#white margate

[ghschwering]

A great dive in Cozumel. It started with a beautiful sunrise before we headed out across the water.

[happywebdesign]

FT Scenik

[aneledenovodental]

Dentists in Margate

Anele De Novo is one of the highest-rated Dentists in Margate and Herne Bay, Kent. At Anele de Novo dental practice, we welcome NHS and private patients for routine and emergency dental care. For more detail contact us online at https://www.aneledenovo.com

[runningforwaves]

"Let the waves carry you where the light can not."

- Alain Gerbeault

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Summary: An incident at Bonnie's boxing match provides the family with an opportunity to end the war.

Word Count: 6,837

Warnings: Violence, past sexual assault, and pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 27: Endless Shadows

“You look dead,” Alfie said to her in greeting as he entered the locker room, moving to sit on the bench across from them. 

“Oh good,” Lucy didn’t open her eyes from where she was still leaning with her head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. “Then I look how I feel.”

Tommy’s thumb rubbed up and down her shoulder soothingly.  

She cracked her eyes open a sliver while Alfie and Tommy talked, watching Alfie curiously. There was something odd in his eyes, and his words were almost…melancholic.

“Glad you’re back, kiddo,” he gave her a small pat on the upper arm as he stood and said his farewells. But that look did not cease, creasing at the edges of his eyes and the corners of his lips. 

“Thanks, Alfie,” she said, brow furrowing at the near apologetic way in which he said it. 

They watched him walk away, heads cocked and frowning. 

“Convenient of him to be moving to Margate now, of all times,” Tommy remarked once Alfie was gone. Lucy nodded. 

“You think that Luca scared him?”

Tommy’s lips pursed. “Alfie doesn’t strike me as the type to get scared off that easily.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she frowned, still eyeing the archway through which Alfie had disappeared. A roar of cheers emitted from the ring. “We better get going. Fight’s about to start.”

He put out his cigarette, standing and helping her to her feet. Linking her arms back through his, Lucy gave him a soft squeeze. 

“Alright?”

She nodded. “Just don’t let me get jostled around too much.”

He smoothed a hand over her hair, kissed her forehead, and led the way back towards the ring. 

It already smelled strongly of sweat, booze, and smoke, the men hollering and jeering, lurching and moving like a great wave of bodies as they watched Bonnie and Goliath circle each other. Tommy led the way to their seats next to Arthur, keeping a protective arm around her to shield her from the bulk of the crowd. After they took their seats, Arthur soon started fretting to Tommy about the men that had come with Goliath. Lucy followed his gaze to where they stood in their corner across the ring. The men didn’t look all that engaged with Goliath, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe Goliath preferred for his men to be more hands off. 

But Arthur continued to insist that something was wrong, despite Tommy’s attempts to soothe him. 

Her eyes darted to where Polly, Linda, and Lizzie all were seated across the ring from them, giggling and shouting encouragement to Bonnie while passing around a bottle of Tommy’s gin. As expected they were all dressed up lavishly for the occasion, in glittering, form fitting dresses, furs draped over their shoulders, and jewels dangling from their ears and throats. 

Lucy felt a sharp wave of self consciousness wash over her, quickly wrapping her arms around her middle, shoulders drawing in as if that would somehow achieve her new goal of becoming invisible. 

She watched Lizzie, so tall and elegant and beautiful as she laughed and chatted with Polly, and wished that the ground would swallow her whole. They could not have looked more different if they’d tried. Where Lizzie was tall and slender, Lucy was short and curvy. Lizzie could wear just about any of the dresses currently in fashion and look marvelous, but if Lucy tried to wear anything without some sort of defined waist, she’d wind up looking as though she was dressed in a potato sack. Some days she could hardly get her curls to cooperate, but Lizzie’s hair was almost always beautifully styled and tamed. Her eyes were actually in proportion with the rest of her face, rather than oversized almost to the point of absurdity like Lucy’s were. Where Lucy’s face was covered in freckles, Lizzie’s porcelain white skin was clear of any marks or blemishes, nor was her body marked with any cuts that would soon heal over into truly hideous scars that would never really fade away. 

God, Lucy couldn’t help but think, she had to look absolutely horrid compared to her. 

She glanced at Tommy out of the corner of her eye, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. She was not even close to pretty enough to be with him. Lizzie would have looked right at his side. A perfect match–at least outwardly. Lucy could not help but assume that she and Tommy must look terribly mismatched together. 

He really probably ought to have his head examined. Even on her best days, no one in their right mind would choose her over Lizzie. 

Clearing her throat, she wiped at her face with her sleeve, hoping that anyone who noticed would assume that she was dabbing away sweat and not the tears building up against her lashes. 

Movement to her left snatched away her attention. Arthur had stood, disappearing into the crowd and ignoring Tommy’s shouts for him to come back. Instead he continued towards the hallway leading to the back, following right on the heels of one of Goliath’s men who had wandered off from the rest of the pack still gathered by the ring. 

“Fuck’s sake.” Tommy grumbled as he watched Arthur go. Lucy settled a hand on his shoulder. Around them, the crowd’s shouts rose to a fever pitch as the fight intensified. 

Minutes ticked by, and Arthur did not come back. 

Stretching up in her seat, Lucy craned her head around, trying to see if he was in the crowd somewhere and they’d just missed him. 

“Tommy,” she grabbed at his bicep in warning as another one of Goliath’s minders left his post, heading in the same direction that Arthur had gone. Seizing her hand, Tommy shot out of his seat, pulling her along with him to follow. His jaw was straining, eyes wide, and she wondered if he was thinking about how she’d stepped out just to run a few errands, and was almost snatched away from him forever. How the same exact thing might be happening with Arthur. 

They had just rounded a corner in the maze of backrooms when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot going off echoed somewhere within the halls and rooms up ahead. Tommy skidded to a stop, hand flying into his coat for his gun. Lucy mimicked his movements, flinching at the way that reaching into her coat pulled on her shoulder. 

“Stay behind me,” Tommy ordered. She opened her mouth to protest, then promptly closed it. It would be laughable to try to argue that she could actually be of much use right now in anything but a distanced firefight. And he didn’t have time to waste worrying about her getting hurt again. Following him closely at a rather painful jog, they rushed down a hallway bathed in baby blue light, turning into another room in which one of Goliath’s minders was standing over a crumpled Arthur, gun aimed at his head. 

Tommy’s shot struck him directly in the chest, and he went slouching to the floor.   

Tommy went racing to his brother, shouting his name and pulling him up into his arms. Lucy double checked to ensure that the man he’d shot was actually dead, then checked the corners of the room for any other enemies that may have been skulking about. There was no one. 

Rounding back to Tommy, she went to kneel at Arthur’s side. For a second, she thought that he was dead, his eyes were staring at nothing and there was blood on his hands and throat. Tommy curled over him, a hand cupping the side of his older brother’s face, thin rivers of his blood lacing across his hand. 

There was roaring from the crowd still gathered around the ring in the distance, the sound reaching such a volume that Lucy thought they very well might bring the roof down. The fight must be over. 

Arthur twitched and gasped in Tommy’s arms. Tommy let out a relieved wheeze, hugging him tightly, and Lucy breathed out gratefully, resting a hand on the back of Arthur’s head while his face tucked into Tommy’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Tommy drew back, grabbing him by either side of the face. Arthur nodded, still breathing harshly.

“Just nicked.”

Tommy nodded, and while she drew out a handkerchief for Arthur to dab at his neck, Lucy spotted something shift in Tommy’s eyes, immediately recognizing the telltale expression of an idea taking form as the circuits in his head began to whirl at warp speed. 

“Tommy?”

His eyes snapped to her. “I’ve got it figured out.”

“What?”

He grabbed at both of them. “I’ve got it figured out,” he repeated.

“Got what figured out, Tommy?”

His eyes glittered. “How to win.”

∗ ∗ ∗

She remained at his side as they enacted the first part of the plan, schooling her features into an expression of distraught mourning while Tommy climbed into the ring and fired his revolver into the air, creating plenty of noise and commotion, drawing all eyes to him so that Arthur could easily sneak away whilst Tommy announced the news of his ‘death’ to the world. 

It had been chaos after that; hours spent as their men searched and questioned everyone in attendance before allowing them to leave. And the family had swarmed Tommy with questions and reactions of shock and horror. The only other ones outside of Lucy and Tommy that knew that Arthur was still alive were Polly and Linda. It was the only way to be sure that everyone reacted believably during what was coming next. 

The boxing ring was empty and quiet, now. Everyone had finally been dismissed. The family had all gone back home to steep in their shock and grief and prepare for the funeral.

“I’m sorry.” Lucy said, playing with her fingers, keeping her voice quiet.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, fishing a cigarette from his case and swiping it across his lips. “Why?”

“I feel like I’m really fucking useless right now.”

His features creased, moving to stand directly in front of her. “Hey, no; none of that now. You’re hurt. It’s not your fault. Besides, you’ve already taken out plenty of Luca’s men throughout this vendetta.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “You’ve more than done your part.”

She sighed, leaning her forehead into his chest. The day had been long, and she was exhausted. Her injuries, particularly her back and shoulders, were starting to hurt badly. 

“Let’s go home.” Tommy suggested, reaching for her hand. Lucy took it eagerly, letting him lead her from the building and out onto the streets. Tomorrow would be busy. They needed to get back to the house to start preparing for it.

“It was some of Alfie’s boys that attacked us,” Tommy mumbled, head bowed, the hand that wasn’t holding hers slipping into his pocket.

“I can’t believe that he betrayed us for Luca of all people.”

Tommy shrugged. “It’s what Alfie does.” But the hurt in his voice was obvious. “Maybe Luca threatened him.”

“When has Alfie ever backed down because of threats?”

A sigh of agreement left his lips. Lucy shifted uncomfortably, her own hurt at Alfie’s actions squeezing within her throat. 

“Do you think he knew that they took me?” Her voice was quiet, not bothering to try to hide the pain that the thought brought her. She’d known Alfie since they were teenagers. He’d gotten her medical attention that she likely would have died without it after Matthew and his friends assaulted her. And despite her working for and being wholly loyal to Tommy, they’d always maintained a friendly, warm relationship. That he would allow for her to be tortured…

She bit her lip, looking down at her shoes. Tommy squeezed her hand. 

“I don’t know, love. When I called him while you were missing to ask him to have some of his men search for you in London, he seemed genuinely worried. I don’t think…” he trailed off with another sigh. “I don’t think that he knew. But it’s hard to say for sure.”

“Yeah,” she offered him a wobbly half smile. “I’m assuming we’re gonna have to pay him a visit to Margate after things are cleaned up here.”

Tommy’s jaw twitched, eyes growing even more sorrowful than they’d been a moment ago. They both knew how any visit to Alfie was now likely to end. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“I guess we can ask him then.”

They continued to walk together in silence. There was something else that she wanted to discuss with him, but she was unsure how he would take it. She’d never made a suggestion quite like the one she was about to make. Mounting her courage, she forced her lips to part and her tongue to move.

“I think that you should send Michael away.”

Tommy did not react, head still dipped, staring at his shoes and the cobblestones while they walked. She’d just opened her mouth to say more when he finally spoke. 

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

“I don’t trust him anymore.”  

“Me neither.”

She sighed, both in relief at Tommy’s agreement to her suggestion and with disappointment towards the boy that had once shown so much promise. “Well…fuck.”

He hummed in agreement. “Not our best year.”

“No. No, it really hasn’t been.”

His fingers flexed against hers in a tender squeeze, head turning to kiss her forehead. She could see the house on the end of the block, her tired bones giving a quiet cry of relief at the thought of soon being able to rest. 

∗ ∗ ∗

The next few days were spent laying meticulous plans and taking careful actions. Michael was sent away to New York, and Lucy and Tommy spent a significant amount of time on the phone, locked in calculated negotiations. Arthur’s funeral was a quiet affair, a good amount of tears shed and sorrow exchanged between the family as the wagon went up in flames. 

The meeting that took place after with Audrey Changretta saw Lucy leaning against a wall. Luca had taken her rings, so her hands had begun to instead unconsciously pick at the skin of her fingers whenever she was nervous, leaving bloody scabs to add to her ever growing collection. She did not say a word during the whole exchange, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead, not even looking at Audrey for fear that if she did, she’d kill her. 

This woman. This cunt who John had spared. And how did she repay them? By setting her sadistic fucking son on all of them. Her husband had Tommy’s wife killed, and yet she dared to speak as if his death by their hands was unjustified. 

When the meeting was over, Audrey gathered up her things, and went to the door. Upon passing Lucy, she stopped, looking over her bruised face and the bandages peeking out from under her clothes. Lucy forced herself to meet the woman’s cold eyes, keeping all feeling off her face. Audrey leaned forward, so that Lucy could smell the sickly sweet scent of her perfume.

“You deserved every second of it.”

“That’s enough; get out,” Polly commanded, taking a step forward, probably at least in part so that she was placed between Audrey and Tommy. A dark storm cloud of rage had passed across his eyes at Audrey’s words, his icy gaze remaining locked on the back of her head as Polly ushered her out the door. He looked to be seconds away from throwing the whole carefully laid plan to the wayside and killing her then and there. 

Heaving herself away from the wall, Lucy went to him, resting both hands on his upper arms to get his attention and draw him away from his murderous thoughts. She rubbed her palms back and forth, feeling the heat and strength of his arms through the layers of his clothes. 

“She’ll get what’s coming to her,” she reminded him. No need to rush things. Besides, what they had planned for Audrey would be far more satisfying than a quick bullet to the back of the head. 

Tommy nodded, head angling down and wetting his lips. Lucy leaned closer to him.

“Almost done,” she whispered in quiet encouragement.

“Yes,” Tommy murmured, with the tone of someone who knew that the tribulations of life would never fully be finished with them. “Almost.” 

∗ ∗ ∗

She passed form after form to Polly and Tommy, helping to keep track of which ones still needed to be signed and by who. The scratch of pens against paper and the rustling of pages was the primary sound in the office, save for the occasional clearing of Tommy’s throat, or quiet mumbles from any of the three of them. 

When they were finally done, Tommy gathered all files into a folder, sighing and planting both hands on his desk while Polly leaned back in her chair, flexing the fingers of her writing hand. 

“Right, so now–” Lucy began, but was cut off by the door flying open. With wrathful, echoing footsteps, Lizzie came storming in, throwing her coat aside as she stalked towards Tommy’s desk. Lucy shrank away, quickly getting up from her chair so that she could retreat into the corner while Lizzie snarled questions as to why Tommy hadn’t been by her house yet to visit her. Tommy sighed, slumping back into his chair with a cigarette. Polly’s eyes darted shrewdly between the three of them. Lizzie dropped into the seat Lucy had been occupying, an expectant look on her face. 

Lucy frowned at the entitlement. Had she forgotten that they were still in the middle of a fucking war? That, as far as she knew, Tommy’s brother had just died? Did she really think now was a good time to start making demands of his time and energy?

She flinched at her bitter thoughts, looking shamefully down at her hands, aware that she probably wasn’t being fair.

Despite their talk before the kidnapping, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that Lizzie and the baby inside of her were hanging over her relationship with Tommy like the blade of a guillotine, poised and ready to drop at any moment to sever them from each other.

She glanced out the window, wrapping her arms around herself. As Tommy and Polly explained to Lizzie that Luca was coming for them all tomorrow, Lizzie’s face paled. She stared at Tommy, completely aghast at his apparent surrender. 

“You can’t just…you can’t just let him take everything…” she began to stammer.

“You want to live?” Tommy asked. Lizzie pressed her lips together, eyes wide. “This makes that possible.”

Lizzie looked around at all of them with her lips parted. “Wha–you all are alright with just giving up?”

“I thought that you wanted him to stop all of this sort of work anyway, Lizzie,” Lucy mumbled. Petty? Maybe. But her shoulders were starting to hurt again and she really was regretting letting Lizzie take her seat. Lizzie’s eyes widened, darting between Tommy and Lucy at the subtle revelation that he’d told her everything she’d said to him during their conversation when Lucy was taken. “And I don’t know about the rest of you,” she shifted uncomfortably, “but I’ve had enough of this war.”

Lizzie’s gaze dropped down to her lap. 

“We need to get going. There’s still things we need to do,” Tommy stood and grabbed his coat. “We’ll talk once this is all over, all right?” he told Lizzie in an attempt to placate her. She nodded, actually looking agreeable to the suggestion. Lucy picked up the folder of papers, moving to follow Tommy and Polly out, when Lizzie delicately touched her arm, triggering her to pause. 

“Lucy, I’m…” she worried at her bottom lip, then sighed. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Lucy blinked. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not. I know we’ve…I’ve had my problems with you, but I would never have wished what happened onto you.”

Lucy stared at her, wetting her lips, surprised at the genuinely in Lizzie’s voice. “Thank you.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. Jerking her head towards the door, she beckoned her to follow them out. “Come on.”

Lizzie gathered up her coat and trailed her to the door. “I didn’t mean to make such a fuss–”

“It’s fine,” Lucy lit a cigarette, pushing the door open to step out onto the street, moving to stand at Tommy’s side. Lizzie looked at them nervously, it not lost on Lucy how her eyes lingered on Tommy’s hand when it rested lightly on her shoulder. There seemed to be a battle going on inside her, the desire to lash out and rage at them for the gesture of affection, versus the need to keep the peace.

Lucy had to wonder if her current injuries had been what had earned her at least somewhat of a reprieve from both Polly and Lizzie’s hatred. That, and Tommy’s increased protectiveness. If either of them tried anything with him present right now, there was a strong possibility that he would rip their heads off. 

“You want a ride?” Polly offered to Lizzie, who nodded somewhat sheepishly, giving one last indication of goodbye to Lucy and Tommy before following Polly to her car. 

“Sorry about that,” Tommy huffed. Lucy shook her head. 

“It’s fine. You really should go visit her…”

A quiet groan left his lips, thumb rubbing at his eyes while his features scrunched as if in pain. “I know.” It sounded like it was the last thing on earth he’d like to do. Lucy squeezed his arm. 

“It actually is a nice house.”

“Fucking grand.”

“Tommy.”

Another groan. “We can go over there together sometime after this is done.”

“Maybe it would be better if you went on your own…”

He shot her a sharp look, behind which she swore she saw a stab of panic. “Absolutely not.”

“Tommy…I know you’re gonna have to spend time with her. It’s fine. I can be an adult about it.”

“Your behavior isn’t what I’m worried about. Besides,” he watched Polly and Lizzie’s car pull away from the curb and drove away with a little honk of the horn in farewell to them, “she’s already delusional enough about what may or may not happen between me and her. You really think me spending time alone with her is gonna help that?”

Lucy looked down at her shoes. “I just feel bad…”

“Which is why we can go together. Hey,” he took her by both shoulders, waiting until she was looking up into his eyes before speaking again. “Her feelings aren’t your responsibility.” 

“Feels like they are when I’m the cause of her misery.”

“You are no such thing. If anyone is, it’s me, not you.” He brushed his knuckles against her chin. “Even if you weren’t here, it would not change things between me and Lizzie. You’ve nothing to feel guilty for. You’re not keeping me from her. I promise.” His forehead bumped into hers. “I don’t love her. I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you. Ey?”

A lump formed in her throat, nodding. His words helped, but only a little. It would only take a few days or so, and her insecurities would return as they always did. There was no escaping them. 

“Come on,” he kissed her, and took hold of her hand. “We’ve got more important things to worry about than Lizzie right now.”  

She let him guide her down the sidewalk, still holding onto him, despite the whispers of the guilt and self doubt that Lizzie’s pregnancy had awakened. Murmurs that told her over and over to let go and walk away.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Quick or slow?”

She stared over at the huge barrels that lined the wall of Tommy’s gin distillery, turning the question over in her mind, feeling Tommy’s eyes on her as he waited patiently for her response. 

“I don’t suppose I could ask for a bit of both.”

His head tilted curiously. “How do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to him being roughened up a bit before we put a bullet in his face. But…” she sighed, head tilting up towards the rafters. She could no longer hear the flutter of starlings’ wings. “I just want him gone.” Maybe then, I’ll finally be able to sleep at night. It had worked, if only partially, with Matthew. No, it had not been enough to stop the nightmares, or the aching from her scars. But the peace of mind that it had brought her, knowing that he could no longer return to hurt her or anyone else ever again, could not be understated. “Quick,” she decided. “I want it to be quick.” It had been enough for her when they killed Vincente Changretta with a single speedy bullet to the head. It would be enough for her now with his son. 

“Okay.” 

She leaned into him, head nestling under his collarbone. “Thank you for giving me a choice.”

He stroked her back tenderly, kissing the crown of her head. “You don’t need to be here. You don’t have to see him again.”

“I want to be there,” she argued back. “Please, Tommy. I promise I’m not going to kill him prematurely, or anything like that. I just…” want him to know that he didn’t break me completely, she finished silently, looking down, lip caught between her teeth. When she raised her face back to Tommy, her gaze was pleading. “I have to see this.”

He searched her eyes for a very long moment. “I won’t let him touch you,” he promised, finally. “And if things get ugly, if there’s any sort of struggle or anything like that, I need you to swear you will stay out of it. I can’t have you getting hurt.”

She knew her agreement to that condition was the only way he’d allow her to be in the same room with Luca, so she conceded. Though not without a small grumble. 

And so she stood there, with Tommy, Polly, and Finn, as Luca’s men filed into the room.  

Her hands squeezed tightly around each other at the sight of Luca’s tall, imposing figure stepping forward. He grinned, that same damned smile he’d flashed her way dozens of times while carving into her flesh. It took all her willpower not to shrink down behind Tommy, her heart suddenly thundering in her ears, all instincts screaming at her to get as far away as possible from the man in front of them. 

“Good to see you again, Lucy,” Luca beamed at her, white teeth barring like an animal poised to start ripping out throats. “How’s your back?”

The deep, barely healed lashes he’d created in the skin of her back ached with memory. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Tommy said through gritted teeth, drawing Luca’s attention back to him. Luca strode forward, until he was close enough for Lucy to gag on the familiar scent of his cologne. He and Tommy stared each other down, and then Luca snapped his fingers, one of his men coming forward with a briefcase. 

What happened next was as expected: Luca monologued for a little while. At his order that they all be searched, slight panic washed over Lucy that he would try to touch her. But when he made a move towards her, Tommy shifted himself in between them with a growl. Luca’s eyes danced with mirth at the reaction, but he seemed to know not to push it, gesturing with a gloved hand for one of his men to come over and pat her down instead. 

“Careful of her bandages,” he said, a leering smile still aimed at her. “Wouldn’t want to rip open any stitches.”

Lucy glowered at him, hate shooting white-hot through her veins. That just seemed to amuse him more, before he turned his attention to Polly.

The Italian man peeked into her coat and patted at her pockets. She flinched at his hands pressing into her bruised ribs, but he followed his orders, being careful not to jostle her too much. He pulled from her boot her hunting knife, her gun from its holster in her jacket, and an empty burlap sack from her coat pocket. Luca chuckled, taking the items, examining them and then setting them on the table. 

“I’d expect nothing less.” He said to her, his tone carrying underneath its faux fondness an edge of something far darker. “What’s the bag for?” She didn’t answer, just staring at him silently, teeth clenching tight against each other. Her lack of answer only seemed to delight him more. “What say you that later we…” his eyes swept up and down her body leeringly, “pick back up where we left earlier, hm? Lucy?”

She felt bile rise in the back of her throat, nails digging into her skin where her hands were still clasped together, leaving little crescent moons in their wake.

“Luca,” Tommy’s voice rasped, tone dangerously low. “You’re here to deal with me. Not her.”

Luca’s gaze lingered on her for a moment more, then shifted back to Tommy. “Yes…” he murmured, a soft hiss drawing out the last letter. Those snake-like orbs gleamed as Tommy shifted a little closer to her, placing himself half between them. Luca raised a pen to Tommy, indicating the papers he’d scattered across the table. “So…sign.”

When Tommy didn’t immediately start signing the papers laid out before him, Luca had a little hissy fit, the display of which managed to cause Lucy a brief spark of amusement. This was all theater, after all. And Luca was about to be in for a very nasty surprise. The calmness in Tommy’s voice as he spoke helped too, reminding her that they were the ones in control of the situation–and all the men in the room. 

Seeing the glee slowly drain from Luca’s eyes while Tommy and Polly revealed to him what exactly they’d been busy doing since the events of the boxing match, was perhaps one of the most satisfying things Lucy had ever experienced. She could feel the beginnings of a smile twitching at her lips, and was aware that there was a sadistic sort of light beginning to dance in her eyes. 

It was not nearly enough for what he’d done to her, but it was still satisfying as all hell to observe. 

Luca made a move to grab his gun from his coat, and Tommy lashed out at him with a metal pipe on the floor, striking it out of his hand. Lucy’s muscles tensed–an action that really fucking hurt–with the reflex to jump in and help him as the pair began to struggle. She took half a step forward, only to have the back of her coat seized, yanking her back like a kitten seized by the scruff of the neck by its mother.

“Don’t you dare,” Polly said in a voice that was almost motherly. Tommy sent Luca crashing into a dozen or so gin bottles lined up on a table. “He’s fine.”

A tiny, distressed noise left Lucy’s throat, but she did as she was told. She’d promised, after all.

Tommy didn’t need her help, anyway. He was bringing Luca’s head down over and over again savagely against the table, steadily transforming his features into a bloody pulp. As he continued to beat Luca within an inch of his life, the side door opened, and Arthur stepped in with his gun already at the ready. 

At the sound of his footsteps, Tommy’s head turned in his brother’s direction, raising Luca up, he presented him to his older brother, and the bullet fired from Arthur’s gun made a quick home in Luca Changretta’s bloodied face. 

It blew straight through his head, out the back of his skull and ripping a hole into one of the gin barrels behind him, a steady stream of clear alcohol starting to rain down onto the floor, permeating the room with the scent of booze and juniper.  

Lucy did not hear any of the orders Tommy rattled off to the remainder of Luca’s men, nor the warning Arthur left them with. Her eyes remained fixed solely on Luca’s dead body. There was a rush of both cold and warmth going through her. Relief, that he was dead. Regret, because she did not get to be the one that made him that way.

He may be dead, but he would be with her forever. Always in her head, laughing as he whipped her and ripped at her flesh. The thought chilled her to her core, her breaths turning shaky. 

“Luce–” Tommy tried to reach out for her, but she shook his touch away, staggering forward and grabbing her sack and hunting knife that Luca had set on one of the tables. Pushing past him, she kneeled by Luca’s corpse. The hunting knife twirled once in her hands, and then she set to work with it. Behind her, she heard Polly let out a soft gasp, turning away as Lucy started to prepare the very final phase of their plan to end the vendetta once and for all. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Audrey Changretta held an expression of iron across her face. 

Even wandering through her own home, alone, putting the kettle on and bustling about to make herself a cup of tea, the look remained, held firmly by the muscles of her cheeks and jaw. 

It was the look that had emblazoned itself upon her face as she lay there on the ground, after Arthur and John took her Vincenzo away and left her laying there sobbing. Slowly, the tears had turned to quiet sniffles. Then, to silence. And her look of grief and sorrow had transformed, until nothing but unyielding steel remained in its wake. 

The fools should have killed her when they had the chance. 

She had grabbed onto the hate that had burned within her with both hands, not caring when it scorched her skin or withered away the gentle heart she’d once had. Even towards the troublesome little boys who had sat in her class. 

But they were no more those innocent, sweet little children than she was the kindhearted teacher she had once been. Her heart had died with Vincenzo. And much as Luca or his men may have liked to think otherwise, she was the real head of the family in his absence. And to be that, she had to be steel. There was no room for gentleness or compassion. She would stamp out each and every one of them. Not just the ones who carried the name Shelby. But any close to them. The old man who owned the scrapyard they so often liked to gather at. The gypsies who’d dared to join up with them. The whore who’d gotten herself knocked up with Thomas Shelby’s bastard. Not even John’s widow would be spared. It would take time to find her, of that Audrey had no doubt. But they would.

Then there was the matter of the little Red Demon, of course. She would be back in Luca’s grasp before too long, if she was not already. Then they could finish what they’d started with her. 

So foolish that he’d let her escape at all. But she supposed that it didn’t matter now. They had her, same as the rest of them. And by the time the sun rose, they’d all be dead.

Finishing preparing her tea, she cradled the delicate China teacup in her hands, and turned to go sit in the chair at her kitchen table next to the window. 

The seat was already taken. 

A harsh intake of breath rushed painfully into her lungs, hands tightening around the teacup in surprise. But despite being caught off guard, the look of iron across her face never waved, not even for a second. 

Her and the figure folded lazily into the chair just looked at each other for a long moment. Audrey’s eyes darted to the exit, considering if it would do better to try to make a run for it or to shout for the guards that Luca had posted outside.  

“Don’t bother,” Lucy Winters said. Even with the lights off and nothing but the silvery light of the moon peeking in through the window to illuminate her, Audrey could make out her distinctive, foxy features. The deep red hair, the shimmering green eyes, the freckles and slanting cheekbones. Despite half her face still a faded purple from the bruises Luca had gifted her, she managed to embody an untouchable, subtly unnerving beauty. Like a poisonous plant or a feral fox. Lovely to look at, but lethal. 

“How did you get in?” Audrey demanded.

“I’m a very talented person. Please, sit.”

Audrey eyed the seat that Winters kicked out for her warily, not moving. “The terms for peace have already been set. The meeting with Luca and Thomas has already taken place,” her eyes narrowed to slits as she leaned forward slightly. “So just what do you think you are doing here, girl?”

“Mr. Shelby had something that he wanted me to deliver to you in person,” she gestured to a bag on the table. Audrey huffed out a rather over exaggerated sigh.

“I have no interest in gifts.”

Winters smiled, and it was a truly terrible thing to behold. Her green eyes glittered madly, red hair framing her face like a fiery halo. 

Horns would be more fitting, Audrey thought bitterly to herself.

“I think you will with this one,” she shifted in her seat, and Audrey noticed the gingerness in her movements. The girl was still badly hurt. A flutter of pride flapped in her chest towards her son. Even if he was an idiot for not outright killing her when he had the chance. “I wanted to be the one to come see you,” Winters said, stretching out, sprawling in her chair. “You see, you and I should have met a long time ago. If only Tommy had sent me to take care of you and your husband instead of his idiot brothers, you’d have never made it out of Liverpool. We could have avoided this whole mess.”

“Luca still would have come after you to avenge us.”

“Maybe,” Winters agreed. “But he wouldn’t have had such deep insights into our organization, now would he? That was all from you.” A sneer curled her features. “Ungrateful cunt. John let you live, and you repaid him with a rain of bullets on his own fucking doorstep.”

“You dare talk to me like that? You’re an adulteress slut who’s only gotten as far as you have because Tommy Shelby likes to stuff his cock in you. You have no room to pass judgment on anyone after the things you’ve done. I ought to order the torture Luca had planned for you finished. It would be justice for all the pain you’ve caused.”

The Red Demon smiled, slow and easy, not at all perturbed by Audrey’s words. “Speaking of Luca, I have something of his for you. Would you like to see?” She reached for the bag, and before Audrey could protest or question what she meant, Winters stood, picking up the bag and yanking it open, turning it upside down to allow its contents to drop onto the kitchen table. 

Luca’s head, bloodied and beaten, hit the wood with a dull, wet thud. His green eyes were open, wide and staring lifelessly at her. The stump where his head had been severed from his neck oozed. 

Audrey’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. The teacup tumbled from her hands to shatter on the floor. The room swayed, her hands flying out to try to brace herself on the counter. Her boy. Her sweet boy. He’d just been with her that morning, grinning and overjoyed as they celebrated their victory against the infernal Peaky Blinders. They had biscuits and drank tea. Any moment from now he was supposed to walk through her front door, and tell her how his final meeting with Thomas Shelby had gone.

They’d won. They’d fucking won. The vendetta was over. How…?

A low, wailing moan started to emit from her throat, collapsing to her knees, eyes unable to pull away from Luca’s lifeless face. 

No, no, my boys, they’re all gone. They’re all dead, my whole family…

She was not at all aware of Winters striding around her, nor of the cold press of a blade against her throat. Not until it sliced across her skin, and her blood flowed out of her to splatter across the kitchen tiles. When she fell lifeless to the floor, her expression was twisted into one of despair and grief, chillingly similar to the same one that had crossed her features as they ripped Vincenzo away from her, and she sobbed alone into the dirt. 

Not an inch of iron to be seen.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

GLOBSTER OF MARGATE

On November 1, 1922, in the seaside town of Margate, South Africa, a local farmer, Hugh Balance, had his binoculars trained on an enthralling sea battle. The assault lasted several hours and was also observed by a growing crowd on the beach. Two huge whales appeared to be in combat with a sea monster that resembled an enormous polar bear. Balance's statement appeared in the local newspaper: "This creature I observed to rear out of the water fully 20 feet and to strike repeatedly with what I took to be its tail at the two whales, but with seemingly no effect.” The tail was described as lobsterlike. Eventually the whales swam away, leaving a humongous carcass floating on the water.

Overnight the creature washed ashore. There were no signs of wounds or blood. It was measured at forty-seven feet long, ten feet wide, and five feet high. The tail was ten feet long, and there was no head except for a trunk-like appendage, five feet long, fourteen inches in diameter, and ending in a snout. The creature was nicknamed Trunko. The most extraordinary thing was its fur, described as "eight inches long and snow white, exactly like a polar bear's."

For ten days the body lay on the beach, enticing tourists and gathering flies. Finally, the foul odor became overwhelming. An attempt to return it to the sea with a team of thirty-two oxen got it as far as the water's edge. That night, the tide came in and took it.

In 1944, in the Mull of Kintyre, a similar, though smaller creature was washed ashore. Bulky as an elephant, it was twenty feet long and had long white fur and no head.

These and similar sea creatures were christened globsters by cryptozoologist Ivan T. Sanderson, who was fascinated by the amorphous blobs.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violini, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[scorpiussage]

The Ghost of Margate Manor

(Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Oneshot 

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Y/N

Summary: Everyone in Margate knows the mansion on top of the hill is haunted. Y/N finds this out first hand. 

Warnings: none, swearing 

Everyone who lives in Margate knows that the mansion on top of the hill is haunted. They say some gruesomely ugly ghost haunts the corridors and eats those who trespass. Really, it’s all rubbish, but when you’re five drinks deep like Y/N is, the idea doesn’t seem so far fetched. Her friends are no help, either, as they are also horrendously drunk and daring her to break into the manor if she’s so sure there’s no ghost. 

That was thirty minutes ago and now that Y/N is standing at the top of the hill next to the mansion, she’s suddenly worried that those tall tales might be true. Her friends are all waiting at the bottom of the hill, though, and she absolutely cannot go back without following through; she’d never live it down. So here she is, rock in hand, breaking into a side patio door into what used to have been a ballroom of some kind. The few pieces of furniture (and the chandelier) are all covered in eerie white sheets that billow in the breeze from the open doorway. 

Tamping down on her fear, Y/N continues forward, exiting the ballroom into the main corridor. That’s all the further she gets before she encounters him. 

…

Alfie is just trying to enjoy his first night on his own. Since getting shot in the face by that Peaky cunt, he’s been laid up in bed being tended to by nurses and maids. But now, now, he’s finally healed enough to be alone for extended periods of time and he’s been looking forward to it for months. 

He’s got a nice pot of tea, hot and ready, his newspaper in his hand and a big fire in the hearth. With an excited giggle he moves to sit down in his favorite chair when he hears the sound of glass breaking. He looks at the pot of tea and newspaper forlornly, already knowing that the relaxation of this night is gone. Throwing down his newspaper, he surges out into the hallway while readying his pistol, ready to kill the fucker who thought it was a good idea to break into Alfie Solomon’s house. 

Something rams into his chest and lets out an ‘oof’. Raising his brow in surprise, he looks down at who broke into his house. 

It’s a woman, a tiny one at that, and she reeks of bourbon like there’s no tomorrow. She looks up at him, the color draining from that pretty face of hers. 

Before Alfie can say something, she shrieks, “Ah! A ghost!” 

And then she punches him in the face. 

Alfie lets out a loud curse and clutches his sore cheek. Little bit got him right on his wounded side too, “What the bloody fuck was that for?!”

They stare at each other for a long moment before the woman drunkenly asks, “Wait, you’re not a ghost?”

“I’m fuckin’ what?” he demands, reaching out and grabbing her by her arm. 

She gapes up at him stupidly, and says, “Everyone in Margate knows that this mansion is haunted.” 

What sort of looney bin did he move to? 

“Well as you can clearly see, I am not a ghost, love. Now, why the fuck are you in me house?”

The woman doesn’t get a chance to answer because in the next moment she’s bending over and vomiting all over Alfie’s slippers. Yeah, the peace that he’d been promised tonight is long gone. 

…

Y/N wakes up with a pounding headache and a terrible taste in her mouth. She looks around herself in confusion. She’s in some plushly decorated bedroom with extravagant curtains and warm hand carved furniture. This doesn’t look like her room or the room of anyone she knows. 

Looking to her left, she sees a man slouched down in an armchair, his loud snores telling her he’s asleep. 

That’s when she remembers what happened and feels a wash of horror and embarrassment overcome her. God, she was such an idiot and to top it all off she assaulted this poor man. Reaching over, she gently shakes the man’s shoulder to wake him. He does so with a snort and he squints over at her with a contemplative gaze. 

“I just want to say that I am so terribly sorry,” Y/N says while wringing the edge of the blanket on her lap, “I can’t believe I broke into your house! I will pay for whatever repairs that are needed, I swear.” 

The man smacks his lips as he takes in what she’s just said before he reaches his hand out, “‘It’s alright, love. No harm done. I’m Alfie.” 

He’s an oddly handsome man under his unkempt beard and the large scar on his face. And his hands are large and warm as they engulf hers in a handshake. Y/N introduces herself in return. 

“Surely there’s something I can do to make it up to you? I did break your window after all,” she tells him fretfully while climbing out of the bed.

 He watches her while rubbing his chin and says, “Yeah, ‘suppose there’s one thing you could do.” 

That’s how Y/N finds herself returning to the not-so-haunted manor later that night and having dinner with a one Alfie Solomons. 

[call-sign-shark]

Girls Night and Broken Glass

Summary: Girls night goes wrong when Rose Solomons decides to bring Heaven to a feminist meeting.

Words: 1k

Author's notes: A little something written for @raincoffeeandfandoms's birthday event Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. I hope you'll enjoy this little addition as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now I want to read about drunk Rose coming back to Alfie after this animated night out teehee! Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms

✞ This work is a part of Heaven in Your Eyes' universe, but you can obviously read it as a stand-alone.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“And I think it is, darling.” Rose replied with an amused smirk on her charming lips.

“But Arthur said – “

“To Hell with Arthur. To Hell with Al. To Hell with men! Tonight is our night.”

The politician lady wrapped her arm around Heaven’s shoulders and they both stepped into the building to meet with the rest of the women's committee. It has been a little while now since Rose Solomons started campaigning, her decision to engage in politics resulted in making a few dubious male politicians shake with fear. The reign of terror of men was slowly coming to an end now that Rose Solomons was showing her fangs and claws. From the very beginning of her campaign, Heaven had supported her the best she could. Admittedly, the young French girl wasn’t really interested in politics but her enthralling discussions with Rose about feminism had convinced her. That was how she started proudly displaying Rose’s party pin on her dress or fur coat.

The first time Tommy saw the pin it was during a family dinner, and he almost choked with his whiskey. In reply, Heaven simply brushed one of her white strands of hair behind her hair and batted her Bambi lashes with a fake innocent pout. If there was something Thomas Shelby particularly hated, it was people standing up to him – which was exactly what his sister-in-law and Rose Solomons were doing. The heated debate had closed with Tommy pinching the bridge of his nose, deeply bothered, and looking dagger at Arthur for having married the most annoying and bratty creature ever.

Earlier that day, Heaven had decided to visit Rose at Margate and spend the day with her to keep her company as well as to allow Cyril, Kaiser, and Beast to play together. It was during tea time that the wonderful Mrs. Solomons offered her to attend a reunion with the women's committee. At first, it seemed like a good idea, but now that the angel was standing in front of the door she was almost petrified – After all, she had never been particularly comfortable with public gatherings.

“Ladies, let me introduce you to Mrs. Heaven Shelby, who is going to participate in today’s meeting,” Rose said, opening the meeting. In truth, Heaven was expecting the women here to wince at her family name, or to look at her from head to toe, disturbed by her unusual appearance and the confusing aura that emanated from her. But instead of judgment, she found acceptance. Every one of them had been so nice with her, that the young French girl felt welcomed and even actively gave her opinion and ideas under Rose’s proud gaze.

How did the polite meeting ended up in a riot made of unhinged and drunk women yelling was a mystery. The fact remain that police was now chasing down Rose, Heaven and a few other girls in the streets.

“RUN ROSIE RUN!” Heaven screamed, the alcohol she had consumed strengthening her French accent to the point it was almost difficult to understand what she was saying. Rose Solomons, with her bare feet hammering the concrete and her heels in one hand, speeded up, laughing as she ran away from the police. But they were quicker, and it was only a matter of time before they manage to catch them. “Listen! You keep running, I’ll hold ‘em back, right?” Heaven said.

“What? No, I ain’t leaving you behind. They’re going to throw you in jail for the rest of the night!”

“I know, but at least they won’t catch you.” The white-haired angel replied with the more solemn tone her intoxicated mind could make.

“If you go to prison I’ll go too, sister!” At this point, they had both stopped running and Rose had put her soft hands on Heaven’s shoulders.

“You’re a politician now. You cannot be caught doing something illegal alright? Run and don’t worry for me!” With that being said, Heaven gently pushed her partner in crimes away, and waited for the police to capture her as Rose disappeared in the thick fog of the night.

“You are under arrest for –”

“Hey, don’t fookin’ touch me eh!” She roared, completely drunk and definitely sounding a bit too much like Arthur.

When Kat Wilson and Moss informed Arthur Shelby that his wife had spent the other half of her night locked up in a cell, he could not believe it at first. It was only the moment he realized it was true that he caught the giggles.

“Me angel did what?” He said, tears of hilarity dawning in his steel-blue eyes as the two police officers were explaining what happened to him.

“She and a bunch of women destroyed Mr. Greyson’s windows. Then she wrote the word “pig” and “coward” with paint on the walls of Mr. Jones’ store…” The list was long and undeniably ended up with “disturbance of the peace”.

Arthur cracked up even more, slapping his thigh as his loud and hoarse laughter filled the Garrison, attracting a few curious eyes, “Alright, alright.” He finally said, grabbing his car key and heading right to the prison in which his wife had been locked up. He laughed the whole way, unable to recover.

“Didn’t think I’d have to bail ye out of jail, eh.” That was the first thing he said when his eyes met hers, “Seems like I married a lil’ ball of chaos.”

“Eh, I’m sorry…” She retorted with a wince before massaging her forehead for her throbbing headache worsened every damn minutes.

“Sorry? Damn, don’t be sorry, angel.” Arthur had to bite his lower lip not to burst into laughter again at the sight of his wife’s face, whose angelic features were contrasting with her messy and entangled white mane, as well as her runny makeup. His mustache twitched but overall he managed to choke his amusement before he got the giggles a second time, “Let’s get you out of there.”

“Yeah but please, love… Stop talking so loud!” She whined.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

[fatally-alive]

"Congrats on staying alive, Hope they don't catch you tonight" Part 4

‘Merry Old England’ is quite beautiful in the way it discusses the refugee crisis. What are you trying to invoke with that song? Video here

D: “I love that song so much. I think it’s unfathomably beautiful. You can’t hold me back, I’m going to climb your cliff, scale your fence, and take over your country. I don’t think there’s any question marks at all. One man’s end-time capitalism London is another man’s playground of dreams where anything is possible – the mythical city that you finally reach after trying to break out of your miserable town and fulfil your dreams.

“For all the cynicism and talk of being pushed out of town, there’s another generation that will come and find a way to bring it alive again or find a way to make it their own; despite the weight of the fucking world.”

B: “The song is more of a montage than banging a drum, particularly.”

D: “It’s weird. I’ve tried playing it acoustically to people and some of the lyrics are strangely provocative. Even to say, ‘Syrians, Iraqis, Ukrainians, welcome to Merry Old England – how are you finding it?’ To start singing about visas, dinghies, the cliffs once white now grey; you can see people from both sides get excited. It’s just asking this kid on the corner of Margate who has landed there, kicking his heels and not really knowing what to do, how he’s finding it.”

Article Part I

[identifying-fish-in-photos]

Hey, identified everything in a video for fun, but im real stumped to what this could be, mind fact checking me and helping me out?

https://youtu.be/YWuPp1v-sI8?si=H6sicNXRc7ENyQC5

In rough order of appeaeance:

Bar jack

Barracuda

Idk

Queen triggerfish

Lemon shark my beloved

The one im specifically stuck identifying is this:

White Margate I think?

Your other identifications seem correct, I hope you had fun!

[saintshelby]

Brother I only just discovered that you also WRITE. You are very talented and I'd like to ask if you'd please be considering to do some more

Thanks so much for the kind words! I actually did have plans for the next chapter of Afterlife but I sort of lost the plot and haven't been able to pick it back up.

Just for you, here's a piece of a prequel chapter I never posted. Hope you enjoy it. 💛

It haunted him in the late hours of the night, when he closed his eyes for a moment's rest. If he was idle for just a fraction of a moment too long, it all came flooding back. It tormented him, the image of Alfie's body laying lifeless on that fucking beach. The blood soaking into his hair, staining the beautiful white sands. And the pain of being shot in turn did nothing to stifle the despair Tommy had taken with him long after he'd returned to his manor full of ghosts. Because, at that moment, he genuinely thought he could walk away from all of it.

But he couldn't. And he still fucking can't.

Tommy returns to the scene of his crime at regular intervals under the express and explicit understanding that they would be continuing their previous business arrangement. It would have been a waste to let things come to an end, after all. It was Tommy's suggestion. Alfie agreed. Bygones being bygones, he had said. Considering their past, Alfie’s particular standing, Tommy's wild ambition, for all intents and purposes and absolutely nothing more. But it was, of course, a complete fucking lie. That's the lie he tells himself. The lie Alfie goes along with. The lie Tommy wants desperately to be true.

And though he tried to stop, tried to give up the pretense, it was that same powerful longing that he hadn't the strength to deny which drove Tommy to make a desperate pilgrimage back to that place over, and over, and over again. And each and every time Tommy darkened his doorstep, Alfie greeted him with the same kind of warmth he always had. Though his face was badly scarred and he was now half blind, it was always the same fucking expression. One of delight, unabashed, loudly affectionate. And Tommy could never understand why.

Predictably, they hardly talked business during Tommy's visits. There wasn't much to talk about anymore. Tommy would settle himself in that same armchair and Alfie would sit across from him, hum and haw about rum barrels and warehouses as he always had. As if nothing had ever happened, nothing had changed. Humoring him. It was all just one long fucking con. A tired play at normalcy. A selfish attempt to ease his battered conscience. But it never fucking worked. The only thing Tommy had ever managed to accomplish was feed his growing demons. He would leave the same way he'd come. Full of darkness and unease. A growing guilt that was becoming much too difficult to contain. A renewed fear that he couldn't continue this. But he couldn't stop coming. And he found, if he thought about it for more than a passing moment, that he didn't want to stop.

Tommy finds himself in the car again one Saturday afternoon. By now he's traveled to Margate with such frequency he's sure he could make the drive with his eyes closed. And as he goes, he quietly ruminates on the imminent end that's surely coming. Because it has to be. Even now, Tommy can't help but wonder why Alfie enables this lie. What the purpose of all of this must be. For what reason would Alfie keep opening his home to the man who left him for dead on the very beach he now lives?

He thinks of this as he drives, as he always does, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He tries to rationalize that same question, over and over again, endlessly searching for an answer that simply isn't there. Tommy knows deep in his bones that he doesn't deserve this. Doesn't have any right at all to be in this car again, to be going where he's going. And yet he can't turn back. A purgatory of his own making. And he hates himself for it. For this. For everything. Why is he so fucking selfish?

By the time Tommy pulls up to Alfie's house it's dark. His fingers ache from their grip on the wheel. He sits there for several long minutes, staring out through the windshield. It's late, but the lights are on. The lights always seem to be on when Tommy arrives. Finally he gets out of the car and as he does he realizes abruptly that he's left his gun behind. He'll long for it later, after he's left, on the lonely drive home. He always does.

This time, Alfie's already standing in the doorway when Tommy finally finds the courage to climb the walkway. "Evening, Thomas," he calls out, voice boisterous and inviting. He's wearing a wrinkled shirt rolled up to his elbows and his suspenders are hanging off his trousers. It's a relief to see Alfie looking so warm and lively. Tommy regrets the feeling almost immediately, because he knows it's not a comfort he's deserving of. Alfie's expression is unchanged, open and honest as it always is. Tonight Tommy finds he can't bear to look at it.

"Hello, Alfie," he says quietly, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice as he quickly sidles past. There's a fire burning in the hearth when he enters the sitting room. Tommy gravitates toward it, craving the warmth. He hears Alfie pull the door shut and putter around behind him, talking about something or other that he can't rightly focus on before disappearing into the kitchen. The atmosphere feels relaxed in a way that he wasn't prepared for. He feels shame for finding comfort in it. It's getting harder and harder to live this lie.

Tommy's stomach twists. He’s just turning towards the armchair when he sees it. The glass of whisky, freshly poured, sitting on the table next to the spot he usually occupies. He stares at it. Startled. There had never been any alcohol present on any of his previous visits. Alfie doesn't drink. He can't even begin to understand the implications of it. Can't understand why Alfie would possibly want to put forth any effort to make him feel welcome here. The weight in the pit of his stomach grows heavier when Alfie returns with a tray of what is most assuredly bread freshly baked by his own hand accompanied by butter and jam.

"You're looking quite bird-boned these days, Tom. You can pick at that whilst we conduct our business." Alfie sets down the tray and gestures for Tommy to sit, but he can't move. Rooted to the spot by this apparent tenderness he can't fathom. His hands are shaking. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be doing this. The guilt is a weight bowing his spine and he's going to drop it if he doesn't—

"Why?" Tommy hears himself say. Almost unsure it was his voice at all. He doesn't sound like himself. He sounds small and weak, like a child.

"Why?" Alfie parrots, looking at Tommy with a gaze far too heavy to hold. He laughs, but it doesn't sound right. It's hollow, humorless. "Why are we sat here in the middle of the night week after week drumming up whatever piss poor excuse for business we can manage, you mean? Honestly, Thomas, I was quite hoping you'd tell me that."

But he can't possibly. Doesn't have enough air in his lungs, enough strength to vocalize what he's supposed to say. What he needs to say. He's not ready for that, never will be, so he reaches for that blessed glass of whisky as his throat is closing up, can't even bear to fucking look at Alfie as he drinks just to fill his mouth with something other than words. He can't do this. Can't keep fucking doing this. Tommy grips the back of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white as the realization makes his blood cold.

It's already happened. His time has finally run out.

[aneledenovodental]

Dental Treatment In Margate

Anele De Novo Dental Practice is Dentist in Margate offer a wide range of dental services to help patients maintain good oral health. These services include regular cleanings and check-ups, fillings and extractions, root canals, crowns and bridges, denture treatment and cosmetic procedures such as teeth whitening and veneers.

[theanarchictastes]

🎶✨️when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)🎶✨️

@punk-faerie thank you ❤️🤙🏻

[mariacallous]

My great-aunt Victoria (Toya) Levy was an incredible woman. Born in Baghdad in 1922, she moved to Israel with her husband in 1950 to start a new life. They lived in a tiny house surrounded by fruit trees that they planted in the small town of Yavneh, where Toya dedicated her life to helping children from broken families.

She was an amazing cook — and a generous one, too. Shortly after we got married, my husband and I spent a day with her to learn the secrets of Iraqi Jewish cooking from the best.

That day, Toya taught us how to make t’beet, a Shabbat dish of stuffed chicken with rice cooked overnight, and kubbeh batata: potato fritters stuffed with ground beef. In her tiny kitchen, she also taught us to make meatballs in a dried apricot and tomato sauce. Of all the dishes, this was the only one that my grandmother never made and so I was not familiar with it. Yet its flavors stuck with me. The simple ingredients — sour dried apricots, tomato, lemon juice, raisins and just a few spices — somehow made a dish much greater than the sum of its parts. The meatballs were so tender and rich, and the sauce was sweet and sour, a combination that Iraqi Jews love.

My great-aunt Toya passed away years ago. I had somehow forgotten this wonderful recipe and when I tried to research the dish, I found different versions of it in almost every Iraqi and Iraqi Jewish cookbook I searched in. The dish was called mishmishiya or kofta mishmishiya (“mishmish” means apricot in both Arabic and Hebrew), ingryieh (a name that I saw only in a Jewish cookbook) or margat hamidh-Hilu. Interestingly, all the Jewish versions included meatballs, while Islamic recipes used stew meat. I assume this had to do with the cost of ingredients and the fact that most Jewish recipes were written by Iraqi Jews who moved to Israel, where stew meat was much more expensive than ground beef. 

According to Nawal Nasrallah’s “Delights From the Garden of Eden,” which researches the ancient cuisine of Iraq, the roots of this stew can be traced back to the Babylonian and Assyrian days (19th-6th centuries B.C.). A similar recipe, called mishmishiya, is also documented in Al-Baghdadi’s book “Kitab al Tabikh” from Medieval Baghdad. It calls for fresh apricots of a sour variety. Back then, of course, tomatoes from the New World were not available and, in fact, the original mishmishiya was also known as the “white stew.” Since Jews were living in Iraq from the destruction of the First Temple in 586 B.C., I feel a real connection to this humble stew’s long history.

Of all the recipes I found, my great-aunt Toya’s version is the best. Her apricot meatballs have become a family favorite; the 2,000-year-old dish from worlds away lives on, now with our kids. 

Dried apricots are available all year long, but I still think this dish is most suitable for a summer dinner. The apricots, with their bright color and flavor, mirror sunny summer days, not to mention the fact that this easy and fast recipe is perfect for those of us who want to spend as little time as possible over the stove when temperatures outside are soaring.

Notes: 

The recipe calls for dried apricots with no added sugar. They are available at specialty supermarkets such as Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. If you’re using sweetened dried apricots, reduce the sugar in the sauce to 2 teaspoons.

The original recipe included raisins in the sauce, which I chose to omit, but you can add those for extra sweetness.

Store the cooked meatballs in a sealed container in the fridge for up to four days.

[bikepackinguk]

Day One Hundred and Eight

Up this morning to a lovely view above Folkstone after lying down to a beautiful sunset. There's not too much further to go on my journey, so it's time to get at it!

Back up the last of the cliffside and it's a roll across to Capel-le-Ferne, where the streets are nice and quiet in the still air of the morning.

I head down past the Battle of Britain memorial and down the road to cross over the A20 as I say farewell to the faithful NCN Route 2. I've been following it on-off since the other side of Exeter, but with it terminating shortly ahead I take to the road for a long zoom down into the centre of Dover.

Around the streets and taking a stopoff for supplies, I carry on to the east of town to connect with the start of NCN Route 1 and begin a slog up around the castle overlooking the Channel.

Around the castle, it's time for a push uphill as I climb up atoo Dover's iconic White Cliffs, overlooking the busy ferry port and with France visible across the water.

Off around the clifftops, it's a long gradual descent through St Margaret's Bay and down some leafy lanes for an enjoyable easy ride to the waterside at Kingsdown.

It's a lovely long stretch of dedicated cycle pathing here, with the path lined with honeysuckle and it's wonderful aroma filling the air as I follow the trail all the way through Deal.

The route hits the roads once more to head around the expansive estate lands around the coast before heading through to the ancient town of Sandwich, where I cross the old toll bridge to head onto Route 15 as it loops around the north east edge of Kent.

I have an run alongaide the A256 awhile as it heada northwards, before turning off at Ebbsfleet to ride through the pretty surroundings of Pegwell Bay Country Park, with a view of the cliffs around Ramsgate ahead.

Entering Ramsgate, it's back to the roads again for a trek through the streets over the clifftops, before dropping back to sea level again past the busy harbour and sunny beach.

It's another climb back up the cliffs on the other side of the harbour, but then on to a nice wide area atop the cliffs out of traffic, with a lovely run of riding to be had as I head further around the coastline.

On around the top of the cliffs I carry on, past the busy streets of Broadstairs and down to an extensive promenade section after Botany Bay Beach.

The promenade runs for miles past Margate, offering a great coastal ride out of traffic. Unfortunately several sections are closed off to cycling by local council by-laws despite being a part of a National Cycle Route, and I take to the road above the beaches once again.

After Minnis Bay there's some great going along the top of the coastal defense walls, with a long ride westward to the old Roman fort at Reculver.

NCN 15 heads up over the hills on some grassy trails from here, which isn't ideal whilst I'm nursing a buckled wheel, but with the miles ticking down I'm in a bullish mood and set the legs spinning to charge my way up and over.

Back onto the paved roads on the other side, the route heads in through Herne Bay, with a view of the Isle of Sheppey ahead.

I carey on my way around the roads to head through to Margate, where I stop off for a needed refuel and resupply. An idea is forming in my head, which those who remember my LEJOG ride may guess at, and top up on a few additional provisions.

Route 15 reconnects with Route 1 here, which I jump back onto as it heads through Seasalter and around the wayerside before heading through the farmlands to roll into Faversham.

I'm not in much mood for stopping and keep the legs pumping as the route heads back out around the nuce surroundings of Oare Gunpowder Works Country Park.

The meandering route is starting to add a lot of unnecessary mileage at this point in the day, so I drop onto the London Road as it charts a straighter course along through some quiet villages and into the town of Sittingbourne.

With evening approaching, I'd usually be hunting for a spot to rest up for the night at this point. However, It's not a terrible distance further to the crossing at Dartford, and after that is the final home stretch to go past Southend-on-Sea. I've no need to pace myself if the journey's end is in sight. So, it's time for some charging onward through the night.

Riding through the roads feels like it'd be very unsafe but the long A2 is well furnished with pavement through these dense urban and suburban areas, meaning I can happily plod along out of traffic and slowly make my way.

As I write this, the sun has gone down and I'm giving the legs a break beside the road at Rainham. It's around 20 miles to Dartford, then 40 more to the finish line.

Let's do this!

[youcant-bemygirl]

Had a really lovelt lunch date with dan today, we went for pizza which was so good! I got a white pizza woth muchrooms basil and garlic oil! And a tiramisu for pudding! And dan got a Crodino, which is basicly an alcohol free apreol spritz (which i dont really like the bitter taste of but really liked this?!), so we are thinking of walking to sainsburys tomorrow to get some to celebreate new year with!

We are also celebrating with a big chinese takeaway, which i am v. excited about!

Ive also been able to do some crafting! Ive made myself a bag for my national trust patches to go on, as well as 3 little gift bags for my girls trip to margate! Im going with the reception lasses as its where E lives and im so excited! So im making mini goodie bags (sort of like we're on a real housewives trip but not as highend and brand endorsed!)