#they were a ship of mine since pinkie pride

[mandakatt]

FFXV Fic - Anamnesis - Cor Leonis & Prompto Argentum

A/N: I am excited to share this one with you guys! This, is the piece that I got to write for the @thelionsigil​ - a Cor Leonis Zine. (My first Zine! *vibrates again*)

The team of mods was absolutely awesome to work with, and there’s so much amazing talent in one spot that I fangirled pretty hard. Not gonna lie. =p

So, now that the Zine has shipped, I can finally post this here. And when I got to write some Papa Cor I was excited to say the least!

Characters: Cor Leonis & Prompto Argentum Warnings: None Word Count: 1518 Summary: Cor sits with Prompto in Lestallum during a moment of respite from their hunts, and he comes to reflect over things in his past.

Things that maybe he could have done differently, especially where Prompto is concerned...

It wasn’t often that memories came flooding back to him like this, but he supposed it was the present company he was keeping. Cor sighed quietly through his nose, knowing all too well that the reason the young man sitting next to him doubted himself so much was because of him.

Cor was positive it was his choices that had set the ball rolling with Prompto’s self doubt.

"This is my fault.."

Cor looked down at the small child that was swaddled underneath his thick coat. He could feel Clarus’ eyes on him as he moved his arms to press the small child more firmly against his chest at its soft whine. 

“Your fault or not, I am assuming you know what must be done?” Clarus asked softly. 

Cor had said, repeatedly, that he was not good with children, and yet the child only seemed to stop crying when he’d swaddled him up and tucked him in close to his chest. He was confused at the amused smiles the others gave him when he’d try to pass the child to someone else, the boy would let off the loudest, wailing cry he’d ever heard.

“I will not allow the child to die,” He lifted his eyes to look at Clarus, “I will take responsibility.” 

“You?” Clarus seemed surprised by that answer, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

Looking down again as the child let off another soft whine, Cor gently reached into his coat to run his fingers slowly across the top of the baby's head. Slowly, the baby’s fussing gave way to a soft, burbling noise instead.

The child smelled like frost to him, almost like the promise of winter to come. Yet there was the distinct metallic tang of blood that went with it, and that made him wonder what was in store for the child in the future. 

Suddenly, the child let out a loud, whine-filled cry. 

“Ah, that’s a sound I am familiar with,” Regis’s voice gently pulled Cor from his thoughts as he lifted his eyes, “If you are to take responsibility, then you must make sure that they are well fed and cared for. Is that something that you think you can do?”

“If I feel that I am incapable, I will find someone who is.”

He wasn’t incapable. But with his duty to the crown it would be unfair for the child to be alone all the time.

“H-hey Cor? You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ll find the best family for the child. They will be well taken care of.”

Cor felt himself hesitate as Prompto nuzzled against him, giving off a soft sleepy noise. “He. Prompto. Call him by his name.” 

“F-fine,” The representative from child services fidgeted a bit on their feet, “H-His foster parents may change it, just so you are aware.”

With a nod Cor stepped closer. “Will I be able to visit him?”

“Yes. I do not see that as a problem.”

“Good.” 

Cor gently passed Prompto over to the representative, making sure they held him the way he’d been taught by Regis last week. He hesitated again when Prompto had started to cry. 

This was for the best. Yet he wondered why he was trying so hard to convince himself...

“You sure?”

Cor hummed softly, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Wh...W-What?”  

Turning his head to look over at Prompto, he couldn’t help but smirk as Prompto’s eyes widened as his face lit up with a smile that outshined the lights around the city.

“Oh gods,” Prompto laughed a little as he started to fidget with a bracelet on his wrist. “I-I mean, that was—I remember asking you to pinky swear as a kid with that saying.”

Cor’s eyes drifted down to Prompto’s wrist only to feel his breath slightly hitch.

“Cor! You came!”

With a bit of a grunt Cor laughed quietly as Prompto flung himself at him and wrapped his small arms about his waist. He gently ruffled the young boy’s hair. “Sorry I’m late…”  When he glanced about the house, he frowned at how quiet and dark it was.

“They—uh—had to run and get s-some things! B-But they’ll be back!”

Cor placed his hand on Prompto’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, knowing that Prompto had been alone most of the day. Again. He lowered himself down to one knee to be eye-level with him, and gently held out a long thin box. 

“...Happy Birthday, Prompto.”

Prompto’s face lit up into the brightest smile Cor had ever seen as he quickly took the box and ripped off the wrapping. For a moment, Cor feared that Prompto wouldn’t like his gift. But then the boy's arms were flung about his neck.  

“Cor!! Th-Thank you! So much!”

Cor nodded, “I promise to never miss one of your birthdays.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Pinky swear!” 

“ 'Pinky swear' ?”

“Yes!” Prompto stepped back and held up his little finger, “Wrap your pinky ‘round mine and say ‘cross my heart and hope to die.’ It means you can never break your promise!”

Snorting out a little laugh at the serious look Prompto was giving him, Cor gently wrapped his pinky around the boy’s and gave him a smile. “Alright then. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die...”

“I’m surprised you still have that.” Cor glanced at the bracelet around Prompto’s wrist.

“Even if it fell apart, I’d keep it,” Prompto said softly as he ran his finger between the strap of leather that wrapped twice around his wrist, “I mean, it was the best birthday present I’d ever gotten as a kid. There’s no way I’d lose it.”

Cor looked away, out towards the darkness again; not that there was anything to really look at beyond the lights that kept the daemons at bay, but he felt he couldn’t look at Prompto after hearing that. 

If that thin bit of leather was the best thing he’d ever gotten—then he’d failed. 

He’d failed Prompto worse than he’d failed his kings.

“It’s—it’s been my lucky charm ever since you gave it to me.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah! ‘Cause…well, shortly after you gave this to me, I found Tiny—I mean Pryna-and got to know Noctis and the rest of the guys. I-I don’t think it would’ve happened if you hadn’t given this to me.” 

Cor’s brows furrowed as he wondered if he’d raised Prompto, would Prompto be as bright and friendly? Or would he have become more stoic and methodical like he himself was. It was a strange thought, and for some reason it caused a snort of laughter to pass his lips.

“Even if that bracelet brought you luck, it was you that got yourself where you are,” He felt himself smile as he turned his head to look at the young man. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

Prompto’s face shifted through several emotions before he quickly looked back at his bracelet and spun it slowly around his wrist. Sighing, Cor looked back out into the darkness.

“Whoa! I just got praised.. By the Immortal!”

“Don’t take that as leave to slack off. You’re only as good as your last battle.”

“Er...yes, Sir! I’ll keep at it, Sir!”

“I’m proud of you not only because of how far you’ve come, and what you’ve achieved, but because of who you are. He’ll come back, and when he does, he’s going to want you at his side.”

“I know,” came Prompto’s soft reply as Cor turned his head to look at him. “Thanks. Y’know? For just—for being here. For being there for me when I was younger. W-when you could...”

I wasn’t there enough for you. Much like I wasn’t there enough for them. I should have— 

“I mean—this is kinda—Ok so...thank you. For—For being a Dad.”

Cor found himself at a loss for words, before he managed a soft “...What?”

“Even though you were busy you made time for me. Like on my birthdays. You always—you never treated me like I wasn’t human. You’ve never treated me like I wasn’t worth something...and I’m positive that saved my life.”

Each word hit him harder than the last, and Cor found he couldn’t look away from Prompto. He didn’t deserve that praise. He—

“I mean it. It’s...why I’ve always kinda looked up to you. Wanted to be like you. ‘Cause you don’t give up. No matter what. No matter how hard it gets. And you kinda...gave me that courage, I-I guess.”

“I...see…”

“I-I mean, I don’t w-want to call you ‘D-Dad’ and stuff, I just mean—”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Wh-What?”

“I...I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“O-Oh…Oh.”

Cor felt himself smile again and looked out into the darkness once more, his chest starting to swell with an emotion he couldn’t really place his finger on. It wasn’t pride, it was something else. Something more. 

And it empowered him.

Now, I understand entirely why you did those things for Noctis, Regis. 

I swear… I will protect them all.

#meraki #Final Fantasy 15 #Final Fantasy XV #FFXV #Cor Leonis #Prompto Argentum #Cor Leonis Zine #the lions sigil #Dad Cor

[luciaspelsprojdiary]

The Street

How does the street speak and what does it say?

I started looking at the street because I had been looking at schools and childhood and discovered a subsection of human geography; children’s geographies, the study of the spaces and places of children. From there I began looking at children’s street culture, in particular the act of play on the street. In looking at collection I began to think about collections of objects in public spaces, in particular somewhat ephemeral collections that go undocumented.

What is the value of the street? How can we capitalise on this value by transforming or celebrating our treatment of the street? How has this piece of infrastructure formed how we behave in an urban environment? This is a space where we meet each other, greet each other, pass each other indifferently or protest together. Arguably our most important urban spaces; where we encounter others the most. 

The narrative of the street is not as straightforward as destruction over preservation - it’s really much more organic than that and informed by the people who walk the streets. Look at what the street has already done for us in order to explore what we can do for it?

Starting points;

The street as a subdivision of space - I have been looking at smaller spaces within larger spaces for several recent briefs ;I created a matchbox container park whilst mapping Rankin Inlet and interrogated cabinets during the Legs brief. The street is a cabinet of space within a city - containing the fundamentals of that particular street. I think it would be interesting to think of the street as a drawer containing objects specific to its “category” and collect typologies of streets - what constitutes a neighbourhood street, a high street, the street market, what do we expect to see on these streets and what do we not expect to see? Also what ultimately forms a street? Yes tarmac is poured to create space for cars but do rows of buildings or a path frequently walked but unmarked precede this? Is there in fact a system of organisation where we might not immediately identify one? Can you decide what is the highstreetiest high street (Mostest) by way of comparison plus interrogation of key features? Art as a means of containing large scale of thought and of the physical realm into a small space.

Physical Education - Andrew Cranston. Inner scale - how much can a small space contain if the objects within it have a lot of symbolic value? “small paintings can be describing large or even vast space.” Child’s distortion of scale.

Can a cabinet be a street in a city?

Matchbox museum - Rankin Inlet

Examples of street typologies/ street “furniture” typologies

Street Furniture - interrogating objects specific to that typology of street. I found street furniture; what could be seen on the street and the treatment of these objects to be a key insight into the small community of Rankin Inlet. The necessity for above ground sewage pipes communicated adaptation to the harsh climate, the shipping containers evidenced their lack of subsistence and the abandoned mine structures tagged with “we got left behind” communicated their emotional relationship to being a post industrial society. (https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/33556794.pdf paper on mining in Rankin Inlet references “memoryscapes” the industrial ruins provide resources for place identity and community memories: the role of memory in “articulating the relationship between community and landscape, or between landscape and an individual.”)

Children’s street culture - I am interested in looking at the games children play communally on the street (mostly pre - introduction of cars.) How does the street as a structure inform urban children’s play? I find this particularly fascinating because often games are merely words and movements and rules born of the mind and acted out momentarily. What of these has survived and why? How valuable are these games to the developing child? What are the remnants of play on the streets? What objects are borrowed from the environment, which ones are additions to the environment? Which ones can only be used in the urban environment? I.e a game of marbles can only be played on a hard surface.

Archives:

https://www.opiearchive.org/ (games/ street culture are largely documented in personal archives/ initiatives)

From the Opie collection:

Dan Jones:

https://spitalfieldslife.com/2020/09/21/chris-kelly-dan-jones-in-the-playground-x/

https://spitalfieldslife.com/2010/04/17/dan-jones-rhyme-collector/

Dan’s painting of Christ Church School, Brick Lane in 1982, as reproduced in “Inky, Pinky, Ponky”, a book of playground rhymes.

Chris Kelly - photographs of East London schools

https://www.londonplay.org.uk/content/29934/our_work/recent_work/play_streets/the_history_of_play_streets

Sound and Film:

https://belfastfilmfestival.org/films/dusty-bluebells

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/topics/Children%27s_street_culture (time to listen to children’s street culture)

https://movingimage.nls.uk/film/0799

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBCJhNiKhFE

Where do the Children Play? Animated music video

In and Out the Dusty Bluebells - Children’s street games performed by the pupils of St Mary’s Primary School Belfast. (film still)

Whilst looking at alphabetisation for The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread I explored language, in particular the categorisation and organisation of language, as a means of encouraging division and exerting power. I looked at the Tower of Babel and how the creation of cities and “scattering of people across the earth” is in religious text attributed to the introduction of different languages, leading people to seek separate spaces to live due to a loss of understanding and empathy. 

The language and lore of children’s games are a means of construction, imaginary and physical, and categorisation as a response to the world (street) around them. To create rules that others follow based on spaces around you and use spaces around you to implement them. 

(Control of the child - children are forced off the streets for means of protection?, categorisation of childhood as a stage of life.) 

Tower of Babel is a city in the sky (link to Robinhood Gardens streets in the sky) - aspirational building, overcoming social oppression.  

https://jhna.org/articles/come-let-us-make-a-city-and-a-tower-pieter-bruegel-the-elder-tower-of-babel-creation-harmonious-community-antwerp/ (particular painting of Tower of Babel being created in tandem with the unification and urbanisation of a community in Antwerp)

Documentation of the street Mapping is of course fundamental to understanding the street but I think it would be interesting to look at and create maps of lesser documented aspects of the street (smaller movements.)

During my project on Rankin Inlet I “mapped” the route that number 1 would have to take to visit number 8, so few were the residents.

I mapped my mum explaining how she curated her display cabinet during my cabinets project through collage and language/ typography.  Mapping children’s lore is a means of documenting their way of organising and categorising the world. I.e. mapping the movements of children playing games in films - how do they use the space of the street and how does it inform the structure of their games, the words they use?

Often in films you have a cut to children playing on a street -  a familiar sight.

(in Das Leben Der Anderen the Lives of Others) we see the main character play with children on a street, a light and playful scene which contrasts the darker tones and nature of the other scenes- the street is where we encounter the lives of others.)

   I have been documenting streets for quite a few years myself and have a large personal archive of street photography on my phone. What is discarded in these spaces vs what is deliberately placed in them? Patterns which can be identified and organised through photography.

Photography is a key source as the street is incredibly ephemeral and in constant flux. I think streets are largely documented through a very personal lense, a particular street walked by a particular person on a particular day or that is of significance to them. Or the streets which happened to be around at the time of the making of a film.

Street photographers - Roger Mayne in particular focused on children on the streets of London

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2014/jun/13/roger-mayne

http://www.massobs.org.uk/ The Mass Observation archive - initiative to observe and record everyday British life

Exhausting a street?  

Street and childhood - both defined by personal experiences of them/ personal methods of documentation - therefore personal accounts are fundamental to look at.

“Childhood is an interesting zone, an interior space,” (street as a space, stage of life as a space) - other accounts of childhood experiences and games will exist in peoples personal biographies and memoirs

i.e the personal accounts of Andrew Cranston and Stevie Smith below

The street as a space to protest as well as communicate pride in the place/space you feel you belong to/ feel belongs to you (taking to the streets). The desire to create an environment is perhaps more present in children, whilst the desire to control and order an existing environment is more manifest in adults. Patriotism and nationalism. The post colonial era, British people wanting who they feel does not belong on their streets off their streets - this is solely based on visual assessment of individuals . Streets as a territorial space, our streets (tags.)

The street can be a space to be brutally honest about what isn’t working, your audience is unbounded.

https://www.huckmag.com/art-and-culture/art-2/meet-chicago-artist-running-protest-banner-library/

https://www.independentcinemaoffice.org.uk/films/britain-on-film-protest/

stills:

International comparison -  During A levels I looked at whether or not Germany is actually as organised as everyone says it is. In particular the Ordnungsamt in Germany - essentially the Order Police and whether or not the stereotypes surrounding this nationality are present in the furniture, format and treatment of the street. The Ordnungsamt might call someone out for not having their door number at the right height. I think looking at a contrasting culture and making comparison is very important to fully understanding behaviour on the street and how it is informed by the visual language and structure of the street. I have also extensively documented the streets of Berlin through photography. Is order more inherent in the German street? How can we tell? Is it in how people behave in the street or how the street itself is structured or does one inform the other? German proverbs “Ordnung muss sein” There must be order.

https://www.goethe.de/ins/pl/de/kul/mag/22109580.html (is there really order in Germany?)        

https://www.easygerman.org/podcast/episodes/3 (podcast on order in Germany)

Streets in the sky - social housing utopia - I briefly explored the RobinHood Gardens estate for IB Art in connection with the idea of glamorising childhood. What did the concept of streets in the sky refer to? It sounds so magical but also kind of dangerous and ultimately it fell apart. This is an estate I have also extensively documented through photography, particularly as it was about to be pulled down. 

Stills from film Streets in the sky documenting the structure of Robinhood Gardens Estate  https://filmfreeway.com/452396

There are extensive articles/ essays discussing the failure of this architectural initiative with many making references to propaganda for this (failed) utopian future ^^^

https://www.architectural-review.com/archive/notopia-archive/notopia-the-fall-of-streets-in-the-sky

Walking_on_streets-in-the-sky_structures_for_democ.pdf

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2016/oct/22/lived-brutalism-portraits-from-robin-hood-gardens-housing-estate-in-pictures (looks at individuals who lived in the estates)

Conveying layers of past in space - links to Eastside Projects - layers of Birmingham https://eastsideprojects.org/about/users-manual/

The New York High Line is a Street in the sky. The redevelopment of obselete infrastructure as public space. (links to idea of Landscape Urbanism. The imaginary)

[inkstaineddove]

At the Edge of the World

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary; mentioned Germany, Austria, Russia

Summary: Twenty years into their life behind the Iron Curtain, Hungary and Prussia try to keep their hopes for a better life and the memories of their loved ones alive.

Potsdam, 1973.

Gilbert was hard at work in the kitchen. Rolling meatballs, separating egg yolk from whites, adding a pinch of this or that spice as needed. A feeling of pride swelled up in him. While his masterpiece was yet to be finished, the act of creating was satisfying enough. He dipped his pinky into the gravy and licked it. Delicious.

“That’s disgusting, don’t do that.” Despite her complaints, Erzsébet grabbed his hand and took a taste for herself. “Not bad. It’s like you’re almost completely domesticated.”

“Not bad? Erzsi, you wound me. This is the best meal I’ve ever made and that’s all you can say on it?” He teasingly wagged a finger at her. “Marrying rich spoiled your tastes. I’m going to have to fix that.” He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him. “And, I’ll have you know, I’m still wild. I’m still untamed.” As he spoke, he left a trail of slow and methodical kisses along her neck. His eyes caught sight of the timer. “Ah, shit. I should start boiling the potatoes.”

Everything about their lives had been different, if she bothered to think about it. She often did as it was impossible not to. Within a span of a few decades – an insignificant amount of time to their kind – everything had turned upside down. For her, she had been married then divorced and finding her own way then controlled by two different strains of evil. For him, he was the king of the world until the world turned to new leaders, leaders with the power to take from him what he’d so easily stolen from others.

She poured herself a glass of wine and him one of beer. They were practically living together now, not going more than a couple days between seeing each other. Their lives had become fully integrated, something she hadn’t noticed until it was complete. It was to the point now that, even when she was spending time with Feliks, Gilbert didn’t try to make any excuses to be away.

To her surprise, there was a kiss on her cheek. “What secrets are my cabinets telling you, Liebling? Anything good?” Gilbert chuckled good-naturedly. “You’ve been standing completely still for a minute. You’ve been doing that more often.”

Erzsébet didn’t want to delve into what all had been playing through her mind. At least, not now. “Can’t a woman have her secrets?” She smirked, an idea coming to mind. “Your cabinets were telling me they think you need to paint the room a different color.”

“Tell the cabinets they’re stupid if they think I can just go to the store and pick up paint.” He turned away, deciding to set the table instead. He smiled at the bouquet of tulips at the center. With Erzsébet sharing his home, she had brought more color into it and made it feel livelier with little touches like these. Not only that, but now his garden had greater variation than simply large shrub and slightly smaller shrub.

“You can’t? I thought you had all these connections.” She was angling for more information, like she always did when this topic arose. “How do you explain why your place has the heat on in winter and mine doesn’t?” She tried to keep her tone light, but she had been dying to know. She would be lying if she hadn’t snuck into his office to look for papers, but he managed to conceal everything that would’ve been of interest.

He gave her the response he always did: “Russia and I were friends before. I like to think he looks out for me more, that a part of him still remembers that.” He felt the weight of her gaze looming over him. Prussia’s hand hovered above the table, fork in hand. He sighed. Hungary had never heard him sound so exhausted. “Can’t a man have his secrets too?” Feeling guilty over the possibility of disappointing her again, he backtracked. “We can discuss it later. Let’s enjoy dinner first.”

They passed the meal in quiet, both preoccupied with their own thoughts. Gilbert’s mind was racing. How would he tell her? He knew how she felt about these people, how she never hesitated to denounce their actions. What would she think of him? What would happen to him if she ran out, ran and never returned?  Turning to Saxony was out of the question and Brandenburg, while Gilbert owed much to him, was not a comforting sort of man.

As if reading his mind, he felt the gentle brush of her foot against his ankle. Her eyes were brimming with reassuring affection. Surety and devotion surged through him. He reminded himself that he was being ridiculous, that whatever happened they would get through this. They had been through too much together for this to simply be the end.

While she cleaned the dishes, he refilled their glasses, not doubting their necessity for a moment. Once she was finished, he opened his mouth to speak. “Can we talk outside?” Erzsébet cut him off. He had told her many times that his house wasn’t bugged and, while she believed him, it made her more comfortable.

On the patio, she shifted around on the sofa until finding a satisfactory position. He lit a cigarette with shaky hands. Each year, it seemed his smoking got worse from Erzsébet’s perspective. She refrained from judgement. She was no better. Her drinking had increased exponentially as well, as she found refuge in her vice.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Prussia cautiously began speaking. “Years ago, when this whole thing began, Ivan offered me a proposition. He knew I would get restless if I was stuck just doing the same bureaucratic horseshit as everyone else and claimed it would be a ‘waste of my talents.’ He told me all about the damned secret police, every fucking detail to make me a liability. Then, to try and get me excited, he promised me all these wonderful things. That I don’t have to worry about food, about gas and electric to my homes, that I won’t be wiretapped.” He shook his head, disgust written plainly on his face. “He said this was a gift for me, a testament to our friendship. What friendship is there when one friend strongarms the other into selling his soul?”

Erzsébet didn’t know what to say. All the words dried up in her mouth. That explained his secrecy. She nodded at him to continue, needing to hear more from him for her own peace of mind.

“I regret not pushing back more. I should’ve rejected the offer and dealt with the repercussions as they came, to try and pretend like I had principles.” There was that sigh again. Wearied and defeated, Atlas unable to support the world any longer. “I was so tired, Erzsi. What did pushing back against things do for me last time? All I had left was my conscience, no other acknowledgement from anyone that my actions mattered. I couldn’t keep my resolve for any longer. My only goal now is to take care of us both.” Craving nicotine, he took a long drag from his cigarette. “Please don’t think I’m a monster. I interfere when I can, but they keep me away from arrests. My sin is in training these brutes.”

When he’d finished, a stillness settled over them and throughout the garden. The only movement came from a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. Gilbert’s heart was racing as worst-case scenarios rushed through his mind. He braced himself, accepting a smack in the face before it could occur. He deserved it, he deserved nothing more than her full contempt. He began planning for a life without her, attempting to create a routine that would keep him as occupied as possible. The catastrophizing was in full swing.

“I feel like I should be more surprised than I am,” she mused. Her nail tapped lightly against her wine glass. She took a leisurely sip. “You had me believing it would all be worse than it is.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll help you pack.” He paused, only now processing what she had just said. “Wait, what?”

“I can see why you wouldn’t fight back. Even before the end of the world you’ve seemed so…done with everything. I’d like to say that I would have reacted differently, but I have my doubts. Who wouldn’t be resigned to whatever life threw at them next after dissolution? It’s a distasteful situation, but that’s how everything’s been since the thirties.” A few giggles escaped her at his reaction. “What’s with that shocked look on your face? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

He was currently doing gymnastics in his mind, trying to connect reality with his expectations. “You’re not leaving me? You can’t stand collaborationists! Why aren’t you screaming at me?”

She couldn’t suppress her laughter any longer. His overblown reaction was too much for her to handle. She clutched her stomach with one hand and wiped away a tear with the other. “Do you want me to yell at you?” Another laughing fit. Once calm, she took his hand in hers and kissed it. “You’re right, I loathe them with every fiber of my being. The ones who work in tandem with these creeps for power, they disgust me and I wash my hands of them. Those who are doing it to survive, because they had no other options? I understand they’re doing it out of desperation or as a last resort. I don’t hate the desperate, Gil, and I couldn’t hate you.”

The knot in Gilbert’s stomach began to dissipate. The worries that had been nagging at his mind began to be hushed. He buried his head in her shoulder, needing the closeness to keep himself composed. “Thank you.” The words were barely a whisper. “I was terrified you wouldn’t be able to stand me anymore. If I was without you I-I don’t know I’d do.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed such a sentiment to her, but it was the first time Erzsébet believed it. Her grasp on him tightened when she felt her shoulder growing moist. She ran her fingers through his hair in an effort to be soothing. “Come on, there’s no reason to think about those things. You’re going to have to try harder to get rid of me.” She gently brought his face up to look at hers, a reassuring smile on her lips. “For better or worse, you’re stuck with me.”

Despite regaining his composure, he kept her pulled close to him. He needed the comfort physical proximity brought. To distract himself from the despairing thoughts swirling in his head, he began playing with the ends of her hair. His cigarette had been taken from him by Erzsébet, who now puffed on it herself. It repulsed her, but it was something to take the edge off as she’d run out of wine.

“You’re a good man, Gilbert.” Her voice appeared out of the dark. “You’re a better man than you think you are. I know you’ll never agree, but you’ve done things an evil man would never have done. Don’t be so quick to believe that you’re the villain.”

“This isn’t the fate a good person.”

“Would you say I’m evil? Or Katyusha or Feliks or Toris or any of the others?” He turned his head away. She knew his answer. “Exactly. You’re not a saint, but none of us are. None of us deserve what we’ve gotten here. Stop taking this as divine judgement when it’s nothing but mortal failings.”

The sound of crickets chirping filled the air. Erzsébet extinguished the cigarette at last before flicking it into the ashtray. She peered up, wanting to examine Gilbert and deduce what was happening in his mind. Normally, he was an easy person to read and one who whose emotions were clear as day. Only in affairs of the state was he usually so indecipherable. His eyes were straight ahead, his face a blank slate.

Eventually, he felt her gaze on him and looked down. He could sense her concern and forced a wide grin. “Don’t worry about me so much. I’m fine. I’m always fine.” He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “Nothing ever gets to me for long.” It sounded as if he were trying to reassure himself too.

The mood was too somber. For her own sanity, she would need to bring them to lighter spirits. “So, when you made this deal with the devil,” the look he shot her warned her to tread carefully. She blew him a kiss to let him know she was teasing. “Would it have killed you to make sure I was taken care of? Or was it all a rouse to have me spend autumn and winter here?”

“I did try to take care of you, but he wasn’t going for it. He said it was like him asking me to go easy on France. Which, really, how could you have me argue with that?” He patted her thigh. “Maybe next time don’t kill so many Russians.”

She shoved his hand off. “As if you’re one to talk! What a bastard, why does he think he’s so high and mighty?”

“Because he won the damn war! You’re acting like this is the worst thing he’s done to you!” Another cigarette was between his teeth as he spoke. While he fumbled with the lighter, she stole it from him. “Hey! That was my last one!”

“You’ll be fine without it. You reek of tobacco, I don’t want to smell it when I’m this close to you. Watch it!” A struggle ensued for the cigarette, resulting in them tumbling onto the porch deck. Erzsébet had successfully maintained her claim on it and, pinning Gilbert down, tossed it a couple meters out of reach. “Ha, I win again.”

Crossing his hands behind his head, he smirked up at her. “If this is what losing is, I don’t exactly mind.” He couldn’t help laughing when she smacked him in the chest. “What? I’m not allowed to enjoy myself? Do you want me to suffer more?”

She slid off him, moving to lay her head on his chest. “I’m starting to think you haven’t suffered enough.”

Gilbert’s mind began racing again. These past decades had been torturous. Even having Erzsébet by his side, it didn’t dissipate all the horrors they’d witnessed and been subjected to since being sacrificed to Russian ambitions. It was a testament to their endurance that they continued pushing on with whatever hope they deemed safe to maintain under this system. His thoughts drifted to those they’d left on the other side of the curtain. On the worst days, the memories of the family they’d left behind were the only fuel either of them had left. His belief in God had been squandered long ago, yet he still found himself habitually praying for their safety and to someday see them again.

“Neither of them would be able to handle this.” He didn’t feel the need to clarify. She would know who he was referring to. “Can you imagine Ludwig here? The kid would be a neurotic mess, too much of a control freak to take the passive role.”

“I wonder who he inherited that from.” She shook her head, imagining Ludwig in this sick performance of theirs. “He asks too many questions sometimes. You’d be taking so many beatings for him.” She paused, the memory of Ludwig as a child coming to her. His wide blue eyes, how precocious he was, the way he idolized the three of them. “On second thought, we both would be.”

His fingertips brushed along the small of her back. She could see the hints of a smile on the corner of his mouth. “We would have to trade off.” He chuckled, considering their remaining family. “Can’t forget Roddy either. He wouldn’t be able to stop running his mouth, demanding the respect of an aristocrat as if these people haven’t murdered them for the same.”

“Please, that’s simplifying it too much. We wouldn’t try to protect him the first time, thinking he would be able to handle it. He would be so battered, there would be no question in our minds what we would have to do.” She rolled her eyes. The scene was so vivid to her that, if she squinted, it would appear as reality. “At least with Ludwig he could be reasoned with. Roderich would be insulted if we ever suggested to him that he shut up to placate such barbarians.”

“I’d rather deal with obstinacy than Ludwig’s depressive angst. If you think I’m bad, wait till you see the kid in action. He’d have us all slitting our wrists in no time.” The mood shifted around Gilbert as his last conversation with Ludwig came to mind. “He was a mess before I had to leave. Kept repeating how it wasn’t fair that I received the worst of it, that he should be taking my place instead. Funny time for him to want play the hero, huh?” He laughed softly, but there was no humor to his joke. “I told him that it’s fine, that my purpose is to take care of him. What kind of-” he hesitated, always nervous to speak the word.

“You can say it. You’re with me.”

A loud exhale. “What kind of Vatti would I be if I sent him to the vultures? If our places were reversed, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” A morose smile settled on his lips. Looking at the stars reminded him that he wasn’t as far from Ludwig as it felt. “The best prisoners we get are from the West. According to them, he’s doing well for himself and staying out of trouble. If those two morons don’t blow us all to hell, I want to tell him I’m proud of him and the man he’s grown into.”

The whole time he spoke, Erzsébet had been listening intently. She squeezed him tightly when he finished. There was too much to say, her emotions were overwhelming. Nostalgia for their old life settled in. Even though their relationships had been incredibly complex and fraught for most of it, she longed for the past and how quaint it all seemed now. “How much longer do you think this will last?” What she wouldn’t give now to embrace Ludwig and Roderich, to tease them both about their idiosyncrasies and irritate them with her own. The past wasn’t perfect, but its blemishes made it all the more beautiful.

Gilbert mentally wrestled with her question. How much longer could this go on? He knew nothing lasted forever – his own quick ascendency and downfall served as a personal reminder – but the Soviet Union’s vice grip on the present felt impenetrable. “Roderich used to ask me the same thing about the Nazis and every time I would tell him it couldn’t be much longer. That it would be another year at most. Neither of us ever believed it, but it was a comforting lie.” He scowled, pessimism taking control. “How silly would it be to delude ourselves with the same thing? Is two years realistic enough or should it be three?”

“Two. I want to have hope, even if it’s false.” She was tracing shapes on his chest. She traced the silhouette of an eagle. “If we both rebelled, we might have a chance this time. We both know we’re stronger together. Besides, I’m sure your gun is bigger than Russia’s.”

Her euphemism awarded her a laugh, giving things the semblance of quasi-normalcy. “Clever.” He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t tempt me with a suicide mission. We should head inside. It’s getting late and my back is stiff.” He tried rising, but she refused to budge.

“It’s warm for October. We haven’t slept under the stars in years, not since when your first told me you love me. Could we tonight? While the weather is still nice?”

By no means did he want to. But when she stared at him with those gorgeous emerald eyes, with ardor that was reserved only for him, how could he deny her anything? Whenever she looked at him like that, he wouldn’t hesitate to gift her the world if it was what she desired. “Of course, Liebling, though I would like to grab my pillow.”

With the moon and the sky their only witnesses, it was the first night of peace they found in years.

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph hungary #hws hungary #pruhun #aph pruhun #hws pruhun #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #aph fanfic #hws fanfic #historical hetalia

[tobastianstardy-blog]

Gangster Blues

Part 2

So I’ve noticed I tend to rush certain things and events so maybe I’ll do some flashbacks in future chapters, but we shall see. This one is a short one, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as it starts to pick up just a bit. This will be an Alfie x ofc fic but who can resist some Tommy? 

 word count: 2907

WARNINGS: Violence, blood, domestic abuse. 18+ for possible future sexual references.

                Once the ship arrived, Giana set off in search to purchase a car, as it was a long way to Camden town. She scanned her small list of relatives and seen one that resided in, Birmingham. Now the distance was nearly the same, just in the opposite direction. She figured she'd go out of her way now before she got nice and settled into her new home, in Camden. 

        When she arrived in Birmingham, she wasn't too shocked at the wild things she had seen, like people screwing in the streets and drunkards throwing blows at each other. Sure, it was different from Brooklyn, but it not by much anyway. Her aunt, Allison had warmed up to her quite fast. Giana's mother, Emily, had told Allison all about her, and that she may have to keep a close eye on her.

"Your uncle Harry will be home from work soon, deary. He can't wait to meet you." she smiled sweetly before handing Giana a cup of piping hot tea. "And what does uncle Harry do exactly?" Giana blew into her cup trying to cool it down. "Well sweety, I s'pose I got no reason to lie to you. Uncle Harry works for the Peaky Blinders." "Peaky Blinders?" she raised a brow up to her yellow headed aunt. "It's a gang here, the Shelby's, yeah, much like the gang you had in America." she nudged Giana gently. "How would you know about that, Aunt Allison?" Giana stared harshly. "Oh, baby. Your mother and I may 'ave not seen each other in many, many, years, but we still write each other." Allison placed a comforting hand on Giana's shoulder. "But enough gangster talk, you're suppose to be on vacation. Forget about work and just 'ave a good time, my darling." Giana nodded with a smirk.

        "Aunt Allison?" she sipped her tea. "Yes, baby?" "I hope I'm not poking my nose where it doesn't belong, but I was told you had a daughter, around my age? Where is she now?" "Oh, yes, of course. My Winnie. She hasn't lived here in several years now...we had a bit of a falling out. Last I heard she was working at some club down on Bleaker st." "What kind of club?" "You know, I'd imagine not very different from the clubs down in New York. Women dancing around half naked serving up 'foot juice' and what not." she scoffed. "Sounds...interesting. Bleaker st you say?" Allison crossed her arms and sighed heavily. "Be careful out there alright. Remember you ain't got no men here to 'ave your back if you get ya self into trouble." "Mind you, Aunt Allison but I never NEEDED men to protect me." Giana winked playfully.

        The club was in a seemingly worn down building with dirty dark glass windows. Giana wiggled out of her long black coat and placed it on the rack near the entrance revealing the dark green dress, beaded with black sequins that fit nicely around her curvy body. She swayed her fleshy bottom as she walked towards the bar, nearly snapping the necks of the men trying to get a good look at her as she passed them by. "How about a drink, handsome?" she winked at the man behind the bar slipping some money into his hand. Without any hesitation he poured a clear liquid in a glass and handed it to her. "What's a pretty dame like yourself doing in such a place like this?" he leaned over, his eyes never leaving her ample cherry red lips. "I'm looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me out?" she batted her long thick lashes at him. "I'm looking for a 'Winnie Evans'." "Ah, Winnie of course. She's over in that corner talking to the Shelby's." he pointed to a dimly lit booth surrounded by men and loose women. "Thank you, kindly." She chugged the rest of her drink and slipped him some more money for his help. 

        As she got closer to the booth not only could she see a pair of eyes, blue as ocean staring her down she could feel them on her. The group of people surrounding the table parted like the red sea as she made her way to him. "I'm sorry to bother sir, but you see, I'm looking for my cousin. 'Winnie' would be her name." she spoke directly to the man that couldn't to take his eyes off of her. He was dressed rather nice with short black hair and his face, his face, carved by the hand of God himself.  A woman sitting on the lap of the man next him shot her head up very quickly, "Why, I'm Winnie." she looked Giana up and down. "Cousin, you say?" her British accent was as thick as molasses. "Yes, on your mother's side. I'm Giana R-" "OH! Yes! I've heard of you before." she kissed the man she was sitting on and stood to her feet. "It's nice to finally meet you!" she held her hand out for a shake. "Arthur, this is my cousin, from America I was telling you about." she turned to the older fellow in the booth. "American, ay?" the man with ocean blue eyes spoke up. "Winnie, why don't you introduce us properly?" he added while lighting up a cigarette. "Of course, my apologies." Winnie glanced down to her feet and back up with a fresh bright smile. "This is my cousin, Giana Russo." Winnie placed her arm loosely around Giana's back. "This is Arthur, and  Tommy Shelby."

"Pleasure to meet you." Giana slipped off her black gloves and shook their hands. "Oh, the pleasure is mine, darling." Tommy exhaled his smoke with a hint of lust in his eyes. "Russo, is it? You Italian?" Tommy tilted his head running his eyes up and down her body imagining what she looked like underneath. "Half. My father Italian and my mother, British." she licked her lips to tease him. "Please, won't you sit down and join us." Tommy gestured for her to sit next to him, and there it was. That familiar spark of a light bulb going off in Giana's head again.

        Giana almost immediately "moved into" Winnie's place. She had decided to stick around Birmingham a little while longer despite having purchased a home down in Camden Town, which probably was covered in dust by now. She wanted to see how her cards played out with Tommy. It's been a few weeks since she had started seeing Tommy, and it was no secret to anyone to know how Tommy was completely and utterly sprung on Giana. He would spoil her with with gifts and shower her with affection. The first time they fucked she swore he cried a little afterwards or maybe that was her massive ego imagining it, but the longer she stuck around the more bored she became. She got to know the Shelby's better and how they ran things. They were smart men who ran their business well, but every now and then they got sloppy, and too emotional. She knew she couldn't possibly take charge like she had with Emilio, especially after meeting Aunt Pol. That woman was just was smart and clever as Giana and knew she'd never be able to pull one over on her. 

        It's not that Giana didn't like Tommy, she did. I mean he was a Shelby and Shelby's are the big bad talk of the town, and she loved herself an actual good gangster, but he started to become soft because of her. Not only around his brothers but even in bed, and it was a huge turn off. She needed some spice in her life. She had an itch she needed to scratch. An itch for danger, blood, and some rough sex. She has so much anger and hurt built up inside if she doesn't somehow release it she's worried she might do something stupid just to get her jollies.

        The night she broke it off with Tommy was smoother than expected. Least, what smooth meant to her anyway. Tommy had some pride left in him after all, he told her that she meant nothing to him and would have no trouble replacing her. Something about how he could have any girl he wanted, yeah, any girl except for her she thought. She knew he was hurting, that's why he lashed out at her so bad. She wasn't mad at him for the things he said, that she understood. It almost changed her mind leaving him, seeing him all riled up like that. He always did look the cutest when he was mad.

         Before she left for Camden Town she sat at the table to have lunch with Winnie. "You know, Tommy's pretty broken up over the whole thing." Winnie poked at her food not looking at Giana. "He'll get over it, I'm sure. We'd only been together for 6 weeks. Can't be that bad." "I s'pose so...but I think he really loved you." Winnie's eyes finally lifted to meet Giana's. "Love?" Giana laughed wildly. "What on earth is so funny about that, Gia? You mean to tell me you don't believe in love?" Giana calmed herself down and took a sip of her water. "No, Winnie, I don't. I mean I loved my father but that was an entirely a different kind of love. To me, love is of least importance, even if I did believe in such a thing." Winnie's eyes grew wide, "Oh is that so? Well then, tell me. What is considered most important to you?" 

"Family and family business." Giana spoke with such certainty. Winnie rolled her eyes and dropped the subject. She knew Giana came from a family of mobsters, but had no idea who Giana really was and did out in New York. "Ya know sooner or later love is gonna knock you on your ass so hard you ain't gonna know it hit ya." Winnie teased. "Oh, Winnie. You're such a silly girl, now promise you'll write to me and visit me from time to time?" Giana squeezed Winnie's hand lovingly.  "I pinky promise you, G." 

        Once Giana got settled into her new home, she called another relative on her list, her uncle on her mother's side and invited him over for dinner. James Adley is his name, an older man in his early 50's with white hair and spotty loose skin. He was a widow like her but surely he hadn't murdered his spouse in cold blood like she had. She took his coat and hung it in closet near the door. "My, oh my! Aren't you the most beautiful thing I ever did see." he leaned in for a hug. "Lovely place you have here. Must cost a lot of money, I bet." he handed her a box wrapped with some paper tied with a bow made of yarn. "Why thank you, please have a seat." she said as she walked him to the kitchen.

        "I don't know if I should warn you or not, but this side of town is mostly ran by Jews...the Jews and Italians are at a war right now. I just thought I'd say something... you being half Italian that comes from a mob family." he stammered. "Oh, pish posh. Whatever they have going on is there business not any of my own. I'm not afraid of anyone." she huffed. "I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to offend you, darling." Sorrow spread across his wrinkly face as he took a seat at the table. "And offend me you did not. I'd say it was humor, if anything." she placed a plate of meat and veggies before him.  "You know, you remind me a lot of your father when he was your age. You look like him too, but with your mothers big beautiful eyes." she smiled taking her seat at the table and began to pick at her food.

        "Well now, tell me about yourself Uncle James. What do you here in this boring 'ole town?" she scrunched her face as she took a sip of her cheap wine that was made from spoiled grape juice. He just laughed and pointed at the gift she had set down on the counter behind her. Giana opened the box to find a bottle filled with brown liquid. She squealed at the sight and popped off the cork, taking a big wiff. Her eyes nearly watered at the potency but it delighted her to finally have some good higher quality alcohol again. She had drank up the last strong stuff she had. 

        "Is this your way of telling me that this is what you do? Or do you just know where to get it?" she glowed pouring the sweet nectar into new glasses for the both of them. He scratched the back of head not answering her. "Have you gone deaf? I asked you a question." her once sweet face hardened into stone. Sure she may have been taking a "break" from gang life, but a true gangster never really takes a break. She really needed to remind herself this is who she really is, and she was tired of playing nice. 

"I- I- I-" he stuttered a little bit shaken up by her sudden change of attitude. "Speak! DAMN IT" she slammed her hands on the table. "I just work at a bakery, okay.?" Giana smiled and relaxed. "Well why didn't you just say so?" she knew that was probably code for a distillery, but she knew he couldn't say so directly, if whomever he was working for was smart there had to have been some strict rules.

"Do you think it would be appropriate for me to stop by then?" she took a sip. "Bloody hell this is strong." she added. "Oh, Gia, baby, I don't think that it would." "Aw, come on. No one here knows who I am, right? It's not like anyone could pin point my exact ethnicity just by looking at me either." He shrugged and nodded in agreement. "Now, tell me what's it take to snag a bottle or two there? Secret code word or something?" "It's not that, its just that you're new in town. Might seem suspicious or something."

"Eh, you're just being paranoid. I'll manage." "Please, Giana. How about I umm...how about I buy some for you and deliver you the goods myself?" she began to feel pity for the old man and agreed to his proposition. 

        Little did he know, Giana did what she pleased and she was not about to wait on her uncle. The next day she wandered the streets in a rather risque and expensive navy blue dress that clung to her best assets in search of this particular bakery. She had already been to a couple with no luck. It wasn't til she was on her way back home when she noticed this a rather well blended in bakery at the end of the street. 

        On her way in, the bell above the door rang and a young Jewish boy appeared with a rather dumbfounded look on his face. "Afternoon, Ma'am'." he smiled nervously. "How do you do? I was walking by when I caught a wiff of the most delectable inciting smell of fresh bread. I was hoping I could purchase some?" "Yeah, of course. White or brown?" he stammered not really sure if it was actually the bread she was talking about. "Hmmm...how about white?" 

The young boy wrapped up a loaf of bread and placed it on the counter before her. "There you are, Ma'am." Giana picked up the bread feeling it's weight she was sure it was only the bread he had actually given her. "I'm sorry but I not quite sure you understood. I asked for WHITE BREAD." she pushed the loaf back towards him. He gulped as a drop sweat dripped down his forehead. "I don't know what you mean, Ma'am. That there IS white bread." she took out a stack of cash and placed it next to the bread. Before she could get another word in she heard a shout coming towards them from the back room and a sound of a cane tapping harshly on the ground. "OLLIE! What the fuck is taking you, boy?!" 

        The man who appeared stared at Giana much longer than he should have before noticing the stack of cash on the counter. "What seems to be the problem, Ma'am?" he walked over pushing the boy out of his way. "I just want some white bread is all." she stood up straight flipping her long curly locks over her shoulder with a smoldering look in her eyes and a smirk on her puffy lips. She studied the older fellow before her. His skin was a little dry, his wild beard was in dire need of attention, but his eyes...there was something about his eyes. Something alluring and familiar. She could get lost looking in those blue gray orbs of his. "Right, pet. Well, I think my boy, Ollie, here gave you what you asked for." She sighed and dug into her purse once more, slammin more money on the counter. The man scratched at the bush growing on his face as he contemplated the whole situation. "Right then.The name is Alfie, Alfie Solomons. Now please, won't you join me in me office?"

#alfie solomons x ofc #Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons fic #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fic #alfie solomons fanfic #Tom Hardy