#the things i needed to do today were: write this and make a kugel

[veetyuh]

Spicy time! What would you say is your most problematic/controversial ship? Or, similarly, the ship you would have to take the most time explaining because it might not make sense to anyone but you?

Hello anon, I am so sorry to get back to you late. Been going through some shit but this question genuinely cheered me up. It's very sweet of you to invite me to ramble. And it's just what I needed. Thank you. 🙏

And... All of them? ..all of them. My favourite ship dynamic is this: two characters whose mental illnesses fit together like puzzle pieces, such that they become an abomination greater than the sum of their parts. They are happier than they have ever known when with each other, but it is making them both worse. What these bastards need to improve as people and what they want are antithetical.

I'll limit myself to two of my favourite/most extreme instances of this, though. One which confuses people the most (EngSea) and one which I feel would be the most controversial (FraKug).

Let's actually start with the spicier one. FraKug requires background context into how I write Kugel, I think. For reference, I don't have a set age for them yet, but they're nebulously a t(w)eenager — just old enough to wander around alone without the greater public being alerted. Which is fantastic, because Roderich does not take an active parental role in their life. Kugel is less a child to supervise and more a phenomenon which Roderich bears witness to. There was this idea which Fed and I came up with: Imagine if you will, Roderich asking them while VISIBLY uncomfortable: "What, er... What are you..? Junge oder Mädchen..?" Kugel takes the day to think about it, then answers with an abstract painting of various red shades, hectic splashes and smears, with an actual goat horn piercing the canvas— and that draws the red pigment into question, EUGH. Nevermind, Roderich shouldn't have asked.💧Kugel reveres Roderich as their host country, and for saving their life by moving them to Vienna. They also believe him to be a master artist — and thus he must have understood what Kugel was trying to say with that painting. It is clear. (It is not.) Roderich's solution is to call them, uh... Whatever causes the least conversational friction. Elise is over? She thinks Kugel is a girl; Roderich will refer to her as a girl to keep from confusing anyone. Kugel infers that this is less a semantic convenience and more of an ontological statement. The master artist is giving them a new identity, for today. What could this mean...? What does it mean, to be a girl...?

There is continuous communication breakdown between them, and this is an impediment to active parenting — as if Roderich needed any disincentives. Roderich is just not made to take care of kids. It is a good thing that when Kugel came to him, they were already largely self-sufficient and fiercely independent. They come home every night for dinner, yes? Then they are fine... Sometimes Roderich does worry about them, and sometimes there are genuine moments between them, usually when Kugel has collapsed from exhaustion in the wake of a manic episode. But for the most part, Kugel is left to do their own (weird) thing.

All this to say, Kugel believes they are an adult. In their mind, they may as well be, right? They are well over 50 years old. They have been taking care of themself for quite some time. They actually have some artworks in prestigious galleries, and are an active, respected participant in the Vienna art scene (albeit anonymously, and under a pseudonym). Day in, day out, they are absorbed by studying, pondering, and artistically exploring the human condition. Without a shadow of doubt in their mind, they are an adult.

And, what worse a person to put within Francis' grasp? The long-haired, gender-flexible, artistic big brother who canonically is into kids, and the unsupervised, long-haired, intersex & gender fluid, artistic child who fancies themself mature for their age. The story practically writes itself.

Fran takes the kid to the Louvre and gets high off their unfettered reverence and admiration. It's a religious experience for them, and how cute is that?? It reminds Francis of some of his precious little colonies looking up to him. Ugh, Kugel is almost like a little Veneziano all over again — dammit, he never truly got his hands on Feli, but... Well, how easy would it be to convince Kugel to sketch one another? In the nude, of course; it isn't sexual, it's artistic. I won't go any further in describing that, but I'm sure you can see the potential for manipulation. There's fulfillment of fucked up fantasies Fran has had for a loooong time, and the attention of an older, skilled artist makes Kugel feel special. All flying under the radar thanks to the aforementioned minimal guardian involvement. Fran would go full pederast with it, too. No no, this is his apprentice, he is teaching them about his culture's history and artistic practices. He buys Kugel art supplies, fancy clothes, expensive jewellery. He introduces them to important people to help their art career. He dotes on them. And Kugel doesn't see anything wrong with the situation.

Moreover, because Fran also steps into a pseudo-parental role, Kugel receives a taste of what it might be like to have an active guardian. Fran combs their hair, preens them, teaches them French, regales them with stories of the old days (all heavily-embellished such that he comes out on top — in more ways than one). Fran cooks for them. Real food. Not the paint-splattered bag of potato crisps Kugel usually inhales from a vending machine when they suddenly become cognizant of the fact they haven't eaten in 12 hours. Fran takes them on trips to the countryside, they paint landscapes together. There are good aspects to their relationship, and those are hyper-visible. The rot beneath is concealed by flowers above.

What Kugel needs is a psychiatrist to treat their manic disorder, and a responsible supervisor capable of protecting them from those who would otherwise exploit them — say, Gilbert or Ludwig. They would find this to be restrictive and would take exception to it at first, until their quality of life gradually begins to improve. This is fundamentally at odds with what they want, which is to be treated as an equal to adults, even though they obviously aren't. In the same vein, what Francis needs is therapy to deconstruct his hypersexuality and pro-contact tendencies; what he wants is to relive his former glory through this child's admiration, and isolate with them in his fucked idea of a love story.

And similarly, EngSea is built upon this foundation of joy at the expense of mental health. Another disclaimer: my version of Sealand is history-based as opposed to canon, so he is aged up to 18, which is something I view as more appropriate given he's a WW2 veteran. (If you've murdered Nazis you deserve a drink, haha.) And his issues are innumerable, touching many of the classics: a dog abandoned by his master, a soldier without a war to fight, and an immortal dying a prolonged death. All issues which would be easily-solved if only the bastard whose face he shares acknowledges him. But of course, given the bizarre obsession of the British govt over Sealand, Arthur has acknowledged him, perhaps not in the way he wants though. At any rate, they do not fight like they used to, and both England and Sealand (IRL) are friendly toward one another nowadays. I choose to interpret this as them settling some of their differences.

It is difficult for Arthur to acknowledge all of his wrongdoings to Peter. But should he choose to start making right, he'd find that it's easier than imagined. Because in truth, Peter is far too much like him. His citizens are English, after all. The Sealandic embassy is located in a Toby's car park lmfao. And for a narcissist like Arthur, who craves external validation? Having someone match his tastes and his interests, and offer him undying loyalty (not exactly voluntarily, but still?) is at once everything he's ever wanted, and a recipe for making that narcissism worse. Peter is his mood booster. He wants his trusty fort around — for banter, for validation, for gossip, and for company that understands him. And, when Peter's natural instinct to protect and serve his host country accidentally stray a bit too far into the realm of an incestuous crush? Rather than handle the situation with grace, Arthur pounces on it.

A partner who is his guard dog, who loves him unconditionally, who is already steeped in his culture and loves his shitty food, and who is elated and head-over-heels at any modicum of attention from him. Again, he's everything Arthur's narcissism craves, and exactly what's needed to make it worse. Peter soothes his insecurities and reinforces his biases. Arthur's ego becomes outright insufferable to others, which in turn drives him back toward Peter. On Peter's end, he gradually and reluctantly compromises more and more of himself for Arthur's love; Arthur wants his fort. He does not want "England's Cuba" (actual quote from declassified British govt docs). The more he coaxes Peter into following his instincts as his fort, the more he pulls him away from his identity as Sealand. This is both a relief to Peter (who has been suffering a six-decade identity crisis from the duality of being an English military installation and a pirate/secessionist) and very disconcerting. In his mind, Roughs and Sealand are two very different people — and Arthur being insistent on Roughs makes him feel rather vulnerable. But if it's for Arthur...

There is, of course, quite a bit of good to the relationship. For starters, Arthur finally has someone he can trust fully, and subsequently be entirely vulnerable around. Even if it is sometimes reluctantly so. Some of his paranoia is soothed over by the ability to relax and let Peter serve him. No, not everyone is out to get him, and he is safe here... They also make huge strides in getting Arthur to be less bitterly self-deprecating, and also less uptight. He's more willing to be a bit goofy and nerdy while around Peter. Wearing the Tom Baker scarf outside, over their matching jumpers. Getting Peter a replica of The One Ring. Outings to Adventure Island in Southend, the beach, and self-indulgent niche historic tours that Peter positively eats up — take this lad up to Old Saltburn!! Hell, even taking him to iconic tourist spots will have him marveling. Peter also works through a good bit of his issues while with Arthur. Fewer war nightmares, less emotional dysregulation, and he begins to unpack some of his food trauma. Slowly but surely. Arthur can see the improvement and that only feeds into his ego more. Look at how good he is for Peter, look at how 80+ years of trauma are melting away. Who else could do this but him...?

Again, those good things are hyper-visible and disguise the worse parts. Arthur has a penchant for pushing Peter's boundaries, and it's a learning curve to manipulate him without pushback. One hint of frustration or anger and Peter is snapping in return, falling back upon his rebellious tendencies. For every failure, there is a lover's squabble which ends in Peter crawling back to him, and/or Arthur offering a half-baked apology after some serious reflection. He thinks won't push those boundaries again, except... Except he does. Just with more skill. And when Arthur finds the correct way to frame it — as a favour Peter is doing him, and lavishing him in praise and affection — then he truly has Peter eating from the palm of his hand, even against his own self-interest. In this way, they descend into hell together. Peter is slowly stripped of his autonomy, Arthur's worst traits are fed by Peter's admiration, and they become awfully co-dependent. But god, are they happy while hurting themselves.

Anyway. Thank you again anon for prompting me to ramble, and thank you for a welcome distraction in these difficult times. This was a delight in my inbox. 🫶

[psycheswritings]

Nothing’s Fair in Love and War - Six

Title: Nothing’s Fair in Love and War

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Daphne Scott (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing.

Word Count: 4022

Author's Note: Hello, people! Here we are with a brand new chapter. A few warnings before we begin (or after, because is basically information about somethings mentioned during this chapter and it could be interpreted as spoilers, so it's up to you): 1. I know that according to the audio of "The Ballad of Tommy Shelby" the boys enlisted in 1915, but as @andtherewerefireworks​ pointed out, this doesn't fit with the historical facts and informations given by the show (as a lot of other thing's don't, but apparently Steven doesn't give a fuck about it - don't let me get started) so I ignored this piece of information - the boys enlisted in 1914 instead and the world makes sense again; 2. I did some research to know more about military nurses and took a poetic license to ignore the age that was permited for women to enlist at the time; 3. Kugel really is a Jewish dish and I am shamelessly entertaining my headcanon that Alfie does, in fact, cook/bake. Sorry, not sorry. 4. Have I mentioned that sometimes I hate Steven? Because I do. There were somethings that took me a lot of time to figure out between episodes 04 and 05 of the third season and I am still not sure about somethings, so if you feel confused about something you're more than welcome to come talk to me and I can explain it.

Fair warning, as always, if you find any mistakes feel more than free to report back to me; warnings are expecific for each chapter; and your feedback is always appreciated (given the fact that this is a sideblog, answers always are in the name of my main one thanks to dumb Tumblr - @myplaceofheavenorhell​). Also, if you haven't read my "BIG ANNOUNCEMENT" post (I really don't blame you), please, start following me on @amysteryspot​.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Summary: Alfie and Sabini make amends and join forces to get rid of the Peaky Blinders. Daphne and Polly have a very pleasing evening and Tommy goes visit May to ensure that things are going according to his plan, only to be met with a question he doesn't want to answer.

Masterlist

Six

Alfie Solomons was never known for a man who has a lot of patience, no, people tend to think that he actually has none at all but that is far from the truth. God knows that he had to have a lot of fucking patience to get where he is now, Alfie is a man who is always waiting for the right moment to do the things that would benefit him the most. And that was what he was doing right now - waiting to see if the decision he has made would, in fact, bring him any good.

The doors of the bakery were opened by two of his men and Sabini came into view - the italian flag on his hands, three of his men behind him and his second in command, Matteo, with a white flag by his side. They approached each other, the Jew gave the Italian the basket of bread that was immediately passed over to Matteo, before he stepped closer to Alfie giving him the standard three kisses on the checks as a form of greeting.

“I can’t help but notice that there is a presence in absence here today. Isn’t Miss Scott joining us?” Alfie was kinda expecting that since the Italian seemed to have a soft spot for the young woman, but the question almost made him frown for entirely different reasons. Daphne had left hours before to go to Birmingham and meet with Polly Gray, she didn’t knew about the meeting or his plans but somehow that didn’t make Alfie worry less about her like he thought it would.

“Daphne is out in another appointment. Just us today, so let's talk, eh?” Sabini shared a look with Matteo before nodding to Alfie guide them through the bakery. The Jew sat on one side of the table with Ollie by his side, cane propped up in front of him, his hands resting on top of it, while Sabini and Matteo did the same at the other side, their men behind them and a menacing silence filling the room until the Italian leader spoke.

“Did you know they was going to take the Eden club?”

“I know about the Eden club, yes.”

“Did you know they were going to do it before they did it? Because that's the one who's in charge, isn't it? The one who knows before it happens.”

“I know what I know, you know. If you don't know, then you don't fucking know, do you?”

“Did you know they was going to take Wimbledon dogs? Harringay? The trotting tracks?”

“Talk, all right? I genuinely want to hear you.”

“You've lost control, Alfie.” Matteo was the one to talk, making Alfie look at him in concealed anger.

“Have I?”

“Everybody knows.” The Italian added.

“Talk to me, Alfie.” Sabini said, interrupting the argument and making Alfie’s attention go back to him again.

“Talk to you?” The Jew paused for emphasis. “All right, I'll talk to you. I'll fucking tell you how it was, right? What happened was this. All the time you were talking about dirty fucking Jews. All the fucking time - dirty fucking Jews, dirty Kikes, dirty dustbin lids…” The Italian leader shared a look with Matteo again.

“Everyone makes jokes.”

“You want to talk about not getting into places?”

“Everybody makes fucking jokes. I didn't know you had no sense of humour!”

“And I ain't going to FUCKING mention, right, the great big fuck off elephant in the room.” Sabini closes his eyes for a brief moment before talking again.

“Look, Alfie…”

“How many of my bookies worked Epsom this last May? None. None. Not one.”

“So, for a few fucking jokes and Epsom, you fucking invite a tribe of savages into the city and just fucking unlock the fucking gates!” While Sabini is yeeling and gesticulating frantically with his hands Alfie is just sitting there, not even bored by it.

“I'm sorry, what are you saying, mate?”

“I'm saying I'm sorry about the Jew thing.” To say that Sabini seemed bothered by his own words would be an understatement because he was completely put off by it, to Alfie’s deepest contentment.

“Are you saying you're sorry?” Patience, patience always paid back in kind.

“Yeah.”

“You're sorry about the Jew thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I want that in writing.” He turned to Ollie. Write that down. He said, ‘I'm sorry’.” Looking at Sabini again he continued. “And also write down that all our bookies can go back to Epsom.”

“He didn't say that.” Matteo barged in.

“Who's asking you?”

“No. Write it down. It's all right. Come on. Alfie's an old friend.”

“My friend.” The Jew gangster says while staring at Matteo and pointing at Sabini.

“Now, admit it, the Peaky Blinders is out of control.”

“Yeah, they're out of fucking control, mate. They come down the canal, they spread like the fucking clap.” Although the kind of problem that the Blinders have gotten to the Jew were ones fairly different, the Italian didn’t needed to know.

“Right. So now they're everybody's problem.”

“Yeah.”

“Alfie.”

“Mm.”

“You and me, we've been fighting since we was at school.”

“Yeah.”

“All right? Now, also, we've been friends.”

“Mm, yeah.”

“You know, it goes backwards and forwards. How much better is it when we're friends?”

“Oh, it's much better, mate, yeah.”

“You write that down.” Ollie looks at Alfie that just nods at the younger man.

“So what we're doing here, right, is we're writing down some kind of a deal thing, right?”

“Yeah, a written deal.” 

“Written deal, good. Well, why don't we discuss the border between the Italians and the Jews going back to Farringdon Road.”

“Farringdon Road”

“Yeah, Farringdon Road.”

“Fuck! That's ancient history.”

“Write down Farringdon Road.”

“No, no, no, write down Camden Road.”

“Farringdon Road.”

“Camden Road.”

“Write down Farringdon.”

“Camden.”

“Farringdon.”

“Camden. Write down Camden Road.”

“Just write down ‘peace’. Just write down ‘peace’, right, between the Jews and the Italians.”

“And war against the gypsies.” Alfie just grumbles to the statement, thinking to himself about how Daphne will react when she discovers his plans. It certainly won’t be pretty and for the first time in a long while the Jew gangster starts to rethink his actions.

  *******************************************************************************************

Daphne was waiting at the parlour in the Shelby family home on Watery Lane, the youngest Shelby was the one who guided her there saying that his aunt was coming in a minute and then leaving her alone since Josiah had chosen to wait for her outside, in the car. The young woman took off her coat and hang it on the coat rack on the wall just beside the front door, deciding to take a look around instead of sitting down.

There were a lot of photographs hanging on the walls and on top of the furniture, most of them were of the Shelby’s children growing up. Daphne recognized a young Ada and a little Finn in one of them, just beside the fireplace there was a photograph of each one of the Shelby siblings but what caught her attention almost immediately was the portrait of the three eldest Shelby boys in their uniforms. Her fingers automatically went to her locket, caressing the metal as a way to soothe her own thoughts.

“They were taken just before they left.” She must have been really distracted because she only noticed that her hostess arrived when she was already closing the door, taking off her own coat and approaching her. The gipsy woman noticed that Daphne was yet again playing with the necklace hanging from her neck. They shook hands before the both of them turned to look at the images again. “I’m sorry for making you wait, there were things that needed my attention.”

“Don’t bother, I’ve had only been here for minute.” Silence filled the room but unlike what Daphne expected it wasn’t a discomfortable one.

“It feels like it was a lifetime ago.” There was this hint of sadness that Daphne knew too well when people who had loved ones on the war usually had when talking about that period.

“And at the same time it seems like it was yesterday.” Polly looked at her then, surprise in her features.

“You’ve been there.” Daphne took a deep breath, not looking at the woman beside her when she spoke.

“Yeah. Whole four years of it.”

“My God, you must have been only a child when it started.” The young woman felt quite amused by the motherly concern in Polly’s voice.

“Eighteen.”

“You’re almost John’s age then. He was nineteen when he left. Arthur was twenty seven and Thomas twenty four.” When Daphne looked at her still observing the pictures there was a hint of a smile on her face. “They were so different, so full of life.”

“None of us came back the same. We all left a part of ourselves there.” As her hand rested in her chest, feeling the all too familiar form of her locket through the fabric Daphne thought that she certainly had lost a part of herself there, a part of her that she would never recover.

“You sound like Tommy.” Daphne smiled at that, shaking her head briefly while Polly observed her with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

“It’s not the first time that I hear it.”

“Come, I will make us some tea.” They headed themselves to the kitchen were Daphne sat at the table while Polly walked around preparing things for the tea. When the pot was ready she served them both a cup and sat down.

“You’ve caused quite the impression on the boys.” Daphne quietly sipped on her tea. She didn’t know what to expect of the encounter, what she did knew was that Polly was baiting at her, getting her out of her comfort zone to see how she reacted and further analyze her especially now that Alfie wasn’t around. But one thing that Daphne have learned from experience was that people involuntary let their guard down at home and even knowing that Polly had another house to call her own now, this was the one she passed most part of the time in still, the one where she lived most part of the last years and the one she still called home.

“A good impression, I hope.” The gipsy woman looked at her, smirking slightly, the action a little warmer than the cold demeanor that she had showed on the party.

“Ah, it was good just alright! I think Arthur is still teasing John for trying to flirt with you.”

“He had it coming.” Polly laughed, really laughed and Daphne couldn’t help but smile too.

“He sure did, but I gotta say that he is not used at being rejected. None of them are, really.” The young woman choose not to answer that, just smiling and sipping at her tea again and Polly decided to change the subject. “You and Ada know each other for long?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while. Before Freddie fell ill.”

“You’ve met him?” Polly was surprised that the two women knew each other for that long.

“Once or twice, he was more running from the coopers than at home.” Polly scoffed at that, getting up to take the food and put it on the table. “You didn’t approved of them.” It wasn’t a question but Polly answered anyway.

“Freddie was a good man, I just wish that he knew how to prioritize his family instead of the cause.” Daphne nodded in understanding, since she befriended Ada she had had quite some debates with herself about the way the Thorne’s lived. It was hard for Daphne to understand how Ada accepted living on the run because of love, her parents were not exactly the image of true love - an arranged marriage, like the one she was supposed to have if she hadn’t gone to France - even though she believed that her mother had loved her father at some point, the other way around was definitely not true.

“I never really understood how Ada accepted living like that but I don’t have much to compare so I tried not to judge her for it.”

“No lad caught your attention after you came back?” The gipsy woman took a sip of her tea before continuing. “Or during your time in France?” Daphne had a pretty good guess that she must be talking about William since she had seen them together at the party.

“No. Not that way.” The older woman just nodded, eyes trained on the other woman’s reactions.

“Not even Solomons? He is not hard on the eyes and you two seemed quite close.” Daphne laughed at the statement - people seemed to never give up on the subject of her and Alfie being a couple.

“Alfie is family.” The way she said it, so naturally, so devoid of doubt made Polly think that their bound was deeper than she first predicted. Polly was certain that there was more to their relationship than what they let people know - Alfie Solomons wasn’t a man known for his honesty or loyalty, nevertheless, the woman in front of her had been by his side since the end of the war.

It was obvious to her too that the man who was observing her and Tommy from the mezzanine during the party felt more than just friendship towards her but it seemed that Daphne didn’t reciprocate it - which, apparently, left the way clear for Tommy and that’s where the lived the danger. Then she decided to make a bold move.

“Let me read your leaves.” Daphne was quite taken aback by the request, she blinked twice before answering the gipsy woman.

“Why not.” Polly was surprised that she accepted the request so easily - maybe more surprised by that than by the fact that she had requested to read the girl’s leaves in the first place.

“Pour some tea into the cup and swirl it.” The young woman did what she was told. “Now put the tea back into the teapot.” Polly extended her hand for Daphne to give her the cup, after taking it she gave one last glance towards the young woman before starting to analyze the cup.

“There’s happiness in your future but there is also a lot of pain.” Silence filled the room while the older woman swirled the teacup in her hands. “You will be betrayed and have your heart broken. You will also find something that you thought was lost.” Polly rested the cup into the table and looked up to meet Daphne’s hazel eyes in silence for a long time before she finally spoke again. “You seem like a good girl, Daphne, and if I didn’t thought that I wouldn’t say to you what I’m gonna say now: be careful. Love is a good thing but sometimes it can blind us and that’s when we get hurt.”

*******************************************************************************************

When Tommy arrived home at the end of the day one of the first things that he noticed was the teacup resting on the kitchen table. He picked it up, looking at the leaves inside it and directing his gaze to his aunt who was observing him, sipping her own cup of tea while leaning onto the kitchen counter.

“Lizzie’s been here for you to read her leaves again, Poll? You still leading her own…”

“It wasn’t Lizzie.” He recognized the smug look on his aunt’s face - she was leading him to something, the teacup left onto the table was a bait for him to talk to her, it was all part of her plan. He put the cup back where he found it and turned around to pour himself a drink.

“Then who was the poor soul that was believing in your predictions?”

“Daphne. She left just some minutes ago.” He stopped for a brief moment but it was enough for Polly to notice. Daphne had been here? How he didn’t know that?

“Didn’t think that she would be one for these kind of stuff.” He turned around, glass of whisky in his hand and her aunt’s gaze still on him and his curiosity got the best of him. “What did you find out?” By the smile on his aunt’s face he knew that this is what she wanted all along.

“That she is a good girl - too good for you.” Tommy huffed at the statement taking a sip of his drink - he didn’t need any tea leaves to know that. “She will have her heart broken by the man that she loves.” Polly walked to her nephew, stopping right in front of him and holding his gaze. “Will you be that man, Tommy?” He just stood there nursing his drink, long before the woman had left. He had vowed to himself to never let another woman into his heart again, not after Grace, but it was difficult to remember that when he was around Daphne. She was constantly proving him wrong, challenging him, sneaking into his family’s good graces. Would he be the one to break her heart or would it be the other way around?

*******************************************************************************************

Alfie was waiting for her when she arrived home - sitting on his usual chair in the balcony of the drawing room, humming something to himself. Daphne approached him and called his name but he didn’t seemed to notice, to lost on his thoughts.

“Everything alright?” He looked at her then, his attention caught by the hand she gently placed on his shoulder, the woman could tell that he seemed a little off just by the expression on his face.

“Yeah, yeah.” The Jew got up from his chair to stand in front of her. “How was tea with the gypsies?”

“It was just Polly. Everything went fine, she is actually very hospitable.”

“Hum. Good.” He didn’t seemed less tense after her answer. “I’ve made you some kugel for dessert, I know it is your favorite.” Daphne frowned at that.

“There is some special occasion that I’m forgetting? You haven’t cooked in ages.” He stared at her in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No, just appreciating the company, love.”

“Well, thank you, kind sir. I’m just going to take a bath and we can have dinner then.” Alfie nodded at her, letting her go upstairs while he just observed as she disappeared. He really hoped that at least for one time in his life he was doing the right thing.

*******************************************************************************************

As Tommy drove to the Carleton’s property he thought about his next steps. May had showed her interest in him and he was going to play his cards to ensure that his horse would be able to run the Epsom. She had also mentioned having contacts at the War Office and that could grant them information on Daphne. He just wasn’t expecting the extent of the Carleton’s wealthiness.

“Mr. Thomas Shelby, madam.” One of the maids announced him and Tommy entered the room without a second glance at the girl.

“Nice house.” He says as he looks around and approaches May, who is looking at him a little unsure. It was more than nice house, probably the most expensive fucking place he had put his foot on during his entire life.

“Would you like a whisky? Scotch or Irish?”

“Irish.” She turns her back to him to serve the drink and he takes the time to look out the window, taking a cigarette from his case. “Sorry for the short notice. I was passing.”

“We're not quite on the Birmingham road.”

“It was a small diversion.”

“Sixty miles, I checked.”

“That's a small diversion these days.” He says, approaching her and lightening the cigarette that is already between his lips.

“So, I'm a small diversion. Good.” She hands him the whiskey before taking a sip of hers. “Your horse is still out on the gallops, but I had Mickey prepare this report. You can read it now if you'd like, then we can go see her.” May hands him the file with the reports and he rests it on the table, starting to scan the pages as he clears his throat. “Is there enough light for you to read?”

“Yes, it's fine.”

“It's getting quite late.” She sits down on the couch, Tommy doesn’t react to her words and continues to read the report but he notices that she is nervous. “Mickey says she has the lungs of an elephant. She's nimble in the heavy going, but bounces a little on the hard ground. Sorry, I'll let you read.”

“So, he thinks she'll favor good to soft ground, eh?” Tommy closes the file while talking.

“A little juice in the grass.”

“Mm. Well, that's good for Epsom.” He pauses, looking at her and placing his empty glass on the table. “Does he think she's not good enough for Epsom?”

“She needs a lot of work.” May observes as he takes a drag from the cigarette. “The race board will need convincing.”

“I imagine you have some influence.” She doesn’t answer him directly.

“Mm. That's the suggested program for the next two months.” As Tommy goes back to looking at the report, May gets up from her seat. “Your glass is empty.”

“It's fine.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, a bit.”

“I can prepare something.”

“Do you have engine oil?” There’s a hint of surprise in her features as she looks at him. “Before I set off for Birmingham, the car needs oil.”

“I'm sure my husband kept some in the garage. I can get someone to do it.”

“This evening or tomorrow?” They stare at each other for a moment, he waits for her next step.

“Well, we're so far from anywhere, people usually stay over.” She is clearly nervous as she takes a set at the couch again, sipping her whisky. “Especially before cars, when it was just carriages, people used to stay over all the time.”

“But I have a car.”

“Yes.”

“And you have engine oil.”

“Probably.” Her words are all but a whisper before she pauses, nervously looking at the other way. “But it would be very usual.”

“What would?” His eyebrows raising as he waits for the answer, making her admit it out loud.

“For a guest to stay. We have a whole wing called the guest wing.”

“Oh, you…” He almost smirked at the information. “You have a guest wing. Well...” Then Tommy notices that she is crying, silently, trying to hide her tears by facing the opposite wall. He walks to her, calling her name softly and resting a hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her. Thomas never liked when woman cried, most part of the time it put him off because he didn’t exactly know how to react and, in this particularly scenario, it wasn’t something that he had predicted. “Have a smoke.”

“Thank you.” She accepts the cigarette from his hands and observes as he takes a step back to light another, taking a sit at the other end of the couch. “Ignore this. It's actually all right. I put all his photos in a drawer and locked it, as if that was going to make a difference. I'm like a fucking lighthouse keeper, out here on my own, keeping his flame burning. But, of course, when anyone sees a lighthouse they stay clear, don't they?” May observes as he seems to take a moment to think.

“Now, do you have a map? Of the house. Do you have a map? Because I'm not going to be able to find my way in the dark. You see, at midnight, I'm going to leave my wing and I'm going to come find you. And I'm going to turn the handle of your bedroom door without making a sound and none of the maids will know.”

“You don't know maids.” She scoffed at him.

“They hear a pin drop?”

“If there's a man in the house, they listen. They take turns.”

“So, let them listen.” Things were going according to his plan but Tommy couldn’t help remembering his aunt’s words that would keep echoing inside his head for the whole night.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771​

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 32

Title & Song:  Growing On Me

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 3500+

Summary: Genevieve gets played by the marriage enthusiast Aggie. - Alfie finds a way to cut through Genevieve’s bad mood. - Genevieve is hit hard with questions about her worth when it comes to romance. 

Warnings/Tags: Language. Fluff.

A/N: Every chapter of this story will have a song to work as the title and as a soundtrack. Chapter song is Growing On Me by The Darkness. 

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist. (Includes Parts 1-31)

He's come home to an eerily silent house. No one answers him at the door, and he sees no one on the way to his room. As he's changed into something more comfortable and made his way cautiously around the house, subconsciously heading straight for your room, turning swiftly as he hears a noise from the kitchen.

He pads down the dim back hallways of the house that connect almost all the rooms. He hears you and exhales noisily, putting his gun into the back of his trousers. He moves towards the sound of you talking to yourself as you're leaning over slightly, hands on your knees, looking into the oven window. You have a lovely flowing blue dress on, your hair pulled back messily, bits loose and pieces fall in no certain order.

"Where is everyone?" you hear Alfie call from the other side of the kitchen.

"It's a summer day off I give the house staff before my birthday." you explain, turning to face him, showing a smudged apron and a flushed face.

"What do ya do that for?" he asks, chin moving up as he approaches you, hand on the large wooden butcher block top of the island in the center of the kitchen.

"Well it's very stressful on them. The planning, the cleaning up, tending to guests. It can get a bit wild so some can come upon uncomfortable situations and I like my people happy so I give them time off before and after the party." you explain, laying your pot holders to the surface his hand rested on.

"Well that's nice of ya innit?" he asks rhetorically, looking into the oven behidn you. "What ya got in there?" he asks, head nodding towards the dish.

"Dinner." you say with a chuckle. "Hopefully. It's been well over ten years since I've made it." you say with an uneasy smile and a shrug.

"Well what is it?" he clarifies.

"A Potato Kugel." you say, moving with him as he walks towards the oven.

"What ya makin' a Kugel for luv?" he says with a surprised look on his face.

You turn to sit on a stool by the counter. "Well Aggie reminded me it was the anniversary of Ida's death and got me feeling all nostalgic." you say with sweet inflection to your voice.

"Who's Ida?" he asks, turning to you, hands in his pockets.

"She was the nurse I had from before I even born." your lashes flutter, your eyes moving around the room in memory.

"Has Agatha not been with ya that long?"

"She worked in the same home, but she wasn't my personally assigned nurse." you explain.

"Personally assigned nurse. I forget how posh your upbringing was sometimes." he admits with a small half smile and a quick tilt of his head.

"Hush." you say with a chuckle.

"Was this something Ida made?"

"Yes. I loved it when I was younger. She'd made me one special sometimes." he adores the girlish smile that comes across your face as a good memory dances behind your eyes.

"Was Ida one of mine?" he asks, turning his eyes back to the oven for a moment.

"Yeah." you laugh, finding the way he asked his questions very entertaining from time to time. "I don't know much beyond her being Russian and Jewish though." you admit with a furrowed brow.

"Oi, she was like me 'en wunnit she?" he lets out a surprisingly loud laugh.

"Are you Russian?" you ask, your surprise clear in your high pitched voice.

He grins at your big eyes and open mouth. "Me mother was." he says with a nod.

"Well that's a bit of serendipity isn't it?" you say with a childlike wonderment on your face. "That's lovely." you say with a very charming smile, kicking your feet as they don't touch the floor in the high chair.

"Well we'll remember her fondly tonight with this." you say with a heavy sigh. "Aggie thought I could make it from memory. Although I'm not entriely convinced yet that her faith is misplaced, I just haven't cooked anything in so long."

"Yeah I don't know that I've ever seen ya do much besides put jam on toast." he pauses, his fingers pick at his beard as he thinks. "Nah, you's heatin' up leftovers in a pan one night in 'ere wunnt ya?" he chuckles.

"I'm perfectly capable of cooking, I just haven't had to in awhile. Aggie thought it might be nice for me to make something to eat for once since it'd be just a handful of us here tonight. Not like I had to make a huge meal." you elaborate.

"And what better to make than a Kugel?" he says with a grin.

Then it hits you and you start to laugh, your face moving to your hands on the counter.

"What?" he asks, eyes getting wider.

"I got fucking worked by cheeky 'ol Ags is what." you groan out. "Fell right fucking into that." you sigh, turning to face him, wiping your fingers under your eyes.

He stands, raised eyebrows still waiting for a response.

"It's only going to be a few people here tonight. She knew she could use Ida as an excuse to get me to cook. And of course, she lures me right into making a Jewish dish. And she knew you'd be here tonight for dinner. A dinner that I'm making...cooking for the first time since you've moved in...ya see where this is going?" you ask with a wrinkled nose.

The realization blooms across his face as he laughs out loud, eyes crinkling at Agatha. "Relentless." he says with a shake of her head.

"So she IS bothering you about me as well? Because she's sure as fuck bother me about you." you both start to laugh.

"Of fuckin' course she has been Genny." he says gruffly as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

"She is persistent if nothing else." you say with a sigh as you both laugh until a sigh builds between you, biding your time over the cripsing Kugel.

"I meant to tell ya when I came in 'an got so distracted by your divine skills in Jewish cookin' that I must've gotten sidetracked with the urge to propose and forgot." he says with a goofy smile.

You blink your eyes at him, giving him a playfully warning smirk.

"I 'eard some boys talkin' 'bout you today." he says with an odd but not off putting expression. "And a few ladies, come to think." he adds with a nod.

"What?" you ask with an unsure shake of your head.

"I 'eard you's the girl that knocked the granny out 'a Darby." he says proudly before his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

"Oh, the word must be getting around then." you say with a big, slow nod. "It seemed I got hassled less today and I wasn't sure if it was coincidence or not." you say with a thoughtful pout.

"Apparently that second hit gave him a bit of a shiner and with the need for explanation, that he ain't givin', yeah? It's findin' its way around the rumor mill 'bout now. And apart from the normal derogatory terms that are inescapable amongst that sort of company, it's all about you being quite the little bearcat, roughin' up Darby 'n gangsters like me 'n the like." he gives you a sly smile.

You study his face, still smirking at his words. "They aren't talking about us working together?"

"I 'on't fink nobody gives a flyin' fuck as long as the subject of a woman beatin' up a gangster is on the table." he says in a matter of fact sort of way that your find oddly relieving to hear.

"Seems that worked out in my favor." you say with a huff of a laugh.

"You got all of London whispering about what a tough little bird ya are, luv." he says quietly with a supportive smile, leaning in closer to you.

You aren't really sure how to take the news. It was good, but you were still left nervous. You breathe a sigh of relief after a shielded reassuring smile at him before he moves to fetch drinks. The kitchen is quiet, but it's noisy in your head as you wonder how far the word would spread, and even more curious as to how that rumor might change as it traveled. --------------- You're raging with blood to back up your fury as you've barricaded yourself in your studio again for the few days. It isn't unknown to those who have been in your employee for any amount of time how you prefer to be left alone for a few days a month. And by left alone you mean you are probable to yell, and not in polite words at anyone who did anything to upset you. At this point, you ruled as a ditator in your household, you tried to compensate for your behavior with kindness to your staff, the poor dears.

Alfie pads up the stairs, taking his time, listening to shouts from the landing above him, slowly coming into view. He hears a teacup smash and girl hunched over, trying not to look mad, shuffles out of your studio hurriedly.  He stands and moves his head with her, watching her rush away. He returns his head with a quick swing as he hears Aggie's familiar sigh and a door shutting.

"My word Mr. Solomons," she says rolling her eyes, "Why are you up here? I told you she wasn't fit for company, poor dear." she says, shoudlers slumped, clearly tired and bless her, she was still trying to shine this in a positive light.

"Well she ain't come down for tea 'an then I's told she was feelin' poorly and I thought it proper to bring her somefin'." he says with a hopeful tone that makes Aggie shut her eyes and took a deep breath and hoping to herself that you'd see how thoughtful this man was one day. "I didn't know what was wrong so I just brought her 'is." he holds up a box from his bakery, flowers limply resting on top, wrapped in paper.

Aggie frowns and he's entirely confused by the expresssion. He thought women liked these sorts of things. Her face is really scowling because of how pleasant he could be in his honesty with his shrugging shoulders and questioning brows.

"You really didn't have to go to all that trouble." she says, biting the inside of her cheek at him.

"Well, she coulda been fuckin' dyin' up here what with how no one would tell me what was wrong with her, eh?" he says with a nod, eyes wide.

"She isn't always in such a foul mood," she says with one last sigh, moving away from the door, letting him enter by his own choice. "But there's always the chance she won't be miserable at you if you go in there and be your charmin', young self at her," she says matter of factly, moving slowly back to the stairs. "I don't care what she says, I know she likes it." she says in a sassy way and to no one in particular even though it was just the two of them upstairs.

He clears his throat, readjusting the box in his grip and knocking swiftly on the door.

"WHAT?" you state loudly, not in anger but in the least rude way you could get away with. The door opens with a quiet squeak as he pushes through his hesitancy, still not knowing what he would be met with.

You are perched on a stool, back slightly hunched with one foot resting on the seat, the other hanging down. You were posed much like a gargoyle on a cathedral with your curved back, a claw-like pose of your hands around the paint brush, extended to the canvas as he enters.

"Genevieve?" you hear his familiar voice, it felt even more warm than usual. He must have been warned. You move your face, stone with a heavy brow to his wide eyed curious face with a sigh.

"Alfie..." you sigh noisily. "Why are you here?" you ask in an annoyed drawn out way.

"Can I come In?" he asks politely, his lips pouting just slightly as your eyes narrowed at him, waiting to walk further into the room. At least he wasn't being a pest.

"Fine." you groan, shaking your head and setting down your brush. You turn to see him walk in, the box you know to be from his bakery in his hands, your stomach grumbles at the sight. You notice the paper on the top actually conceals flowers and is not part of the box and your stone face breaks.

The laugh starts in your chest, your eyes squeezing shut as you put your hands over your face as you laugh. You turn your head back to him as he approaches. You slowly drag your hands down your face, pulling bits of pieces of your already wild and haphazard bun that rested on top of your head down with your fingers. You sigh and exhale in a dramatic way. You leave one hand on your face, your fingers over your mouth. You've stopped laughing by the time he reaches your side. You take in his casual appearance, the smell of rum telling you he'd just gotten home from work.

His eyes meet yours, they're cheerful and you give a half smile at what he must've been told about you in this state.  He sees your eyes reflecting something that he thought might be pity and he's not sure why.

"You brought me fucking flowers? You absolute fool." your voice is deeper than usual, more gritty.

"Well you weren't at tea and I was told you felt poorly so..." he shrugs and you lower your hand and take the flowers, moving both legs to a normal sitting position, sitting them on your lap. You readjust the black robe around your shoulders, the paper slides off the slick silk of the floor length gown.

"Why in the hell did you bring me flowers and sweets?" you ask, sounding exasperated but your face read as indifferent, almost amused.

"I was told you felt poorly." he says as if it's obvious. "I thought it proper to bring you somefin." he says in defense of himself. "We live in the same fuckin' house Genevieve, if ya sick, I'm not just gonna ignore you." as he speaks you take the box from his hands and open it, eating one of the round pastries.

"Perhaps you should." you say chewing slowly, your eyes looked tired, the circles under them more visible than the last time he'd seen you.

"Am I not allowed to bring you things when don't feel well now?" he sounds on the precipoce of annoyance to your difficult defaulted setting.

"They didn't tell you why I felt poorly I'm guessing" a single eyebrow raise and subtle half smile, breaking the tight lips that held too much tension.

"Well no but...what's that gotta do with anythin'?" he asks, shaking his head.

"Well, for your ease of understanding, if one were Jewish they might refer to me currently withe term, Niddah." you say, rolling your head back his way, looking for the understanding in his face. It was there.

"Ah." he says rather loudly, making you flinch slightly as you felt sensitive to such things at the moment. "Well everything makes much more sense now, dunnit?" he says with a lazy smirk and a small chuckle as you clearly are holding back a smile, your brow low but your eyes not angry in any way.

You shrug an eyebrow and your shoulders in response.

"Well, you don't gotta separate yourself now do ya? What ya hidin' up here for?" he asks, shoulders losing their stiffness now, his head nodding with his words encouragingly.  

"When I feel particularly overwhelmed I isolate myself. I don't like being such a bear so I prefer to be alone," you say evenly, cooly, no offense meant. "I'm guessing your interpretation of ritual is a bit loose since you're still in the room?" you say with a smirk, side-eyeing him, cracking a joke.

"Eh." he shrugs, his voice gruff. "I fuck up most days anyway dunnit I?" he offers with an easy going nod and eye roll at his own words.

This makes you laugh again, a quiet, more chesty laugh, pieces of hair falling into your face as your shoulders shake. You raise your head nodding, taking another heavy breath and looking over him, your face tired but your smile still subtly worn. "Good it isn't kisses and hugs but rather food and solitary I crave while like this isn't it?" you say with a sarcastic tone, your face back to pleasant.

"After the maids warned me of your foul mood, I didn't think bringin' the former in here with me would be particularly useful. " he says with a smile, his eyes playful.

"I'm never entirely opposed to anything." you say low, a humorus twist to your words, keeping your chuckle silent. "However, I do feel much like a busted old boot in this state." you admit, your face frowning slightly.

"Well now I can't have ya talkin' like 'at about yourself now can I?" he says with a sarcastic over the top frown, moving towards you, you narrow your eyes as he approached with an extended arm. He wraps one around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side, after putting your arm around his waist despite your disapproving pout.

You hated how precious the action felt so much in fact, that you started to cramp again.

"I won't wear out my welcome, luv." he says in a warm way that taps against your shield of pouting and frowns. Your raw state, your nostrils twitch at the masculine smell of him as your face was just short of grazing the loose fabric of his shirt. Your mood shifts quickly, as it often does and you swallow as the smell of him relaxes you, breaking through your grumpy phase and pulling you into your stage of craving comfort. "But will you be coming down? I bought some new books and I'm happy to bury my nose in those alone all night if that's what you wish, but I thought it worth askin'." he looks down at you, and you look at him with big kitten like eyes. You sigh and touch his hand that rests on your shoulder with your own.

"You want me to come down for dinner?" you ask, your eyes narrowing from underneath, "Even in this state?" your voice gives away your surprise.

"I want ya in any state, darling." he says, excessively and dramatically throwing his charm at you in an obnoxious way, his head shaking down towards yours, your noses almost touching.

"Fuck off with it now," you say low, your mouth smiling ever so slightly as you shove him away from you by the ribs.  He laughs and holds his side as if you'd hurt him. "Fine. I'm fucking starving anyway."  you sigh loudly , popping another pastry into your mouth. ------- You're outside in a lovely sheer green dress, matching silk slip, blending you into the rows of flowers as you moved in and out, heading towards the path to go in for tea. You're taking your gloves off, beating them outside the door as you look up and see down the long corridor that something rests on the table by the stairs that you hadn't put there, and in the midst of party planning this puts your senses on high alert. You toss the gloves into the box of tools and use the clean side of your apron to wipe the sweat from your face. You step over the boxes of food and decor for your party that lay in organized piles in the long hallway by the entryway to kitchen.

As you approach your brow furrows, your fingers reaching out lightly to touch the purple petals of an Iris. Your soft expression glances over the large floral arrangement that didn't match anything you'd ordered, you find a card inside. "It's not a field and it's not Faberge but it is French and sent with feeling. Happy Birthday." The swooping signature, as big and obnoxious as the man himself didn't have to be seen to know the alliteration to be of his doing.

"What's these?" you hear Aggie ask moving the mixed arrangement of deep jewel tone flowers, the deep purple of iris's with their yellow accents, maroon and navy, all posed in a vase, black and bejeweled sits hidden under the cascading bottom of deep greenery, fluffing the whole thing to it's ground stature.

"From the missus." you say with a laugh, watching Aggie's face as she reads the odd little poem he's left.

"Christ on the cross, Genevieve, this man," she says handing the paper back to you with a huff and readjustment of her apron. "Sometimes I think it's you that doesn't deserve him." she says, picking up the vase, already knowing to move it to your room.

"Oui," you mumble, a subtle nod. "Sometimes I think that as well." you whisper out. A slow inhale and exhale, looking about the room, knowing you had no time right now to address such feelings that his personal touches left you with. You had a party to stage.

PT 33 Dance The Night Away (NSFW)

Tags! Let me know if you’d like to be added or dropped! Thanks!

@fangirlfreakingout@jaegeeeeer@cosettewinchester@lookuptheskyisfalling-blog@brianaisasongbird@cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464@hardygal69@thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle@negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons

[madderthanahattermerrymadho-blog]

You Are Awfully Annoyingly Stupidly Beautiful and Important, a PruAus drabble

Gender: Drama, Romance

Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: Prussia, Austria, Kugelmugel, Germany, Hungary and Italy

Ship: Prussia/Austria (PruAus) Germany/Italy (GerIta)

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Character death, Some Curse words, Implications of “things”

Side Note: They’re married (Conditionally), Gildbird Family There’s a surprise at the end Austria POV (I THINK)

My OTP PruAus, needs more attention as healthy relationship/family it do be awesome. Must confess this is not how I wanted to write an story about then but well (wants to write something happy but I’m too Emo) my inspiration comes from the saddest song ever…Don’t worry about me by Frances…Seriously who tough of a song so sad…also a photograph I saw today of an elderly couple watching the sunset . NOT GOOD AT Character POV just sayin’

Anyway I’m a beginner but I like how this come out

Roderich Breath slows, as he saw the person he thought that will be with him forever fade away from his side. While the two were expecting the sun to finally fall asleep, Gilbert rested his head on his husband soft lap, feeling his warm one last time.

The Morning of that day was like any other day except one difference...

I’ll be death by the sunset.-Gilbert said, with a calm voice during breakfast making roderich grow stiffed in horror and confusion, he spit his coffee and coughed horrified

What?.-He asked with distressed expression

I’ll be death before the day ends. I...I’m sorry. Rod...Roderich I...

Austria looked like someone who is both offended and distraught so Gilbert joked a bit

I won’t be around to kiss you or annoy you so I guess is a sour sweet thing for you…

No! YOU LIAR!.-The Austrian Aristocrat Shouted.-How you dear? To Joke on the matter...I...I

before he could end the sentence he found himself in an embrace of two strong arms, the silken passionate touch of the lips of the albino with his, the Prussian man scent was like fresh air to someone who’s been Drowning, Roderich felt burning tears of anger fell from his eyes as he understand that it was not a joke, he grow more angry for the sudden shock and the growing urge to curse against that invisible force that was taking away his husband. But maybe it was not true, Maybe Gilbert, such a tease, he was just making a cruel joke and this was acting...yes that was it...he think still in denial. Then he feels tears fall on his shoulder tears of that one person he loved the most. 

Just a cruel Joke...-He said to himself as his Gilbert rested his head on the Austrian man’s lap, it was hardly a joke, but it was a joke, a joke of destiny spitting in Roderich and Gilbert faces like she could, rod sworn to avenge his beloved one way or other, stabbing the earth if he could...

the day went awful, they didn’t finished their breakfast, they were crying more, in silent wondering many things, Austria tell himself to show some spine and then Kugel Wake up and come with his cute smile then saw Daddy Austria

Good morning! Papa, daddy I have a weird dream There was a living sandwich and… What’s wrong -he asked when seeing his daddy trying to hold his tears

What’s happening?-He asked innocently but worried

Gilbert looking at his son, his pride, he knew there was better saying fast so the pain will be less

Papa...is...i’m leaving, Champ...And i’m n-not coming back e-ever.-Gilbert said calmly but he’s voice break like crystal by seeing his son horrified expression

Why? Is it my fault? Papa...i...if i did something wrong...

It’s not your fault...I just have to go, because, well ‘Because I’ve to go...

But...But...Daddy scold Papa, he’s been an moron, he’s not leaving anywhere.-He said looking at his other dad with the hope that his daddy’s authority will be enough to make his Papa Stay...but daddy was sobbing and struggling to find the words to explain his baby that there was nothing to do

It’s your fault, you always nagging him that’s why he’s leaving us!!!! Kugel screamed angry making roderich break in tears. An image he never saw before his father Austria losing all his strength before his eyes

Don’t say such thing ever again. Gilbert said angry then decided to explain himself.- I’m not going away for my own choice, i’m...i-i leaving to that place called heaven...and it’s nobody’s fault but mine...I Can’t stay any longer, please don’t say that to your dad again...w-when I’ll be g-gone you’ll only have each other...please stop crying...please!!!!

Suddenly they were all hugging in a huge embrace trying to calm each other. But only crying more and more, Kugel apologized to his daddy and sat with tears in his eyes in the couch making many questions...some without an answer. After a while Gilbert explained himself. he was dying since a year ago, he just knew...he decided to keep his thoughts to himself until there was certainty of it...well today he woke up knowing it was today...they hugged a long and very needed hug;  and decided to spend the day together, kugel didn’t went to school or rod to work, they just stayed together in peace, they need to stay together in part cause they knew that “papa never lies” so it was something true they needed to accept; he was gonna be death by the noon, but roderich hoped for it to be a mistake (having already accepted that it wasn’t a prank) in perspective now it all makes sense, Gilbert was sickly and easily tired when doing sports, though it may be his age (Rod said to himself) His bruises and cuts when coming back from his adventures won’t heal at the moment not even fast or naturally on time but slowly Maybe he is sick, Roderich think at the moment. He was forgetting things…that was the worst of all the symptoms one Rod could not lie himself about. Gilbert phone all of the important people: friends, family...Ludwig never cried more...he hanged the phone angry thinking it was just a joke...Then when he picked it up for the second time he realized, and gil could hear sobbing from his baby brother

Talking about it was painful and it took a lot of Gil willpower to found the words and struggle with his brother’s denial and his sobbing. So as his own

You...always been...always been like my...you’re my father...-Ludwig confessed, It was something he felled all his life but never found the need of saying until now. It was an awful feeling to know that his brother and father and his first friend was leaving

Back then he remembers been an orphan with fairly nothing but his own self, then gilbert show in, wipe out his tears cure his bruises and promise to teach him how to be “Awesome like me” That was one of both Gilbert and Ludwig most beloved memories.

And you always been my son...I love you-Gilbert answered trying to sound strong enough but it was just to much

When the phone when down. It was a painful sensation like it’s the last time you speak to him…Gilbert knew…But for Ludwig there was still a secret desire that tomorrow morning gilbert will call and say something stupid like he uses…but he just knew as well

He just stood there with the phone in hand and tears in his eyes, sobbing uncontrollably in silent

Luddy, what’s wrong?- Feliciano asked his husband worried, when learned why, he just hugged him, as his lud cried on his shoulder like a kid, and feli cried too

Erzebeth broke into a beast trough the phone, in less than an hour, she appeared in the door angry and ready to kick some Prussian ass, if he wasn’t dying he sure...but then she saw Roderich expression. He jumped onto her hugging and searching for peace

Kugel run to her screaming “Aunt Hungary” Sobbing loudly

You already, are trying to find my replacement? Gilbert joked

It was true...and she cried and feel  her knees grow weak, losing the strength she have she searched for support against a wall...his best friend was dying and she was just there impotent looking at her family suffering and going to her for moral protection...but she couldn’t found any strength

You bastard- Roderich said as the sun was going down, the time for gilbert to go was close and the sun was mocking him, damn you sun He tough, as the sun goes slowly down but just not slow enough, if only it would never set…stay there forever in the last second of the day so it will be last forever this moment…and they’ll be a family forever

We never married, like in a wedding, i owe you that. Gilbert said

Yes, you just moved in without my permission... Austria clarify with a small smile crack of nostalgia on his tired face

Maybe in other life we can marry again.-he said trying to not cry in the process.-YOU’RE THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME… Gilbert said and closed his eyes for a too long moment

He opens then again to see his husband violet eyes for some more before leaving.

I Love you my dear idiot. Austria said

They send kugel to Hungary’s house earlier, no child should see his father die...it was rather difficult get him away, he didn’t want to leave but it was the best...to say goodbye to him was so painful

As the day passed to its final hours, the two make love, like nothing before because they knew there was not going to be More times for it in the tomorrow. They kissed and sat watching the sun go down on the rooftop of Austria’s large house, where our story began.

You are my sunshine...My only sunshine- Roderich knows all the most beautiful songs of the world. But he forgot about all but this one...he remembers then dancing to that simple song back at a ball on America’s House during The past century. That’s when they make public they were in love, and they singed to kugel to sleep since the first day he come into their lives

Don’t sing that song please that’s to cliché...and it bring good memories to me

I want y-ou to be happy…

But then it will make you sad every time you hear it…I don’t want that, so don’t sing. Also you are good at playing instrument not at sinning…Gilbert said- though I always enjoy the sound of your voice even when you nag me…

A Kiss between the two and no further words was needed, gilbert was unaware that his voice was turning slow and sounding weird…the time was coming…See his husband’s eyes for the last time then close them forever calm smile expression on his face, as tears run down his cheeks a fall on roderich’s lap.

Austria tough on how much Gilbert means to him…on how much he is going to miss his “ugly laugh” or his “Vampire demon red eyes” or his “Moral less Mind”…yes he was gonna miss it all he thinks why I never said how much despite all the annoyance and stupidity of his, how important he was.

Just silent and as the sun went down, roderich felt his life ending, he wasn’t dying but a part of him was dying, his beloved, the father of his child, his everything

I love you, Gilbert...I Love you

Ha-ha I knew it…I…I Love you too, Roderich...Gilbert said slowly without opening his eyes. Roderich…Roderich

RODERICH...RODERICH

Gilbert voice grow, like and scream, roderich open his eyes and saw his husband holding him and shaking him to wake him up...he was alive...it was just a fucking dream he Thought.

Roderich jump onto Gilbert, showering him on kisses, with tears in his eyes

Wow, wow, dear was your dreams weird...you were crying in your sleep, and you just jumped onto me kissing and hugging...not complaining tough. Want a Quickie?

Just shut up you...You

What Awesome husband, Amazing Lover or Perfect in everything Boyfriend?

You are just Awfully Annoyingly Stupidly Beautiful and Important. Roderich say and then looked Gilbert’s face that seemed but confused and flattered before he could speak

Don’t talk and kiss me you idiot...

Ok...Gilbert willingly agree

Kisses and more kisses, Kugel enters in his Picasso pajamas, waked up by the sound of struggling, roderich brings him in the cuddling

What is happening with you two? He asks confused as he is squeezed in between his fathers

We are a family, that’s all- Rod answers feeling good to say that. Yes we are a family, together forever

So this is it my first Fanfic. Hope is good. Fairly simple but I’m a beginner so well hope I’ll improve after a while taking request by the way

[cvrnewsdirectindia]

NYC’s Museum of Modern Art gets a makeover

For the last four months, New York City’s Museum of Modern Art – the most-visited modern art museum in the country – has been closed for a highly-anticipated expansion. For art lovers, those months may have seemed like an eternity.

But behind the scenes, the clock is ticking on the late-October re-opening.

“We are gonna open on time,” said MoMA’s director Glenn Lowry. “You know, one of the things that I’ve come to learn is that these types of projects come together in the last minutes. So, we will open on time, and it will look fantastic.”

The “New MoMA” is set to open October 21. Estimated to cost $450 million, the makeover will include an entire new wing, increasing the museum’s gallery space by nearly 30 percent. That means space for about one thousand additional pieces of art.

Correspondent Serena Altschul with Museum of Modern Art curator Sarah Suzuki. After a $450 million renovation, the “New MoMA” will reopen this month with nearly 30% more gallery space, and room for an additional 1,000 one pieces of art.

CBS News

“For me, what’s so exciting is that there were two museums when I arrived here 25 years ago,” said Lowry. “There was the museum that was on display, and there was the museum that was in storage. And they were unrelated. And now what we’ve done is to bring those two museums together, so the museum on display much better reflects that museum that was in storage.”

The Museum of Modern Art first opened its doors back in 1929. Its mission: to showcase modern and contemporary art. During those 90 years, it’s been through eight major renovations, the last one just 15 years ago. “Sunday Morning” covered that, too, with Morley Safer as our guide:

From 2004: The Museum of Modern Art’s expansion

Today, architect Liz Diller told correspondent Serena Altschul that, as a student, “I cut school all the time to come here and get a new education!”

She’s spent a lifetime visiting MoMA. Now her firm, Diller Scofidio + Renfro, is helping write the museum’s next chapter. Her goal: make the museum more inviting. That involved opening up the lobby, and moving the museum store down one level, with the entrance much more pronounced:

“This will be just full of natural light coming in,” she said. “And the store is actually bigger. So, even though it’s below the ground, it takes advantage of all this natural light – we have this fantastic visibility between the street and the lobby.”

Attention was paid to every detail, even the stairwell that connects the old and new building: “It’s very interesting because staircases are notoriously boomy, and loud,” she said.

The stairwells are lined with wood panels that are micro-perforated: “Tiny little perforations on these panels allow the sound to be absorbed, partially, by the panels themselves. Usually wood reflects the sound; here, it’s absorbing.”

Of course, the building isn’t the only thing getting spruced up. Over the past few months, each and every piece of art was removed from the walls. Masterpieces have been cleaned and touched up; galleries completely reorganized.

Cleaning masterpieces.

CBS News

Lowry said, “We used to be a museum made up of individual departments, and those departments were dislocated from each other. Now we’ve brought everything together under one circuit, so that you’ll see photography and film and architecture and design and painting and sculpture and new media, all together, in a new way that feels much more whole and, I think, real.”

New acquisitions are also on display, like a massive Richard Serra sculpture.

“Each column is actually 80 tons,” said Lowry.

“How did you get it in here, really?” asked Altschul.

Correspondent Serena Altschul and MoMA director Glenn Lowry with Richard Serra’s 2015 sculpture “Equal,” comprised of stacked forged-steel boxes.

CBS News

“It was an engineering miracle. First of all, we had to engineer these floors before we even began construction to support such an extraordinary weight.”

The museum will also increase the number of works by female artists – five times as many before.

One piece on view for the first time is by Indian artist Mrinalini Mukherjee, who came to prominence in the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s.

Indian artist Mrinalini Mukherjee’s dyed-hemp work “Yakshi” (1984).

CBS News

And the mission of the “New MoMA” to showcase more art doesn’t stop there.

“Every six months we’ll turn over a third total of our collection galleries,” said curator Sarah Suzuki, who is in charge of the opening.

Altschul asked, “Do you have to shut the whole museum down for another four months? What does it take to switch it over?”

“It is a big job, Serena. But if you come to MoMA in those moments, you might not even realize. Because there will be so much else on view and so much else going on here.”

Yes, there most certainly is a lot going on. Plenty is new about this “New MoMA,” even if it is just a matter of time before an even newer one comes along.

Lowry said, “We’ve probably pushed the footprint as broadly as we can. But 10, 15, 20 years from now when a new generation of curators needs to change the footprint of the galleries, we will find the way to make that happen.”

Andy Warhol’s “Campbell Soup Cans” (1962) are reinstalled at the Museum of Modern Art.

CBS News

       For more info:

      Story produced by Sara Kugel.

from CVR News Direct https://cvrnewsdirect.com/nycs-museum-of-modern-art-gets-a-makeover/

[tamboradventure]

Rediscovering the Lost Art of Travel

Posted: 5/16/2019 | May 16th, 2019

Seth Kugel is the former Frugal Traveler columnist for the New York Times and author of the new Rediscovering Travel: A Guide for the Globally Curious, from which this is adapted. I’ve known him for years and our travel philosophy dovetails a lot. I read his book last year and thought “If I were ever to write a book on the state of the travel industry, this is the book I would write!” It’s a great book and today, Seth excerpted part of the book for us!

Stenciled in white block letters on a dreary cement wall in Mezöberény, a tidy but fraying town of twelve thousand in the hyperbolically named Great Hungarian Plain, appeared the word:

SZESZFÖZDE

Hours earlier, in the overcast predawn hours of a nippy January day, I had stumbled off the Bucharest-to-Budapest train to see what it would be like to spend the weekend in the opposite of a tourist destination. Mezöberény was not just absent from guidebooks — it did not have a single restaurant, hotel, or activity listed on TripAdvisor, something that cannot be said for Mbabara, Uganda, or Dalanzadgad, Mongolia. I did have some info on the town, though, thanks to its municipal website: resident József Halász had recently celebrated his ninetieth birthday.

Or that’s what Google Translate told me. Hungarian is a Uralic language, more closely related to the output you might get falling asleep on a keyboard than to English or German or French. That makes even basic comprehension a challenge, as I found as soon as I rushed from the train to the station’s restrooms and faced the urgent need to choose between two doors: FÉRFI and NÖI. The authorities had apparently saved a few forints by not splurging on stick-figure signs.

The day had been born cold and gray and stayed that way as I walked through the town, slowly getting my bearings, intrigued by the pre-war, pre-Communist homes and the more than occasional bike rider — there were almost more bikes than cars — who waved hello. But then a winter drizzle took up, causing an abrupt decline in the number of cyclists even as the number of wandering American visitors held steady at one. To me, a travel day that turns rainy is like a piece of chocolate I’ve dropped on the floor: it’s significantly less appealing, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to throw it away.

It was in the first minutes of rain that I came across that stenciled sign on an otherwise residential street. Beyond the wall, down a cracking, now puddle-pocked driveway, were a dozen or so plastic barrels lined up like nuclear-waste drums. Beyond them, maybe a hundred feet from where I stood, was a one-story L-shaped building. What was this place? Well, SZESZFÖZDE, apparently. But what was that?

In the old days (say, 2009), I would have pulled out an English-Hungarian phrase book or pocket dictionary, but instead, I activated international roaming on my phone, carefully spelled out S-Z-E-S- Z-F-O-Z-D-E, and tapped Go.

The less-than-lightning speed of Great Hungarian Plain mobile service provided a dramatic pause. And then came my answer:

DISTILLERY.

You don’t say.

I would have guessed PRIVATE PROPERTY maybe, or DANGER—STAY OUT, or MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, YOU MEDDLING FOREIGNER! But a distillery? A wave of adrenaline washed down my torso as my lips curled into a dumb-luck smile.

Two rather gruff-looking men emerged from the door, the older one smoking a cigarette and wearing a sweater and work-stained trousers that suggested Warsaw Pact 1986 more than modern-day European Union. I waved to them, pointed to the bulky Canon 7D hanging from my neck, and then to the building. Old-school Google Translate.

They waved me in and gave me a tour.

Inside the ancient but fully functioning distillery, the men let me take pictures as they gave me a vaguely intelligible lesson via pointing, expressive looks, and smartphone-translated Hungarian, on how pálinka — Hungarian fruit brandy — was made.

Those barrels I had seen outside, it turned out, were full of fermenting pear and grape and apple juices. Inside, it was distilled somehow through a looping and tangled system of pipes running out of tin tanks up and along the walls. It looked like the laboratory of a mad scientist with a penchant for tacky linoleum flooring.

As they led me around, I engaged in that most intrinsic of travel activities: trying to see the world from the vantage point of someone utterly different from me. What was their life like? Had they traveled? Who were their parents and grandparents? The language barrier that did not allow them to answer did not stop me from wondering.

After soaking in every rusty detail and every glint of pride in the men’s tired eyes, I typed, “Come visit me in New York” into Google Translate — laughs all around — then headed back onto the drizzly streets of Mezöberény, utterly elated.

What was so great about this moment? Sure, the szeszfözde was a neat little story for friends, and in my case, worth a few paragraphs in the newspaper. But wasn’t it just a grimy business making local hooch in a town that even most Hungarians would classify as the middle of nowhere?

It was a great moment because I discovered it. Not an earth-shattering discovery in the sense of a cure for AIDS or a previously unknown species of poison-spitting neon frog the size of a pinky nail. But it was 100 percent unexpected, 100 percent real, and 100 percent mine.

Discovery used to be the lifeblood of travel, at least for those of us who shun tour-bus groups and all-inclusive resorts. We used to leave home knowing relatively little about our destination — perhaps with some highlighted guidebook pages denoting major attractions and local tipping etiquette, a list of tips culled from well-traveled friends, or articles copied and pasted into a Word document. For the ambitious, maybe a notional feel for the local history or culture gleaned pre-trip from a historical novel.

Beyond that, we were on our own.

Paper guidebooks frozen in time helped us along, as did pamphlets and paper maps from tourist information booths and tips from a hotel concierge. Earlier this century, Google searches in internet cafés also lent a hand. But otherwise, there was no choice: You decided what to do with your own eyes and ears, by wandering, by initiating human-to-human contact. Tips came from hearing fellow travelers’ stories over hostel or (non-Air) B&B breakfasts, entering a shop to ask directions and ending up in a conversation with the owner, or catching a whiff of fresh bread or sizzling chilies and following your nose.

Of course, all that still happens today — but only if you really go out of your way to make it happen. Not only is nearly every place in the world documented to within an inch of its life but that documentation — which comes dressed as both fact and opinion — is overwhelmingly and immediately available, thanks to pervasive technology. That’s great for many things in life — medical information, how-to videos, shorter commutes. But don’t we travel to break our routine? To experience the unexpected? To let the world delight us?

If we do, we have a funny way of showing it. We pore over online reviews for weeks, plan days down to the half hour, and then let GPS and the collected wisdom of the unwise lead us blindly. We mean well — no one wants to have a romantic dinner go wrong or to get lost and miss out on a “must-see attraction” or to risk chaos by failing to keep the kids entertained for three minutes.

But isn’t that just a digital version of the old-fashioned group tour? Well, almost, except that on the bus tour, you actually get to meet the person whose advice you’re taking.

One of my most ironclad rules of travel is this: the number of visitors a place receives is inversely related to how nice locals are to those visitors. Mezöberény, as far as I knew, had received precisely no foreign tourists ever. It was the anti-Paris, and this distillery the anti-Louvre.

People who inhabit the still-plentiful tourist-free swaths of the planet tend to be not only just nicer but more curious. They say a bear in the wild is just as scared of you as you are of it. I say people in places where outsiders rarely go are just as curious about visitors as visitors are about them. The question is not why the distillery workers invited me — a camera-toting, gibberish-talking stranger — in for a tour, it’s why wouldn’t they? If it were me, I’d be thinking: “What is this odd foreigner doing outside our szeszfözde with a camera? Wait till I tell the kids! And by the way, isn’t it about time we took a break?”

More importantly, is it possible that stumbling upon a dank distillery might be just as thrilling as a tour of one of the world’s great monuments? Did the surge of emotion I felt when the word distillery popped onto my screen match what I felt when I first glanced up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?

Probably not, although I remember the distillery moment quite precisely and barely recall what I felt at the Sistine Chapel. Why? Because although Michelangelo’s prophets and sibyls and biblical re-creations are several trillion times lovelier than rusty pipes in a concrete building reeking of fermented fruit, I had seen them before in photos, heard professors talk about them, and read other travelers’ accounts as I sought the best times to avoid crowds.

That’s why I believe it is time we rediscover travel and recognize the value of what an overdocumented world has taken away: the delight of making things happen on your own.

***

Seth is the former Frugal Traveler columnist for the New York Times and author of the new Rediscovering Travel: A Guide for the Globally Curious, from which this is adapted.

In this book, Kugel challenges the modern travel industry with a determination to reignite humanity’s age-old sense of adventure that has virtually been vanquished in this spontaneity-obliterating digital age. You can purchase the book at Amazon and give it a read.

Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the largest inventory. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and that will save you time and money too!

The post Rediscovering the Lost Art of Travel appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Nomadic Matt's Travel Site http://bit.ly/2Hl5QZz via IFTTT