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call-sign-shark · 4 months

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Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace��s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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reality-detective · 26 days

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🌿Say hello to a powerful pain-killer also known as Lactuca virosa

✨But wait, it’s not what you think - there's no opium here, just pure, legal, pain-relieving plant.

Historical Nugget :

Once a secret among ancient healers, this plant has a storied past of soothing warriors' pains without the need for opiates. Imagine Roman soldiers using it just like we do Tylenol today!

🌟In a world where "painkiller" often means "side effects," opium lettuce offers gentle, effective relief for :

- Headaches

- Muscle aches

- Insomnia

And FREE from pharmaceutical downsides!

✓ Remedy Recipe :

1. Chop Opium Lettuce - Roughly chop enough fresh opium lettuce to fill half your jar.

2. Add Alcohol - Cover the leaves with high-proof alcohol, using a 1:1 ratio by volume.

3. Seal and Store - Close the jar tightly. Keep it in a dark, cool place for 2 weeks, shaking occasionally.

4. Strain - After 2 weeks, strain the mixture, discarding the solids.

5. Bottle - Transfer the liquid to a dark glass bottle for storage.

Results? A night of restful sleep and pain-free days, typically within a days of regular use.

- Natural Remedies 🤔

#pay attention #educate yourselves #educate yourself #knowledge is power #reeducate yourself #reeducate yourselves #think about it #think for yourselves #think for yourself #do your homework #do some research #do your own research #ask yourself questions #question everything #for your health #health tips #painkiller #natural remedies #you decide

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icantspellthings · 1 month

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Rating victorian era remedies based on how much I think Oliver Quick would enjoy them.

Blood letting 9/10

Hot, sexy, innovating, fun, thrilling, erotic, game-changing, and boner inducing. Cutting into supple flesh and seeing the blood slowly bleed out of them. Very sexy, Oliver would get absolutely bricked up over getting to slice up his patients, licking the wound, and scars would be an extra bonus for this procedure.

Leeches 8/10

Similar to blood letting but with a little extra step involving leeches. Fun to look at the leech getting fatter and fatter as they drain the blood. Not as fun and also a hassle to buy and store all the leeches for this procedure. You get to pull the leeches off and see a bruised mark, like opening a wrapped present. Oliver enjoys this, but obviously not as much as blood letting.

Opium 7/10

Gives you a high like you wouldn't believe, down side is that it is incredibly addictive. If he was a doctor he would absolutely love prescribing it to his patients because it makes them more pliable, agreeable, and relaxed. Oliver would also occasionally get high of his own supply when he needs to relax, he will also convince his friend Felix to try smoking opium with him because he likes how uninhibited, soft and gooey it makes Felix becomes.

Vibrators 6/10

A great cure for "Hysteria", Oliver recommends this to all his female (and some male) friends. He prefers his cures the more traditional way with fingers and hands (and mouth), but when more stimulation is needed, he doesn't shy away from mechanical help.

Cocaine 5/10

He likes them a normal amount, it is the tired and true work horse of the pharmacy. Perscribed for every thing from coughs to colds to headaches. A fun little drug but nothing too exciting for him.

Chloroform 5/10

They pass out, not much fun unless you enjoy an unconscious body (and Oliver can enjoy that occasionally). Nice for annoying people who talk too much, perscribed for when you need quite alone time.

Vomiting 3/10

Messy messy messy, Oliver is a messy boy who enjoys bodyfluids, but inducing vomiting is such a hassel. It spews everywhere and smells putrid, can be occasionally sexy if they have a nice vomiting face. The aftercare is nice because you get to pamper them with soft food and liquids, but is not quite worth all the trouble.

Fresh air 1/10

A trip to the sea side for fresh air is nothing a little absinthe, and opium can't cure.

Lobotomies 10/10

Fun for the whole family! Scrambling someone's brain for fun and for profit! Surgery can be oh so sexy. Especially when they squirm and resist.

#saltburn #oliver quick

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padfootdaredmetoo · 2 years

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Hello! id like to make a request if that's okay! it's a fic about Tommy x reader (or OC if you prefer) where she works at the Garrison (wow.. unexpected) and you can decide in which season is set, if it's canon or not but basically she works there and she's a quite girl just.. working. She and Tommy still aren't a "thing" but some feelings are definitely there. But then, all of a sudden, things start to go downhill when some of Tommy's enemies start to have tip-offs (idk if it's the right word I'm sorry!) of the Shelby family's plans and, since there's seemingly no one else to blame, Tommy starts losing his clarity and blames her because she's quiet, she's silent, she's mysterious like no one knows much about her since she's foreign AND she just minds her business that in this case it's seen as suspicious. So of course everybody ends up getting hurt, Tommy who thinks his trust in broken and Her who thinks Tommy was better than that. Of course she isn't guilty. AND THAT'S IT. I just love angst and, if that's okay with you, the end is up to you because 1. I suck at requesting and 2. my imagination just ends here... I hope this wasn't lame or dumb but if you don't like it or simply can't write it, it won't be a problem of course!! AND SORRY IF THIS IS SO LONG (and thank you for your time! <3 ) <3 <3 <3 :)

Dear Anon!

Thank you for waiting and for sending in a request! I tried to make this angsty... but I also can't help myself and there's a soft ending.

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, almost physical harm done to the reader, the reader goes into shock (not detailed), peaceful ending.

There wasn't enough snow on the planet to make him feel awake. He sat in his office and felt himself slip into a familiar distant stare as the loss set in from his current plan. He had a black cat, more of a rat really, amongst his ranks. Someone was tipping people off. Once could be recklessness, twice could be stupidity, but three times proves that it's not him at all.

Anger was all that was keeping him awake, his mind searching through what pieces of information were leaked and who had known about those details. The money and opium was a heavy fucking blow, but this time it almost cost him his brother. The thought was enough for his body to break its stony composure.

He looked at the clock and figured he might skip down to the Garrison. It would give him a chance to observe everyone. Of course, his mind also drifted to the barmaid that frequently caught his attention. The prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on, kind eyes, sharp tough, soft curves…. Oh, how he’d like nothing more than to take his frustrations out on you. Knowing you as well as he did you would probably be one step ahead of him in figuring it out…

Unless you were to blame. His heart gave a painful twist in the dim light of his office at the realization. He finished his whiskey in hopes that the burning liquid would numb some of the sensation blooming in his chest.

He knew you had no family and had only recently moved to Birmingham to escape an ex-boyfriend. Something that originally won you the position, a girl like that ought to be protected, and protection won him leverage to keep you off of the cops should you grow a heavy conscious. He was grateful he never had to hold it over your head because he’d not had the stomach to do such a thing. You were…. Fragile looking. Big innocent eyes, hands that were always busy, you never brought up the business or his family's long list of problems. Kept to yourself enough that it drove him down to the bar almost every night to talk to you, needing to know how your day went…..

Thinking logically about it there was no one else that was constantly around the family like you were, it would be easy for you to listen in on their meetings that took place after the bar had closed to the public. He was the idiot who insisted you stay till someone (him) could drive you home.

Fuck. He slammed his hands down on his desk sending picture frames toppling over. What a stupid fucking girl. He had no choice but to cut her, he’d fucked three trades over this girl, if she didn't hang it would only show a possibility to people that wanted to fuck him over just as she had. That there was an opportunity, an opening in the armor. Loose threads always had a way of unraveling eventually.

He thought of calling Arthur and John. Asking them to do it meant he didn't actually have to witness it himself. He could simply lie, tell himself that you’d moved away end of story.

But the thought of a man's hands on you driven by any intention was enough to make his hands fist around the edge of his desk. He felt the wood begin to splinter beneath his pale fingers and realized he’d have to manage this himself. Maybe he could just scare you into giving your employer up. Exile you to a far away land…

He lit a cigarette and told himself to enjoy this final moment before he ripped himself apart.

______________________________________

Your heart sank further and further as the night progressed. Normally Tommy would come by to walk or drive you home. As things were crashing down on the family he insisted on having you picked up and dropped off. Something that only deepened the crush you had on your employer.

One of these days you swore he was going to kiss you before you got out of his car. Tonight was most certainly not that night as you began to close up the pub. Normally the family was around for closing but tonight it was only the regulars.

Door locked, tables and glasses cleaned. You only took one step into the cold rain before a familiar car pulled up to the curb. Assuming he would only be there for you, you opened the passenger door. Heart pounding at his thoughtfulness.

Taking in his posture something inside you started up in alarm.

“Is everything alright?” You asked softly.

“I know it’s you.” He said staring at the road.

“Me? What’s me?” You were lost, a small voice inside you hoped he would say that it’s you that holds the key to his heart or something cheesy. But his white knuckles on the steering wheel made you think it was quite obvious that you were about to learn the consequences of being familiar with criminal men.

He didn’t respond and you didn't push it. You watched as the city faded away quickly, your stomach started to twist at the harsh reality that he was taking you somewhere. Probably the middle of nowhere.

“Where are you taking me.” You whispered as the cold realization started to set in. You had no family. No one to notice you were gone. No one coming to get you. He wouldn't even have to work that hard to hide your body. No one was going to go looking for it.

“To my house.” He said calmly.

“I don't want to go to your house.” You hated the slight edge of panic that was starting to rise up in you.

He quickly turned a sharp corner and you watched a lavish house come into view as he tore down the gravel driveway. He pulled the car to a hasty stop and before you could get your bearings he’d pulled you from the car. You tried to fight his grip but it was no use. He dragged you through the main floor of the house.

Your brain finally kicked into gear. It was going to be you or him, and you should start acting accordingly.

“LET ME GO” You started screaming all kinds of profanities. Holding on to doorways, kicking and flailing. Trying to make things as hard on him as possible. Eventually, he threw you down on the hallway floor in frustration. He gripped your jaw painfully and you watched him struggle as he looked into your eyes. Some silent battle raged on inside him, eventually, they softened slightly.

“FUCK. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know who you're working for.”

“You! Fucking idiot. I work for you.” Whatever this was it was too painful to feel anything other than anger. He raised his hand causing you to flinch, but he dropped it.

“Fucking woman. Just fuck.” He sighed.

The sounds of footsteps became clearer and you heard a gasp.

“What the bloody fuck is all this.” Polly’s voice rang out behind you and you felt her arms wrap around your chest as if to pull you away from him. “The fuck is wrong with you!” She pushed you behind her a doled out a heavy slap across his face.

“She’s it. I know it’s her. She’s the one leaking information.”

“Finn’s got Bill in the wine cellar. The ACTUAL RAT!” She screamed at him and you watched his face fall. He pinched the bridge of his nose and his features crumbled.

“What’s all this then? Been trying to call you all bloody night.” John started, he held out a hand to you and quickly grabbed on to you trying to steady you. “Shakin’ like a bloody leaf love, s’alright.” Confusion was written all over him until he registered his brother's composure. John stiffened and pulled you against his chest.

“O’come of it. Her? Really? Fucksakes Thomas the only thing she’s hiding is her undying love for ya. This is why we -” He pointed his finger back and forth between the two of them “- Need to fucking talk to each other. You let out a sharp gasp as he picked you up and carried you away. He kicked open a heavy door to a warm kitchen.

“What the fuc-” Esme started her eyes narrowing and face falling to stone at the sight of you being carried by her husband. A larger wave of fear started to threaten to crash against your body.

“Just look after her will ya.” John shut her up and placed you down gently in a wooden chair. “Thomas- Fucking idiot’s gone and put her in shock. Thinking she’s the fucking rat.”

Her composure softened considerably. She gave him a nod as he strode out of the room. You watched as she floated around the kitchen and soon a cup of tea and a glass of whiskey were placed in front of you.

“I’d start with the whiskey, love. Try to get some of your color back.” She said softly sitting next to you.

You quickly threw back the amber liquid feeling it dislodge the painful feelings in your chest. Tears started to well up and spill over your pale cheeks.

“It’s not your fault love, he’s a right idiot. Doesn’t help that he’s been falling over you for months. You scared him.” She lit a cigarette and after a long drag, she placed it between your fingers. “Not tellin' you to forgive him or anythin’. If it would cheer you up I’ll have John hold him down for ya. Landing a few blows will get it out of your system.” She prattled on and eventually, she got a few laughs from you. Polly came through not long after, giving you a similar type of attention. You didn’t understand, up until that evening, you’d never noticed them paying attention to you.

“How's he going to fix this?” Esme asked her stretching her arms above her head.

“I have no fucking idea. But don't you let him off easy. Take him for everything he’s got.” Polly pointed her finger at you.

“And if you’d rather move far away from the lot of us, the two of us will get you out.” Esme continued.

__________________________________________________

You stayed in your apartment for a few days, trying to recover from what had happened. Most of your time was spent on the edge of sleep, your mind filled with nightmares. The towering figure that used to be your ex was replaced by Thomas. Running down that hallway over and over again only to meet the back of his hand.

He couldn't actually hurt you. Even when he thought it was you responsible for almost getting his family killed, and a mass amount of money lost. Even then he couldn’t do more than raise his hand.

You thought about running away. Like you did last time…. But Esme's words swirled around in your mind. Maybe confronting him would be better.

A few phone calls later you heard he was taking the same shut-in approach as you were.

You got to his house and were let in by one of the maids. After arguing with them you finally made your way up to what you assumed was the master bedroom. You placed a soft knock on the door and got no response. You took a deep breath and moved into the darkroom.

“Thomas?” You asked quietly. You heard him let out a sigh and took it as an invitation to move closer. You sat on his bed cross-legged and looked down at his pale complexion.

“Why are you here?” He said staring up at the ceiling.

“To confront you.” His eyes sparked at that and he turned his attention to you. “Esme said I should beat you up.”

“You can if you like.” He responded calmly. You responded by laying down on the bed next to him. Three days of fear and you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out and lacing your fingers in his.

“Promise you won’t ever hit me. Or drag me around. Or be that angry Or even just shout at me.” You closed your eyes and you felt your body tense up at the feeling of being so vulnerable. “I won’t stay. I can’t handle it, my nerves - I just” Your voice got wet and you took a shaky breath. His body moved onto his side and he pulled you against him slowly giving you lots of opportunities to protest and see where he was going with his actions.

“John almost died. Million pounds at the bottom of the cut, not to mention all the lost opium. Even then I couldn't stop my heart from breaking seeing you that scared. Never again. Not by my hand or another.”

Your body believed him and the tension left you.

“For extra reassurance, Polly has sent me a lengthy list of things she’ll do to me if a hair is put out of place.” He mumbled.

You already knew he was partially high on opium. It was the only thing preventing you from kissing him. Instead, you just let yourself accompany him into a peaceful sleep. In the morning you’d make him promise again. Set firm boundaries and keep him at arm's length for a while just to be sure but for now, you let yourself relax.

____

It wasn't easy building her trust after that night. He insisted she stop working at the Garrison, which he knew was a secret relief to her. He didn't like her being on high alert surrounded by drunk men.

He'd really had to work on his temper if he wanted to stay with her. Things around him would set him off, but loud noises/shouting set you off in a much worse way. Watching you crumple made him sick to his stomach. So when he was angry he would take deep breaths. You would often trace your fingers over his hands. Finding your own way of trusting that he wouldn't hurt you.

Once making peace with his anger, you started to find your own slowly. The first time you shouted at him in frustration you both stopped in shock over the situation and you watched him struggle to fix everything immediately.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky fucking blinders

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dearlymrme · 1 year

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I fully support the common headcanon that Primo, our Papa Emeritus the I, is a gardener and a hobbyist plant enthusiast.

But I like this take on it even more. Let’s add on to that headcanon with my own flare.

The Abbey has two gardens.

The outside surrounding garden is open to the public and very wonderful. A nice place to have a picnic and frolic amongst the flowers. It was planted and designed by Primo and the Sister’s who are interested in helping maintain the garden are hired in and specifically tasked to take care of it. The garden is one of the Abbey’s shining attractions and many a newly indicted Sister’s genuinely interested quickly ask for a transfer to be moved to tend to the garden. Not a lot of them know just how much work it is to keep these flowers watered all day, every day, especially in the heat. It doesn’t surprise Primo when most of them give up a few weeks in, complaining about being too hot in the summer.

The private garden is for Primo and Primo only. This garden is cut off from the rest of the Abbey via locked greenhouse and only Primo has the key. Only he and a very select few ghouls are allowed within the greenhouse. Why? Because ghouls are very tenacious little bastards and are pretty hard to kill. Because Primo knows on an intimate level how to care and tend to these plants while avoiding hazards. Oh, also because every plant inside that garden is poisonous. Imagine if you would The Alnwick Garden but a bit more on a minor scale. Foxgloves, Devil’s Trumpets, Belladonna, Mandrake, etc.

Why the fixation on poisonous plants? Well, first off: I think that’s metal as hell. Secondly: It’s to feed his second hobby.

Poison crafting.

Primo is fascinated with poison and what they do to the body. He always studying and trying to come up with some new confound way to silently kill or maybe even torture someone with just a drop of the vicarious liquids he keeps in his storeroom. He has books upon guides of chemical compounds that make up true poisons made to kill, as well as those less lethal plants in small doses that could be used for LSD trips. Opium from the Poppy’s. Aspirin from the small willow tree he has growing. It’s also where the Cannabis is, of course. Not all can be harmful in small doses. Most are but not all of them.

Unfortunately for him and his two other brother’s one of the poison he’s crafted may have just been the one used to kill them.

#dee writes #ghost the band #the band ghost #ghost band #papa emeritus #papa emeritus i #primo #my personal heacanons #ghost headcanons

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sirenjose · 5 months

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About Weeping Clown's Deduction 5

Acid attacks were a regular if not common occurrence in 19th century Britain, back then known as vitriol throwing, after oil of vitriol, the common name for strong sulphuric acid, an oily liquid heavier than water which was colorless when entirely pure. Nitric acid was also common, which could also be a colorless liquid. Both had a number of legitimate uses.

Acids were mass-manufactured, easily available (and cheap), and generally unregulated until the early twentieth century.

Acid attacks were quite frequent between the 1850s and 1899. Common motivations included personal conflict, jealousy, revenge, etc… Almost without exception, it was thrown at the head, neck, and upper body, sometimes directly in the face.

Didn't become a felony to burn, main, disfigure, or disable anyone with a corrosive fluid or destructive substance, or attempt to do so, until the Offences Against Person Act of 1861.

The severity of the damage depends on the concentration of the acid and the time before the acid is thoroughly washed off with water or neutralized with a neutralizing agent.

It mutilated and maimed victims by destroying skin and supporting tissues; its corrosive action could liquefy muscle and dissolve bone. It combined with water in organic matter, generating a considerable amount of heat, to which the resulting damage was in part due—a charring effect that caused noticeable blackening. If the acid got into the eyes it caused blindness. If the injuries were extensive victims could be permanently disabled; those who recovered were likely to be badly disfigured, with no hope of regaining a semblance of their former appearance prior to the advent of plastic surgery.

In 1930 a horrified witness described how a victim’s skin sizzled and moved as the acid acted.

Although vitriol throwing was certainly painful, it was rarely fatal (poisoning/ingestion is different).

Vitriol throwing continued until the Second World War, after which it became much less frequent. The Pharmacy and Poisons Act of 1933 restricted the sale of strong acid, so weaker corrosive fluids were used.

---

As for the lead paint:

Many cosmetics back in the day contained a variety of chemicals, including ammonia, mercury, opium, arsenic, and lead.

People commonly used lead-based makeup on their skin to look paler, especially upper class white women who chased even whiter skin due to victorian beauty ideals, to show how their privilege never left them working in the sun.

The corrosive nature of lead would leave your skin damaged and in far worse shape after every use, requiring you to use more and more to cover up its effects.

Side effects of lead poisoning, besides creating wounds and scars, include severe headaches, nerve illnesses, memory loss, pain and numbness, and if ingested in large enough quantities, will cause paralysis and death. In children, it also affected their body development and neurological issues.

These thick layers of make-up cracked like porcelain if a woman was too expressive.

#idv #identity v #joker #weeping clown #smiley face #idv joker #identity v joker #idv weeping clown #identity v weeping clown #idv smiley face #identity v smiley face #sirenjose analyses and theories

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vacillantvoid · 2 months

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started a bolas webweave like 3 months ago and never finished it. i still like how it looks so i slapped two quotes on it and called it done

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #qsmp bolas #webweaving #void weaves #looking through abandoned projects rn

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korallion · 6 months

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Loose threads and various trivia from the Poppy War series that I can't stop thinking about

I'm writing this because I have very little time to write at the moment so I won't be able to fit all these elements into the Poppy War fic I'm writing but I still have to get it out of the system because the amount of detail is insane.

DrUgS!

Ancient Chinese medicine in general is full of hallucinogenic and poisonous plants that were dosed very carefully, but shamans used them to talk to the gods, and the most common ones were:

The fly agaric mushroom: the mushroom that Chaghan and Qara gave to Kitay and Rin for the anchor ritual.

The ephedra plant: it was generally drunk in the form of tea and I think it's the liquid from the flask Jiang gives Rin in the first book when he sends her to meditate in the forest since Rin describes its effects not as a high but more as the beneficial effects of the plant in question.

The datura plant: it's extremely poisonous and was used in small amounts for its powerful hallucinogenic effects and sometimes its flowers are a blue-violet so I think it's the famous blue powder that Chaghan carries around in a small bottle although I couldn't find anything claiming it was used in that form. On that note, one of the candidates for Chaghan's drug is also cannabis, which was also used by Taoist monks and nomadic peoples from which I assume Hinterlands are inspired and, although they are modern hybrids, there are blue variants of this plant so it could be an artistic license from Kuang.

Betel nut tree: as Shiro experiments on Altan and Rin rants that the introduction of the Speerly to opium was an idea of the Red Emperor to make them addicted to Nikan and that previously their people used the bark of a tree without specifying which one. I think this is the tree in question although in reality, it is the nuts that are consumed because in addition to being the fourth most commonly used psychoactive substance after tobacco, alcohol, and caffeinated drinks, according to the World Health Organization, it energizing effects prevent fatigue and thirst so the famous fame of the Speerly warriors, at least those in Tearza's time, perhaps also stemmed from this as well as the brutal training regime and the legend of its origin is also very much linked to the Speerly eyes.

2.The Different Peoples of Nikan

I will only talk about Speerly and Hinterlanders otherwise I will never stop writing.

Speerly: As I mentioned above, the Tiwanese legend of the birth of the Betel Tree is linked to the inspiration for the red eyes of our phoenix warriors. According to the legend of the Paiwan tribe, one day a child with red eyes was born in a village, who killed any living thing with a glance. In the end Pali, this is the child's name, after finally integrating himself into the village and using the power of his eyes in wars between the other tribes, will be put to death after accidentally killing children but a friend of his notices that a betel nut tree was born on Pali's grave, the fruits of which are as wide and red as the boy's eyes that will protect the people of the village from then on. Now, what do you do with an intriguing legend about a red-eyed boy whose death essentially gave rise to a light drug tree? Apparently Kuang's answer was an entire red-eyed people reaching out to their murderous goddess via a drug of the colour of their eyes. I love this woman.

Hinterlanders: Rather than being one of a single people they are a sort of confederation of clans inspired by the Huns and the Mongols but I find it fascinating that many have light eyes and hair isn't an artistic license by the author to make them more 'shamanic' like most fantasy writers do because apparently a lot of ancient nomadic Asian ethnic groups had light eyes and hair. I used to think it was incredibly rare and more a thing of the descendants of peoples who lived near the Silk Road or the European border.

3.The Dragon

The Dragon is a Yao not a God.

I know Chaghan has already explained this, but many seem to forget about it, while I who had read Poppy War because I was in abstinence of Wuxia like MoDaoZuShi started shouting IS A FUKING Yao! and suddenly Nezha's whole speech about how it's not like Rin suddenly makes sense. Because Yao are often confused with Magical Beasts or Gods but Yao is a broad term for any animal, plant or even inanimate object that has gained spiritual awareness and magical powers. In this case, as Chaghan explained, an animal has absorbed the power of the Caves (if we want to speak in terms of theology or even Wuxia it would be Qi or even Mana if you prefer) which are one of those places where the veil between the two worlds thins and supposedly filled with the power of the real Rain Dragon and has become the 'Dragon'. But he is not a god because, as has already been said in the trilogy, true gods do not have material bodies. This can be confirmed in the story Vaisra tells Nezha about the shaman Yu who suggests that he has turned into the Dragon when in fact he may have been eaten and absorbed into the 'collection' of the Yao because in The Nine Curves River, a story by Kuang in the collection The Books of Dragons, she suggests the Yao existed before Yu's time because she makes no mention of Yu's legend but instead it is a fisherman who becomes the dragon in one of the versions.

The Dragon (Yao) is a Yinglong

The story of the Cave Dragon that Vaisra tells Nezha is inspired by the story of the legendary King Yu, founder of the Xia Dynasty who, according to the story, controlled the flooding of the Yellow River thanks to a Yinglong a very powerful water dragon that had lost its wings to kill a drought demon. This dragon is also related to the eels, through a connection that I honestly didn't understand, at least as Wikipedia explained it, and it relates back to how Rin sees him when he attacks the cave, because at least to me he reminds me of a giant eel.

Maybe the Yin sacrifice their children to the Yao

Okay I know, it sounds absurd, now I'll explain. Also in The Nine Curves River it is understood that it is set before the reign of the Red Emperor (the monks still operate) and the people of Arlong sacrifice the most beautiful people they can find in times of severe drought. Now there is no reference to anything like this in the era in which Poppy War is set but something may have changed when Yu was the one bound to the Yao in Dragon form, because in the story it is referred to that Yu would not allow anyone else to suffer, and in The Nine Curves River the Yao can cause an abnormal and prolonged drought until the sacrifice has been made but not in the times we are shown. So Yu did something that kept the Yao at bay for over a thousand years after his death or the Yin family sacrifice their children in secret. I have this theory that the Yin took it upon themselves to nurture what they thought was a God for the sake of their people after all forms of worship had been banned and, since in The Nine Curves River it is specified that the sacrificed people must go there voluntarily (perhaps a limitation imposed by the fact that even real gods cannot invade the minds of shamans unless the latter want them to and so a Yao who feeds on their power cannot go out and eat whoever they want whenever they want) the Yin Lords of the past would have piqued the curiosity of the sacrificable children to make them go to the Grotto voluntarily and the Yao would accept them as offerings and prevent the drought. So Vaisra knew that one of his sons would be eaten? Hell yes. Or at least he hoped that Yu's legend had some truth to it (knowing Riga) and that he would end up with at least one son turned into a Dragon to use for his revolution. As they say, be careful what you wish for.

Mingzha was not devoured by accident

Of course the whole theory above is dismantled when Nezha tells Yao that he was so hungry that he hadn't even thought of keeping Mingzha for himself and had devoured him straight away and that Nezha would go with him, presumably to do what Yu did (perhaps he had intuited something that is not told) to keep him at bay for so long. But hunger may not have been Yao's only reason for choosing to eat the child. Mingzha is presented to us with gold bracelets and anklets that are good luck charms for children, and so far nothing strange apart from the potential to be a heartbreak parallel for Nezha's handcuffs. But in The Nine Curves River the author implies that all Dragon sacrifices are marked with gold bracelets and anklets, so when the Yao chose Mingzha it was because he thought he was a sacrifice to be devoured.

The Red Emperor and Yu were like Nezha and Yin.

Me with a really crazy theory? More likely than you think.

So from what I understand even though it's not specified, the Yao doesn't eat all his sacrifices otherwise people like Yu and Nezha and the Fisherman wouldn't exist, even in legend. Maybe he plays with his food or maybe he has to give a fraction of his power in return, unfortunately we don't have enough elements to determine this but in Yu's legend there is a reference to the fact that the Dragon Province had become unlivable due to the currents and climate towards the end of the Red Emperor's reign, giving us a very specific time window in which to place the tale, which is strange in itself, but also makes a heavy implication (at least to me) that it was the Emperor's presence that made Arlong prosperous and, towards the end of his life, the work of his 'sacrifice' tapered off until Yu took his place.

Now, why do I think the Red Emperor was a Yin? Because Kuang loves to make us suffer and since Rin is Tearza's descendant it would make sense for Nezha to be a descendant of the Red Emperor but also for a few other reasons: Kitay says that the aunts and cousins of the Yin Clan were chosen as concubines of the Emperors and if the intrigue of the Harem didn't go out of fashion it wasn't just because of their beauty, women related to Kings and Emperors were a useful chess piece in political machinations. The coat of arms of House Yin is a dragon and speaking of historical reality the only ones who could wear the dragon on their robes or as a family crest were the Emperors and his family. Reference is made to the fact that there were no survivors of his lineage almost too insistently, just as there is no reference to Tearza's lineage until she calls Rin my blood. The Yin have the Imperial Seal that was thought to be lost. I'm pretty sure the Red Emperor is historically the equivalent of Emperor Qin Shi Huang, whose birth name was Ying Zheng and well . . . I know the Ying character and the Yin character are different but they sound similar and from a plot point of view the Red Emperor's remaining descendants could have hidden themselves by changing surnames but still one that had a resemblance to the one of origin or a side branch of the family, the possibilities are many. Lastly, he might be right about the Yin feeding their children to the Yao in Dragon form.

As for Yu, I think he was another yin descendant because, at least in the Italian version, Nezha seems to know that Yu is his ancestor.

That's all for now, at least until I find the rest of my notes. If any of this inspires you to write something I would love to have a little credit, even a small one, and oh. . .I definitely want to read it, or if you want to go in the rabbit hole with me don't be shy

#poppy war #headcanon #poppy war trilogy #no time for write #so i made this #for your joy and delight #the dragon republic #the burning god #the drowning faith #The Nine Curves River #yin nezha #Red Emperor #Dragon #Yao

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