grumbles as he helps Livy down, his frown deepening when her heels narrowly avoid a murky puddle. It’s yet another reminder that she doesn’t belong in this filthy fucking city, but he’ll have to tolerate it a bit longer. There will be no getting out of this meeting now, not with Liverpool proving such a valuable asset.

Begrudgingly, he admits that expanding their network has been profitable. But at what cost? Bernard is no fool; he demands a premium for access to the docks, and now that Sabini’s gone, Alfie can only imagine what else he’ll ask for.

Or at least … that's what he would be doing if he wasn’t so fucking distracted.

Alfie prides himself on staying two steps ahead of his associates and rarely enters negotiations without knowing what the other party hopes to achieve. It’s what sets him apart; while his capacity for violence is legendary, along with his fiery temper, it’s his dangerous mind that’s responsible for his astonishing rise to power.

He’s astute, focused, and cunning.

But not tonight.

After being away from Livy and coming so close to confessing his love to her, he feels more like a nervous schoolboy than a criminal mastermind. Fucking hell. It’s taken him so long to get to this point, to find the courage to say what needs to be said, but with every passing minute, fear and doubt are creeping up his spine, the foreign emotions slowly consuming him.

Vaguely, he’s aware of taking Livy’s arm and leading her to a car, Cyril yapping at their heels, a cutting breeze chasing the setting sun, chilling without the familiar presence of his hat. But Alfie observes these things as if from a distance, still lost in thought.

I love you.

It shouldn’t be this hard to say, should it? They’re just fucking words, and he’s never been short of them before. In fact, he considers himself something of a master when it comes to weaponised conversation.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Alfie uses words to control, confuse, and manipulate; they’re like tiny foot soldiers in his one-man army. He’s confident on the battlefield, making deal or die offers with dangerous men, but here, with her … well, fuck.

As the streets fly by, a blur of grey and cobblestones, Alfie wonders what type of man he’d be if he hadn’t been hardened by life. Would sweet words—soft words, beautiful words, words a woman like Livy deserves to hear—roll as naturally off his tongue as the curses that pepper his speech? Would he have courted her, taken her to dinner at least, before fucking her at the goddamn breakfast table?

He’s never been prone to second-guessing himself, but as Thomas rambles on about Bernard, Alfie tallies his list of regrets. There’s so much he would do over if he could; fuck, he should have sought out Livy as soon as the war ended, protected her like he promised, instead of waiting for her to show up on his doorstep. If only he hadn’t been such a selfish bastard, she would never have set foot in the Eden Club, and those fucking wops would have never laid a hand on her.

Of course, Livy finds trouble wherever she goes, and under normal circumstances, Alfie would never allow himself to wallow in the past. But he’s not accustomed to feeling vulnerable or insecure—love is toying with his mind—-and she’s everything he never knew he wanted.

He’s afraid of losing her, scared of the moment when Livy comes to her senses and disappears from his life. Like a rainbow after a storm, here one minute, gone the next, leaving nothing behind but brightly coloured memories.

His chest clenches painfully at the thought, but Alfie quickly shuts it down. It won’t happen; he won’t let it. She’ll be back in Camden Town soon enough, and then he’ll take her somewhere, somewhere expensive, and tell her properly, be a fucking gentleman for once in his useless life—

“Esme.”

Livy’s soft voice catches him off guard, and Alfie finds himself blushing under his thick beard, grateful for the fading light. The car comes to a stop as he turns in his seat and fights to keep his expression blank.

“Probably putting the kids to bed," Thomas replies.

Alfie nods, avoiding her eyes, sure that if Livy looks too closely, she’ll see right through him. And now is not the time, not with Thomas Shelby watching on silently and Bernard McCall arriving any fucking minute.

"Why don't you go and say hello—alright, pet? I'll come and find you when we're done here.”

Time seems to freeze as he waits for her response, and there’s a strange tension in the air he would normally remark upon. But nothing about tonight feels normal, and he’s never felt less like himself as he hurries to help Livy out of the car, holding her close when she nearly trips over Cyril.

“Fucking mutt,” Alfie growls, his frustration bubbling over.

But to his surprise, his mild-mannered pup growls right back.

Alfie frowns at the odd behaviour, the hair on the back of his neck suddenly standing at attention. His instincts urge him to pull Livy close, to look deep into her golden eyes before she rushes off. But then her full lips brush his cheek, and Thomas is leading the way to the betting shop, and business is business, after all.

He lets her go.

“Right, Thomas, I think we both know this is a waste of fucking time.” Alfie is irate and can’t be bothered to hide it. “He wants a piece of London, and that ain’t fucking happening.”

“Of course not,” Thomas scoffs, pausing to light a cigarette before taking a seat behind his large desk. “But Bernard is … optimistic. Just talk to him, eh?”

“Talk to him,” Alfie repeats dryly, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. He hates everything about this fucking office; the trinkets and the smoke and, most of all, the smug fucking man sitting across from him. “Well, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m just about out of words tonight. So why don’t you stop dancing around and fill me in on your fucking plan?”

With Livy gone, Alfie has finally managed to gather his wits. Bernard is on his way because the Blinders and Jews are dividing up territory, and it’s so fucking obvious he can’t believe he didn’t see it earlier. But Thomas did—and judging from the look on his face, it can only mean one thing: a ridiculous, overly-ambitious plan.

And fuck, he’s too tired for this.

While part of him reluctantly admires Thomas for his initiative, and his ability to twist anything to his advantage, lately there have been rumours of Russians and Americans, politics and weapons, and silly things Alfie wants no fucking part of. Especially not now, with Livy in his life. It’s a ballache waiting to happen, and he has a bad feeling he’s already an unwilling pawn in one of Thomas Shelby’s games.

“We’re just buying time tonight, Alfie. That’s all. Send him back to Liverpool, let him find his head, and I’m sure we can all come to an agreement.”

“Fuck off, Thomas. Do I look like one of your dumb fucking brothers? I know you’re playing at something—“

Before Alfie can finish, they’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” announces Thomas, shooting Alfie a stern look.

Alfie grunts, eyeing a pretentious bronze horse from across the desk, fighting the urge to smash Thomas in the face with it.

His temper fails to improve when the door opens, revealing Arthur and Bernard. Now he’s stuck in a room with who he’s sure must be his three least favourite people on this fucking planet.

“Bernard,” greets Thomas. His tone is polite, but he doesn’t stand or offer his hand, and neither does Alfie. “Take a seat.”

Bernard doesn’t take offence. Instead he smiles, a crooked smile, revealing a prominent gold tooth.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies, dropping into the seat next to Alfie and nodding when Thomas offers a whiskey. “Straight to business then, lads?”

Alfie huffs. “Well, here’s the thing, right. I recall us making a deal just the other week—did we not?” He strokes his beard before pointing accusingly at Bernard, shaking his finger at the older man.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did, mate. And yet here we are again, sharing air in this godless city.” Alfie’s voice drops dangerously. “So I’m guessing you have something of considerable importance to tell us. Unless you enjoy wasting my fucking time?”

“Wastin’ your time?” chuckles Bernard, sipping his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his weathered hand. “Oh, that’s funny, that is.”

“Is it?” Alfie glances across at Thomas. “‘Cause I’m known for a lot of things, mate, but my sense of humour ain’t one of them.”

Arthur snorts from his place near the door, having witnessed Alfie’s ‘humour’ firsthand.

“Well, ‘ere’s the thing, big fella. When we was negotiatin’, you failed to mention your plan for the Italians.” Bernard’s smile disappears and is quickly replaced with a menacing scowl. “Now I can’t ‘elp but feel you’re wastin’ my fuckin’ time here, mate.”

Alfie isn’t easily baited, but he can feel his patience slipping away, his temper rising in its place. The more he thinks about it, the less he cares about Liverpool, and he’s not sure how much more he can tolerate from this ugly scouse fucker. Right now, all he wants is to be home with Livy, and he’s not afraid to break a few bones if it will hurry things along.

“Is that so? Well, don’t be shy then.” Alfie leans forward and looks Bernard straight in the eye, just inches from his face, daring him to look away. “Tell us what you want, treacle.”

Bernard refuses to back down. “A third of the Italian’s territory,” he snarls.

“A third of …” Alfie can’t help it; he throws his head back and laughs, a barking sound from deep in his chest, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right, well, that ain’t ever going to happen, now is it? So thanks for coming. Now, why don’t you fuck right off—“

“I think what my colleague is trying to say”—Thomas gives Alfie a pointed look—“is that London is off the table. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Bernard narrows his eyes, jaw clenched as he waits for Thomas to continue. Alfie follows suit, wondering where the fuck he’s going with this.

“You’re a smart man, Bernard. You know you can’t maintain that kind of territory from Liverpool.” Thomas stands and looks out the window before turning back to face the others. “But you didn’t come here to talk about London.”

“Then what the fuck am I doin’ ‘ere? Since you know so fuckin’ much.”

Thomas reaches forward and places his palms on the desk. “Because we both know I’m a man of considerable resources.” He straightens up and inhales from his cigarette before pointing at Bernard, the smoke coiling between them. “And I have something you lost. Something you want back.”

And there it is, thinks Alfie.

The pieces are falling into place. Thomas Shelby has pulled a bargaining chip out of thin air, and Alfie would bet his left nut it’s because he needs Liverpool for more than his sad fucking gin.

He has a bad feeling about this …

But Bernard grins.

“There’s only one thing I want more than London.”

“Patience,” Thomas promises. “Go back to Liverpool. Give me 48 hours, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Bernard nods agreeably, leaving Alfie feeling like a third wheel with no clue what they’re talking about. But he knows better than to show his frustration and instead sits in stony silence, hands fisted by his side, fuming as Thomas wraps up the meeting.

But when the door closes, he explodes.

“What the fuck was that?” Alfie demands, coming to his feet, ready to wrap his fingers around Thomas’s scrawny little neck.

“Alfie,” he replies, raising his hands in peace. “I just needed to buy some time.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Alfie growls dangerously, stalking closer. “But time for what, mate?”

Thomas takes a cautious step backwards.

“To call in some favours. I want Liverpool, and I want Bernard out of the picture. It’ll be better for both of us.”

Alfie stares him down as he weighs up his options.

Beneath the whiskey and smoke, he can smell Shelby bullshit, and there’s no doubt in his mind Thomas would play him for a fool. The intelligent thing would be to keep pushing for more details—by any means necessary—before this whole mess has a chance to blow up in his face.

But he’s exhausted and just about out of fucks tonight, so for once, Alfie chooses the easy way out. Maybe he really is getting soft, but right now, he can’t find it in him to care. Not when he has other, more pleasurable, things on his mind.

“Right, Thomas. Well, as you know, I am a man of faith. So I’m going to let your blatant fucking lies slide—for now. But know this. I can smell your pikey nonsense a mile off, and I will only allow your little games for so long.”

Alfie steps back and collects his cane, absently reaching for his hat before remembering its fate. He curses, leaving Thomas with a final warning.

“Do not tempt me because I will not hesitate to end your measly excuse for a life.”

And with that, Alfie stalks out of the room, ready to collect Livy and finally get the fuck out of Small Heath.

“What the fuck do you mean she isn’t here?”

If Alfie thought Shelby men were infuriating, that was before coming up against Shelby women.

Esme leans against her battered door frame, arms crossed over her chest, shooting Alfie a look that would melt steel. Polly stands behind her, smoking a thin cigarette, looking bored.

But Livy is nowhere to be found.

“What are you deaf?” snaps Esme. “I told you she left earlier with your big oaf of a dog.”

His hand grips his cane as he silently counts to ten. Alfie isn’t the type to hit a woman, but he wonders if tonight will be the night he makes an exception.

“Listen, love. I’m just about out of fucking patience. So stop with the bullshit, yeah, and tell me what else you know before I knock it out of ya.”

Esme practically snarls, reminding him of one of the small yapping dogs he’s seen on Cyril’s walks; she looks ready to chew his ankle off when Polly intervenes.

“Look, Mr Solomons,” she proclaims, pushing Esme aside. “Livy left a half hour ago, said she was looking for you. That’s all we know.”

Alfie frowns and tries to hide the panic slowly rising in his chest. “Well, she didn’t fucking find me, now did she? Do you have any idea where she might fucking be?”

Polly shrugs, taking her time, inhaling from her cigarette before continuing. “Ask Thomas. He thinks he knows everything. Let him help you.”

Fucking hell.

At this point, Alfie is so tired he can barely stand, so angry he can barely speak, and so worried he can barely breathe. And now he has to drag his arse back down Watery Lane to enlist the help of Thomas fucking Shelby.

He wonders if this night could get any worse and then berates himself because of course it could. Fear settles in his gut, memories of Livy’s kidnapping fresh in his mind, the worst-case scenario increasingly possible.

Because how could she just get lost?

Lost …

The fear suddenly turns to ice, like glass shattering into a million shards, exploding, slicing him to ribbons from the inside out.

“And I have something you lost. Something you want back.”

He’s still in the dark, still missing vital fucking information, but a sixth sense tells Alfie that Bernard’s visit and Livy’s disappearance are no coincidence. With a speed he shouldn’t possess, not with his sciatica flaring up the way it is, he finds himself banging on Thomas’s front door.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, Alfie signals to Ishmael, who’s been patiently waiting by the car all evening. He has him blow the horn, not caring if he wakes the street. He’ll wake the entire city, burn it to the ground if that’s what it takes.

He promised Livy, promised her father, and promised himself this will not happen. Not again. After years of merely existing in this wicked world, he finally has something real—someone worth living for—and he’s not going to give her up without a fight.

Alfie feels a fresh surge of panic, and he’s ready to smash the door down when Thomas casually opens it, a cigarette dangling from his lips, wearing a bored expression just like his fucking aunt.

“Alfie,” he greets dryly.

“What have you done with her, Thomas?” asks Alfie, his voice deadly calm.

Thomas frowns, an unusual show of emotion. “I don’t know what—“

Alfie slams his cane against the door, splintering the wood, the sickening crack echoing down the empty street.

The floodgates have opened.

“No, Thomas,” he bellows, spit flying from his lips, rage thundering through his veins. “This is your fucking town. So tell me, where is she? What fucking happened to her?”

He reaches for Thomas, blindly shaking him. The fear is so much worse than the last time Livy went missing. Too much is unknown. He can’t make a plan, can’t mobilise his men; he’s fucking helpless, and all he can do is take out his rage on this cunt because Alfie is sure he’s involved somehow.

His fists start flying before he can stop himself, and he must break Thomas’s nose; there’s blood, warm and wet, coating his hands as he drags him into the street. The residents of Small Heath, accustomed to violence, shut their curtains and look away as Alfie continues to unleash his fury.

He knows he should stop—he needs Thomas’s help—but Alfie can feel himself descending into madness, fear and anger blinding him to reason. Flashes of Livy alone in the dark run through his mind, and he can’t control his body’s violent reaction. Every cell is calling for her; she’s the light in his life, and he needs her back.

“Where is she?” he roars, over and over, as the coppery scent of blood fills the air. Alfie barely notices when Arthur and John appear, shouting and pulling at his arms, or when Ishmael cocks his gun, bringing the others to a standstill.

It’s only when another voice rings out, strong yet feminine, that everyone stops and listens.

“She left,” Polly announces, standing in the street, surveying the scene with disgust. “And can you blame her? Look at the lot of you.”

Silence rings out, and Alfie‘s heart skips a beat.

“She left?” he repeats dumbly, oblivious to the eyes on him as his mind struggles to make sense of her words.

Polly nods.

Alfie lets go of Thomas, not looking when he lands in a heap, not caring when his brothers drag him away. His attention is on Polly, and Esme when she joins her from the shadows.

“Why?” Alfie asks, in a whisper so broken he barely recognises his own voice.

But he finds no sympathy among the Shelby women.

“Because she’s not fucking safe here, now is she?” snaps Esme, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Of course she is,” Alfie scoffs, his anger returning. “I keep her fucking safe. She’s safe with me,” he roars, thumping his chest with his bloody fist.

Polly raises an arched brow. “And how’s that working out for her?”

He opens his mouth, ready to unleash hell, but finds he can’t because she’s fucking right. Livy’s been in danger since the moment she showed up on his doorstep.

And Polly knows it.

“That’s what I thought,” she replies, her voice softer this time. “Listen. If you care about her, you’ll leave her be. She’s safe, for now.”

“I can’t just fucking—“

“Yes, you can,” Polly commands. “Get a room at the Midland and clean yourself up. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Alfie wants to protest, but the look in her eyes compels him to listen. There’s more to this, and he intends to find out. Besides, what choice does he have? He glances around and finds himself surrounded by angry Shelbys, with more Blinders lurking in the shadows, their familiar peaked caps concealing dangerous blades.

Yet they keep their distance when he turns away, and he can’t help wondering why they allow him to walk off after smashing Thomas in his pretty face.

It doesn’t add up, any of it.

His hip is grateful for the comfortable bed, but despite the late hour, he can’t fucking sleep.

How could he?

The clock on the mantle ticks loudly, keeping pace with his heart as he stares at the ceiling. Alfie’s deep in thought, trying to put himself in her shoes, trying to understand why Livy would leave him.

Just hours ago, she was wrapped in his arms, staring at him like he mattered … and now she’s gone? What is she so afraid of that she’d leave without saying goodbye? Why wouldn’t she let him protect her? Doesn’t she trust him?

These questions swirl around his brain with no sensible answers, leading him to the real possibility that Polly is lying. She is a Shelby, after all, and it’s not unreasonable to imagine her covering for Thomas and whatever he’s plotting. But if she is, she’s a fucking good liar.

Either way, Alfie can’t figure out his next step.

He could call for men, head north to Liverpool and track down Bernard. He still suspects the fucker has something to do with her disappearance.

But it’s risky. They’d be outnumbered, and what if he’s wrong? What if someone else has her? The last thing he wants is to waste valuable time on a wild goose chase.

Or what if she left of her own accord, as Polly claims, and wants nothing to do with him? The thought is heartbreaking, almost too painful to envisage, but he knows he has to consider the possibility. Is it worth chancing a war with Bernard when he might not have her?

Absolutely.

He’s already written off Liverpool; it’s too much fucking hassle, and there are easier ways a violent man can make a fortune. But more importantly, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to get Livy back. With every minute she’s gone, Alfie realises just how much he would happily sacrifice to be by her side. He’d give up a thousand Liverpools without a second thought if that’s what it takes to get her back in his arms.

But right now, he doesn’t know where to strike, and the best he can do is weigh up the odds. It’s all a fucking gamble, and Alfie isn’t a betting man, especially with no clear favourite and so much at stake.

He stands, growling with frustration, fighting the urge to break something, when he hears a soft knock on his hotel door. His heart leaps, hope rising in his chest as he crosses the room in two long strides, praying he’ll find Livy on the other side.

For a moment, he swears he can smell her sweet scent, cherries and vanilla, flooding his nostrils and warming his heart. But then he flings the door open, and his smile disappears, disappointment washing over him when he sees Polly and Esme instead of his beloved.

His first instinct is to slam the door in their smug faces, but fortunately, the logical side of his brain takes over. He takes a deep breath and arranges his features into what he hopes is a welcoming expression.

“Come in,” he invites, standing aside.

Polly nods, sweeping into the room like she owns the place (and probably does). Esme follows close behind, looking less than pleased to be there, throwing herself into a chair by the window and planting her boots on a small table.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” mocks Alfie, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture and making no effort to hide his irritation.

“What was that?” snaps Esme, staring him down as she deliberately ashes her cigarette on the carpet.

He glares back. “Did I stutter?”

“Fuck off, you—“

“Enough!” shouts Polly, coming to stand between them. She turns to face Alfie. “We didn’t drag ourselves out in the middle of the fucking night for the fun of it. Now, do you want to bicker like a child, or do you want to find Livy?”

That shuts him up. He gives a slight, sober nod.

“Good. Now take a seat. We need to talk.”

Tag List: @noz4a2 @confessionbrain @omgeternal @potter-solomons @quarterpastmidnight @woofgocows @shaddixlife @redhead7799 @cillmequick

#Livy x Alfie #Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders alfie #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic

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