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seriouslysnape · 3 months

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Morning Shift

Dad! Severus Snape x Mom! Fem! Reader x Baby Tags: Fluff. Sev being a good dad. Reader getting rest she deserves <3. Baby being a cutie. Word Count: 2.0k "I didn't mean to oversleep."

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It was quite rare for you to have the chance to sleep in.

Even before the baby was born, you were pretty much up and going by dawn every day. It made you feel more productive to get up early and get the day started before the sun even had the chance to fully rise.

An occasional Saturday or Sunday would roll around where neither you nor Severus were in any rush to get up and moving. Those were during the slower weeks of the year, usually during the summer when Severus wasn't teaching and your work wasn't as demanding.

But after the baby was born, those occasional lazy weekend days had become pretty much obsolete. The mornings and nights had become less hectic as your newborn transitioned into an infant, and she was on somewhat of a sleeping schedule. However, when the baby was up, so were you.

Severus gave his fair share of helping out with the baby at all times of the day, but typically, Severus tended to her the most in the evenings. Severus usually fed her dinner, bathed her, and prepared her for her early bedtime.

It wasn't intentional really, but the two of you fell into a routine where you handled the mornings, the two of you rotated off during the day, and Severus handled the evenings/nights. Severus would help anytime when needed, but for the most part, that was the best arrangement.

On one particular weekend morning, however, the routine was different.

Severus awoke to a quiet house. There wasn't the sound of his wife stirring in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for him and the baby who would no doubt be babbling for her breakfast.

He felt a presence in the bed next to him, a gentle warmth coming from it as well. He was surprised to see you were still asleep, bundled up in the covers as comfortable as could be.

The warm glow of the newly risen sun beamed through the windows of the bedroom, spilling over your back that was facing the glass. He watched you only for a moment, pushing some stray hairs from your eyes and pulling the covers higher on you to keep you toasty.

It made his heart swell to see you getting some extra rest on your day off, and he made it his mission to let you sleep as long as possible. He was more than happy to be on baby duty that morning and a change of routine was a bit exciting.

The clock on his bedside table read 7:12 a.m. which did alarm him briefly. It was twelve minutes past the baby's usual wake up time, which meant either she was getting some extra sleep as well, or she was storming mad that no one had come to pick her up to begin her day.

Severus was quiet as he crept out of bed, his footfalls quiet as he exited your bedroom to enter the baby's room just next door. Severus always left the baby's nursery door slightly cracked in the event the baby needed something during the night or woke up earlier than usual.

He pushed the door open gently, a burst of sunlight painting the hallway. The room was perfectly warm for a January morning, a vast difference from the bitter cold on the outside.

He glanced at the crib, seeing some movement in the crib. She was squirming excitedly, happy that someone was finally coming to get her up for the day.

She was awake, but not agitated in the slightest that no one had come to get her yet. She was content to lie in her crib for a little while, the charmed mobile above her crib keeping her entertained. She couldn't have been awake for very long, considering it was only a few minutes after her usual wake up time.

Severus approached her crib with a gentleness that few knew he possessed. His dark eyes, so often narrowed with sternness, softened when they gazed upon his child.

"Good morning, darling." He smiled, reaching down to pick up the cooing baby.

His daughter smiled back at him with a sleepy grin and sluggish eyes, but held an expression of confusion as to why her mother wasn't there to wake her like usual.

"Not expecting me this morning, hm?" He asked, which only returned a yawn from his daughter. "We'll let Mum sleep in this morning. She deserves it."

The eight-month-old only babbled in response, mouthing at Severus' shoulder through his T-shirt. You and Severus were pretty sure she had some teeth coming in based on the fact that she wanted to chew on everything.

Usually you dressed the baby as the first step of her morning routine, but it was the weekend so she would more than likely be home for the majority of the day. Severus opted to leave her in her pajamas for now, which she had no protests with.

She was rather clingy today, her tiny hands grabbing for him to pick her up again once she was dressed. She knew that if anyone in the world would pick her up whenever she wished, I was Severus.

Severus struggled with leaving her when she wanted to be picked up. You had been telling Severus for the last month or so that it is indeed okay to let her sit on her own as long as she's being supervised. She was beginning to work towards crawling, and you knew the only way she was ever going to learn to crawl was if she had the chance to be on the ground.

But Severus couldn't resist his daughter's grabby hands and beaming eyes. He spoiled the little girl, and he just couldn't tell her no.

He whisked her down the stairs, smiling at her giggles when he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Severus knew it was time for breakfast, and he knew that she was going to get fussy if he didn't get her fed soon. He slipped her into her highchair, her legs wiggling as she squirmed with anticipation.

"What would you like for breakfast, princess?" He asked, only receiving an interested stare in response. "I know you like eggs...and I think Mum picked up some fruit yesterday."

Severus turned and surveyed the inside of the fridge, studying its contents to make a decision. She was getting impatient, whining and babbling for Severus to hurry up. She was on a specific schedule, and her late wake up time had her about fifteen minutes behind.

Severus went with his suggestion on the premise that eggs and fruit were a safe option. She wasn't terribly picky, but since this wasn't her usual routine, he figured giving her something that he knew she liked was best.

Severus selected a few eggs from the fridge, deciding to cook them all and divide the portion appropriately between himself, you, and the baby. He knew it wouldn't be long before you were up, so he got started on getting a pot of coffee brewed as well.

With a wave of his wand, the stove ignited and began cooking the eggs in a pan while he worked on getting some fruit mashed up for her.

"Strawberries or a banana?" He asked her, who was more interested in dancing in her chair than picking which fruit she wanted.

Severus was certain that she hadn't eaten strawberries before. He took a chance and went with the strawberries, retrieving a few and getting them smushed enough to be suitable for baby consumption. He plated the eggs once they were cooked,

He pulled up a chair to her highchair, holding the tiny baby spoon and bowl in his hand to begin feeding her baby spoonfuls of her breakfast.

She made a noise of approval with the strawberries, barely even swallowing before motioning for more. For an eight-month-old, she was a fantastic eater and would try nearly anything.

Your daughter giggled, her eyes sparkling with the sight of her dad in front of her. Severus couldn't help but feel a tug at his heartstrings. This was a side of him that no one else got to see, a side reserved only for his precious little one.

He felt so incredibly lucky to have a child. He felt even more blessed to raise her and love her in the ways he never was. He wasn't a perfect father by any means, but he made it his personal mission to never give her a reason to think of him as a bad father.

When her noises slowed and she hesitated to take any more bites of food, Severus stopped feeding her and began cleaning up. Slowly but surely, she was fed to satisfaction -- and Severus managed to fill himself up by getting bites in between feeding her.

Her face and shirt was painted with stains of sticky red from the strawberries, but she was happy as a clam and not at all concerned about the fact that she would most certainly need a bath.

Severus stood at the sink, letting her entertain herself while he arranged the dishes to be washed. When she gave a particularly joyous squeal, he knew that she had spotted something that she liked.

You were up now, standing in the doorway of the kitchen just freshly awake.

"Good morning, you two." You spoke gently, still clad in your sleepwear from the night before.

Severus turned, grinning at you with a small pink tint in his cheeks.

"Good morning, darling. We've just had breakfast." He smiled at you, his wife who he adored so dearly.

"I see that. You should've woke me up," You said. "I didn't mean to oversleep."

"Nonsense, darling. You needed the rest, and I am perfectly capable of taking on breakfast," He said. "I...assumed eggs and fruit were a safe choice."

"Oh, yeah. That's perfect," You approached the highchair, using your fingers to swipe some of her bed head hair to the side. "Looks like the strawberries were a hit." You laughed, noting the stains of red on her pink pajama shirt.

"Yes...sorry about that, my love." He blushed.

"I needed to do laundry today anyways," You smiled, not irritated in the slightest. "She'll be grown out of it soon."

A slight pang in Severus' chest made him go quiet for a moment. She was growing so fast that he couldn't even believe it. In four short months, she was going to be a year old. To think that it had been almost a year since she was born completely blew his mind. Next thing he knew, she would be starting her first day at Hogwarts and getting sorted into her House.

For now, he was enjoying her infant stage of life. Just as he had cherished the newborn phase, and how he would the toddler stage and beyond.

"I say it's time for a bath." You lifted her from her highchair, laughing again at how sticky she was.

"I can handle it," Severus said, turning the sink faucet off. "Might as well finish her morning routine."

"Are you sure?" You asked, feeling a bit guilty that he was taking on your usual morning duties.

"Absolutely," He grinned, taking her from you and turning his attention to her. "Mum will read you your bedtime story and put you to bed tonight. Does that work?"

She only hummed, clearly content with the arrangement they had going on today.

"Thank you, Sev." You said, thanking him for being so attentive and letting you sleep in for a bit.

"Oh, darling, it was nothing," He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Why don't you have breakfast and coffee while I get her ready for the day?"

Sure enough, Severus had a plate and a cup of coffee ready to go for you, a charm casted to keep the coffee hot and the food warm.

"The day where we have nothing planned?" You grinned, and Severus chuckled.

"Exactly."

And to Severus, a Saturday with nothing to do was perfect. In a lot of ways, nothing was everything when you and the baby were around.

His family (albeit small) was everything he ever needed.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x fem! reader #severus snape x female reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #dad severus snape #Dad! Severus #Mom! Reader #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape one shot #severus snape imagine #severus snape fluff #seriouslysnape

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clove-pinks · 3 months

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Franklinheads, what is your top pet peeve when it comes to perceptions of the [historical] Franklin Expedition?

Mine is 100% the "most advanced technology of their day" concept of HMS Erebus and Terror. I think the origins of this are in the 1980s, when Owen Beattie's ice mummy exhumations propelled the Franklin Expedition into the spotlight. JUST LIKE THE SPACE SHUTTLE CHALLENGER!—this was the pat comparison of the day. You could definitely draw some parallels if you tried hard enough, but no, I don't think the Space Shuttle Challenger is a very good analogy.

There was pretty much nothing unique or particularly new about the technology in Franklin's ships—not the tinned food, not the desalinator, not the heating system, and definitely not the puny steam engines—and Franklin's men knew this! They were aware that Erebus and Terror were beat-up old warships, one of the ships fought in the War of 1812 before most crew members were born! Fitzjames called them "old tubs," and Le Vesconte jokingly compared them to 17th and 18th century fictional vessels (Red Rover and Water-Witch).

Steam frigates with hundreds of horsepower were built even in the 1830s! But they couldn't carry fuel lasting for years; whereas Franklin's men had ~13 days of coal for their 20-horsepower engines, which at most might get them out of a harbour in unfavourable winds. As a child I read books that made such a big deal about the steam engines, I really thought they would be under steam all the time, crashing through the ice with their Advanced Technology just like the space shuttle.

If anything, the Franklin Expedition is part of a tradition of the British using obsolete ships and technology for polar exploration. Compare Terra Nova with the latest technology of the 1910s: she looks like the relic of an earlier age that she was.

#franklin expedition #polar exploration #hms erebus #hms terror #terra nova #polar #age of steam #this post turned out longer than i thought #but i am Annoyed by people repeating this 'most advanced technology of their day' trope #what makes the FE unique is the death toll not the pipsqueak steam engines #john ross brought steam engines to the arctic too (and they sucked)

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contentloadingandstuff · 1 year

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k, hear me out! You know how Dottore has (h̶a̶d̶) segments/clones of himself at various points in his life??

Let's say the reader is a segment of him when he was a kid.. and is used to spy on the traveler (though I guess the traveler doesn't know its a clone💀)

This was a tough one, I'm not gonna lie. I've redone it a couple of times, and I'm still not sure if I like it. But the idea is great, don't get me wrong. It was just hard to fit it in a relatively short format. Lumine is the traveler here, because flip-a-coin said so.

Genre: Angst/Whump

Characters: Lumine, Dottore

TW: Graphic descriptions of disease and body decay.

You were born exactly fifteen years ago.

Well, born is the wrong term here. You were separated from Dottore's body, and contorted into an exact copy of him. You looked the same, talked the same, knew the same, walked the same.

Yet your mind was a separate one. Nobody knows if that was an oversight from the other you, or if it was intended. That meant you didn't share the same personality or values. Dottore, young as he was back then, wasn't the best person to argue with about worldview. A few careless words could mean being on the wrong side of the observation room.

So you swallowed all of your worries and pretended to be him. You worked together, but you got the short end of the stick most of the time. While Dottore would engage in actually interesting experiments and activities, you were his 'gofer'. The amount of trips to the kitchen, public institutions and libraries were far too many to count. It was a dull, but not a bad way to live.

Over the years, something became painfully obvious, though.

Dottore made a mistake. A grievous mistake. Not lethal for him, of course. But for you.

You aged. Faster than him, in fact. Something went wrong during the soul fragmentation process, which caused rapid growth of your body. When he became one of the Harbingers at a fairly young age, you were already taller than him. Your physical appearance didn't go along with the development, so despite measuring a whole two meters in height, you still had his teen features. That proved to be an interesting development in your other self's eyes. It meant that people couldn't recognize you as another version of him.

That opened a whole new world of possibilities, namely espionage. Suddenly, from carrying around books or coffee, you became a field agent for the Fatui. With Dottore's skills and a whole new identity, you could easily infiltrate any enemy organization and strike from behind. Luckily for you, Dottore's ego extended to his other versions, meaning that all of the dirty work was left up to the skirmishers to carry out.

Still, it was hard to live like this. Constantly gaining people's trust, meddling with their affairs and vanishing without a trace, only to do it again. You took many names and lived under many covers, never able to settle down and have some well-deserved rest. You were happy, however. Happy that Dottore had a use for you, that he saw value in your existence.

You were so stupid to think that would last.

When Dottore learned how to change the appearance of his other clones, your skills became... obsolete. What's more - you were now a threat. Unlike the other segments, you had a separate, free mind to you, and since you knew far too much about the Fatui's inner workings, you were dangerous.

Yet the other you felt a certain... nostalgia towards you. You were the first of his masterpieces, possibly the greatest of them all. So Dottore wanted to use you for all of your worth.

As soon as a certain short, blond haired girl and her flying companion made themselves known by foiling Childe's plan, it was obvious someone had to keep tabs on her all the time. Someone expandable, but loyal.

And so, you became her shadow.

You slowly learnt her routine, her connections, friends, beliefs and skills. Even though Lumine wasn't really aware of your existence, you knew more about her than even Paimon. Despite your hard attempts at remaining hidden, a slip up occurred some day, and you came face to face with her. Smooth talking and quick thinking were both in your job description, so you managed to save face. Lumine was still very young, and gullible enough to believe you were just passing by, despite having seen you around multiple times already. Seeing a prime opportunity in this new development, you asked her to join on her travels. And she agreed.

For some time, it felt like an entirely different world. A world without the need to torture, betray, steal and lie. You helped her with her issues, using your skill and knowledge to aid her quest of finding her brother. And you used it in the name of good. You two helped almost everyone you came across. Whether it was saving an abducted family member, recovering stolen goods or just helping someone prepare a gift, sweet Lumine never refused anyone, no matter how trivial or mundane the work was. As a derivative of a psychopath, you didn't get it at first, especially that you knew what she was capable of. Why in the world would she go around saving kittens or entertaining one of the Harbinger's siblings when she could overcome gods? But the answer made itself more and more clear with every smile you helped her put on someone's face.

She did it because... because it felt good.

It felt good to do good things.

Good to build, not destroy.

Your fondness for the traveler was getting more and more obvious with each report sent to your creator. When you stated in one of Lumine's wound descriptions that "luckily for us, she made a full recovery", it was clear that your loyalty was not as crystal clear as before. That angered Primo Dottore. How could he create something so traitorous?

When the order to cut her throat when she slept, you refused for the first time. So the next time you met eye to eye, The good Doctor presented you with a small syringe. He told you it was your usual anti-aging solution, and you took it without question, as always.

The effects of that substance he gave you weren't immediately obvious.

It started slow, with cracking skin, joint aches and stomach pains. Over time, you found more and more of your hair on your brush. A month passed, and you started coughing. The wounds, no matter how small or insignificant, didn't heal up properly anymore. Gradual muscular dystrophy lowered your combat abilities, forcing Lumine to protect you from danger. Fever kicked in as the many wounds became infected. Wiping puss from them soon became too bothersome, as it returned moments later, its supply seemingly endless. By the end of the second month, your skin was shriveled and pale.

Your cells started falling off along all of your tracts, leading to bloody secretions. Lumine, already disheartened by your state, was on the verge of tears when you stained the sink crimson for the first time. She seeked help from everyone she knew - Kokomi, Zhongli, Barbara, Ei, Miko, Baizhu... None of them could help keep her best friend from falling apart before her eyes. They could only provide temporary relief, drag out the inevitable.

Weeks passed, and you were reduced to a bandaged up, incomplete skeleton. Your left arm fell off when you hit it on the door, and your right knee collapsed, unable to hold you upright. Everything hurts. You couldn't drink, eat or sleep. Despite all of the abuse, your body refused to give up, refused to finally keel over and die. You still had something to do.

With the last ounces of your strength, you revealed Lumine the truth. The truth about your name, your origin, your work. You confessed to as many horrible deeds you committed as you could recall, hoping to drive her away. To make her despise you. To make her not care. Not cry every night.

She didn't leave your side until the end. Why? Because she knew you. You didn't want to murder, to lie, to rob and betray. You never asked for this life. It was forced upon you by a Harbinger with the ambition to rule over life and death.

Lumine's mind was filled with fond memories of you. Your laughter still resonated in her mind, but she just couldn't get herself to recall your face. Because every time she thought of it, only the noseless, toothless and wide-eyed cadaver would greet her. She couldn't force the image of someone she cared for, liked, loved so much reduced to this.

She came to her senses only months after your funeral, and took up her quest again. This time, alone, and with a far different attitude.

She spared Childe. She spared Scaramouche.

But whoever faced her in Fontaine would not be so lucky.

Thanks for reading!

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cosmica-galaxy · 1 year

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~ AUDITOR ~

The moment the egg appeared after a passionate night with his Player, the Auditor almost seemed to know instantly that it was his. Mostly because of the shadowy aura that surrounded the little egg.

Both he and his Player happily embraced the new vessel for life as they decided that moment forward they were excited to become parents.

The Auditor, despite his busy work schedule, always made time to do his duties as a partner in looking after the little egg. It was hard to balance the organization, hunting Hank Wimbleton, AND being an employer on top of parenthood…but it would all be worth it in the end. Still…there were days where it felt like it was getting too much. The painful daily dance of going back and forth between the parents almost seemed tirelessly endless.

Until one day, The Auditor decided that he had a bright idea.

The egg was always in need of warmth and protection, this much was very obvious. But his idea combined both of these into one single effort.

He decided he could store his egg INSIDE of his body.

No, he didn't absorb it or send it to the hell dimension. He merely kept his body folded around the egg in a protective manner. Kinda like a storage unit. The egg would be inside of his body, but in a little…pouch-like area he’ll make for it so it doesn’t go into his hell dimension. That way, it got both heat and protection from a single parent and it would render the current trading back and forth routine completely obsolete. What better place to be safely incubated than inside of an employer, a variety of nevadean god?

So, with your added permission, the Auditor became the egg's personal guardian 24/7 for 6 long months. It was a strange feeling carrying around that egg, but it was a welcome one. He would do anything for the offspring of himself and his precious Player, even if it meant dealing with a little bit of added weight and pressure. Then, one fateful day while he was doing his business paperwork at his desk, he swore he felt his chest heave. He paused for a moment, blinking in confusion. Until he felt the heave come from his chest again, surprising him. The Auditor was quick to lay down the pen and reach into his body. Pulling out his obsidian-colored egg from within the confines of his chest, the Auditor holds it curiously. Before jumping in shock when the egg wiggles in his hands. He stands up quickly and rushes to the center of his office, gently placing the egg on the floor as he waits nearby. His crimson eyes watching it with enthrallment. Then, it wiggles again…and again…and again. Suddenly, a loud sound fills the room. Crack! The employer’s eyes widens as he sees a large crack form in the top of the egg. Coming closer to the egg by squatting, he watches the motions intensely as more cracks develop on the shell. Then…the top suddenly popped off and beautiful iridescent white flames could be seen fluttering about on the inside. Despite his excitement, the employer merely watches. Admiring the scene as his child forces their way into the world of Nevada. Not lending a hand to help as he longs to encourage his child to complete their first task on their own. To prove to him how strong they are. There was a bit of a small struggle with the egg, but with one final push, the egg shell splits into two halves and the top piece falls away, revealing a small flaming white body that lets out a couple of inquisitive squeaks as they sniff the fresh air. That’s when the Auditor finally leans in to touch his newly born young one, which rapidly squeaks in response to his touching. He grins as he finally helps to peel away the remaining shell from the youngling’s body, fully freeing the child from their confines. “Excellent work. You’re already coming along strongly.” The Auditor coos to his little one, picking them up off the floor and taking the little flame into his arms. He nuzzles the little baby affectionately with his cheek as he lets out a few purrs, receiving a higher pitched purr in return from his little baby. The child then lets out a slow multi-colored yawn as they were already tired, the father merely chuckles at the display. “I didn’t expect you to have much strength right now. You’re still a newborn after all. But you will gain more potential as you grow older and stronger. One day, you’ll even take your place among the employers. For now, rest my child. You still have your other parent to meet later on.” The Auditor purrs in contentment as he nuzzles his child again, enticing another yawn out of the newborn as they curl into a little ball close to his chest. “My precious Player is going to be so happy to finally meet you…” – (Warning for a non-overly description of Tricky feeding his babies a grunt)

~ TRICKY ~ The moment the eggs appeared after the night that Tricky got…ahem…frisky with his precious Player, Tricky was already going over names and becoming very protective of them. Already seeming to understand that they were his. Despite his insanity, he still seemed to be aware of his actions and intentions when dealing with his newly acquired young. As for the eggs, there were three in total sitting together in a little pillow nest that Tricky slew together for his little ones to sit in until they were ready to pop out. Each egg was donned with a unique pattern that seemed to be correlated to Tricky in some form of fashion. Now with precious cargo hiding in the building that Tricky and his Player called home, the zed was much more protective than he had ever been before. Any potential dangers or threats to his unborn babies were dealt with in a timely manner. Any trespassers were viciously torn apart and used as decoration to warn others to never trespass upon his territory. Despite his much more hostile approach to those outside of his immediate circle, the moment he comes back into the refurbished building, his mood does a 180. He becomes loving and affectionate to his Player and always goes to check on the eggs and spiffy up their pillow place. He would even bring home gifts. From blankets, to food for his lover, and heat retainers for his developing little ones. He even took up night patrols to make sure his eggs were safe and that the parameter was secure. For months, you and Tricky took up roles as protectors and babysitters while your little ones safely developed in their nest. Safe, warm, and protected. Then, one day that happened exactly on the dot of 6 months later, Tricky watched in surprise as one of his eggs jostled around while he was on his parental shift. The clown jumps to his feet quickly and eyes the egg that was moving, which was the smallest egg. Purple with green dots all over it. He nestles in close, practically laying on his stomach and sitting on his haunches while he watches with growing interest as the egg wiggles again. Then, a loud sound fills the room. Crack! But that wasn’t all. A chorus quickly followed after that sound! Crack! Crack Crack! With every sound a fracture would appear on Tricky’s eggs and he watched in complete awe as three of his eggs began to move around. More cracks forming on the surface of their shells as Tricky could barely contain the violent shaking of his body. Then, the smallest egg’s top suddenly pops off. Revealing a small gray face with a greenish skull-like accent and bright red hair, just like his. The littlest one begins to cry out a chorus of squeaks as Tricky licks the little one early, enticing more squeaking and whimpers from his newly born baby. “HELLO LITTLE BABY!! I’M PAPA CLOWN!! PAPA TRICKY :D :D” Tricky bellows, causing the little one to flinch from the audio. Then, the second egg’s top pops off. Revealing a slightly larger baby and similar skin, but with a straight line of red hair instead of a full head of hair. It looked like a mini mohawk in a way. Tricky greeted the second baby just like he did the first, with a warm lick across the face. Finally, the third egg cracks open, revealing the third and biggest baby. This one was heavier than the others, not to mention larger, but it also had similar markings and similar hair tufts that look identical to their father. Tricky, just like the ones before, gave the biggest baby a big ole lick. Tricky took into account the appearance and sounds that his newborns were making and he couldn’t stop shaking violently from excitement. But the moment he tried to lick them again, one decided to take a nip out of his tongue. It makes the father flinch and look closer at his babies. Finding that they already had teeth…sharp ones at that. They were also gnawing on their eggshells, even eating them! So clearly they were hungry. “CLOWN KNOWS WHY YOU BITE! YOU ARE HUNGRY! CLOWN WILL GET FOOD FOR BABIES! BE RIGHT BACK!” The insane clown says as he leaps out a nearby open window and begins to head off somewhere with his trusty stop sign over his shoulder. Not a few moments later, he was back climbing in through the window with a deceased bandit in his grasp. Having been bludgeoned to death by a certain traffic sign that the clown was notorious for carrying. He lays the body down next to the nest, which rouses the little newborns back into a squeaking and nipping little mob. “DINNER TIME! :D” Tricky happily announces. He then quickly rips a chunk of meat from the deceased grunt and happily feeds it to the littlest baby, which surprisingly swallows down the chunk of flesh with little to no problem before squeaking out for more food.

Once the other babies knew they were getting fed, Tricky had his hands (and ears) filled with the noisy cries of his babies wanting dinner. To which he fed them as quickly as he could. This process continued until the three little babies were finally full enough to settle down and cuddle up to one another in their nest. Tiny bellies stuffed full with meat from their ‘dinner’. Tricky was surprised, seeing as the little ones nearly ate half of his kill and they were just born! “CLOWN HAS NEVER BEEN PROUDER!” The insane zed sniffs in pride while dramatically wiping away a fake tear. He couldn’t wait to show his Player how good of a father he is when they get back from their supply run!

#TUMBLR IS NOT LETTING ME ANSWER MY FUCKING ASKS #anonymous #anon asks #Haxorus Imp #hax speaks #cosmica galaxy #papa!grunts au #madcom x reader #human!reader x madcom #madcom tag #y/n x madness combat #madness combat x reader #self aware au #madness combat self aware au #self aware m:pn au

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professionallydeadinside · 1 year

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The Prince’s Pauper

Prince meets her new younger brother.

“Dear, say hello to your little brother.”

It felt wrong to hold this bundle in her arms. This bundle who had nearly killed their mother three times this night alone. This bundle with eyes that didn’t look like her father’s eyes. Eyes that stayed shut, as she hoped they would forever.

“Be careful, he’s very delicate.” Prince noticed her mother was delicate too. Rings under tired eyes that should’ve gone to bed twenty three hours ago. But no, this bundle felt it had to be delivered two months early, small and pathetic.

“I don’t want a brother.” Prince frowned at the thing in her arms.

“Oh my little Prince, I know.” Her father chuckled as his wife’s voice sounded small. Prince saw as he smiled wider then she’d ever seen, all this directed at what? Surely not the lump of flesh in her arms. This useless being that, born so early, surely wouldn’t survive the night.

“But promise me you’ll be a tiny bit nice.”

Prince looked up, her mother smiled and beckoned her closer, she gladly handed off the bundle back to her.

“Prince, your brother is going to be in some danger growing up. He is very special, to us and to you.”

‘No. Not to me.’

“You’ll have to help to protect him. He’s your brother after all. I have no doubt that he’ll be safe in your hands.”

She was a child. Her parents should’ve been protecting him. Her parents should’ve been protecting her too. Loving her. Those fond looks, those soft voices, that smile on her father’s face which seemed just as much a stranger as the child her mother was holding.

Why had they withheld this from her? What made him so much more deserving of it?

Prince scowled, clenching her jaw and bunching her skirt in her tiny fists. A heavy hand touched her shoulder.

“Dochka, you will be good, won’t you?”

She had to be good. In order for her parents to see the mistake they were making, investing their time in training a boy who would never be as good as her, she’d make sure of it. She’d make sure of it if it meant smothering him with the very love she craved.

Yes, that’s how she’d do it. Turn him obsolete and dumb, useless and stupid. Have his body, grown soft and fat with pampering, feed her when she so desired to take what was rightfully hers.

“Oh yes. I will. I promise.” Her squeaky voice and bright eyes put her parents to ease.

Prince looked over to the bundle that had begun to wake. Her parents didn’t notice how her expression slipped when her brother reached out to her with a goofy, toothless smile. She let him grab at fingers that were barely larger than his.

“I’ll take care of him.”

#SORRY I JUST WROTE THIS TODAY <3 #prince bullet train #the son bullet train #the white death #bullet train #my wriitng

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omnibenevolent-couch-blog · 1 year

Text

Great Emperors and Beyond; An Abridged History of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti

By Sun Ma, translated by Orlendr

Translator's Note

This was written nearly 200 years ago in 132AC, and remains one of the most well known and compiled sources on Yi Ti and its history. To now have it translated into the Common Tongue of Westeros is a definitive sign of good faith between the new powers in Yi Ti and the Kingdoms of Westeros.

To those reading this; please keep in mind that borders and provinces change over time, especially in recent years. Like the waxing and waning of the moon, both cities and their names may be altered or even rendered obsolete. Any map shown of Yi Ti will have a corresponding year stated by it, and will be as approximate as can be given the difference in calendars.

Since this book was originally published in Yi Tish, the Imperial Court of the Golden Empire has gone over both minute and large amendments in its structure and rank. The general terminology and a brief explanation will be listed, but any old or not in use terms will be identified otherwise. Newer or updated ranks like the Grand Judge, the Councils, the Duke of the Five Forts, and the Chancellors will not be added in, because during the time that this is being translated these ranks have not been legitimized in Yi Ti’s rule and law.

List of Imperial Court Rankings:

God-Emperor — Sovereign of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, thought of as a divine descendant of God-on-Earth.

Empress — Main wife of the Emperor, her first born child is Crowned Heir no matter sex or age in relation to the birth order with the Imperial Consorts’ children in mind.

Grand Secretariat (obs.[1]) — Close advisor to the Emperor, more so than that of the Court.

Imperial General — Head of the military, holds absolute authority over all of the branches of warfare and their finances. Second only to the Emperor’s input and direct commands.

Minister of Rites (obs.) — Head Priest of the Nu’nian Temple, oversees religious ceremonies and rites.

Minister of Judicial Affairs (obs.) — Head of the Judicial Court, oversees penal affairs and law.

Minister of Public Works — Head of the Bureau of Public Works, oversees the financial aspect to important festivals, infrastructure, agriculture, and the general public’s state of affairs.

Grand Duke (obs.) — Title of the Lord whose seat rests in the old Buien province; made up of what is now the Buien, Wuian, and half of the Di’an provinces. This title was awarded to the holder as a thing of prestige, as their seat was (metaphorically) that of the Five Forts[2]—though most Grand Dukes in history were Lords of the Forked City of Quen.

Commander of the Feathered Guard — Head of the Imperial Palace guards, the only group of people permitted to carry weapons in the presence of the Emperor and within the Palace itself.

Lords/Ladies — A hereditary title of nobility, they hold authority in their seat-city and that of the Court, but not much else. Some throughout history have had vassals here and there, but it was not common nor was it thought well of.

Esteemed Scholars — An earned title, gained by graduates that passed the Imperial Exams.[3]

Overseer of Attendants — Head eunuch within the imperial household, only occasionally summoned to Court proceedings if needed.

short for obsolete, no longer in use.

The Five Forts during the time in which the Grand Duke rank was held had five acting Generals on each of the Forts manning the wall. The Grand Duke title held little to no actual authority nor commandeering power over the soldiers stationed there.

Esteemed Scholars are graduates of the Imperial Exam, a test which is taken every four years right after the Conference Examinations. Out of the 300 that can pass those tests, an average of 200 apply to the Palace, and only 50 can officially pass the Imperial Exam. Of those that finish, they gain the class title the Brilliant Class—with the top three scorers called the Distinguished Head (top of class), the Upward Head (second in class), and the Reaching Head (third in class).

Preface 1.1: Yi Tish Calendar

Unlike the Westerosi solar calendar of 12 months with 30 and 31 alternating days a year, the Yi Tish calendar is a stellar calendar. Though it does have the same 365 days a year, excluding leap years with 366 days, it only has 8 months.

There are 12 phases a year, corresponding to the constellation that the sun crosses through during the time of year. Those 12 phases make up 8 months—with four months as individual phases, and four months made up of two phases paired together. Within the dual phased month, each phase gets 23 days per half, making the month 46 days long. A dual phase month is followed by a month with only one phase made up of 45 days, before another dual month follows.

As the sun crosses into the end phase of the Water month, known as the Crane, the year begins. After that is the Earth month of the Aurochs sign, and then the Wood month begins with the Tiger constellation phase. The Wood month’s end phase is the Rabbit, before another Earth Month follows as the Firewyrm. Then the Fire Month begins with the Kraken and ends with the Horse phase.

An Earth month, the individual Elephant phase, follows. It is succeeded by the Metal month of the Monkey phase and then it ends with the White-backed Raven phase. The last Earth month of the year is Red Wolf before the beginning of the Water month starts with the Boar phase, which is the last phase of the year.

A leap year has one day added to the end of the Crane phase every 4 years. These are known as Black Lion days. There are talks amongst scholars and astronomers of adding another day to the leap year, meaning a possible 367 days in a leap year. It has not been brought up to the Imperial Court yet, only discussed amongst debating groups.

(The black and white lines above all the months symbolize what force of nature governs that phase. White being the sun, and black being the moon.)

The Yi Tish calendar uses the Bloodstone Emperor’s betrayal as an epoch. For example, Year 1AB (After Betrayal) is the year in which the Blood Betrayal occurred, while Year 1BB (Before Betrayal) is one year prior to the betrayal.

e.g. 3BB -> 2BB -> 1BB -> 1AB -> 2AB -> 3AB

#yi ti #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #awoiaf #essos

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bondsmagii · 2 years

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i think i saw you mention reading the little stranger once..? if not disregard this but if you have, im curious as to your interpretation of the ending and the ghost's identity 👀

[MAJOR spoilers in this: I go into intense detail of the whole plot. if you're thinking about reading this book please DON'T read this until you're done! it's such a good story and it should absolutely be read with as little prior knowledge as possible.]

OK [rubs hands together] first of all let's look at the part of the book that its title comes from:

The subliminal mind has many dark, unhappy corners, after all. Imagine something loosening itself from one of those corners. Let's call it a---a germ. And let's say conditions prove right for that germ to develop---to grow, like a child in the womb. What would this little stranger grow into? A sort of shadow-self, perhaps: a Caliban, a Mr Hyde. A creature motivated by all the nasty impulses and hungers the conscious mind had hoped to keep hidden away: things like envy and malice and frustration…

I think the clue is right here. the ghost is Faraday, our narrator.

from an early age, Faraday has been obsessed with Hundreds Hall. he attended a garden party there as a child, and in fact was only born because of its existence -- his parents were staff at the house, and met there. he is fascinated by the house, by its grandness, by his forbidden access when he was a child; immediately he wished to possess a piece of it so badly that he vandalised it, taking a small piece of the wall with him.

later, as an adult, he gets intimately entangled with the family there. he is overly concerned with their business, and is very protective of the legacy of the house. the book focuses a lot on legacy and grief; of changing times and the inevitability of decay -- not just of buildings (quite literally; Hundreds Hall is collapsing around their ears) but of entire time periods. the Ayres are of a vanishing generation, a class of people who were already becoming obsolete but whose exit was hurried by the Second World War. they, and their grand house, are outdated -- but Faraday has a profound attachment to the place, and feels that this natural decay (as all things must, eventually, cease to be) is a threat to the house. he wants to protect it, and everything it stands for for him (his past; his childhood that he seems to idealise at least a little; and of course his personal attachment to it -- and his possessiveness) and this manifests in concern for the family.

gradually, over the course of the story, the ghost gets rid of all threats to Hundreds Hall. Roderick, the heir, is mentally unstable because of the war, and also has no loyalty to the house past a duty that he feels he cannot escape from. the ghost begins by tormenting him into insanity and driving him from the house. Angela, the aging mother, seems to gradually come around to the idea that this way of life is useless, and seems to slowly lose her own attachment to the place -- and the ghost torments her in the form of her small daughter who died young, and whose death she never got over. she kills herself, and it's strongly implied that her daughter's ghost encouraged her to do this under the guise of them being together. even the dog, which, after biting a neighbour's child, could have opened the Ayreses up to lawsuits that would have cost them the house, is killed directly by Faraday when he puts it down.

Caroline, the daughter and sole heir after her brother is deemed mentally unfit, escapes this fate for some time. despite the fact she's perhaps the harshest and most realistic about Hundreds Hall, Faraday is in love with her, and therefore she's safe because, if he marries her, he will be the master of the house. Faraday thinks he can save it; that the two of them can do something with it, and I believe that his infatuation with Caroline has nothing to do with her. she represents the house to him -- ownership of it, and its future. he loves her for what she is and what she represents, but not for who she is. Caroline initially accepts his proposal because she does have some feelings for him herself, and also because she's under pressure to wed (such was the time then, where a woman was expected to marry), but she obviously senses that it isn't right. she breaks things off with Faraday (who has naturally not noticed her reluctance at all, being literally delusional with happiness), Faraday is heartbroken and jilted, and shortly afterwards Caroline encounters what appears to be the ghost on the stairs, and falls (or is thrown) to her death.

let's look at that quote again. the subliminal mind has many dark, unhappy corners; a shadow-self; a creature motivated by all the nasty impulses and hungers the conscious mind had hoped to keep hidden away: things like envy and malice and frustration.

is not the ghost often described as a shadow? on the stairs; outside the nursery -- was it not a dark shape, a shadow-form? and it's beyond doubt that Faraday harbours all of these things: he is profoundly unhappy, even if he doesn't acknowledge it himself; he has a lonely, unfulfilled life; he is envious of those who own the house, envious of those outside his class, self-conscious of his working class background. this in turn leads to frustration, and then to outright malice -- but he is a controlled man, for the most part, and all of these urges go somewhere deep. as soon as he starts becoming intimately involved with the house, the haunting begins. and look at the nature of the haunting at first: fire. destructive and purifying: "if I can't have it, no-one can!" once Roderick -- his biggest threat as an umarriagable (for Faraday) heir -- is out of the way, the fire ceases. the haunting turns to the form of the little girl, the dead daughter, in order to torment the mother. it could even be argued that the dog was tormented into violence because Caroline was so close to it, and Faraday wanted to remove her entire support network and drive her closer to him. the haunting shifts, targeting each of the Ayres family individually and personally, often using private information that Faraday knows because of his position as a friend of the family. then, finally, when his last chance fails, it rises up as one final act of malice and kills Caroline ("if I can't have her, no-one can!").

and still Faraday wanders the abandoned house, long after the occupants are dead or otherwise gone. the house has a reputation for being haunted, but he never experiences any of these things for himself. is this because the work is done, now there are no human threats to Hundreds Hall, and Faraday can technically wander it whenever he likes? or is it because he is the ghost, if unaware he is so, and only trespassers -- anyone who is not him -- are terrorised out? there could be an argument for either, but I think the question of the ghost's identity is beyond doubt.

#the little stranger #aromaticoraromantic #asks

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killed-by-choice · 1 year

Text

“Georgia Roe,” 27 (USA 1975)

In 1975, a 27-year-old who was later given the name “Georgia” after her state underwent an abortion at 10 weeks pregnant.

Georgia’s medical history was noted in a later case report. At the age of 8, she had surgery for severe pectus excavatum. Her heart had stopped for 20 minutes, but circulation was maintained and she had no further issues noted until age 20, when possible cardiac enlargement and/or pulmonary edema was noted. A brief course of treatment relieved her and she was noted to have been living a “normal life”.

But at the age of 27, she underwent a hysterectomy abortion (removing the uterus with the fetus still inside) at 10 weeks pregnant.

It is possible that Georgia thought that the abortion would preserve her health. At some point after having three uneventful and healthy births, she had started experiencing pelvic pain, which was identified as chronic cervicitis. At the time of the abortion, she’d had a class 3 Pap smear* and a cervical biopsy showed atypical squamous metaplasia**.

It is also possible that she had the abortion because she just didn’t want another child. She had already given birth to three babies, each one born full-term with no complications from the pregnancy or birth. The reason for the abortion remains unknown.

In the recovery room, Georgia had an occasionally irregular heartbeat and ST depression was noted. Another EKG 2 days later showed "possibly a little more" ST depression. Despite this, the hospital released her after 5 days and did not have her see a doctor for a follow-up.

Georgia’s family members reported that in her last few weeks alive, she suffered from continuous vaginal bleeding. Despite her alarming symptoms and her medical history, Georgia still was not given any follow-up medical treatment.

5 weeks after the abortion, Georgia was in her car on the way to a relative’s funeral. When she got out of the car, she suddenly collapsed and died.

A doctor who had occasionally seen Georgia during her life but had not seen or treated her at any point after the abortion listed her cause of death as “coronary occlusion”, but no autopsy was ever performed.

Georgia was 1 out of 10 known deaths in the state of Georgia to happen to a client who had recently had a legal abortion in 1975. Due to a voluntary and largely ineffective reporting system, it is unknown how many more cases go unreported.

* The now-obsolete class system for papanicolaou smear testing marked the results as a class 3. This means that abnormal cells were detected, but it doesn’t confirm the presence of a dangerous problem and cells marked as class 3 will sometimes become normal again without any treatment at all. The biopsy may have been ordered after the results came back.

** Atypical squamous metaplasia can be precancerous or fully benign. It can come from a virus, hormonal conditions, polyps, menopause and more. It does not necessarily mean that the patient has or will develop cancer, but follow-up testing is usually in order.

#death from legal abortion #tw abortion #pro life #tw murder #tw ab*rtion #abortion #abortion debate #abortion is not healthcare #pro choice #unsafe yet legal #unidentified victim

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forestwhisper3 · 2 years

Text

Finally finished catching up on One Piece and was starting to look into the stuff for the new movie when I found out about Uta.

Or more specifically, her fruit.

(Slight spoilers for One Piece Film: RED, so read on at your own discretion)

Seriously, why does this stuff keep happening? Why do I keep getting weirdly close with canon stuff? First with Peony in my pokemon fic, and now with this?

There’s a reason why I’ve tagged the picrew images of Ran with the fanfic name Crescendo. I was intending to give her a devil fruit. The Uta-Uta no Mi to be exact. And now this movie has Shanks’s daughter having it and I can’t decide whether to be weirded out that this fruit is associated so closely with him or upset that the idea for this fruit was used (seriously, with how many endless possibilities there are for devil fruits I still choose one that ends up in canon).

I actually sort of hit a few things with the fruit’s power too. The Wiki article says it can teleport peoples’ consciousness to a virtual space, where they can manipulate reality to their will and also control the real-world bodies of those trapped in it.

Before I found all this out, this was how I imagined the powers of the Uta-Uta no Mi. Granted, I was still working out the details, but this was what I had by the last time I worked on it (straight from my word document):

Uta Uta no mi- song fruit

Can produce effects with songs.

Stage 1: mood alteration

Stage 2: hypnotic effects/persuasion

Stage 3: control of the body (much like the dance island)

Awakened: Can hear the "song" (soul?) inside of living things; gains the ability to alter the world around them.

Pros: Wide variety of uses. Can affect large groups of people at the same time.

Cons: Limited by the imagination of the user and lyrics of the song. Can't affect the user, whether it's beneficial or not. User needs to be able to speak. Can be resisted if the one hearing it has a will stronger than the user's. The more powerful the effect intended, the more energy is used (i.e. things like drastically affecting the weather/environment or bringing someone back from the brink of death will significantly weaken her and she'll need some time to recover).

So...yeah. In a way, I sort of had similar ideas to what ended up being the actual powers of the Uta-Uta no Mi. I still kind of like mine better, so I still might end up going with that, but I guess it’s going to have to be non-canon now.

...And now I’m imagining that, in canon, Ran dies after Uta is born and Shanks gets ahold of her fruit to give to their daughter. Might make for a nice canon meets AU side story, at any rate.

Although I’m still on the fence of Uta being born in the fic. If I did the math correctly, Shanks would have been eighteen when she was conceived. While I did plan on him and Ran having a child, it wasn’t going to be until they were both a bit older than that. Plus, if Ran is there, then Uta won’t get the fruit and that makes the whole movie (which I still need to see) obsolete, right?

Anyway, I guess that’s about all I have to say on that. Thanks for listening to my half rant, half confused tangent. Here’s a short clip (still being refined) on how I planned on Ran getting the Uta-Uta no Mi:

========

"Is this-?"

"A devil fruit," Roger confirmed, his expression one of the most serious I'd ever seen from him. "I want you to have it."

"What-...What does it do?"

"It's the song-song fruit. Officially, there's not a lot known about it, but there are rumors..."

"Rumors?"

"That it could hold the key to life and death."

My eyes widened, and my heart was pounding frantically against my chest when I looked up at him. He nodded, and I felt tears flood my eyes.

"There's not enough time for me to figure out if it's true," Roger continued softly. "We both know my days are numbered. But you...I know you can do it. Look after them for me, Ran."

"Roger...I-I-..."

He smiled warmly. "I know."

Before I knew it, I had wrapped my arms around him, my hands clutching tightly to his shirt as sobbed into his chest.

"It's not fair!" I choked out. "Why-...why does it have to be you, Roger?! You should be able to see the future with us- to see the man your son becomes."

Roger returned the embrace, and it was only because he did that I was able to feel how shaky his next breath was.

"Will you tell me about him?"

Not all of it, I thought. He was in enough pain thinking about his own death- I didn't need to add anyone else's.

"His name will be Ace, and his greatest treasure will be those he calls his family."

========

Bonus clip- Shanks realizes/accepts his feelings and the seeds of them begin to grow in Ran (WIP):

"Shit! Ran!"

The panic in Captain's voice was the first sign that something was wrong.

The second was when she didn't immediately come up for air.

He didn't bother waiting for the third before he was tossing Cap- his hat aside and jumping over the ship's railing into the water below.

Shanks's first love was the sea. The beauty. The danger. The freedom. It called to him in a way that he knew he would never be able to settle down on land. But...there was something else that has slowly been claiming its own stakes in there too.

Or rather, someone.

He hadn't really noticed it- not at first, anyway. His first impression of her hadn't exactly been the greatest, though he could now admit that that was more his fault than hers. He'd just been upset at missing out on a party. But the more he spoke with her...the more he got to know her...

She was like the sea.

Full of mystery and adventure...

Kind to those who respected her and unforgiving to those who didn't...

...and so beautiful he could gaze at her for hours.

Even now, as she drifted unconsciously in the water, she was beautiful. Her pink hair, darkened to a coral hue, fanned around her like streams of silk, and her skin was like porcelain.

It was when he thought that not even a mermaid's beauty could compare to her at that moment that he finally accepted that he'd fallen. Hard.

However, it was only after he'd brought her back to the surface that it really hit him. The way his heart was still thundering in his chest from residual fear as she began to cough, the way his breath seemed to leave him as her eyes- sea blue eyes -focused on him with confusion, then realization.

"Shanks...you-"

"You okay?"

The question came out just as breathless as he felt holding her so close to him. She just stared for a long moment before she finally looked away.

"Y-Yeah."

========

Leave it to Shanks to wax poetic about the things he loves, ahaha. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the little clips. I feel a little better about this whole thing now that I’ve had the chance to vent a bit. I leave you now with a new picrew of Ran.

“Sorry for not saying it before, but thank you, Shanks. For saving me.”

*Shanks then proceeds to turn redder than his hair*

These two are going to be so flippin cute, I swear. I actually kind of want to start this fic now.

(Made with this picrew: https://picrew.me/image_maker/1705444)

...Later!

#Crescendo- fanfic #Portgas D. Ran- Crescendo #Shanks- Crescendo #Gol D. Roger- Crescendo #Thanks again for putting up with this long post #Really appreciate it #Couldn't add Ran's freckles to this picrew unfortunately #But pretend they're there

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lesbian-in-leather · 3 years

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do you have any headcanons for how Mary might have been as child/teenager?

Oh my god yes I ABSOLUTELY do

Straight off the bat I think she was born with a lot of very dark hair

As a baby I feel like she very rarely cried, and laughed on occasion, but mainly just watched people. She would grab at their clothes/hands whenever they came close because she didn't like being stuck where she couldn't see anything and wanted to be picked up

Her first word was "Carson" - which upset both Cora and Robert greatly (they made a greater effort with Edith and Sybil to make their first words "mummy" or "daddy" which only made Mary feel like she was less important, because she didn't remember them paying her this much attention and she was very much pushed to the side)

I think she learnt to speak in complete sentences at an early age - something that regularly made the adults all laugh because the things she'd say were not the kind of thing you expect to hear from a child, let alone one that young

As a toddler I feel like she was one of those really serious kids that is too logical for make believe, but also believes almost anything adults tell her

I also think she was VERY talkative - she would be talking almost constantly, and loved to have discussions with adults (but they very rarely took her seriously which would annoy her a lot)

I think she'd frequently manage to slip away from her nanny (especially after Edith and then Sybil were born) and would sit on the gallery and watch everyone arrive for grand parties. I think she liked to imagine the beautiful dresses she'd wear to parties when she was older, but any guests that happened to look up would just see these pale little hands holding the pillers of the balustrade and dark eyes watching them intently

I think Carson would see her there the most and, as a young butler (I feel like he got promoted when Robert married Cora) would be worried she'd ruin the parties but never had the heart to tell the nanny to repremand her

Edith would cry a lot and Mary couldn't stand it so she'd go exploring the house. She once got lost and took a nap because "no one can do much exploring when they're tired" and the entire household was frantically searching for her for hours. She was found asleep in one of the servants' beds that night

I think she liked to spend time in Carson's office and he knew he shouldn't let her, but he also liked to hear her talk about whatever was interesting her at that moment and they would have very interesting discussions

She learned to read very early on and would spend a lot of time in corners with a good book. Robert, Cora and the nanny would lose her at least twice a week because of this

She didn't realise for a long time that Nanny would read to them because they were children, and so liked to read to people whenever she could. Edith, Robert and Cora thought she was trying to show off or take attention away from Edith and Sybil, so she only ever really read to Carson in his office. This is another reason he refused to send her away

Obviously we know about her wanting to steal the silver to run away when she was about five, and I feel like that was after she felt particularly overlooked just after Sybil was born

She and Edith got into a lot of arguements and Edith always managed to get her in trouble for them. The typical line was "you're the older sister so you should set an example" and both nanny and her parents would tell her that she should be responsible

She was very good at her school work but she usually annoyed the governess by debating things with her. From the ages of three to seven, "why?" Was her favourite question and she never liked to follow an order until it was answered

As she got older I feel like she withdrew into herself a lot more and became a lot quieter

She was thirteen when her parents first let her eat with them at dinner, and she enjoyed it immensely (especially when she got to tell Edith). After dinner, Violet and Robert took her aside and told her that she talked far too much to be a respectable woman, and she was too obvious when something displeased her

After that she changed how she reacted and spoke, and created her façade. She never told anyone, but she based her new personality on her favourite character from her favourite book - Lizzie Bennet. The more she used this personality, the more it leeched through into her own until they were one and the same

The first time she had dinner with someone from outside the family, she was fourteen and it was with a girl a couple of years older than her (with her parents). The girl hated Mary and humiliated her in front of everyone, making her cry. The girl saw and laughed in her face. That was the day Mary decided she would never let anyone see how she really felt

By the time she came out at 16, she was the same person that we saw at the beginning of the series - calm, collected, with scathing sarcasm and wit and the ability to hide all of her emotions. Violet once remarked on how far she'd come since that first dinner, and Mary couldn't decide if that made her glad her façade had worked, or upset that her family didn't miss the 'real her'

At Edith's coming out ball she made a point of it being "better than Mary's" for so long that Mary got sick of it. When she insisted that no one would want to dance with Mary now that she had come out, Mary decided to deliberately upstage her. She wore a prettier dress and danced with all the boys Edith liked to prove that Edith couldn't replace her. No one realises that this came from a genuine fear of becoming obsolete in the family, and so began the transformation of their relationship from childish arguements to an all out war

Wow I got a bit carried away and this is very long... if anyone read this far thanks!! And sorry for rambling lmao I just have a lot of Thoughts

#i've never gotten a headcanon ask before #this was so fun #downton abbey #mary crawley #asks #thanks for the ask!!#the lesbian herself

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sirensmojo · 3 years

Text

"KINDRED",3 - Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, drugs, romance, drama & cheating.

Word Count: 5K

❰ Previous Chapter

*Shelby Brother Company Limited, Birmingham*

“Michael’s a pain in the ass.”

You and Tommy were seated one in front of the other in Tommy’s office, it was almost midnight.

You both stared at each other after your affirmation, the need to formulate words obsolete, when all of a sudden, a hiccup hit your throat.

“Wow.” Your brows raised, along with your free hand, patting over your chest.

Only the booze could bring them to talk, but they would forget everything the next morning, or that, they pretended so. Everything the other would say was rooted in the other’s heart, as a prize.

“I could maybe try something.” You calmly spoke, as if a flash of thunder lightning struck some idea into you.

You two had dirty hands and were capable of taking care of yourselves, but those past three, you got each other’s back.

Without knowing it, you were keeping a close eye on the business of the other just in case.

If the Peaky Blinder found something wrong concerning your business, he would take care of it, in the shadows of course.

No need to tell you he quite cared when he wasn't sure himself.

It was also working the other way, you had ears at each side of the continent, you what had happened to the Shelby politician without him telling you, and straightened back up every shaky thing.

“ ‘Bout what?” Tommy asked, pouring some more whiskey in the cup resting in your other hand.

‘The two partners trying to get rid of Mosley’ had become an excuse. The silence each brought to the other was addictive, and the days between each meeting only amplified that obsession.

“Speak sense to his wife. Given the situation, I think both the weak and tuff points of Michael’s scheme are her.”

Tommy frowned, thinking deeper about what you told. You weren’t entirely wrong, he doubted Michael would’ve betrayed him without the support of somebody.

“He was pushed to one side, a little push to the other one will make him think right.” Y/L/N got further.

An evening meeting was programmed weekly.

You started meeting at the library during the first week. Then, the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, catching the attention of another member of the Shelby family.

“You think it’ll be this easy?” The peaky blinder asked, sprinkling ash onto the ashtray that was on the table that separated you two.

“It’ll have to.” You responded.

Polly was the first one to confront Tommy directly about the presence of a very well dressed woman far too often in the offices.

“Her hair is nice.” She added, smoking on her cig looking intently at Tommy's gleaming eyes at the mention of the so-called “librarian”.

Because that was how he presented Y/N. A girl from an aristocratic family searching for exoticism and bought a library.

He and you were to work together solely due to his status at the House of Commons, none more none less.

But the Gray woman knew better, even if she refused to push the matter further.

“May God keep Arthur away from her, he’ll eat her for his lunch.” Pol’ tease before she shook her head at her own statement as Tommy coughed away this whole discussion.

(...)

Three knocks could be heard on the Gray’s room door in the Midland hotel.

The entrance opens, “Told you I’ll join you in a minute, Gin--” Michael’s voice stopped as soon as his wife abruptly pushed her shoulders to his to enter the room.

“What are you doing?” One of his hands was in his suit pocket, the other one grabbing the door handle.

She hassled to the phone, dialling a number without even glancing at the Gray.

“Gina?” Asked the man, looking intently at the movements of the woman, blinking slowly.

She refused to address him, waiting patiently until the person she was calling responded.

“What is going on? What do you mean our contacts were offered another deal?”

Michael went closer, and as he was sitting on the desk chair, leaning backwards on it, he started to understand what was going on.

“Anyway, we can still offer them to prosper durably, that man can’t say the same, right?”

She rolled her eyes at herself after remaining silent for some minutes, she was listening to the individual at the end of the line.

It was more than clear she was done with everything.

She wasn’t even slightly “happy” to be in the shit hole that was Birmingham as she, herself, qualified multiple times. The only reason she was here was that Michael didn’t want to properly betray his cousin.

He convinced her to come here and resonate with Tommy about a “normal succession”, but she knew damn well it wouldn’t work. Why would he give everything he spent so much time to gather under the pretext of succession?

Tommy wasn’t the type to give up things, for any reason.

And now that they were away from New York, their allies already started to forget about their promises…

Why did she even agree to let Tommy a chance?

“He didn’t fall for Michael’s plan. We will have to do it our way.” She seemed happy at least, to finally be able to handle the matter how she wanted to, which was the only good news about this call.

When the receptionist asked for her at the restaurant, she’d expected to be told all was ready there and that Michael would only have to give the order for the plan to begin. But no.

Gina hung up the phone before she lifted her eyes to her husband that was staring at her, patiently waiting.

“It was my uncle, some man going by the name of Haynes met with all of our contacts, offering them a greater alliance directly with the Chinese, without needing us as intermediaries.” She finally spoke.

The younger Gray looked away, clenching his jaw as a hand came over his face. He let out a long sigh, his body voicing his displeasure. But his wife’s hand came on his shoulder as she leaned on his back, and murmured near his ear:

“But. He says it’s looking like the perfect time to launch plan B, baby.” She grabbed his chin as she turned around to stand in front of him.

“He says it’ll show them we can also ‘bang’ if it’s needed. It’ll be like showing our hand, and in this case, this is the thing to do.”

One of her hands was on Michael’s thigh as the other was still holding his face so he was looking at her. It was a way to say “focus on me” without actually saying it.

As the man was diving into her brown eyes, it seemed she succeeded at keeping him from thinking too much. She gave answers before he could even formulate questions.

By his silence, Gina surmised Michael still wasn’t sure about the plan.

“We did it your way Michael, coming all the way up here to your cousin’s chaotic decisions. Things need to get in order, baby. And it seems like you’re the one that cares enough to do so.” The words left her mouth so lightly as she straightened up and turned her back to her husband.

“We need to go back to America as soon as possible. You promised our child will be born there.” She added, glancing at him above her shoulder.

(...)

Arthur and the boys had convinced Tommy to relax at the Garrison after a long day. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he slammed the doors open to a packed place.

Ahead of them were approximately twenty women, all dolled up as if coming from the Eden club in London. Very short hair with the golden headband with feathers, embroidered pearls on their cotton dresses made it known they were from high society.

Some of them were dancing in the middle of the room, while others were singing on the counter zigzagging between glasses and bottles.

It was the first time Tommy had seen most of those people.

He was actively searching their faces trying to locate the reason for their presence when his eyes confirmed his thought. You were dancing, turning on yourself holding the hand of a taller woman.

You had on a black & red dress going down to your knees with a black and gold headband that flattened your hair, forcing your finger waves to frame your face. Your slow and haunting movements were wrinkling the fabrics, complementing your silhouette.

As you were spinning around, the fringes of your dress were flying in the air as well as your hair, adding to your alluring dance.

Your cheeks, certainly reddened by the alcohol and your half-opened eyes due to you boozing with the huge grin that illuminated your face, made Tommy’s eyes twinkle. As if it was a beautiful night sky full with stars he was looking at.

“Who’s that Tommy?” Arthur questioned entering right after the Shelbys head.

“Get in the room, I’ll bring the bottles.” Tom’s low voice ordered as he motioned to the little room near the counter.

Finn and Isaiah hassled to the room without wasting any more minutes, too appealed by the idea of getting drunk while Arthur leaned to his brother’s ear.

“Look at that butterfly Tommy, isn’t she lovely?” He asked after he caught the reason for Tommy's order.

The latter dismissed the discomfort with a rough cough, turning to his brother.

“What about you fetch the bottles, eh?” He simply put, and that was enough for Arthur to leave it there.

“Whiskey for the peaky boys!” He exclaimed as he patted Tommy’s shoulder. He managed his way behind the counter, after which, he took what he was searching for and disappeared behind the large doors of the little room he closed behind himself.

Tom stayed there, looking at you for some time trying to understand which one of the facades he had seen was the real you.

You were now sitting on your friend's lap, legs crossed, your lips were alternating between a long cigarette holder and a glass of what Tommy surmised to be whiskey knowing the character.

Giving up on searching for an answer, he turned his heels and joined his brothers as if nothing had happened.

(...)

Coming out of the car, you looked both ways before crossing the street and joining the large wooden door, a hand in your suit’s pocket, the other leading a cigarette to your lips.

You pushed in the door and were met by two pairs of eyes. A tall young white man, with a dark-skinned one, wearing berets.

Without second glancing at them, you confidently walked to the stairs at the end of the large room, making this place your own.

Your heels resonated on the cold hard ground, and as they did, each man in the building turned to you, staring in both awe and confusion.

Coming down the stairs, you passed by the three little training rings before you sat down at a little table in front of one of them. It was two men fighting, one who had a luxuriant moustache hiding his upper lips, freckles sprinkling his face.

He was screaming at the other one with a thick Birmingham accent, “Come ‘ere, boy.”

“Hit me! Hit me!” His tone was louder each time.

The poor man ahead of him didn’t dare to punch, which he certainly regretted after he received a strong right fist in the jaw.

Only a couple punches later the loud man succeeded at putting down the other that was wincing in pain.

“Yeaa” The moustache man exclaimed before being interrupted by one of the two boys you saw earlier.

“Arthur! There’s a--” He stopped dead at the sight of you, and you put your cig in between your lips as you got up, beginning to applause.

The sound resonated against the walls as no one was making any noise. You grabbed back the cigarette with your fingers and moved closer.

“Do you fight? I know great opponents,” you paused, feigning to think. “not so sure they will stand even for a round with you.” You clicked your tongue, tilting your head.

They both looked at you up and down for a whole minute before the named Arthur opened his mouth, even if still struggling to properly breathe, he smacked his lips as his hands went flattening his hair.

“Searching for exotism, love?” He grabbed the towel he was handed by a small chubby man with a hat. “Bet you liked what ya see.” Arthur decided to make it normal for a woman to come to sit and watch men fight.

“Indeed.” You let out, a curious gleam in your eyes.

He turned to the man on his side that leaned in his ear, murmuring something.

Arthur let out a deep “Hmm” before he got out of the ring.

He glanced at you and decided to keep up the talk.

“I don’t fight like this, it’s just for---”

“Fun?” You interrupted him, your eyes still fixed on his figure. His stare encountered yours before he put on a shirt. He grabbed the filled cup off the table.

“Curly, Tommy needs you in Charlie’s yard. Finn, you go with them.” He was pointing at the men and to the door up the stairs as if dismissing them.

So the man handed him things was going by “Curly” and the boy, Finn.

“What you doing here? It’s not some place for you.” He buttoned up his pants.

You scoffed at his affirmation, leading him to look up at you.

“I like some good fights, is that forbidden, Mr Shelby?” You came nearer, throwing the rest of your cig in his cup.

You were standing right in front of him, taking the bow tie hanging on the half wall of the ring and slowly led it to his neck. He took a step back, but you stepped forward, blocking him against the ring sides.

“You know Tommy?” Arthur felt the need to say something, the situation being extremely odd to him.

You gently put in place the bow and looked up to Arthur’s face, from his pale skin to his eyes. You stayed there a whole minute, analyzing his soul throughout the blue spring sky of his glassy eyes.

“I’d like to see you fight more. In real rings, Arthur. Why don’t you use the boxing place, it’s not far from here.” You turned your heels, walking back to the chair.

He looked at your figure, his eyes blankly fluttering for a moment. Needless to say, the minute you stared at him was displeasing, he was feeling as if he was robbed of something.

He ignored the warning and grabbed his boots, before he installed himself on the other chair around the little table, wanting to hear more about your offer.

“You fight good, but with some real training you could be something else.” You offered him a cigarette that he refused.

You were testing him from the very moment you put your feet in this cave, from checking how to open his mind was to his relation with poison such as cigarettes.

And now that you know everything you need to know, you could offer something.

“You’re some sort of agent?” He asked, intrigued.

You shook your head “Did you ever imagine women fighting? Just like you did, perhaps slightly better” You questioned, teasing him on the end.

His only response was to look at you in disbelief, and you bet he didn’t even understand what you told him.

“There is a world that exists, right here in Birmingham. Wanna go out and see?” You motioned your head toward the door, inviting him to agree with you.

It wasn’t that hard to convince the elder Shelby brother, he was always open to seeing more of life. Even if that meant to beat the shit outta people, get drunk, fuck the whole city or drowning in drugs.

The thing with Arthur was that he wasn’t careful enough, what told him it wasn’t a trap and that he will not get kidnapped or even killed if he followed you? Nothing. Nothing was ever sure with him, but leaving on the edges was something like his daily prayer, so of course he said yes.

Why in the hell would he say no? Tommy could do without him today.

(...)

Tommy had an unexpected visit from Churchill himself. It seemed like the latter had taken a liking to the head of the Shelbys.

“Do what you have to do, Mr Shelby.” Were Churchill’s words toward the reason for his visit, Mosley.

Indeed, he had thought out a concrete plan. And surprisingly, it was thanks to the books you sent him over the weeks, it was almost worth getting harassed by her over the primar book.

The plan was simple, Mosley will make a speech a week and a half from now, the 6th, in Bingley hall. Taking advantage of an anti-fascist demonstration during the rally, an old war comrade named Barney will shoot, and to be cleared of any suspicion, Thomas will be standing right next to Mosley at the time of his death, making sure he’ll take the head of the fascist union.

Today’s meeting was to explain details of the plan and what needed to be done before the d-day, but Tom didn’t see his brother during the entire day and when he’d asked the boys he was responded that Arthur stayed training some more.

It was hard at times, even for him to understand his older brother.

Not that he wanted to, but normally Arthur would never miss a meeting. The only times he didn’t show up were when he was overwhelmed with dark thoughts, and it wasn’t the right time for something like that to occur.

He decided to come to the pub, hoping to see his brother there, drunk, but not in a random cave trying to end his life.

Tom opened the Garrison’s doors, coughing at the amount of smoke coming in his face. He squinted his eyes, at first searching for a fire, but the more smoke entered his nostrils, the more he recognized the smell of apples and red fruits.

“Arthur, what the hell?” he called.

The place was crowded but Tommy’s eyes were focused on his brother, installed at the table near the windows.

He walked to the table and motioned to the windows. “Open one of these.” He ordered, but his brother didn’t see nor hear him. He was too occupied smoking on what seemed like a pipe with a long tube from where came the smoke.

“Oi!” Tommy yelled.

As everyone around the table turned to him, his eyes met with someone he would’ve never expected to be here.

Y/N was previously actively discussing with some girls when someone shouted into her ear.

You stared at Tommy for what seemed an eternity, he doing the same, both asking themselves what the other was doing here.

“Tommy!” His brother exclaimed, louder than he needed to. But this one was too occupied looking at you to even glance toward his brother, that well noticed the stare between you two.

Arthur managed to get up and pat his brother’s shoulder, welcoming him properly.

That’s when he turned to him, incredulous. His icy blue eyes were piercing his brothers, relentlessly.

“Welcome to the new Birmingham, brother!” Arthur seemed ecstatic. “Did you fucking know there were women fighting too, Tommy?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Arthur.” His brother shook his head, still looking at him.

“Boxing, he saw women boxing for the first time.” You entered the conversation to Tommy's displeasure. He looked over you blankly.

“What the fuck is this?” He pointed to the thing Arthur was smoking from previously.

“It’s called a hookah. Or a shisha in percian.” You responded even though he decided to ignore you for who knows what reason.

“Come on, brother, it’s the good life, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, seeing the face of Tommy next to him.

He ultimately pointed back to the windows, “Open those.” Was all he said before turning back and leaving the pub.

“Sergent Major!” You authoritatively called, the heavy Garrison’s doors making a thud as they closed behind you.

The stars were twinkling dimly in the bright sky, cleared of any cloud. It added phlegm to the frenzied atmosphere between the two individuals.

He was already walking in the opposite direction but immediately stopped at the mention of his Small Heath Rifles’ rank.

Thomas turned back. “What did you say?”

You decide to ignore him and start walking to him.

Each of your steps snapped with the fortitude of an army. And the fineness with which you balance your weight from one foot to the other could bewilder the fiercest individuals, that, he knew.

Not a single ounce of hesitation nor apprehension in your movements.

But the most unsettling thing Tommy found about you was your facial expression. It wasn’t closed off or concentrated, quite the reverse, the spark settling behind your iris could light up any type of darkness and you were undoubtedly giving slices of life to each person you would smile to.

The addition of your features creating a delicate dimension where it was possible to believe the best things could happen.

At that moment, Tom wished he hadn’t seen you at that library. You were something he couldn’t overfly even if he dared to. But for some reasons he wasn’t able to move on, swayings seizing his entire being, physically as well as mentally.

There was just something about this, him and you.

“What the hell did you think, you that act like the most intelligent of all fucking Birmingham and beyond. My fucking brother doesn’t need none of that!” Tommy wasn’t screaming, but you could hear in his deep tone the anger rooted in his throat.

“He doesn’t need it or you don’t want him to have it, Thomas?” You calmly stated, which made him turn his back at you, passing a hand over his face.

You were pushing him to the edge and that made you laugh, which you didn’t even try to muffle.

He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“You wanted this.” He pointed you with his index.

He was accusing you of wittingly driving him crazy and you couldn’t even deny it.

You grabbed his finger with your own hand and pushed it down without releasing it.

“No, I counted on it.” You started, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t escape Tommy’s gaze.

“Life’s a succession of wars, Tom. But soldiers too need to relax.”

No one had ever put a finger on that nerve, but here he was, gazing longingly into your orbs, your words resonating within him.

You wasn’t only talking about Arthur and the fact he needed to be distracted to stay away from dark thoughts. You were also talking about him, that didn’t have to take care of everything as you were there now to handle some of it.

“I promise you I know what I’m doing.”

He leaned backwards, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

Why were you promising things now? The last time you two were that close, it was you that ran away, and now you were the one initiating things to drift from professional to personal.

You sighed and looked down. That’s when you realized both your hands were locked together.

You frowned, remaining silent. You were shocked, but not as much as you should. You weren’t totally stupid, the feelings settling in you were pretty clear once you stopped pushing them aside.

Soon enough he followed your stare, noticing the thing as well.

Both of you released at the same time, looking at everything but the other.

Tommy coughed, fighting the will to be the one saying something in this situation. But he didn’t want you to escape him again this time.

“I’m dealing with Arthur, you don’t have to put your nose in my affairs. It’s not part of the deal.”

You’d preferred he hadn’t spoken. You rolled your eyes at yourself before throwing him the “really?” look.

“You can’t even deal with Michael and you’re telling me you’re dealing with Arthur.” You scoffed, putting a hand on your lips to muffle the sound of your laugh.

His body relaxes at your gigglings.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re foolin’?” You couldn’t hold the laugh back any more.

He didn’t respond, nor act on what you just said. He just stares at you, filled with joy at the simple sight of you being vulnerable.

A smile drew at the corner of your lips when you stopped mocking him.

Your eyes fluttered of wellness, as he was just standing close, doing nothing else than breathing.

Tommy grabbed a cig and put it in between his lips, but you hassled to steal it and lock it between yours.

He glanced at you, raising his brows. He was done with you that was for sure. But not in a bad way. You were playing a game and you won the match.

He came lightening up your cig as watching you take a deep and slow puff on it.

You started to walk, going deeper into the street and he started to do the same.

(...)

Michael and Gina were coming back from the restaurant. It was the first time the husband took his wife out to eat in Birmingham as she, obviously, wasn’t a fan of the city.

They didn’t see the time’s flying and it was already ten when they reached the wide glass doors of the hotel.

As they entered it, they noticed it was almost pinched black inside, the only source of brightness emanating from little orangish lights hanging on the walls behind the counter.

Michael glanced left to right at the place, no one to be seen, or so he thought. It was only when Gina stepped foot in, that he glimpsed figures coming out of the dark spots.

They were moving fast, getting nearer the American woman before his husband could do anything to protect her.

“Gina!” Was all he said before she disappeared outside the front doors of the hotel along with the individuals.

(...)

Tommy stops the engine looking straight ahead.

You were looking outside the window, to your large mansion. You managed to glance at the man before opening the door. You were gauging his reaction, almost testing the water all while maintaining the silence.

As the tension couldn’t get higher, you stepped out. You began to move away from the car when you heard its door open, followed by the clearing of a throat you knew too well.

Tommy’s steps on the gravel came nearer and nearer. When you turned the keys in the lock they were right behind. You opened the heavy wooden entry and got in, letting the door open.

The man entered behind your and turned his back at you, closing the door. When he turned back at the entrance, Y/N had disappeared.

He stepped deeper in the house, and joined the living room, where he glimpsed at your figure, your air resting at your back, your fingers over a note on the table.

Tom got closer to you, grabbing your elbow with the tip of his fingers, looking at the paper you seemed focused on.

Done.

You quickly glanced around, as if making sure you were alone. You then turned to him, raising your palm to his cheek, a gentle touch that he didn’t expect, making his lids slowly fluttering.

You took a step forward, leaned towards him and fondled his nose with the end of your own before leading your fingers to his lips.

You closed your eyes, rooting yourself at this moment and forgetting about the library, high society, Mosley, Michael and everything that stood between you.

He was the one to initiate the kiss, the call for you being louder than any other things at the moment. One of his hands slid to the hollow of your back as the other was grabbed by hers.

Fingers intertwined together, breath mixed, lips pressed against one another, heartbeats speeding and a thousand seconds later, you pulled away, slowly raising your gaze to Tommy’s.

The weight this kiss meant dropped on Tom’s shoulder as he, without hesitation, came to taste again the sweet flavour of your lips. You gasped at the connection, the eagerness of the feeling inside your stomach being fed.

You were breathing loudly in his mouth, your hands now grabbing Tommy’s clothes shamelessly.

They both knew there was no turning back and that things got more complicated than they needed to be, but none of them pulled away nor hesitated for even a slight second.

Following Chapter ❱

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 3 years

Text

6 Oct. Suptober: Cemetery Boys

"May I help you, dear?" A maternal tone worked rather less often these days than it used to, but she'd guessed correctly: his smile did not fade and he came closer.

"Do you have any books about graveyards?" the boy asked without hesitation.

s14 au; Jack & Sam, horror (implied)

"Hello," a friendly voice said.

Mara looked up from the shelf she was dusting and took stock of the child in front of her, his hand raised in greeting and his smile sincere. Her sister would say he had a face full of sunshine. Granted, Elin would also say he was not a child but a young man -- Elin's grin would grow wider, hungrier. Mara, however, had her standards and children did not meet them.

The child's windbreaker, sneakers, and side-swept haircut weren't exclusive to any age group, these days when no-one knew how to dress to impress when out in public. Something about him was peculiar, though. The more Mara stared, the more his youth bled to the surface of him.

"May I help you, dear?" A maternal tone worked rather less often these days than it used to, but she'd guessed correctly: his smile did not fade and he came closer.

"Do you have any books about graveyards?" the boy asked without hesitation.

Once, Mara might have found such a question odd or disturbing, especially coming from someone so young. Why, a child born in this century might not lose a loved one to illness or disaster for decades. Modern people lived longer and healthier lives, and in general Mara found this useful. (A larger pool to choose from was always welcome.) But just yesterday a fully grown woman with three of her own offspring in tow had asked her if the library carried a series of novels which were entirely filled with poorly-written filth.

Fifty shades this and fifty shades that. Standards of fashion were not the only standards that had deteriorated of late.

The boy stood waiting for an answer, the set of his jaw making him seem older for a few seconds until his face smoothed out again.

Only a trick of the light, Mara thought.

"We have a fine selection of YA books," she said, "and I believe several patrons your age have enjoyed the novel Cemetery Boys." She led the child a few steps away to the new release case in the young adult section.

He glanced at the colorful books but shook his head regretfully. "No, ma'am. I meant, would the library have anything on local graveyards?"

"You're working on a research paper?" Mara guessed.

"Yes," he said, "something like that. I'm new to town. My name's Jack."

"Well, welcome, Jack." Mara knew it was hard to be the new kid in school, especially in a town as small as Foxhole. Especially when a child was as strange as this boy. "I suggest you try the state room. Miss Elin, who works in there, may be able to set you up with some public county records information, newspaper articles on microfilm, that sort of thing. Oh, there might even be a diary or two; the library has saved quite a few from prominent local families."

"Thank you," the child said.

Very polite manners! Mara approved.

She remembered Harlan Pogue breaking ground at nearby Lime Hill at the ceremony held on a cold January morning, 1860. Not a moment too soon, as it turned out, with the war on its way and so many graves soon to be dug.

Pogue had been from one of those prominent families. He’d had beautiful public manners but dreadful private ones; he’d been one of Mara's first after arriving on the continent. To feel him suffering beneath her powerful flank, face contorted with pain as he choked for breath, sweat dripping from his purpling head and chest, had always been a delight she recalled with fondness.

She hoped the boy wouldn't want much history on Lime Hill. She knew for a fact most of the records had been burned when the cemetery was later plowed under and the land sold to WalMart. All part of the brutal march of time.

The boy had not yet started towards the glassed-in state room when he waved at a tremendously tall, handsome man who'd just come in the door by the check-out. The man was dressed well, in a tailored gray suit, befitting someone with an important job like financial consultant or attorney.

"Is that your father?" Mara asked, smiling at the child's enthusiasm.

"One of them, yes." The boy began to go to him. "Thanks again for your help!"

Well then. Mara knew more than a few children had multiple parents these days. She wondered about the child's mother. Bless the woman's soul, the paperwork for more than one divorce would likely have cost a fortune. Once upon a time, a divorced woman would've been drummed out of town. If she could not afford to leave, she may have been made simply miserable by the gossips and the scolds, and the latest marriage would suffer for it.

Mara tsked, thinking on the cruelty a community was capable of. Still, she herself had taken advantage of more than one fraught relationship. Those husbands were often bad in their own ways, spineless or incapable of comforting their wives properly. Tormenting their dreams had given Mara satisfaction she sometimes found difficult to achieve otherwise.

On the other hand, if she were being honest, meting out justice could get old, in a way she herself didn't. Sometimes what one wanted was to feel a man scream in agony, his hands scrambling toward but finding no purchase in her rich, thick mane. Sometimes knowing he would spend all his remaining years scared to close his eyes at night for what terrors might await him in the dark, in sleep he could not escape, was just the cure for a long stretch of less than rapturous encounters.

If she were being very honest, the boy's father might be an ideal candidate for pursuit. She didn't recognize him; perhaps both he and his son were new to the area. He nodded as he passed Mara, respectful of an elder. He wore no rings and his eyes were a kind shade of hazel. She could easily imagine them filled with fear, and the thought was pleasing.

She would ask Elin for his and the boy's surname later. Elin excelled at learning that sort of thing about the patrons.

Or -- and as Mara thought of this, she realized how much fun it would be -- she could simply shrink to the size of a sliver and slip out of the library when the father and child left, follow them to whichever cemetery they chose to explore, and trail them from there to wherever they dwelled. There was no guarantee, of course, that the father slept alone, but surely it was part of the excitement of the hunt to discover whether or not he did.

And if he was alone, Mara could ensure he would not be for long.

Elin could have the boy.

Keeping eyes on the visitors, Mara returned to dusting, content in her renewed sense of purpose and happily daydreaming of the nightmares she was soon to provoke.

Mare (obsolete): "An evil preternatural being causing nightmares" (from m-w.com); "...source also of...Old High German mara" (from etymonline.com).

#suptober21 #suptober #fic #jack kline #sam winchester #spn

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reallifesultanas · 3 years

Text

Portrait of Turhan Hatice / Turhan Hatice portréjra

PS before reading: Sorry that I did not use Hande Dogandemir as Turhan, but she is just not Turhan for me. She is an amazing actress and a pretty woman, but she was nothing like Turhan. Meanwhile Yasemin Allen in the ultimate Turhan for me, so yeah...:D

Origin and education

Turhan Hatice was a Slavic woman of Russian descent, born around 1627. She was captured by the Tartars from her homeland, the Russian steppes, so she came to Istanbul as a child in the second half of the 1630s. Here, of the many slaves, she had a relatively fortunate fate, for she was bought by a pasha from slave traders. Later the pasha gifted her to Burnaz Atike Sultan's service. We are un such a lucky situation that we know some hints about Turhan’s appearance. They say she was very white skin, had blue eyes, brown hair (others suggest she was blond), and was tall.

Atike Sultan, who was the daughter of Ahmed I, noticed the beauty and talent of the girl, so she paid special attention to her education. Based on the subsequent relationship between the two, we can guess that Atike treated the girl very well, and practically a very close, fraternal relationship developed between the two women. Atike was also almost a mother figure to Turhan’s child as well, which makes it clear that the relationship between the two women remained very close throughout their lives. Turhan, with such a background and education, was a very special gift to Atike's younger brother, the new Sultan Ibrahim I. According to others, Atike gave the girl to Kösem Sultan and eventually she introduced her to Ibrahim.

Her life with Ibrahim I

We do not know the order in which Ibrahim’s concubines were given to him, presumably the mothers of the three eldest children, Turhan Hatice, Hatice Muazzez, and Saliha Dilaşub became Ibrahim’s concubines roughly at the same time. However, Turhan was the first to become pregnant and give birth to a boy in January 1642. We would think that, as the mother of the heir to the throne, she received particularly great respect and special authority. However, none is true. The relationship between Ibrahim and Turhan soon deteriorated greatly. And in general Ibrahim's concubines could not really gain power for themselves because of their mother-in-law, Kösem Sultan. Turhan Hatice probably had another daughter shortly after Mehmed, Atike, but they probably had no more children together. This is not surprising, since there was an open conflict between Turhan and Ibrahim before or around 1645, after which both Turhan and her son were pushed into the background.

The wet-nurse of Prince Mehmed and her son were very much liked by the sultan, who constantly spent time with the nurse's son, Osman, considered him as his own son, while he pushed away Mehmed. Raising a slave’s son as his own caused a huge anomaly in the harem and triggered a lot of rumors. Turhan could not tolerate the humiliation of her son, the heir to the throne, so some said she directly questioned Ibrahim. Others say she sent the wet-nurse out of her service, who in turn complained about Turhan’s behavior to the sultan. Either way, Sultan Ibrahim became angry and his anger was directed at Mehmed. He staged a huge scene, then tore Prince Mehmed out of his mother's arms and threw him into a cistern. The child suffered severe head injuries but survived the incident without permanent damage after the servants rushed to his rescue immediately. For the rest of his life, Mehmed had a scar on his forehead due to this event.

The following years were about dread and humiliation, as Ibrahim became more and more insane, committed more and more inexplicable things, and married one of his young concubines, whom he raised above everyone else. Kösem Sultan and her followers at one point tried to dethrone the mad Sultan to replace him with his son, Mehmed, but to no avail. Lots of heads fell to dust after the rebellion, Kösem Sultan herself was exiled too. We don’t know how Turhan lived through this period, but given the events, she could probably have worried a lot about her son’s life. The relationship between Turhan and Mehmed was very close, perhaps one of the closest during the period of the Sultanate of women. This strong bond may have been formed in the period of common suffering from Ibrahim's madness.

The resurrected hope

In August 1648, Ibrahim was finally dethroned and locked up by the Janissaries and Kösem Sultan. Soon the statesmen flocked to the palace to take Prince Mehmed to the Janissary Mosque to be proclaimed Sultan there. Kösem Sultan did not allow this, did not hand over her grandson. She argued with the statesmen for hours before it was finally agreed that Prince Mehmed would be proclaimed sultan within the palace, as tradition requires. Turhan could finally know her son was safe, she might think everything would be fine, but it didn’t happen that way.

The statesmen asked Kösem Sultan to become a regent to Mehmed IV, as Mehmed’s own mother herself was too young for the role. The statesmen expected Kösem Sultan to prepare and educate Turhan and Mehmed for the task ahead of them, but Kösem Sultan thought otherwise. She wanted to lead the empire, like a monarch. The reason for this was presumably the execution of Ibrahim. The statesmen seem to have executed the former sultan without the consent and knowledge of Kösem Sultan. Kösem Sultan for that reason refused to work with the statesmen, and we can also deduce from the events that she may blamed Turhan also.

Kösem Sultan completely excluded Turhan from political life, but what was an even bigger problem that Mehmed was excluded too. In addition, she did not allow Turhan to act as a legitimate Valide Sultan either in the harem. Kösem Sultan, for example, did not allow Turhan to send away the mother of Ibrahim's other children (except Hümaşah, who herself also hated). With this, she further degraded Turhan's role as a Valide Sultan. She also did not give Turhan the salary of Valide Sultanas (3,000 aspers), she only received 2,000 aspers per day, while Kösem Sultan herself received 3,000 aspers per day as if she was the Valide Sultan. We can accept that the experienced Kösem Sultan did not want to let the inexperienced Turhan, whom she considered unfit, be near the political arena. However, it is undeniable that Turhan had the right to lead the harem, Kösem Sultan, however, refused to let her do so.

Turhan then began to stand up for herself and, with the support of Chief Eunuch Uzun Suleiman Agha, she created her own harem staff and began to control arbitrarily. At the same time, of course, Kösem Sultan did not leave the matter at that, and she also had a harem staff out of her own people. In the end, there was chaos in the harem, people didn’t know which leaders to listen to, to whom to obey. The harem thus split in two, some serving the "Great Valide," Kösem Sultan, while others served the "Little Valide," Turhan. There is no doubt that Turhan was in a better position in some aspects because the most influential eunuch, Suleiman, was on her side.

The rebel

There is a lot of legend and half-information about the year 1651. It is so certain that no one liked the monopoly of Kösem Sultan. Over time, all the statesmen turned against her and wanted to remove her from power. Kösem Sultan's only support was coming from some corps of Janissaries, who, whatever happened, supported her. Turhan took advantage on the fact that Kösem did not have any men in the divan. Turhan, with the help of Suleiman Agha, was able to contact the statesmen and immediately gained the support of some of them. Legend has it that Turhan herself directed the pashas against Kösem Sultan. In practice, however, we do not have sufficient evidence. Nor can we rule out that it was not Turhan who used the pashas against Kösem Sultan, but the pashas used Turhan. Either way, their common goal was to get rid of Kösem Sultan.

By then, Turhan was no longer just worried about Kösem Sultan humiliating her within the harem. The information came to light that Kösem Sultan wanted to dethrone Mehmed and replace him with Saliha Dilaşub's son, Suleiman. That would have meant Mehmed's confinement and death. After all, when Ibrahim I was executed, it was argued that if there was already a sultan (Mehmed), then the existence of the other sultan (Ibrahim) had become obsolete. Others say Kösem Sultan never wanted to do that, only the pashas made Turhan to believe it. Nor can we rule out that Turhan herself invented this excuse to legitimize the removal of Kösem Sultan.

Kösem Sultan was finally strangled during a coup in September 1651 and power passed to Turhan Hatice. Turhan’s role in the events to this day is questionable. I don’t want to go into the details because that alone is worth a post. So a post will be made soon where I will put together a bunch of information about the events around the assassination of Kösem Sultan. In any case, the Pashas and Turhan were able to twist the events so that the Janissaries who supported Kösem Sultan were used as scapegoats, and they were executed. Meanwhile, Turhan and the statemen quietly organized the funeral of Kösem Sultan.

The long-awaited role?

Given her son’s youth, Turhan Hatice became regent, at just 25 years old. She accompanied her son to every important meeting and followed the events behind curtains. More than once she spoke very wisely in the divan. Once Gürcü Mehmed Pasha refused to follow the proposals instructions of Mesud Efendi, appointed by Turhan. Gürcü Mehmed Pasha demanded that his words should be accepted because, as he said, his beard had also whitened in the service of the state so he knowns better. Turhan replied, "Really, pasha! White beards and black beards are not the issue. Sound policy comes not from age but from intelligence. Whatever [Mesud Efendi] says, do immediately; listen to him and discuss everything with him. I warn you, do nothing contrary to his views!" Turhan’s performance within the divan shows well that many did not take her seriously because of her youth, but she did her best to carry out her opinion.

Although she tried to look strong from the outside, Turhan never wanted to do everything by just herself, we know from her letters that before many important events she asked the opinion of the people she valued. From these requests for help, it becomes clear that Turhan was a very respectful woman who loved to keep the formalities as appropriate. In addition, it is clear from her letters that most of the time she was aware of exactly what she should do, she simply wanted confirmation before taking action. These little things suggest well that the image of a cruel and power-hungry woman painted by the world about Turhan may not be real.

Another case that well illustrated Turhan’s personality and political attitude was when the Crimean khan passed away. Turhan then wrote a letter to the Grand Vizier, “You’ve requested a sword and a robe of honor for his successor. From what I hear, it is customary rather for the Tatar Khan to send [gifts] to the sultan. It’s true I’ve never witnessed such a thing but that’s what I hear. Now you examine the kanunnames and act accordingly.” This case shows that Turhan was well acquainted with etiquette, yet she didn’t want to tell off pashas not knowing it. Instead, she asked for confirmation from an outside source so the pashas take her seriously. This also clearly shows the impression of a clever but conflict-avoiding person who, although in a higher position than anyone around her (except her son), did not act rude. In another case, the Grand Vizier did not buy enough wood for the Old Palace. Then Turhan wrote him that, "There is not enough firewood in the Old Palace to boil soup! What’s the reason for this? Is it not a royal palace?".

The greatest task of Turhan's regency was to find a suitable Grand Vizier. Due to the change in the geopolitical situation, the early 1650s were very chaotic, and the Grand Viziers were constantly dismissed because none of them were fit for the task. Many blame Turhan for the economic and political crisis, but this is not valid. Turhan tried to find the most suitable statesmen, but there were not too many suitable persons. Turhan finally resolved the crisis in 1656 at great risk. Köprülü Mehmed Pasha was an extremely unpopular pasha with few supporters but blessed with a genius mind and with a difficult nature. Turhan thought she would be able to break out of the chaos with the help of the pasha. However, Köprülü was well aware of how risky it was to take up the position of Grand Vezier, so he had a condition. He only took the position if he was given a relatively free hand. In practice, of course, this did not mean that he did not report or that he did whatever he wanted, but rather that he took over the regent duties from Turhan. He consulted with Turhan and Mehmed throughout and acted with their approval.

The beloved Valide Sultan

We don’t know what Turhan felt and what she thought with the end of her regency. However, events suggest that she preferred to perform the duties of the Valide Sultan over the duties of the Regent. She continued to support her son in everything, she paid special attention to his education and also consulted regularly with Köprülü, so contrary to popular belief, she did not completely withdraw from politics. In addition to administering politics and harem, she finally had time to embark on her philanthropy and her vast architectural projects. She did her first construction project back in 1652/3, but it was just a fountain in Beşiktaş. She began her first project of real significance in 1658 when she established two fortresses on the Dardanelles. These fortresses were very important from a military point of view, as it made it possible to defend the Bosphorus. This project has increased the popularity of both Turhan and Mehmed. This was soon followed by the construction of the deservedly famous New Mosque. The complex was started by Safiye Sultan in the late 1500s, but with the loss of Safiye's power, the project was halted, and then several fires destroyed its surroundings, so it was almost completely destroyed. So this is what Turhan Hatice started again. By 1665, the complex was completed, with a mosque, school, fountain, library, and market (now known as the Spice Bazaar or Egyptian Bazaar nowadays). After the complex, Turhan embarked on several smaller projects, one of which was the construction of a water network to help people on a pilgrimage to Mecca get water. In addition, the temples of several newly occupied/recaptured areas were converted into mosques and given the name Turhan Hatice.

With her constructions, charity, and because of the relatively peaceful period, Turhan became a favorite of the people. People loved and respected her and her son. Mehmed had grown up enough to rule for himself so far, but he continued to seek his mother’s opinion in everything and considered her an equal companion in both life and politics. Mehmed was not preoccupied with politics, he usually left it to the Grand Vizier and his mother. It is no coincidence that the people believed that the two pillars of the empire were none other than Köprülü and Turhan. The relationship between Turhan and Mehmed is considered one of the closest mother-son relationships in the history of the Ottoman Empire. Turhan never wanted to dominate her son, she never controlled him or interfered in his private life. Yet she would have had the opportunity to do so, as a rival soon appeared in Mehmed's life.

The combined presence of the Valide Sultan and an influential consort did not bring much good in previous decades, so one would expect that this was no different for Turhan. However, Turhan accepted her son’s chosen one, Emetullah Rabia Gülnüş, and tried to cultivate a respectful relationship with the woman. She never tried to limit Emetullah’s influence even in the political arena. And Emetullah thanked her mother-in-law this with similarly respectful behavior. Only one case is known is when Turhan confronted Emetullah Rabia Gülnüş. For the sake of Emetullah's sons, she wanted Mehmed to kill his half-brothers, who had lived in solitary confinement for years and tried to persuade the Sultan to do so. The sultan may have been inclined to do so himself, but Turhan's powerful action prevented the execution of Princes Suleiman and Ahmed.

Turhan also maintained a close relationship with her foster sons and never left them alone from then on. Fearing that Emetullah would eventually reach her aim, Turhan took the two princes with her everywhere when she left the capital. Turhan could also be similarly close to one of her foster daughters, Fatma. Since Fatma was buried in the Turhan complex, many believe that Fatma was the daughter of Turhan, however, this is unlikely. Fatma presumably orphaned and was then taken care of by Sultans Turhan and Atike. So when the girl died at the age of seventeen, Turhan arranged for her funeral as if she had her own daughter.

Turhan’s generosity is also mentioned infinitely many times by foreign sources. They were not persuaded to highlight how much she had done for the permanent abolition of the law of fratricide and that she had also stood up against her own son in favor of her foster sons. In addition, we are left with an event of much lesser significance that, regardless of its significance, gives us an insight into Turhan’s personality. The French ambassador reports that Turhan once went to Edirne with a huge escort, with her foster sons and part of the harem. When they reached a bridge, one of the ambassador's men was just there and saw that the door of Turhan's carriage was open. The man threw himself on the ground in fright, lest he be accused of trying to see the Valide Sultan. However, as he was throwing himself to the ground, his gaze collided with the eyes of the veiled Valide Sultan. Turhan then stopped the car and said to the man, "Don't be afraid, son," and gave him 160 aspers.

Last years

In 1681 Turhan's health gradually began to deteriorate. Ambassadors write as "her condition has greatly deteriorated and there is no hope of treatment." We don’t know exactly what Turhan’s illness was. She finally died in 1683 in her late 50s, in Edirne. Since Turhan had stipulated that she wanted to be buried in her own mosque complex, her body was transported to Istanbul. Along the way, the coffin was surrounded by ice day and night to protect the body. Alongside the caravan carrying the coffin of the Valide Sultan, the people cry out loud and the whole empire mourned. According to descriptions, people sobbed and said that the strongest pillar of the state had left the Empire. Turhan was eventually buried in her own complex. Her tomb is one of the largest and most classy of all, indicating that it was built in honor of a powerful Valide Sultan. Her son and several descendants were later buried here. With her death, she became the longest-serving Valide Sultan ever, with 34 years of reign.

Turhan is one of the most misunderstood characters in the Sultanate of Women. Most see her as a violent, willful, and power-hungry woman, blamed for the death of Kösem Sultan, even though Turhan was not like that. She was a mother who was forced to raise her son alongside a crazy, dangerous father; she was a woman who never received love and respect from her child’s father; still she became a powerful woman who always helped the fallen; the only one in the Sultanate of Women with whom her son shared his power equally and who, nevertheless, never tried to exaggerate or control her son. With the death of Turhan Mehmed IV's reign was also sealed. The sultan's reign and recognition were largely due to the character and presence of his mother. As Turhan was no more, Mehmed’s popularity declined, he made more and more bad political decisions. As a result, in 1687, after a rebellion, he handed over the throne to his half-brother, who could survive largely by the grace of Turhan.

Used sources: A. D. Alderson - The Structure of the Ottoman Dynasty; L. Peirce - The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire; N. Sakaoğlu - Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları; M. Ç. Uluçay - Padişahların Kadınları ve Kızları; C. Finkel - Osman's Dream: The Story of the Ottoman Empire; G. Börekçi - Factions and favourites at the courts of Sultan Ahmed I (r. 1603-17) and his immediate predecessors; S. Faroqhi - The Ottoman Empire and the World; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; G. Piterberg - An Ottoman Tragedy, History and Historiography at Play; F. Suraiya - The Cambridge History of Turkey, The Later Ottoman Empire, 1603–1839; Howard - A History of the Ottoman Empire; Öztuna - Devletler ve Hanedanlar; F. Davis - The Palace of Topkapi in Istanbul; Y. Öztuna - Genç Osman ve IV. Murad; G. Junne - The black eunuchs of the Ottoman Empire; R. Dankoff - An Ottoman Mentality: The World of Evliya Çelebi; R. Murphey - ‘The Functioning of the Ottoman Army under Murad IV (1623–1639/1032–1049):Key to Understanding of the Relationship Between Center and Periphery; M. Özgüleş - The women who built the Ottoman Empire: Female Patronage and the Architectural Legacy of Gülnüş Sultan

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Származása és neveltetése

Turhan Hatice orosz származású szláv nő volt, aki 1627 körül született. A tatárok ragadták el szülőföldjéről, az orosz sztyeppékről, így került gyermekként Isztambulba, az 1630-as évek második felében. Itt a sok rabszolga közül viszonylag szerencsés sors jutott neki, ugyanis egy született szultána, Burnaz Atike szolgálatába került. Valószínűleg egy pasa vásárolta meg a lányt rabszolgakereskedőktől és ő ajándékozta Atike szolgálatába. Turhan külsejéről annyi információnk van, hogy kék szeme volt, barna haja és az átlaghoz képest magas volt.

Atike szultána, aki I. Ahmed lánya volt, felfigyelt a lány szépségére és tehetségére, így kiemelt figyelmet fordított oktatására. Kettejük későbbi kapcsolata alapján sejthetjük, hogy Atike igen jól bánt a lánnyal és gyakorlatilag egy nagyon szoros, testvéries kapcsolat alakult ki a két nő között. Atike szultána szinte anyafigura volt Turhan gyermeke számára is, ami egyértelműsíti, hogy a két nő viszonya igen szoros maradt egész életükben. Turhant, magasrangú oktatása alkalmassá tette arra, hogy Atike egyenesen öccsének, az új szultánnak I. Ibrahimnak ajándékozza trónralépése után. Mások szerint Atike Köszem szultánának ajándékozta a lányt és végül ő mutatta be Ibrahimnak.

Élete Ibrahim mellett

Nem tudjuk, hogy Ibrahim ágyasai között milyen sorrendiség állt fenn, feltehetőleg a három legidősebb gyermek édesanyja, Turhan Hatice, Hatice Muazzez és Saliha Dilaşub nagyjából egyszerre lettek Ibrahim ágyasai. Turhan volt azonban az első, aki teherbe esett és fiúnak adott életet 1642 januárjában. Azt gondolnánk, hogy a trónörökös anyjaként különösen nagy tisztelet kapott és kiemelt hatalommal bírt. Azonban egyik sem igaz. Ibrahim és Turhan kapcsolata hamarosan nagyon megromlott. Hatalmat pedig Ibrahim ágyasai nem igazán tudtak szerezni maguknak, anyósuk, Köszem szultána miatt. Turhan Haticének valószínűleg Mehmed után nemsokkal született még egy lánya, Atike szultána, azonban valószínűleg nem volt több közös gyermekük. Ez nem is meglepő, hiszen 1645 előtt valamikor volt egy nyílt konfliktus Turhan és Ibrahim között, mely után Turhan és fia is háttérbe szorultak a háremben.

Mehmed herceg szoptatósdajkája és annak fia ugyanis nagyon megtetszettek a szultánnak, aki állandóan a dajka fiát, Oszmánt babusgatta, saját fiát, Mehmedet pedig csúnya kisbabának tartotta, eltaszította magától. Az, hogy egy rabszolga fiát sajátjaként neveli hatalmas anomáliát okozott a háremben és rengeteg pletykát indított útjára. Turhan nem tűrhette fia, a trónörökös megalázását ezért egyesek szerint kérdőrevonta Ibrahimot. Mások szerint a szoptatósdajkát küldte el szolgálatából, aki pedig elpanaszolta Turhan viselkedését a szultánnak. Akárhogyan is, Ibrahim szultán éktelen haragra gerjedt és dühét Mehmeden vezette le. Hatalmas jelenetet rendezett, majd kitépte Mehmed herceget édesanyja karjából és egy ciszternába hajította. A gyermek súlyos fejsérüléseket szenvedett, de maradandó károsodás nélkül túlélte az esetet, miután a körülöttük lévő szolgálók azonnal megmentésére siettek. Mehmed homlokán élete végéig ott volt az ekkor szerzett sebhely.

A következő évek a rettegésről és megalázásról szóltak, hiszen Ibrahim egyre őrültebb lett, egyre többször követett el megmagyarázhatatlan dolgokat, ráadásul feleségül vette egyik fiatal ágyasát, akit ezzel mindenki fölé emelt. Köszem szultána és követői egy ponton megpróbálták trónfosztani az őrült szultánt, hogy helyére fiát, Mehmedet ültessék, azonban nem jártak sikerrel. Rengeteg fej hullott porba, Köszemet magát is száműzték. Nem tudjuk, Turhan hogyan élte meg ezt az időszakot, de figyelembe véve az eseményeket, valószínűleg rengeteget aggódhatott fia életéért. Turhan és Mehmed között nagyon szoros volt a kapcsolat, talán az egyik legszorosabb a Nők szultánátusának időszakából. Ez az erős kapocs is talán a közös szenvedésben és hányattatott időszakban formálódott.

A feltámadó remény

1648 augusztusában végül a janicsárok és Köszem szultána trónfosztották Ibrahimot és elzárták. Hamarosan az államférfiak a palotához sereglettek, hogy elvigyék Mehmed herceget a janicsár mecsetbe, hogy ott szultánjukká kiáltsák ki. Köszem szultána ezt nem engedte, nem adta át unokáját. Órákon át vitatkozott az államférfiakkal, mielőtt végül megegyeztek volna, hogy Mehmed herceget a palotán belül kiáltják ki szultánná, ahogy ezt a hagyományok is megkövetelik. Turhan végre biztonságban tudhatta fiát, azt gondolhatta, minden rendben lesz, ám nem így történt.

Az államférfiak felkérték Köszem szultánát, hogy legyen ő a régens IV. Mehmed mellett, mert úgy gondolták, Mehmed édesanyja maga még túl fiatal ehhez a szerephez. Az államférfiak azt várták Köszemtől, hogy felkészíti Turhant és Mehmedet a rájuk váró feladatra, Köszem azonban máshogy gondolta. Maga kívánta vezetni a birodalmat, egyeduralkodóként. Ennek oka feltételezhetően Ibrahim kivégzése volt. Az államférfiak ugyanis úgy tűnik, Köszem beleegyezése és tudta nélkül végeztették ki a volt szultánt. Köszem ezért pedig nem volt hajlandó együtt dolgozni az államférfiakkal és az eseményekből arra is következtethetünk, hogy Turhant is hibáztatta.

Köszem Turhant teljesen kizárta a politikai életből, ám ami még nagyobb probléma volt, hogy Mehmedet is. Emellett a háremben sem hagyta, hogy Turhan jogos Valide szultána szerepében tevékenykedhessen. Köszem például nem engedte, hogy Ibrahim többi gyermekének anyját elküldjék a palotából - kivéve Telli Hümaşaht -, amivel Turhan szerepét tovább degradálta. Emellett nem adta meg Turhannak a Valide szultánák 3000 asperes fizetését, csupán 2000 aspert kapott naponta, míg Köszem maga napi 3000 aspert kapott, mintha ő lenne a valide szultána. Azt elfogadhatjuk, hogy a tapasztalt Köszem nem akarta a tapasztalatlan, általa alkalmatlannak ítélt Turhant a politika színterének közelébe engedni, azonban az tagadhatatlan, hogy Turhannak joga volt a hárem irányításához. Köszem azonban ezt megtagadta tőle.

Turhan ekkor elkezdett kiállni magáért és a főeunuch Uzun Szulejmán Aga támogatásával létrehozta saját háremszemélyzetét és önkényesen elkezdett irányítani. Ugyanakkor természetesen Köszem sem hagyta annyiban a dolgot és saját embereiből ő is rendelkezett háremszemélyzettel. A harc vége az lett, hogy a háremben káosz uralkodott, az emberek nem tudták, hogy mely vezetők szavára hallgassanak, kinek engedelmeskedjenek. A hárem így ketté szakadt, egyesek a "nagy valide szultánát", Köszemet szolgálták, míg másik a "kis valide szultánát", Turhant. Kétségtelen, hogy Turhan bizonyos szempontból előnyösebb helyzetben volt, mert a legbefolyásosabb eunuch, Szulejmán az ő oldalán állt.

A lázadó

Sok a legenda és félinformáció az 1651-es évről. Annyi bizonyos, hogy Köszem egyeduralma senkinek sem tetszett. Idővel az összes államférfi Köszem ellen fordult és el akarták őt távolítani a hatalom közeléből. Köszem egyetlen támasza a janicsárok néhány hadteste volt, akiknek bármi történt is, élvezhette a támogatását. Köszemnek nem lévén embere a divánban, Turhan előnybe került. Turhan ugyanis Szulejmán Aga segítségével kapcsolatba kerülhetett az államférfiakkal és néhányuk támogatását azonnal megszerezte. A legendák úgy tartják, hogy Turhan maga fogta közre a Köszem ellen lévő pasákat és őket irányítva kelt fel Köszem ellen. Gyakorlatilag azonban nem áll rendelekzésünkre kellő bizonyíték erre. Azt sem zárhatjuk ki, hogy nem Turhan használta a pasákat Köszem ellen, hanem a pasák használták Turhant. Akárhogy is, közös volt a céljuk, megszabadulni Köszemtől.

Turhannak ekkor már nem csak az volt a gondja Köszemmel, hogy a háremen belül megalázta. Olyan információk keltek szárnyra, melyek szerint Köszem szultána trónfosztani kívánta Mehmedet és helyére Saliha Dilaşub fiát, Szulejmánt akarta ültetni. Ez egyet jelentett volna Mehmed elzárásával és halálával. Hiszen Ibrahim kivégzésekor is arra hivatkoztak, hogy ha már van egy szultán (Mehmed), akkor a másik szultán (Ibrahim) léte okafogyottá vált. Mások szerint Köszem sosem akart ilyet tenni, csak a pasák hiteték el Turhannal. Azt sem zárhatjuk ki, hogy maga Turhan találta ki ezt, hogy legitimizálja Köszem eltávolítását.

Köszem szultánát végül egy puccs során 1651 szeptemberében megfojtották és a hatalom Turhan Haticére szállt. Turhan szerepe az eseményekben a mai napig kérdéses. Nem kívánok részletesen belemenni az eseményekbe, mert ez önmagában megér egykülön posztot. Hamarosan készül tehát egy poszt, ahol a Köszem meggyilkolása körüli eseményekről tudott információkat egy csokorba fogom fűzni. Mindenesetre a pasák és Turhan képesek voltak úgy csűrni-csavarni az eseményeket, hogy a Köszemet támogató janicsárok legyenek bűnbaknak kiáltva, ők pedig csendben megszervezték Köszem temetését.

A régóta várt szerep?

Fia ifjúkorára való tekintettel Turhan Hatice lett a régens, mindössze 25 évesen. Minden fontos gyűlésre elkísérte fiát és függöny mögül követte az eseményeket. Nem egyszer igen bölcsen fel is szólalt, melyekről leírás is fennmaradt. Egyszer Gürcü Mehmed Pasa elutasította, hogy kövesse a Turhan által kinevezett Mesud Efendi javaslatait. Gürcü Mehmed Pasa követelte, hogy az ő szavait fogadják el, hiszen mint mondta, szakálla is az állam szolgálatában fehéredett meg. Turhan erre úgy válaszolt, hogy: "Igazán Pasám? Fehér szakáll vagy fekete szakáll, nem ez a lényeg. Az igazság és a jó megoldás nem kor vagy szakáll-szín függvénye, hanem intelligenciáé. Bármit is mond Mesud Efendi, tégy annak megfelelően, hallgass rá és mindent beszélj meg vele. Figyelmeztetek, semmit ne tegyél Mesud Efendi szavai ellen." Turhan divanon belüli fellépése jól mutatja, hogy fiatalkora miatt sokan nem vették komolyan, ő viszont mindent megtett, hogy foganatosítsa szavait.

Bár kifelé igyekezett erős lenni, Turhan azonban sosem akart mindent maga intézni, leveleiből tudjuk, hogy sok fontos esemény előtt kérteki az általa nagyra tartott személyek véleményét arról, hogy hogyan kellene eljárjon. Ezekből a segítségkérésekből egyértelművé válik, hogy Turhan igen hagyománytisztelő nő volt, aki szerette, ha megmaradnak a formalitások, ahogy az illendő. Emellett az is kitűnik leveleiből, hogy legtöbbször pontosan tisztában volt azzal, hogy mit kellene tennie, egyszerűen csak megerősítésre vágyott, mielőtt lépéseket tett volna. Ezek az apróságok jól sejtetik, hogy a világ által Turhanról festett kegyetlen és hataloméhes nő képe talán nem valós.

Másik eset, amely jól mutajta Turhan személyiségét és politikai hozzállását az volt, mikor a Krími kán elhunyt. Turhan ekkor levelet írt a nagyvezírnek: “Egy kardot és ruhát kértél tőlem az új kán tiszteletére. Azonban abból, amit hallottam úgy tűnik, hogy inkább az a szokás, hogy a tatár kán küld ajándékot a szultánnak, miután elfoglalja a trónt. Igaz, személyesen sosem tapasztaltam ilyesmit, mégis ezt hallottam. Ezért beszélj a megfelelő tudósokkal, kérd ki a véleményüket és tégy javaslatuk szerint." Ez az eset iválóan mutatja, hogy Turhan jól ismerte az etikettet, mégsem akarta erre alapozva megmondani, hogy mit tegyenek az államférfiak. Inkább rávezette őket, hogy talán nincs igazuk és egy külső forrásból szerzett megerősítést saját szavainak. Ez alapján Turhan okos de konfliktuskerülő személy benyomását kelti, aki bár magasabb pozícióban volt, mint bárki más körülötte (kivéve fiát), mégsem utasított, hanem kért. Ismert persze olyan eset is, mikor hatalmát kihasználva szidott le egy nagyvezírt, miután az hibát követett el. A vezír nem intézett kellő mennyiségű fát a Régi Palota számára. Ekkor ezt írta Turhan: "Nincs annyi fa sem a Régi Palotában, hogy levest tudjanak főzni! Mi erre a magyarázat pasám? Az talán nem egy birodalmi palota?". Turhan tehát egyáltalán nem volt muja, ha szükséges volt hangot adott elégedetlenségének és vasszigorral is képes volt rendben tartani a pasákat, ha arra volt szükség.

Turhan régensségének legnagyobb feladata az alkalmas nagyvezír megtalálása volt. A geopolitikai helyzet változása miatt az 1650-es évek eleje nagyon kaotikus volt, a nagyvezírek pedig egymást váltották, mert egyikük sem volt alkalmas a feladatra. Sokan Turhant hibáztatják a gazdasági és politikai bizonytalanság miatt, azonban ez nem igaz. Turhan igyekezett a legalkalmasabb államférfiakat megtalálni, ám nem volt túl bőséges a választék megfelelő személyekből. Turhan végül 1656-ban hatalmas kockázatot vállalva oldotta meg a krízist. Köprülü Mehmed Pasa rendkívül népszerűtlen, kevés támogatóval rendelkező, de zseniális elmével megáldott pasa volt, nehéz természettel. Turhan úgy gondolta, hogy a pasa segítségével képesek lesznek kitörni a káoszból. Köprülü is jól tudta azonban, hogy mennyire kockázatos a pozíció elvállalása, ezért volt egy kikötése. Csak akkor vállalta el a pozíciót ha relatíve szabadkezet kap és senki nem szól bele döntéseibe. A gyakorlatban ez természetesen nem azt jelentette, hogy nem számol be arról, hogy mit fog csinálni, hanem inkább azt jelentette, hogy átveszi a régensi feladatokat. Turhannal és az egyre idősödő Mehmeddel végig konzultált és jóváhagyásukkal cselekedett.

A nagytiszteletű valide szultána

Nem tudjuk, hogy Turhan mit érzett és mit gondolt a régensség végével. Az események azonban arra utalnak, hogy szívesebben végezte a valide szultána feladatait, mint a régensi feladatokat. Fiát továbbra is mindenben támogatta, különös figyelmet fordított oktatására és Köprülüvel is rendszeresen egyeztetett, tehát a közhiedelemmel ellentétben, nem vonult vissza teljesen a politikától. A politika és a hárem igazgatása mellett végre volt ideje, hogy belekezdjen jótékonykodásába és hatalmas építészeti projektjeibe. Első építkezési projektjét még 1652/3-ban csinálta, ám ez csupán egy kút volt Beşiktaş-ban. Első valódi jelentőséggel bíró projektjét 1658-ban kezdte meg, ekkor a Dardanellákon létesített két erődöt. Ez az erőd igen fontos volt katonai szempontból, hiszen általa védhetővé vált a szoros. Mind Turhan mind Mehmed népszerűségét megnövelte ez a projekt. Ezt hamarosan a méltán híres Új Mecset építtetése követte. A komplexumot még Safiye szultána kezdte el építeni az 1500-as évek végén, azonban hatalma elvesztésével a projekt félbemaradt, aztán több tűzvész is pusztított a környezetében, így szinte teljesen megsemmisült. Ezt kezdte tehát Turhan Hatice újra. 1665-re a komplexum elkészült, mecset, iskola, kút, könyvtár és piac (ma Fűszerbazárként ismerjük) is találhatóak voltak benne. A komplexum után Turhan több kisebb projektbe is belefogott, egyik volt például egy vízhálózat kiépítése, mely segítette a Mekkába zarándokoló emberek vízhez jutását. Emellett több újonnan elfoglalt/visszafoglalt terület templomait is mecsetté alakították és Turhan Hatice nevét adták nekik.

Építkezéseivel, jótékonykodásával és a relatíve békés időszakkal Turhan a nép kedvencévé vált. Az emberek szerették és tisztelték őt, akárcsak fia. Mehmed eddigre felnőtt annyira, hogy maga kezdhessen uralkodni, ám továbbra is mindenben kikérte anyja véleményét és egyenlő társának tekintette mind az életben, mind az uralkodásban. Mehmedet nem foglalkoztatta a politika, ezt általában inkább a nagyevezírre és édesanyjára hagyta. Nem véletlenül vélte úgy a nép, hogy a birodalom két oszlopa nem más, mint Köprülü és Turhan. Turhan és Mehmed kapcsolatát mai napig az egyik legszorosabb anya-fiú viszonynak tekintik az Oszmán Birodalom történetében. Turhan sosem akarta túlragyogni fiát, sosem irányította vagy szólt bele a magánéletébe. Pedig lett volna rá lehetősége, hiszen Mehmed életében hamarosan felbukkant egy rivális.

A valide szultána és egy befolyásos ágyas együttes jelenléte nem hozott sok jót a korábbi évtizedekben, így azt várhatnánk, hogy nem volt ez másként Turhan esetében sem. Turhan azonban elfogadta fia választottját, Emetullah Rabia Gülnüşt és igyekezett tiszteletteljes kapcsolatot ápolni a nővel. Sosem próbálta korlátozni Emetullah befolyását még a politikai színtéren sem. Emetullah pedig ezt hasonlóan tiszteletteljes viselkedéssel hálálta meg anyósának. Egyetlen eset ismert, mikor Turhan szembeszállt Emetullah Rabia Gülnüşsel. Emetullah fiai érdekében szerette volna, hogy Mehmed megölesse féltestvéreit, akik már évek óta elzárva éltek és igyekezett erre rábeszélni a szultánt. A szultán talán maga is hajlott erre, azonban Turhan erőteljes fellépése megakadályozta Szulejmán és Ahmed hercegek kivégzését.

Turhan nevelt fiaival is szoros kapcsolatot ápolt és innentől kezdve sosem hagyta őket magukra. Tartva attól, hogy Emetullah végül célt ér, Turhan mindenhová magával vitte a két herceget, ha elhagyta a fővárost. Turhan emellett hasonlóan közel állhatott egyik nevelt lányához, Fatmához. Mivel Fatmát Turhan komplexumában temették el, sokan úgy vélik, hogy Fatma Turhan lánya volt, azonban ez nem valószínű. Fatma feltehetőleg elárvult és ezekután Turhan és Atike szultána viselte gondját. Így amikor a lány tizenhét évesen elhunyt, Turhan úgy gondoskodott a temetéséről, mintha a saját lánya lett volna.

Turhan nagylelkűségét a külföldi források is végtelen sokszor emlegetik. Nem győzték kiemelni, hogy mennyit tett a testvérgyilkosság törvényének végleges eltörléséért, és, hogy saját fiával szemben is kiállt nevelt fiai mellett. Emellett egy sokkal kisebb jelentőségű esemény is ránk maradt, amely jelentőségétől függetlenül betekintést enged Turhan személyiségébe. A francia követ számol be arról, hogy Turhan egyszer Edirnébe tartott hatalmas kísérettel, nevelt fiaival és a hárem egy részével. Amikor egy hídhoz értek a követ egyik embere épp ott volt és ijedten látta, hogy Turhan kocsijának ajtaja nyitva van. A férfi ijedten vetette a földre magát, nehogy azzal vádolják, hogy megpróbálta meglesni a Valide szultánát. Lehasalása közben azonban tekintete összeakadt a Valide szultána elfátyolozott arcából kilátszódó szemeivel. Turhan ekkor megállíttatta a kocsit és kiszól a férfinak: "Ne félj fiam" és 160 aspert adott neki.

Utolsó évei

Turhan egészsége 1681-ben fokozatosan romlásnak indult. Követek úgy írnak róla, hogy "állapota nagyon leromlott és nincs remény kezelésre". Nem tudjuk, hogy pontosan mi volt Turhan betegsége. Végül 1683-ban hunyt el Edirnében. Mivel Turhan kikötötte, hogy saját mecsetkompelxumában akarja, hogy eltemessék, testét Isztambulba szállították. Az út során a koporsót jéggel vették körbe éjjel, nappal, hogy óvják a testét. A valide szultána koporsóját szállító karaván mellett a nép lerótta tiszteletét, és halálakor az egész birodalom gyászba borult. Leírások alapján az emberek zokogtak és azt mondogatták, hogy az állam legerősebb pillére távozott az élők sorából. Turhant végül saját komplexumában temették el. Türbéje az egyik legnagyobb és legnívósabb mind közül, jelezve, hogy egy nagyhatalmú valide tiszteletére épült. Később fiát és több leszármazottját is ide temették el. Halálával ő lett a valaha volt leghosszabb ideig uralkodó valide szultána, 34 évnyi valideséggel.

Turhan az egyik legfélreismertebb karaktere a Nők szultánátusának. A legtöbben erőszakos, akaratos és hataloméhes nőt látnak benne, őt hibáztatják Köszem szultána haláláért, pedig Turhan nem ilyen volt. Egy anya volt, aki kénytelen volt fiát egy őrült, veszélyes apa mellett nevelni; egy nő volt, aki sosem kapott szeretetet és megbecsülést gyermekének apjától; egy nagyhatalmú asszony lett, aki mindig segített az elesetteken; az egyetlen a Nők szultánátusában, akivel fia egyenlően osztotta meg hatalmát és aki ettől függetlenül sosem próbálta meg túlragyogni vagy irányítani fiát. Turhan halálával IV. Mehmed uralkodása is megpecsételődött. A szultán uralkodását és elismertségét nagyrészt édesanyja jellemének és jelenlétének köszönhette. Amint Turhan nem volt többé, Mehmed népszerűsége csökkent, egyre több rossz politikai döntést hozott meg. Ennek eredményeképp 1687-ben egy lázadás követően átadta a trónr féltestvérének, aki nagyrészt Turhan kegyéből maradhatott életben.

Felhasznált források: A. D. Alderson - The Structure of the Ottoman Dynasty; L. Peirce - The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire; N. Sakaoğlu - Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları; M. Ç. Uluçay - Padişahların Kadınları ve Kızları; C. Finkel - Osman's Dream: The Story of the Ottoman Empire; G. Börekçi - Factions and favourites at the courts of Sultan Ahmed I (r. 1603-17) and his immediate predecessors; S. Faroqhi - The Ottoman Empire and the World; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; G. Piterberg - An Ottoman Tragedy, History and Historiography at Play; F. Suraiya - The Cambridge History of Turkey, The Later Ottoman Empire, 1603–1839; Howard - A History of the Ottoman Empire; Öztuna - Devletler ve Hanedanlar; F. Davis - The Palace of Topkapi in Istanbul; Y. Öztuna - Genç Osman ve IV. Murad; G. Junne - The black eunuchs of the Ottoman Empire; R. Dankoff - An Ottoman Mentality: The World of Evliya Çelebi; R. Murphey - ‘The Functioning of the Ottoman Army under Murad IV (1623–1639/1032–1049):Key to Understanding of the Relationship Between Center and Periphery; M. Özgüleş - The women who built the Ottoman Empire: Female Patronage and the Architectural Legacy of Gülnüş Sultan

#turhan hatice sultan #turhan hatice #turhan #ibarhim #ibrahim I #kösem #Mahpeyker #mahpeyker kösem #burnaz atike #atike sultan #Mehmed IV #emetullah #emetullah rabia #emetullah rabia gülnüş #emetullah rabia gulnus #saliha dilaşub #Hatice Muazzez #telli hümaşah

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Heat Seekers I

Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 5k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: Metaphoric descriptions of statutory rape. Assault, sexual assault. Gaslighting. Attempted murder. Brief mentions of substance abuse and prostitution. Minor character death.

You always believed there was no such thing as Heaven, but surely there was Hell. Several iterations of the grotesque and horrific afterlife; because humanity is a plague and that is what each of us deserved.

Perhaps in your younger days, you didn’t know it… no, even then you knew. Deep down inside you remember nothing of happiness or blessing. No memories of a person’s presence, actions, or words doing anything considerably good for anyone else. Certainly not without a motive. Certainly not out of empathy.

Before you could walk, throwing yourself into the repetitive ease of programmed machines and technology brought you peace. Technology is predictable and massively accessible to anyone. Technology is your comfort.

Electricity became nearly free and unlimited after the revolution that ended the War on Power in 2045. So long as the sun rose every day, there was never a shortage, and the resulting surge of technological advancements that boomed, as a result, have made most fairly new tech obsolete.

Sustainable, economic, and eco-friendly power became the way of the world. Wind energy became the norm. Buildings were now made from fiberglass solar panels, stronger, taller, and widely available, so every surface collected energy from the sun. Window glass collected heat to use in the winter, eliminating the need for natural gas heat altogether. More room for technology to grow. More surface area on the ground for parks and forests. Resorts built above an ocean’s surface harnessed the energy of the currents moving below their supports. Anything that wasn’t hovering in midair could collect energy from earthquakes and natural disasters alike, as long as humankind was lucky enough to have built something that could capture the energy and withstand the storm. The earth was well on its way to healing by the time you were born in 2051, and although humankind flourished along with it, the world was still a dangerous place. Corporations rose even higher and politics declined, dissolving into a place wrought with criminal activity and fear. Yes, humans were healthier, stronger, lived longer if they were lucky. But was that really such a good thing? Your parent would throw anything she didn’t find valuable at you whenever you locked her out of the apartment, and she was too weak to force her way inside. You were smart enough to know you would be no match in the likely event someone tried to break in, so you had to defend yourself. You wear wary of the men she brought inside, always idly wondering if any of them were your father, but so few of them ever returned.

You don’t remember ever knowing you even had a father before that, unknowing until she told you about sex and what makes a human child when you were four. Not that you’d asked and not that she would care to speak to you when she was anything other than suffocatingly drunk.

In a room that was barely such, the feeble plywood walls held together as if by magic and the curtain strung up as your door sagged so low it only served to be a nuisance to your agenda. Outdated machines and technology stacked high around the walls, most were scrap parts for your projects.

You dedicated every day to sitting in the same spot, surrounded by computers and machines, and learning what makes them function. The finite possibilities, yet the scope of their differences, is something that brought you peace and kept the gears in your own head turning. Sometimes, you would pretend and daydream as if you were an android yourself. You were not lucky enough to be born as one with artificial intelligence.

You attended virtual school whenever you felt like it, or at least you knew the basics. Your parent didn’t care. She nearly pretended like you didn’t exist, which suited you just fine. From the time you were five, she began leaving you alone at home. You knew how to pull the cracked plastic stool over to the counter and get yourself some goldfish crackers or something else simple. You weren’t allowed to use the stove even though you’d repaired it twice, but the microwave was fine.

You knew how to bathe and how to use the restroom and clean up after yourself because you had to. There was nobody else for a long time. Days came and went when you weren’t sure if she would ever come back, only for her to come banging on the squeaky front door or crashing through it slurring her words and waking you from a fitful sleep to wipe at your tear-stained cheeks in the middle of the night. The notion of your tears on her behalf was always something unpredictable and confusing to you. Why would you cry over such insignificance, you sometimes wondered to yourself.

If she stopped coming back one day you would figure it out. The nice man across the street from your apartment building ran a tiny tech store and he always had a smile for you and something that needed fixing. Most days he would ask you math problems as something he called a “lightning round” of questions for an extra quarter for every right answer. Surely the three dollars he gave you for what your fixed every time was enough to put what little food you needed in your stomach.

By the time you were eight, the habits you and your cohabitant fell into became routine. You became accustomed to sleeping during the day while she was out, setting your school live feed on record so you could watch it later. At night, while trying to drown out the sounds of her screaming or sex or shattering bottles, you would work. In the world you knew, the industry wasn’t as slow as it used to be. Too fast-paced for most new phone models to make it past their six-month mark before it was time to stop manufacturing and making capital, moving onto the next one. From what you understood, a new model of home security cameras could go on the market one day and be in the clearance pile before you got your next paycheck. Security tech became your playground after a few years, and you didn’t have enough money to buy anything. It never bothered you that you were always a step behind the latest tech because you had to wait a week until the latest model began showing up in dumpsters. It was never your intention to be faster than that. By the age of ten, you knew your priority was survival and in order to do that, you had to protect yourself with whatever means necessary. You had six different checkpoints in security on your living space not long after you became familiar with it. An additional four security cameras had been installed by your own two small hands around your building as well, at the entrance, elevator, your floor’s hall, and in front of your flimsy front door. All secretly controlled by you, without the knowledge of the outdated model of AI that ran your front desk, passively named Al- born of the building owner’s lack of creativity or care. Probably both.

You spent your days alone, in the tiny, insufferable hole in the wall place called your ‘home’. Where, as the years propelled to 2063 on your twelfth year, you chose to ignore most of the other inhabitants of this world. On a worn-out and broken faux leather armchair, perpetually stuck in the reclining position. Where you sat to work and where you slept and where you held your breath at the groaning sound omitted from its cushions every time you moved. You kept fixing it whenever it would break, dumping you from the side of it with a ‘plunk’ as the bars jumped off their tracks. You scowled every time they snapped the tracks completely. You worked to hone your skills in the world of technology, tinkering and learning every detail of every machine you could get your hands on from the dumpster behind your building. Sometimes if you were lucky, the building owner would forget to pay the trash removal services and it would pile up for weeks. Heaps of smelly trash were a small price to pay if it meant you could hit the jackpot and take several trips up and down the rickety old elevator with your arms full of tech.

Those were your happiest memories. Your body felt like jelly by the time you finished sorting through it all and bringing it up to your stash, carefully removing casings of microcomputers or game cartridges to get to the gold inside.

Everything was fine and although you couldn’t say you were content with your life- you didn’t hate it. You loved the freedom to be left alone and the peace of your tinkering tech. Perhaps a little impatient to grow up, but with every passing year, you celebrated quietly to yourself during the days you had been told your birth date fell. Somewhere between these seven days, you pulled up the same app on every smartphone you had in your possession and ran quickly around your makeshift room trying to blow out twenty digital candles in one big breath- careful not to trip over small piles of tech as you went.

It became a blur after you turned twelve. Somewhere along the timeline not long after that, a man started showing up to the apartment and threw off the balance you had so carefully maintained. You never knew his name, but you remember his face, his cologne, and his voice, and the way his eyes sparkled with something that sank in the pit of your stomach the first time you laid eyes on him. Most of all, even now, you remember him in your restless nightmares and the raw feeling of vindictive rage that in your weakest moments, reminds you that you’re alive, if only by the boiling heat of your blood rushing through your ears. In those moments, when your vision goes fuzzy with the desire to see him suffer and rot miserably in the deepest pits of hell, preferably bleeding and screaming.

You remember him from a time past, standing in the kitchen with your parent, one of her arms curled around his thick neck and the other raised in the air, his fingers closed around her slim wrist. The suit he wore looked expensive, and their bodies were slowly bending over the kitchen table in a strange dance, waiting for her back to snap and flatten against the wooden surface. Their eyes flashed to yours for less than a heartbeat as you walked to the refrigerator, laughing at something that lulled in the silence.

The next time you saw him he had fed your cohabitant something so toxic she passed out on the floor beside the couch. Then he spoke to you. In his deep baritone, he sounded like he smoked too many cigarettes too often. Or drank a bottle of razor blades.

“Pretty little thing ain’t ye?” he asked, dipping his head through the curtain that thinly veiled your world from outside eyes.

You ignored him, choosing to pretend as if the headphones situated on your head were actually producing audio. So he hit you.

Then he hit you again, screaming at you for ignoring him and calling you a bitch, whatever that meant. You heard it slung at your parent enough to know it was derogatory.

You didn’t even scream, you remember. Very clearly you sat shocked, but tears spilled down your cheeks from the pain alone. The heat you felt on your cheek, swelling and rough as if you’d fallen off a motorized bike and gotten road rash on your face.

Your fingers rose and you can recall them vividly, shaking as they reached to touch at your cheek and the hiss of pain as you recoiled from yourself.

Then, you try not to visualize it, but it won’t go away. You remember the feeling of his hand grabbing yours as it froze in midair, yanking you from the protection and warm affection of your old faux leather chair. It growled as he ripped you from its grasp in protest, pulling you so hard the force nearly dislocated your shoulder while he simply tossed you on the floor.

You remember the feeling of his fingers pulling at your clothes and then pain. Extreme pain, so brutal and fast it took your breath away. Your face throbbed as his palm fit perfectly across your whole skull, pushing your head onto the rough wood planks below.

You screamed, but you don’t remember if any sound came out, or if it was just that nobody cared that you did so. You screamed and cried, trying to crawl away as he grabbed at you. There was a ‘whoosh’ feeling as the air was ripped from your lungs when something burning sunk, forcing itself a home of darkness that never should have been between your soul and your corporeal form.

And then nothing.

You remember waking up to the sharp scent of blood, confirming it when you saw it on the floor around you, glistening and wet in the faint glow of computers. You remember the pain that shot between your legs as you tried to sit up properly, groaning as fresh tears worked down your cheeks. The cry that left you rippled pain across your face, too, and you remember crawling yourself over to your beloved chair and leaning against the comfort of its worn fabric as you reached for any of the smartphones you had.

For the first time ever, the brightness of a screen made you flinch back in the darkness. Persevering, you opened the camera and turned it to selfie mode, inspecting your face in the digital reflection. Your right cheek was fat and red, and two purple circles were clearly left in the wake of where his gaudy rings hit your skin. The stain on your skin crept up below your eye.

You made yourself calm down enough to quell the sobs wracking your chest to softer whimpers and tears to help the pain in your cheek stop.

It happened again some unknown weeks later. Your parent so stoned and drunk she passed out blissfully somewhere else and he came to you again. Your begging did you no good, and you were no match for his strength. Why hadn’t you run the moment you could stand on your legs again after the first assault? Why hadn’t you hauled every piece of your tech and saved dime from your bank account or gone to the nice old man across the street for help? Deep down, you knew. You were confident enough to know he would find you and smart enough to know he would kill you when he did.

The second time, you wished you had a gun or a knife. Not just cameras to catch him in the act. Or something that would make him stop and leave you alone. It was just as bad as the first, except this time you didn’t pass out. You did your best to stay still, compliance your only weapon in hoping he goes away that much sooner if you let it be over with. It still hurt just as bad, and he still left you in a puddle of white and red wetness on the floor. The scent of blood made you dizzy.

For the first time in your life, you begged. You begged the adult that raised you and fed you until you could do it yourself. For just once you desperately wished to talk to her and confirm. To make her do something to save you. You were terrified you wouldn’t be able to save yourself, and if this were the last thing she would ever do for you, if it were the last time you would ever see her, you would be grateful if she would just do something to save her daughter.

Hopelessness and an unending free-fall of terror are what you received. You were stronger than she was, and nearly her height by now, with a young healthy body not wrought with substance abuse. You forced her to sit still and keep her eyes open. To keep watching the video even though you couldn’t watch it yourself, barely able to weather the sounds coming from the captured footage.

When it was over, you hadn’t realized you were crying. Your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, with wet cheeks that felt the rush of air as you maneuvered in front of her and gingerly knelt on the floor to beg at her knees. You gathered her hands in her lap, struggling to hold them as you repeated your pleas.

She ignored them, literally shaking and gasping for breath and telling you it wasn’t real. Telling you it never happened. When you forced it upon her and threatened to go to the police with it she pulled your hair and screamed at you. Screamed that you were an idiot and that he would kill you both because didn’t you know who he was? Didn’t you know the power that man held over so many? No, you didn’t.

And it suddenly dawned on you, she was just as scared. She was scared and terrified and unable to grasp any semblance of control over what that man did anymore. She was a fool to think she ever did, and you were a fool to have a sliver of faith in her. So you left to clear your head, much to her cries not to. Born out of anxiety, fearful you would go to the police.

You walked farther than you thought you could as you attempted to regain the strength in your legs. Slowly, and by the time you returned the sun had fully set, but an orange glow caught your attention from the rooftop, one floor above yours. Wisps of smoke, too. Odd, nobody ever went up there.

A single stray cord and a plastic piece of backing laid on the floor between the elevator and your door, and your heart sunk back down all fourteen floors. You were out of breath and the pain between your legs was searing by the time you shoved your way through the metal door to the roof.

Sitting on the ledge was a gaunt, familiar face. She was smoking a cigarette, watching the flames and smoke from three rust-stained barrels. Inside of them was most of your tech. Your cameras, a few handfuls of smartphones, seven computers, gaming consoles, tablets.

You barely remember what happened after that, but you know it was a lot of screaming and a burn when you attempted to kick one of them and stomp out the flames. That day was the catalyst that made you take action, planning to escape from hell. If there was no chance to be saved by someone else, you would have to do it yourself.

Racing the clock on a high of anxiety, you only prayed that for three days he wouldn’t show up. You only needed three days.

On the afternoon of the second day, you hadn’t realized you were alone in the small apartment of your old and outdated building. You were too busy working like lightning to beat an imaginary deadline on your heels. You hadn’t noticed she had left until you came out shortly to use the restroom and find some crackers.

There he was at the kitchen table, the cheap metal legs of the chair bowing under his mass. You froze, watching him in shock and briefly you let your eyes wander around the living room to realize she wasn’t there. His voice was low as he told you she passed out in the elevator hours ago.

The chair made a horrible scuffing sound as he stood up, and you flinched. It didn’t matter once he took your wrist in his grip, and he made you suffer once more.

Something unhinged him this time, and even through the pain and nausea and the attempt to make yourself faint just to not have to live through it, you felt it. Felt the psychotic shift in his brain as he laughed at your pain.

It broke something inside of you. Escape. Do not let him do this to you. Definitely do not give up and let it happen. Retaliate. Fight. Get away. Run. Live.

You barely recall how you came to the conclusion, or how you stomached the grotesque way, when he leaned over your back, you turned your head. How you took the easiest thing to reach- his right ear lobe- between your teeth, and mangled him for all you were worth.

The gratification was immediate as he sprang from you, shoving you forward and holding his head. You remember no pain in that moment, and smiling with adrenaline, breathless but with lungs full of oxygen at the same time. You bolted before he could come back to his senses, grabbing your bag from your chair, thankfully nearly complete, and ran out, fixing your clothing along the way.

He tried to get up fast enough to stop you, lunging for you with one hand as you made it into the hallway, but whatever adrenaline you were on was potent, and your senses were razor sharp. You ducked his hand, hearing him barrel into the wall with his momentum as you made for the elevator.

You watched in slow motion the hopeless rage morph onto his stubbled face, knowing he wouldn’t catch you in time. Letting go of his ear, you saw it maimed, the bottom half missing, an obvious mouth-shaped crest bleeding heavily onto the floor as he reached instead to procure a gun from his jacket.

Although your heart leaped at the sight of it as the metal door creaked open behind you, his hands were messy, and the gun slipped from his bloody grip.

Turning to get on, you hesitated for just a second when you saw her there, passed out in the corner of the elevator. You shoved the button for the lobby as hard as you could, planning to rip the wires from the panel behind Al’s desk the moment it reached the bottom. It would give you enough time to get away as he descended the stairs.

You remember watching her sleep, but an eerie sense of foreboding grew in the intimate space the lower the elevator went, despite the beauty of golden hour cityscape from the window that served as the back wall of the capsule.

It took a few moments for you to realize the sun looked odd against her skin. Her hair didn’t catch the rays, nor did her lips hold the same color or fullness of your own, a feature you had in common. She looked sick.

An unfamiliar emotion welled in you. Some concoction of fear, sadness, and a heavy sense of solitude congealed in your chest and your throat as you crouched beside her quietly, afraid to make a sound.

Hesitantly, you touched her shoulder, immediately recoiling at the unnatural stone of her form, refusing to be pliant under the gentle press of your fingers. Swallowing the bile that rose in your throat, you grasped her shoulders, shaking her. Her body slid further down the wall when you let go. It remained there on the floor in an unnatural and rigid stillness, heavy.

You tripped as you receded backward, falling against the smooth metal of the door. Terror overcame you and a bewildering sense of lonely unknown stood towering before you in your mind’s eye. Not that you expected to ever see her again. Not that you expected to care, you hated her. But you hadn’t wanted her to die.

“Mom,” you remember choking up her title in reverence, the one and only time in your life you’d ever said the word.

You groaned with pain, suddenly powerless without the adrenaline that was just coursing through your veins. Everything hurt. Your vision, your head, your body, your heart. You were going to throw up. But you’d be damned if you did it before you escaped. You were so close. Just a little further.

Your mouth watered with the impending expulsion of your gut, but you managed to fall backward out of the elevator and stumble to your feet, feeling heavy as you trudged past Al’s inquiry of your health to the panel, ripping every wire out with your fist.

Just once you threw up beside the revolving door of your building before entering. You staggered through it after, feeling a rush of fresh air that told your very soul it was over.

You did it. Now you just had to make sure you survived, but you were good at that.

_________________

April, 2072

You pursed your lips, scowling at the bitter, sour flavor of the lollipop settled on your tongue. Leaning to the right, you lifted your hand from the grip of your bars, reaching through the thickness of your helmet through the open visor and whipping the candy from your mouth with a grimace.

You slowed, unable to afford a littering fine if you just threw it to the wind behind you, even though you wanted to rebel in that way. Too many high-tech cameras on the city streets to get away with anything unless you had the money to pay off the cops.

Which, unfortunately, you didn’t.

Twisting forward to squeeze the brake, you let your bike lull into a quiet purr as you pull off onto a quiet road, looking for the correct receptacle. You let it crawl forward, along the curb, and over a storm drain so you can lean over and drop the candy into the trash. For a moment, you lick your lips, pulling your backpack around to rummage through the bag of lollies inside for a better flavor.

While you search for a strawberry- your favorite- you weigh the pros and cons of just buying a bag of strawberry flavor instead of the assortment. Price, for starters, you scoff to yourself, remembering to pluck the sour apple wrapper from your pocket to toss into the trash. Exclusive flavor bags are more expensive, but you don’t waste as much by throwing out every god damned green apple you pluck from the bag.

Frowning when you come up empty-handed, you take the second-best choice, unwrapping the dark red of a cherry lolly when a presence catches your attention. A man, tall and thin, clothed in dark colors standing still against the bustle of the city. There’s a black baseball cap on his head, pressed down over dark red curls that peek out at the edges.

He’s wearing square, dark-tinted sunglasses that block out his eyes, with ears that bow out from his skull, and you briefly register that he’s built the same all around, in large proportions, from his hands to his face to his towering height.

Even in the late afternoon, his visage glows with artificial color as he basks in the light of a large television displayed in the storefront window. Although his attire tells you he’s trying to conceal his identity, he doesn’t seem to stick out, going ultimately unnoticed by the people passing by him.

His face is turned towards the television as a news channel covers a fire at a large corporate building from last night. It shows impressive plumes of flame and thick smoke, even darker than the night sky, glowing faintly with billions of lights.

The man watching the television bounces a short stick between his teeth, but you can’t tell what it is from this distance. You notice his face moves, the apples of his cheeks rising high as he smiles wide, easily a head above the crowd.

The sound of sirens from the recording of the fire dins away to the sound of an audio clip taken from a phone call. A man’s voice, clearly distorted with an autotune. Raspy, dark laughter, and a bitter promise to chase someone to hell.

A small part of you is smug, rooting for the villain even, and his vicious words to whomever the message are, or was, intended.

The sun is starting to set, and you hate having to watch the skyline glitter with the golden light as you drive on. It’s an unwanted and unnecessary memory, unforgiving in the distance of your timeline.

Luckily, you enter the undercity just as the light grows intense, escaping into the sleepless neon of your world. Into the black market and the tech industry, rife with people who thrive on a never-ending night, as if their veins are made of glass and filled with inert gases to make them glow just as brightly as the buildings here.

You’ve got a lead from a friend of sorts. Someone who you’ve got a history with from your days at the bordello, and who kept you alive once upon a time when you first came to the undercity, terrified but determined to forget yourself and be born as someone stronger, smarter, better.

He’s never given you bad intel before, so long as you could get to it before a clan or a faster loaner. Luckily, you have a natural gift for hacking and the latest model of ‘unhackable’ Hyperbikes are no exception to your deft fingers.

You pull up outside Blue House, scanning the digital bulletin for the job he mentioned. You press your finger to it, holding your breath for the marquee to inform you whether it’s still up for grabs, or if it is unfortunately for you- in progress.

A smile cracks your lips when the green light pops up, and you whip your glove off when the prompter asks to scan your left thumb. A second passes as the soft blue light moves across your finger, chirping in confirmation when it’s done.

You don’t even care what the job is- but Chan promised it would be something you could do. All you remember is hearing a payment sum that could put good food in your stomach for a month straight. The only question you had was why a tech hacking job was showing up on a brothel’s bulletin board.

Ultimately, what was one more undercover prostitution job? You were familiar with the work that came through the bordello, and its basic services. In the last two years, you’ve moved away from it little by little, having made some waves with your work as a hacker in the undercity. Your moniker started to be whispered across the shadows as the underdog, a genius ‘for the people’ hacker that put bad men where they belonged. Only Chan knew you by two names. The rest of the world only knew one.

The name Maneater.

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