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loulouwrites · 11 days

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Wow, your words totally made my day! I'm thrilled you enjoyed the story and felt so connected to Mrs. Shelby's journey. It means a lot to me that you my little aesthetic touches!

You really nailed it with your thoughts on Tommy and Mrs. Shelby's struggles—it's exactly what I was trying to convey. Mental health is such a tough topic, and I'm glad you found the story compelling.

Thank you for your support and excitement. I can't wait to share more stories with you soon!

I'll be sure to tag you in my future stories🤍

HAUNTED . TOMMY SHELBY

summary: tommy's wife knows their stately home is haunted, he doesn't believe her. warnings: mdni, angst, depression, postnatal depression, psychosis, endangering a child, death, suicide, miscarriage, religion, infidelity, grace doesn't exist (yayy!) word count: 1.9k a/n: this deals with really heavy stuff so if you're sensitive to any of the warnings, please don't read this x

It had been a happy marriage.

They had met after Tommy had returned from France. She and her family had moved to Small Heath from a nearby town after her father had gotten a new job at the factory. They were not a well off family, and she had begun working at the Shelby bookmakers while the men were away fighting the Great War, and the women were in charge of the business.

Tommy had liked her the moment he met her, though there was little joy left since his return home, he found pockets of it whenever he was around the abrasive, loud-mouthed girl. It was easy to fall in love with her, and it was easy for her to fall in love with him - it was easy for any woman to fall in love with Thomas Shelby.

They hadn't married quickly, it was years of courtship - and breakups - before he proposed, though she would insist it was less of a proposal, and more a demand. He hadn't gotten down on one knee, nor had he expressed his undying love for her, because she already knew. He had simply informed her they would be married at Church the coming Sunday, and she had no need to worry about the details, he had sorted everything, because that's what he did - he planned, and she showed up, no questions asked.

The Shelby business grew quickly, quicker than it probably should have, and he was able to move her out of Small Heath for good, buying her the countryside estate he had always promised her, with land she could wander in barefoot, and a home she could get lost in.

"It's awfully big," is what she said when he removed his hands from her eyes, revealing the home he planned for them to grow old in. He let out a huff of laughter at the sight of her scrunched up face.

"I wanted a house big enough for all the children we're going to have," he placed a hand on her swollen stomach, their first child growing inside of her, ready to arrive any day now.

She had given birth one week after they had moved into their new home. Her screams echoed throughout the house, and Tommy had to stop himself from running up the stairs to their bedroom every time her pained cries reached his ears from his office.

Their daughter arrived in the early hours of the morning, her screams replacing her mother's, a joyous sound to those in the house. She had dark hair, smooth skin and eyes just like her father.

They named her Elsie.

Thomas loved his home. He saw it as a justification for every bad thing he had ever done. The dark wooden floors, and the walls adorned with gold frames, the French carpets and the china vases, they were all extensions of himself, every detail in the house was proof that he had succeeded.

His wife had loved the house too, at least at first. It had taken her all but one week to make it hers, to decorate the bedroom exactly how she wanted it, and to arrange the china in the dining room in a way that was sure to impress the guests they would have.

The change in her was small at first, as far as Tommy could recall. It had started in the eighth month of her second pregnancy - her second successful pregnancy, at least. He remembered waking in the middle of the night, the sheets beside him cold and crumpled, and he had shot out of bed before he had woken up properly.

The house was eerily still as he wandered, checking every room, but she was nowhere. He opened the door to his daughter's room, releasing a held breath when he saw her tucked away in her pink sheets, unaware of the world around her.

The panic didn't set in until he descended the stairs, and the cold breeze from the open front door hit his face, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

The nighttime air was bitter, the ground cold against his bare feet, but it didn't register to Tommy as he rushed around the grounds for his wife, with only the moonlight as his guide. He didn't know how long he had been searching when he finally saw her, her nightgown flowing in the wind as she stood beside the pond, her back to her husband.

He had called her name, but she didn't turn around, and he called it again, and again, approaching her the way he would a spooked horse.

"I don't know how you can sleep in that house, Thomas," she spoke when he was close enough to hear her whisper, and he stopped short of touching her, a frown on his face. "It's just so loud in there."

"What do you mean, love?" Tommy glanced back at the house, it's silence obvious even from outside.

"They're too loud, Tommy," her voice broke, and she turned around to face him, her hair tangled and her eyes teary.

He didn't question her, he didn't argue that the house was quiet and there was nobody there but them and their daughter, he just nodded, holding a hand out for her to take, pulling her to his chest when she finally gripped his hand in hers.

"I know, love."

She loved her children. Elsie was pretty like her, and stubborn like her father, and was able to make anybody smile. Her son, George, was quiet, and, though he was only a baby, she knew he'd be kind, a gentle soul in such a cruel world. She also loved the children she had lost, though she never named them. The ones that never made it out of her womb, sometimes she thought they knew what they would be born into, and maybe saved themselves from the cruelty, maybe God had saved them from it.

She was singing George a lullaby in his room when she heard them again.

The whispers.

She never knew where the noise was coming from, just that they were close. Close enough for her to hear them, but far away enough for it to sound like gibberish.

They always came when it was dark, when they knew she wouldn't be able to see them in the corners of the room, but she knew they were there, even if nobody else did.

She held her son close to her, leaving his room as quietly as possible, her bare feet pressing into the wooden floor caused it to creak as she moved, but she didn't stop.

Her husband sighed when she walked into the bedroom with their son held tightly against her chest. She had been doing this more frequently lately.

"George will be sleeping with us tonight."

She was telling him, not asking.

"I don't think there's any need for that," Tommy had sighed as he removed his cufflinks, throwing them on the dressing table harder then was necessary.

"It is," she stated, climbing into bed, her lips pressed to the head of the infant.

"He has a perfectly good room all for himself," Tommy tried to reason, but one look at his wife's face told him his arguing was in vain.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

"It's not safe, Tommy." He rolled his eyes at her words, dragging his palms down his face in exasperation, and exhaustion. "You don't see it, but it's not,"

"You don't see it," Tommy hissed, pointing a finger at her. "You don't see it, you hear it, you hear things no one else does."

"I am not insane, if that's what you're implying," she regarded him cooly. "It's real, it's all real."

"I'm not implying anything," he sighed, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "I believe that you believe it's real-"

She was shaking her head and climbing out of the bed before he could finish the sentence, pacing the floor with a fussy George in her arms.

"It's real, Tommy," she walked to stand in front of him, looking down at him, her tears dripping onto his shirt.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

"I know, love. I believe you."

It got worse as George grew.

She had been putting the six month old to bed when the whispers got closer, when she felt their breath against her ear, and heard their taunting laughter all around the room.

She had scooped up the baby and ran from the room, their laughter echoing through the halls.

Elsie had been sleeping when her mother burst into the room, with baby George held on her hip.

"We have to go, Elsie," her mother had whispered erratically. "We have to leave now."

She held a bruising grip on her sleepy daughter's arm as she dragged her down the stairs, tripping over the carpet as she rushed. She spared a glance at Tommy's closed office door, and considered running towards it, running to the man who wasn't afraid of anything, but she didn't.

He wouldn't understand.

Tommy shouldn't have indulged her as much as he did.

He should never have told her he believed the sick stories she had created in her mind. He should have thrown her in the car and sent her to the doctor the first time he found her standing by that pond.

He had heard the front door open, heard the protests of his daughter and the cries of his son, and he had thrown his cigarette to the floor and ran towards the noise, finding the front door open, and the cries of his children getting fainter as they left the house.

He knew where she was going, and he had ran faster than he thought he ever had before, finding her at the pond, her nightgown flapping in the breeze.

He called her name, and her head snapped towards him, and Elsie tried to wiggle out of her mother's grip at the sight of her father.

"Come back inside, love," he had said, his arms outstretched, but she shook her head erratically.

"No, no Tommy. That house is evil, why can't you see it?" He took a small step forward, his shoes sinking into the mud.

"I know, I know," he whispered. "We don't have to go back there, we can go somewhere else, anywhere you want."

"You're lying," she spat quietly.

"I'm not," he shook his head. "I'm not. You never have to go back there again, I'll burn it down if that's what you want. Just come here."

Her body relaxed slightly, as did her grip on Elsie, who managed to free her arm from her mother's hand and run to her father, tears soaking her cheeks.

"Come on, love," Tommy eyed George, who was leaning against his mother's chest. "Let's go now."

She took careful steps towards him, her bare feet digging into the soft ground. He had taken George from her arms as soon as she was close enough, and she looked at her family with an empty look in her eyes.

He handed George to Elsie, instructing the six year old to take him to the car, without breaking eye contact with the broken woman in front of him.

She was gone.

"Come on, love. We can fix it, I can fix it," his voice was pained as he reached for her, and for a second he saw the woman he married. He saw her in the way she wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands dragging down his sides.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

He was helpless to stop it, really.

Too slow to realise her hand stopping at his holster.

Too slow to reach for when she stepped back from her with his gun in his hand.

Too weak to catch her before she fell back into the pond.

Too weak to stop his knees from giving in.

She was gone.

The house had won.

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loulouwrites · 11 days

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I loved this story so much, and inspired by one of my favourite poems omg!!

The way you portray Alfie's reminiscences is so tender and heart-wrenching. The imagery of their time together on the shores of Margate is beautifully evocative, painting a picture of innocence and passion shattered by fate.

He seemed to be cursed with eternal life. A man returned from the brink of death, fated to walk the cursed Earth without his love once more.

Alfie's inner turmoil is palpable, as he grapples with grief and his questioning of life itself is so beautiful and heartbreaking to read.

In the end, your story leaves a lasting impression. It is a testament to your talent as a writer and your ability to evoke raw emotion with every word.

Thank you for sharing this beautiful story!

A Tomb by the Sounding Sea

Summary: As Alfie recovers from his gunshot wound at Margate, he reminisces about his teenage love who died of TB.

Author's Note: Written for the lovely @sunsetmourners 300 follower celebration. Congratulations, darl! This is based on the poem "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe. It is set in S5.

Warnings: mention of illness, death

The pain woke Alfie suddenly. He thought it had been the pain, but it may have been the vivid dream as well. He had heard her voice call to him as she had so many nights before, only for him to realize it was the distant crash of the waves below his balcony. He had asked his nurse to shut the windows tightly at night, but she refused saying the salt air would do him good in his recovery. She was a bloody stubborn woman, he thought. What did she know of life after death as he was experiencing it now? His Annabel would know though.

His thoughts drifted back to her and the summer they spent together as teenagers, running along the shores of Margate. He had become infatuated with the daughter of a local fisherman and she with him. Until the fateful day when the wind began to blow from a gray cloud, chilling the air around them and she began to cough. He offered her his handkerchief and when she turned around, the linen was stained with blood. The look in her crystalline blue eyes was one of shock and horror for they both knew the meaning of the crimson stain.

It hadn’t taken long for the sickness to consume her lungs. Although Alfie had not been to temple in a long time, he prayed for her recovery. When she did not get well, he concluded the angels had conspired against him to steal her. In his dreams he still imagined the winged seraphs of heaven flying away with her as he shouted for them to release her. It never stopped them from their work and he was always doomed to remain. He seemed to be cursed with eternal life. A man returned from the brink of death, fated to walk the cursed Earth without his love once more.

They must have been envious of her, he often thought. Envious of her beauty and her happiness there with him in their kingdom by the sea. As he took up binoculars to watch the ships go by, he thought of the fleeting moments when they would pass an afternoon on the shore watching the fishing boats and sharing a picnic, delighting in the bounty of the summer harvest. Stealing kisses from her sweet lips, he wanted to remember her taste forever. For no one loved stronger than they had. No one older or wiser had experienced the love he had for his beautiful Annabel.

In the years that had passed and the days since his accident he began to wonder if there were demons living down under the sea. He no longer believed in angels so perhaps that is what had torn his love from him so suddenly. God knew his work had shown him the worst of mankind. He knew full well by now that Hell must surely be empty because all the devils were here. Why not in the seas as well?

Although they had been parted now longer than they had been together, Alfie always had her name on the tip of his tongue, her image behind his eyelids and her memory in his daydreams. Even now as he lay in his bed watching the night tide, he knew no one could ever dissever his soul from hers. However, there were times it was too much to bear. He called the nurse and asked for more morphine because tonight he wished for no dreams. He could no longer stand the torment, wishing the stars would not rise this evening, reminding him of her bright eyes. All he could think of as he drifted into the darkness was her tomb by the sounding sea and how he wished to be allowed to join her.

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Tag list:

@peakyswritings

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@l1-l4

#alfie solomons x oc #Alfie Solomons fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine

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loulouwrites · 17 days

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HAUNTED . TOMMY SHELBY

It had been a happy marriage.

"I wanted a house big enough for all the children we're going to have," he placed a hand on her swollen stomach, their first child growing inside of her, ready to arrive any day now.

Their daughter arrived in the early hours of the morning, her screams replacing her mother's, a joyous sound to those in the house. She had dark hair, smooth skin and eyes just like her father.

They named her Elsie.

The panic didn't set in until he descended the stairs, and the cold breeze from the open front door hit his face, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

He had called her name, but she didn't turn around, and he called it again, and again, approaching her the way he would a spooked horse.

"What do you mean, love?" Tommy glanced back at the house, it's silence obvious even from outside.

"They're too loud, Tommy," her voice broke, and she turned around to face him, her hair tangled and her eyes teary.

"I know, love."

She was singing George a lullaby in his room when she heard them again.

The whispers.

She never knew where the noise was coming from, just that they were close. Close enough for her to hear them, but far away enough for it to sound like gibberish.

They always came when it was dark, when they knew she wouldn't be able to see them in the corners of the room, but she knew they were there, even if nobody else did.

She held her son close to her, leaving his room as quietly as possible, her bare feet pressing into the wooden floor caused it to creak as she moved, but she didn't stop.

Her husband sighed when she walked into the bedroom with their son held tightly against her chest. She had been doing this more frequently lately.

"George will be sleeping with us tonight."

She was telling him, not asking.

"I don't think there's any need for that," Tommy had sighed as he removed his cufflinks, throwing them on the dressing table harder then was necessary.

"It is," she stated, climbing into bed, her lips pressed to the head of the infant.

"He has a perfectly good room all for himself," Tommy tried to reason, but one look at his wife's face told him his arguing was in vain.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

"It's not safe, Tommy." He rolled his eyes at her words, dragging his palms down his face in exasperation, and exhaustion. "You don't see it, but it's not,"

"You don't see it," Tommy hissed, pointing a finger at her. "You don't see it, you hear it, you hear things no one else does."

"I am not insane, if that's what you're implying," she regarded him cooly. "It's real, it's all real."

"I'm not implying anything," he sighed, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "I believe that you believe it's real-"

She was shaking her head and climbing out of the bed before he could finish the sentence, pacing the floor with a fussy George in her arms.

"It's real, Tommy," she walked to stand in front of him, looking down at him, her tears dripping onto his shirt.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

"I know, love. I believe you."

It got worse as George grew.

She had been putting the six month old to bed when the whispers got closer, when she felt their breath against her ear, and heard their taunting laughter all around the room.

She had scooped up the baby and ran from the room, their laughter echoing through the halls.

Elsie had been sleeping when her mother burst into the room, with baby George held on her hip.

"We have to go, Elsie," her mother had whispered erratically. "We have to leave now."

He wouldn't understand.

Tommy shouldn't have indulged her as much as he did.

He knew where she was going, and he had ran faster than he thought he ever had before, finding her at the pond, her nightgown flapping in the breeze.

He called her name, and her head snapped towards him, and Elsie tried to wiggle out of her mother's grip at the sight of her father.

"Come back inside, love," he had said, his arms outstretched, but she shook her head erratically.

"No, no Tommy. That house is evil, why can't you see it?" He took a small step forward, his shoes sinking into the mud.

"I know, I know," he whispered. "We don't have to go back there, we can go somewhere else, anywhere you want."

"You're lying," she spat quietly.

"I'm not," he shook his head. "I'm not. You never have to go back there again, I'll burn it down if that's what you want. Just come here."

Her body relaxed slightly, as did her grip on Elsie, who managed to free her arm from her mother's hand and run to her father, tears soaking her cheeks.

"Come on, love," Tommy eyed George, who was leaning against his mother's chest. "Let's go now."

He handed George to Elsie, instructing the six year old to take him to the car, without breaking eye contact with the broken woman in front of him.

She was gone.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

He was helpless to stop it, really.

Too slow to realise her hand stopping at his holster.

Too slow to reach for when she stepped back from her with his gun in his hand.

Too weak to catch her before she fell back into the pond.

Too weak to stop his knees from giving in.

She was gone.

The house had won.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

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loulouwrites · 24 days

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Ily.

Writing Alfie's emotions is quite difficult considering he's such a larger than life character so I'm glad you enjoyed how they were portrayed in the story.

I loved writing the meet cute - even in the most emotional of times, Alfie is not a serious man lmao.

Tysm 🩷🩷

PROSE . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie found comfort in her letters during his darkest moments, even if they were never meant for him warnings: angst, war, death, ptsd, a bit of politics, happy ending, unedited for now word count: 2.2k a/n: a short lil story x

Lieutenant Adam Weiss would read those letters over and over, a smile on his muddy face whenever he pulled the envelopes from his pockets, almost as if the words made him forget where he was.

The letters were creased and the envelopes were worn, mud caked the sides and gritty fingerprints decorated the edges from where he would run his hand down the pages. Some of the letters were longer than others, ranging from one page to four, front and back.

Captain Alfie Solomons watched the boy pull out a fresh letter, amazed he received so many. Delivering letters to frontline soldiers was not a priority in the war, nor should it be, men waited months for notes from their family, but somehow, Adam always received his - he must have been the luckiest lad in France.

People didn't write to Alfie.

His parents were long gone, his sisters had husbands they would rather scribble away to, and the few friends he had were scattered throughout Europe, fighting the same fight he was - one none of them quite understood.

Adam's smile felt like an assault on the captain, the grin he wore reminiscent of a time before, a time that didn't exist anymore. The lieutenant had never shared who the letters were from, he kept them tucked into his breast pocket, only pulling them out when everybody else was busied with other, more important tasks.

"Who's writing you these letters?" Alfie asked the boy, trying to stretch his legs the best he could in the cramped quarters below ground.

Adam's grin faded from his face, and he shrugged non-committally, tucking the letter away.

"Just a girl I know," he said, face bashful.

"A girl you know," Alfie nodded. He was surprised he had never met Adam before the war, they were both raised in the same area, both Jewish, of a similar age, yet their paths had never crossed. "A pretty girl?"

"Just a girl," Adam scowled, crossing his arms across his chest.

The sound of gunfire interruped whatever Alfie was about to say next.

Lieutenant Adam Weiss succumbed to injuries sustained in the battlefield two weeks before the armistice was signed. He died at the age of 24, with a hole in his head, and even more in the chest.

Alfie didn't feel much when he died, there had been so much death that he feared he had become immune to it, and he was never particularly close to the man. Yet, it didn't stop him from taking the letters from the dead man's pocket before his body was dragged away.

He had no intention of reading the letters that were now kept in his own breast pocket, he wasn't even sure why he took them in the first place, but the weight of them comforted him.

More letters arrived the day after Adam died, a small envelope addressed to him at the bottom of the pile, and Alfie took that one too, snatching it from the boy who delivered them before he could question it.

It was a lot quieter these days, men were being picked off one by one, and those that were still alive, found little to talk about. At first, they would joke about finally being away from their wives, or make lewd comments about the nurses, but now, there was nothing, it was if they couldn't remember their lives before.

Alfie opened the letter before he could stop himself, the cursive handwriting was so neat, not a word had been crossed out, suggesting the author had taken their time with every word, possibly rewriting it completely whenever she made a mistake, a showing of her care, not just for the letters, but for Adam too.

He carefully read the well wishes and pleasantries. The one page letter was not particularly engaging or poetic, but the talk of day to day life in London was comforting to Alfie in the most painful way.

His eyes led to the bottom of the page, where the writing got slightly messy, and the words were slanted more than they were in the beginning.

Revolution is in the air, and peace is on the horizon. You will be home soon, hopefully before the month draws to a close, and we will celebrate your birthday together, as we have always done.

The slaughter will end, and you will be home.

Your dearest, and only friend.

She didn't sign it, there was no need to, he supposed, the letter was not for him, it was for the boy dead on the battlefield, and he already knew her name.

Alfie scoffed as he reread her words.

The slaughter will end.

Bullshit.

The armistice was signed less than two weeks later. The girl from the letters was right, the slaughter had ended and peace had come - though the men returning were forever changed.

Alfie wondered whether word about Adam had reached her, it should have by now. He considered tracking her down and telling her himself, he was the boy's captain, after all, but he had no fight in him to search for a nameless girl in London - he was tired.

The journey to London was long, they had heard them like cattle onto boats and trains, the men silently sitting in their misery, no celebration to be had.

The time allowed Alfie to read the other letters he had been carrying. He read them in no particular order, skimming through the cursive writing, more to distract himself from the sadness filling the train carriage, than anything else.

Mr Feldman brought me flowers again, he thinks I'm his dead wife.

Your mother came over for shabbat, she cried a lot.

I still go to the bakery we used to go after school, the bread isn't as nice now that Issaac isn't there to make it.

James proposed to me - again. It is the fifth time I have declined. He doesn't understand why I have no intention to marry a ten year old.

The girl talked a lot about what was happening at home, Alfie appreciated that, other than well wishes and the odd scathing political rant, she rarely mentioned the war, the men reading letters didn't need reminding of the war, the needed to be reminded of home.

Life returned to a new normal in the years following the war. Alfie was able to forget the war better than most, maybe because the violence didn't end for him. He went from a war in France to a war in London, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

Tensions rose, men died, and Alfie survived - as it was, as it always would be.

He sat in his office a lot, when everybody had left for the day, he would pull out the stack of letters from the second drawer of his desk, and read them over again, as if he couldn't recite them word for word at his point.

He had a favourite, one that was now more creased than the others, and had more bends in the edges, read far more often than others.

I had an argument with my mother, again. I shall not bore you with the details, but I am certain the war will end soon, that the trend sweeping the East will come here and you shall return home.

We will go to Abraham's bakery the day you step off the train and eat the pineapple cake you like so much, we will then go to Finsbury Gardens and spend the rest of the day there, and we shall end the day at the pub, I haven't been allowed in without my male companion.

May you remain safe and well, and may you return home soon.

Your only and closest friend.

The girl was not a particularly poetic writer, yet Alfie was more enthralled by her prose than he ever had been by Shakespeare or Austin, because alone in the dark of his office, he could lie to himself, and believe those letters were for him.

He fiddled with the papers in his hand as he stood outside of the bakery. It had just opened, and people ushered in and out, their eyes avoiding his.

He had built quite the reputation for himself upon his return.

The bell above the door dinged when he walked in, and the lady at the counter looked away from the customer she was serving to wave at him.

He hovered behind the girl in front as she chatted to the woman, laughing and pointing to various cakes and pastries.

"Sir?" The woman waved a hand up and down to get his attention, and Alfie snapped out of whatever daze he was in, clearing his throat out of embarrassment.

"Urm...yeah," he muttered, looking down at the paper in his hands. He could recite this letter word for word, why couldn't he remember the cake now?

The baker and customer watched him as his eyes flickered to the page and back up to smile apologetically at them.

"I can help," the girl smiled at him, holding a hand out for the letter. "I'm a good reader."

She thought he couldn't fucking read.

"I can read," he defended, and she held her hands up jokingly. His eyes skimmed the words, failing to find the one he needed.

What kind of fucking cake was it?

And why did he even fucking care?

"For fuck's sake," he muttered, holding the letter out to the girl. "There's a type of cake in there, can you find it?"

She let out a small laugh as she took the paper with a smile on her face. He watched as she began to read it thoughtfully, her smile slowly dropping from her face and her eyebrows pulled together. Her head snapped up, and she held the letter up, a scowl on her face.

"Where did you get this?" Her tone wasn't something Alfie could place, a mixture between shock and confusion, and something else entirely.

He was never one to be lost for words, but he couldn't string a sentence together for the life of him, what the fuck was happening?

He must have been quiet for too long, because the girl fled the bakery, brushing his shoulder as she pushed past him, the letter still in her hand.

His favourite letter.

His body reacted quicker than his brain did, and he rushed after her, jogging to catch up with her as she stormed down the street.

"Oi," he called out when he was close enough for her to hear, "give me my fuckin' letter back."

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face him, pushing a hand to his chest when he was close enough to touch.

"It is not your letter," she spat. "Where did you get it?"

"The fuck are you chattin' about? You stole it from me."

"And you stole it from Adam," the girl shrieked, turning to storm away again, but Alfie was faster, grabbing her arm to stop her.

"Fuckin' hell," he smiled despite himself. "You're the girl from the letters."

"Who the fuck are you?" She cried, pulling her arm out of his grip.

"My name is Alfie Solomons," he held his arms out in defense, watching as her eyes widened at his introduction.

He really did have a reputation.

"I was Adam's captain in France," he reached down to take the letter from her hand, and she didn't put up a fight when he pulled it from her grip. "I took the letters off Adam when he died."

"Why?" She whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Couldn't tell ya, love," he shrugged. "Maybe because they made him very happy."

Her face scrunched up as if she were in pain at his words, and she breathed a deep breath to quell the tears in her eyes.

"They made him happy?" She breathed out, Alfie nodding in confirmation.

"It was annoying, really," he joked. "They made me happy too, even if I did steal 'em."

She huffed a laugh in response, dabbing at her eyes with her gloved hands before gesturing to letter he now held in his hands.

"Keep it," she sighed. "It was pineapple cake, by the way."

She went to turn away, but Alfie spoke before she could.

"Tell me to fuck off if you want, but would you fancy goin' to Finsbury Gardens?"

She looked at him blankly, and Alfie was certain she was going to say no, to tell him to fuck off with his letter and leave her alone.

"Okay," she nodded eventually. "But only if you take me to the pub after, I need a new male companion."

"It'd be my pleasure, love."

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loulouwrites · 1 month

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Thank yoouu.

I imagine Alfie to know a lot of people, but I don't imagine him to be close to anyone enough for them to write him letters (at least in his early years). He and Adam were basically polar opposites in every way, though I didn't delve into Adam's character too much, he'll definitely be mentioned more as the story progresses. I think even in the show we see how well adjusted Alfie is, compared to somebody like Tommy - my man knows how to compartmentalize.

She was 100% embarrassed that Alfie (a man she had never met) had read intimate stories she only intended to share with her best friend - who wouldn't be? She definitely thought those letters died with Adam in France, imagine the shock seeing one a few years later.

Thank you so much, I look forward to hearing what you have to say whenever I post!! 🤍🤍🤍 ily