#i need everyone to go back to tailoring clothes and knowing how to sew but I know this consumerism capitalist hell scape

[myrabbitistrying2killme]

Mass produced clothes breed a certain distinct level of body dsymorphia. Oh this size doesn’t fit right? That’s weird- oh oh this fits bad on me oh this fits worse on me. It’s not your body. It’s not your body it’s not your body. I need people to understand how often clothes were handmade and tailored in the past and still are. You are buying a one size fits all even if it has different sizes!! Because your body is a size and shape they cannot account for! No one else has your body. It kills me how much Consumerism also breeds a distinct lack of understanding of our own bodies and what we look like because we imprint on what ‘fits’ at a chain store. even if you buy second hand, you can’t fully escape the new phenomenon because sizing is still awful!

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 jug

synopsis: after going out to search for luffy, you and zoro stumble upon a bottle of pink sake. zoro drinks it without question, but lives to regret it, as you have to deal with the consequences... physically

cw: nsfw (nothing too crazy), fluff, angst if you really squint, aphrodisiacs, reader is down bad for zoro, and vice versa, whiny-ish zoro (he's in pain give him a break)

a/n: thought of the song heart of a woman while writing this

"Luffyyy!" you called, hands raised to the sides of your mouth as you glanced around. "Luffyyy! Where are you?!"

The swordsman bristled, pinching the bridge of his nose with an annoyed look.

"C'mon, Luffy, it's freezing out here! Hurry up!" he groaned, breath disappearing into the cool air.

Of all the nights your captain chose to disappear, it had to be the coldest of the week...

"For all we know, he can't even hear us," you sighed, tucking your hands in your pockets. "We might have more luck tomorrow... y'know, when it's not twenty below freezing."

"We already came all this way, we might as well bring him back," he grumbled, sharply, pressing forward with a taut look. "Christ, why is it so fuckin' cold..."

His tone came as barely a shock, your eyes unable to stave off their eyes roll.

'Someone's cranky...'

The crew hat been docked on a fall island for a little under a week, waiting for the log pose to set, but it was clear that the crew was already starting to go a little stir crazy.

Some more than others...

But, after a day of exploring and forest shenanigans, Luffy had yet to come back, and both you and Zoro were sent as his search party—the swordsman having been woken up from his pre-night watch nap.

Which would explain why he was acting so grouchy.

Or... grouchier than usual.

"C'mon, Zoro, we've been searching for an hour... How about we give it a rest?" you suggested, sincerely. "From what I can tell, this place is inhabited by nothing but deer, rabbits, and squirrels. I'm sure Luffy can survive the night."

The swordsman kept his gaze forward, not slowing down at all.

"It's dark, and this island is full of frozen lakes," he stated, matter-of-factly. "If that idiot manages to find some way to fall into one, he's done for."

Slightly, you deflated, looking off to the side.

You hadn't thought of that...

Cheeks puffed, you hugged your arms a little closer to your body, attempting to close out the chill of embarrassment.

You knew Zoro didn't mean anything by it—seeing as he talked like that to everyone—but you couldn't help but suddenly feel annoying, your excuses probably the last thing he wanted to hear after being dragged out of bed.

'Dammit, (y/n)... always whining about something...'

This was an insecurity that plagued you constantly.

When you first joined the Strawhats, it was blindingly clear that you were nowhere near the strongest of the bunch.

You weren't fast like Brook.

Or powerful like Luffy

Or even smart like Robin.

You were just... (y/n).

Average, human (y/n).

The only thing particularly unique about you was your skill with a needle and thread.

You were the ship's seamstress, and the clothes you created for the crew were all exquisitely crafted and perfectly tailored to their needs.

It didn't matter how much thread you had, how much fabric you were given, or even how bad the damage was.

You could easily turn it into something both stylish and practical, your craftsmanship that of a seasoned pro, someone who had been honing their trade for decades upon decades.

But you were only twenty.

And while the rest of the crew saw this incredible talent, and often sang your praises for it, you couldn't help but feel useless.

How the hell was sewing supposed to help you win a fight?

You couldn't feather stitch an enemy into submission.

Day in and day out, you trained, hoping to build your strength enough to run with the big dogs.

Even during the crew's two year break, you hadn't laid a finger on your sewing machine, focusing solely on your fighting prowess.

But when you came back, utterly elated by your newfound brawn, you were quick to realize that the monsters had gotten stronger, too.

And you were right back where you started.

"SHI—!"

Your little, mental pity party was interrupted as you tripped over a tree root, feet stuck and body flying forward toward the ground.

Luckily, a pair of strong arms caught you with a death grip, forcing a gasp out your lips as your hands shot up to cling to his broad shoulders, your face smashing into his muscular chest.

'I think I'll go die now...'

Deathly embarrassed, you quickly pulled your head up, stomach lurching and heart stuttering as you caught sight of his face.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered, meekly, eyes slightly wide and completely entranced.

He had a hardened face, with dark eyes and a dark aura—not at all like the men that typically hit on you (not that you thought he was hitting on you now)—and surprisingly soft looking lips.

It was common knowledge that Zoro was anything but ugly, but just seeing his features up close...

He was such a pretty man.

"You good?" Zoro asked, raising a brow.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, allowing him to stand you back upright, and allowing yourself the chance to reign yourself back in.

Your "little" crush on the swordsman was something that plagued you from the moment you joined the crew... and if we're being honest, who could blame you?

Not only was he incredibly attractive, but he had morals; honor; and most importantly, chivalry.

Which, in your private opinion, far surpassed Sanji's.

But, it was beyond obvious that the man was completely out of your league, and you preferred keeping your feelings bottled up and saving yourself the embarrassment rather than getting rejected by a crewmate.

You'd seen the caliber of women that had come onto him in the past.

Powerful, female enemies...

High ranking Navy officials...

A fucking princess...

How could you hold a candle to that?

Though, little did you know, he thought the exact opposite.

While Zoro was a man who prided himself of self-restraint and respect, he couldn't help but let his eyes rake over you as your arms came up to cross over your chest.

Smooth, tanned skin accentuated under the complementary white of your cropped parka, your jeans just loose enough to run, and just tight enough to make your ass look fantastic.

Your lipgloss made your plump lips look so soft and inviting, and your eyes were so warm he felt like they heated him from the inside out.

And don't get him started on your sexy-ass voice—

"What did you trip over?" he quickly blurted out, glancing down at the ground to fight off the impure thoughts.

"It looks like a handle," you remarked, squatting down to take a closer look. "And I think there's a square outline in the ground."

Slowly, you looped your manicured fingers around the tree root, getting ready to pull.

"Careful..." Zoro warned, swords at the ready.

You nodded, and with a harsh tug, the door lifted, revealing a small compartment with a large jug inside.

Grabbing it by the neck, you pulled it out, dusting off its label to see what it was.

"It's sake... from over twenty years ago."

Instantly, a grin stretched across Zoro's face, the man gratefully taking the bottle as you handed it to him.

"Now we're talkin'," he smirked, popping the cork with his teeth and swiping the bits of dirt off the mouth. "Just what I needed."

"Are you sure you wanna drink that?" you asked, warily, as you stared at the bottle's contents. "I've never seen pink sake before..."

The man shrugged, his good eye taking a quick glance at it before he tossed back a large gulp, licking the remnants off his lips when he was finished.

"Eh, it's probably native to this island or somethin'," he waved off, turning around to continue the search. "It's strong... tastes like strawberries."

With a sigh, you stood to follow him, brows flattening as you watched him pound back another huge swig.

'I'll have Chopper check him out when we get back...'

It wasn't long after that you guys found Luffy.

He had been napping in a tree the whole time, and after you and Zoro gave him a serious scolding for worrying everyone, you dragged him back to the ship, you practically slumping against your door once you made it back into your work room.

Your day had been a whirlwind, to say the least, and your body wanted absolutely nothing more than to sprawl out on bed and catch some Zs.

But, even with the late, or rather, early hour—two to be exact—you didn't allow it.

First, you changed into some more comfortable clothes—some pajama shorts and a flimsy tank top—before straightening up the mess you had made in an attempt to make everyone new winter coats.

Once all that was done, you finally sat down at your desk, opening up your sketchbook and pulling out a pen to draw with.

'Alright, Nami said she wanted a new party dress...'

But before you could even draw the first line, someone frantically knocked on your door.

"For fuck's sake..." you sighed, throwing your head back in anguish.

You had half the mind to ignore it.

And, honestly, you did, returning to your book and pretending to be asleep.

But it wasn't long before the frantic rap turned into a distressed bang, completely disrupting your flow.

"Fine! I'm coming!" you caved, roughly pushing your chair back and storming toward the door.

If Kaido himself wasn't burning down the ship, heads were going to roll.

"Usopp, I swear to God, if this is some kind of jo—"

Swinging the door open, you never in a million years would have expected to see Roronoa Zoro on the other side.

Especially not looking like that.

"Shit," he panted, breathless, as he clutched his stomach, leaning against the door frame for support.

Of course it led him to you...

"Can I... mph! ...Can I come in?"

In front of you stood the first mate of Luffy's crew, his most trusted companion, his most loyal friend.

And the hands-down hottest man you had ever seen.

He was in nothing but some black sweats, his muscular arms and abs on perfect display.

His face was flushed, cheeks puffed with his hair tousled, and chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

Without thinking, you stepped to the side, allowing him in, now incredibly thankful that you'd tidied up beforehand.

Can't have the place looking like a pig sty...

Feeling something burning into the side of your head, you shut the door, turning around to see that he was staring at you intensely.

His eyes, once a beautiful steel gray, mimicking that of the swords he cherished so dearly, now resembled that of storm clouds, dark with something you couldn't place your finger on.

Yet something that worried you nonetheless.

"Are you okay?" you asked, raising a brow, not daring to touch him as he leaned against the wall, his legs having a slight tremble.

"No," he replied, his voice a half-whine, half-growl, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Something's... something's wrong... and... fuck! Everything hurts!"

"Hurts?" you parroted, now even more confused.

If he was in pain, why would he come to you?

You were just the seamstress, someone with little to no medical knowledge.

Why not go to Chopper?

Hell, why not go to Robin?

He let out another pained groan, sending a small, sharp pang to your heart.

'Questions are for later.'

Swiftly, you approached, only stopping when you were about a foot in front of him.

Leaning forward, your eyes scanned over his body, checking to see what you could deduce off looks alone.

"What hurts?"

Before he could answer, his eyes trailed down to your chest, the cut of your tank top and the angle you were leaning giving him a perfect view of your tits.

'Fuck me...'

Embarrassed, he avoided eye contact with you, his gaze flicking down to his crotch before zooming off to a far away window.

Still thoroughly confused, your eyes followed his path, only to find that he was hard, and it looked almost painfully so.

'Oh, shit...'

Your face burned, and you quickly snatched your eyes away from the sight.

"What happened?" you squeaked.

"I don't know," Zoro rasped, his entire body shuddering with arousal, heat pulsing through his body so intensely it hurt. "I woke up in my room an hour ago, and... well."

He gestured to his hard-on, the message clear.

"I tried to rub one off but... fuck... nothing worked. And then it got worse... and then—"

Red-faced, he glanced away from you, nostrils flaring.

Why couldn't shit like this happen to the damn cook?

"I...fuck...I smelled something...shit...something that just made it even worse, so I went to find it..." Zoro swallowed thickly, "and it lead me here."

Here?

HERE?

'HERE?!'

Why would, what was obviously some sort of lust sickness, lead him to you?

And why would your scent make it even worse?

Sure, you thought the man was stunningly handsome, and the mysterious, stone-cold air about him intrigued you to no end... but this was too much.

It had to be a dream.

Right?

Suddenly, Zoro crumpled to the floor, breathing heavily in short pants, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

"Zoro!" you gasped, worried, rushing over to him.

"Look... I don't know how or why this... whatever it is...led me to you by your fuckin' scent or somethin'," he shuddered, the room somehow filled with your damn smell.

The shampoo you used.

The body wash.

The perfume.

Hell, the goddamn candles.

Everything just set something off inside of him—something that wanted to ravish you until you couldn't speak, trapped under his body helpless and needy.

Just like he was for you.

God, you were his fucking crewmate.

"Look, I wouldn't ask this of you, (y/n), if there was any other choice..." he rasped, your name on his tongue sending another shiver down your spine.

'Get a hold of yourself...'

"But you're the only one that caught this thing's attention. I don't think think this'll go away normalLY!"

His word extended as pain thrummed through his body, starting at his pelvis and sparking up his back.

God, it hurt so fucking bad.

But as the body cramp passed, he looked up at you with glassy eyes.

"(y/n), please. I'll...fuck! ...I'll fuckin' get you something nice at the next island..." he shuddered again. "Just help me..."

You stared at him for a long moment, struggling to process what was happening.

This had to be some sort of freaky dream.

You'd probably passed out from exhaustion at your desk, and were now face first in your sketchbook.

But looking down at him, so helpless, trembling like an injured deer, it felt oddly real.

...

'Nahhh...'

With a heavy sigh, you moved closer, until you stood over him, his breathing becoming rapid and uneven.

You smelled so fucking good.

He just wanted to have you, to keep you.

To devour you.

You knelt in front of him, tilting your head and lifting him just enough, giving him a warm nod of approval.

That was all he needed.

In an instant, Zoro surged forward, his impossibly soft lips capturing yours in a breath-stealing kiss, granting him a faint pang of relief.

If this was a dream, then it was the most vivid one you'd ever hand.

His lips felt so real, pressing a searing kiss into yours, all the pain and arousal he had been feeling clear as day.

Smoothly, his nimble hand curled around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head.

"Fuck, you're so soft... You smell so good," he muttered into your mouth, his hands wandering all over your body.

You took in a shuddering breath when Zoro pulled away, giving you a small chance to regain your senses as his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, his teeth scraping your sensitive skin.

You sighed, the feeling alien.

Sure, you weren't a prude—you'd frenched a guy or two from your village in your teen years—but never had you done something so... intense.

"Zoro!" you gasped as he suddenly shoved you to the floor, his pupils dilated beyond relief.

"I'm givin' you an out right now," he warned, leaning down so close to you, you could count his eyelashes. "One word... and I'll leave.

God, his eyes were so pretty.

You could stare into them for hours, getting lost in their cloudy grey.

'Wait... what did he say?'

Zoro pressed his forehead against yours, his breath ghosting across your lips, "Last chance."

He almost sounded nervous.

He wasn't at all experienced in the world of sex.

And, yes, he was a pirate who often cared little about the feelings of others.

But he wasn't a monster.

Nothing further was going to happen without your say so.

With a shy smile, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

'Thank God.'

With that out the way, his hips pressed into yours, and you let out a shocked moan into his lips, feeling his hardened dick throb with each throb of his heart.

God, he felt big.

A small pit of nervousness settled in your stomach, but you pushed it away, following instinct by lifting your hips, helping Zoro get some relief from the pain as you carefully rubbed your pulsing core against him.

And it felt fantastic.

Zoro let out a shuddering sigh, pulling away from the kiss and looking down between you both, his hips already meeting yours in a rhythm.

"Fuck—" he groaned, almost flopping completely on top of you, his large arms enveloping your body as he ground against you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, dammit, you already feel too fuckin' good," he kissed your neck, scraping his teeth against your skin as he dry humped you. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou."

You let out mousy responses to his thanks, rutting back into his hips until it wasn't enough for him anymore.

He sat up abruptly, scooping you up as if you weighed nothing and standing up on wobbly legs, walking over to your bed and setting you down less than gently.

(Franky had installed a bed in your workshop after the fiftieth time you'd fallen asleep at your desk. Yes, he counted)

You bounced as you landed, almost squeaking as Zoro's rough hands explored your body once again, tugging off your sleep clothes in a fumbling, desperate manner.

You sat up to help him slide off your shirt, his eyes catching on the soft curves of your shoulders and waist, studying the way your stomach smoothed out into your hips and thighs, your skin so soft under his touch.

He leaned down, trailing his lips against your hips and stomach, his tongue licking up your waist until it reached your breast, his mouth latching onto your hardened nipple as you shivered at the pleasurable feeling.

He whispered your name against your skin like a prayer to the gods, and you took in a sudden, deep breath.

You'd never imagined your name sounding so sexy.

'This has to be a fucking dream, it has to be...'

Something like this would never actually happen to you—so you decided to just enjoy it.

Soon, your pants followed your shirt, landing on the floor behind Zoro.

He stood, staring down at you with dark eyes, his chest heaving, you almost matching him with how hard you were breathing.

Suddenly, he pulled your underwear off, exposing your soaked core to the freezing air of your workshop.

"Wait, Zoro, I've never—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence, his mouth already meeting your core, his tongue driving into you while his thumb circled your clit.

"Zoro!" you cried out, your hand reaching down to grab his soft hair, bucking your hips against his mouth.

It felt better than anything you could've ever imagined.

But just as quick as it came, his tongue left you, your whine not even making it halfway before your back was arching, all three of his fingers shoved into you.

The mix of pain and pleasure was delicious, and you almost instantly understood why some peple were addicted to it.

His mouth replaced his thumb on your clit, his diits unraveling you so easy.

You moaned his name like a broken record, the heat in your face reaching down your entire body, sighing as he pulled his fingers out.

You watched, intently, as Zoro tugged off his pants, his boxers going with his clothes, landing right next to yours.

He was gorgeous.

Years of hard, grueling training left him toned, every bit of him defined and carved by the gods.

He stroked his cock, and something churned in your stomah at the sight of it.

It as really big—if this was real, then you'd be sore beyond belief.

You swallowed, letting Zoro maneuver your body and legs as he lined himself up, rubbing the pink-tipped head of his dick against your folds.

He looked into your eyes, and smirked, before pushing in with one motion, his eyes snapping shut at the feeling of your hot, soft walls.

In an instant, his body cooled down, allowing a moment of relief before it came back twice as painful.

Meanwhile, you had breathed yourself through it quite well, the painful sting already beginning to disappear.

Suddenly, he let out a pained, lustful moan, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in.

It as simple at first, a novice pace, the sound of your wet cunt suctioning around him echoing throughout the room.

Your breath was suddenly stolen as Zoro pressed down into you, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as his hands pinned your wrists to the bed.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he growled.

He sounded like an animal in heat, his hips hammering into yours, the sound of your cunt being abused growing louder.

"Ah...ah...aah!" you panted, drool leaking down the side of your mouth as Zoro fucked you hard, his hips slapping against your thighs and ass, the sound only turning you on even more.

And it seemed to be doing the same to Zoro.

He bit your shoulder, moaning so loud you were sure the entire ship would've had complaints.

If this wasn't a dream, of course—which you were positive it was.

Your first orgasm came fast and hard, fireworks exploding in your vision as the coil wound in your gut snapped.

Zoro let out a tutered groan, frantically pulling his dick out and coming all over your stomach, the amount a concerning one.

But he was still unsatisfied.

With a grunt, he clutched his side, another cramp rushing through his body and forcing him to flip you over, pulling up your hips.

Your face burned as he ignored your sputtering words, sliding back into you, his breath hitching as you clenched down on him yet again.

Using his strength, he practically overtook you with his body, arms wrapped around your waist and hips pistoning as he hammered you like there was no tomorrow.

You couldn't even breath, each thrust knocking the wind out of you.

Fixing his position, Zoro shifted his hips ever so slightly, sitting up on his knees, forcing you to see stars.

Ecstasy flooded through your body as your front half went completely limp, panting moans pushing from your chest with each slap of Zoro's hips against your ass.

It wasn't long before your second orgasm came crashing through you—not as intense as the first but ust as hard.

Feeling himself right on the edge, he quickly pulled away, letting out a brathy whisperof your name as he pumped himself, releasing all over your back.

It continued like this for a while, the pain only disappearing after two more rounds.

And once it did, he carefully let go of your hips, them dropping like dead weight as all of your strength was completely sapped away.

Zoro was utterly exhausted, panting and aching everywhere, but he could only imagine how you felt.

He himself had never made it past first base with a woman before—he'd never had time for relationships, sexual or romantic—but he wasn't stupid.

He'd heard many a tale about the soreness that exists after sex for women.

And you had done him a serious solid.

So he forced himself to stand up, pulling on some pants before walking to the bathroom on tired legs and grabbing a few wash rags.

He got you cleaned up with the warm, damp ones, before using a cold one to cool the rest of your body.

But once that was done, he had no energy to do anything else, allowing himself to fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

Though, he didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

He couldn't just leave you after what he did...and if he was being honest, he didn't want to.

Watching your sleeping form, snoring softly and snuggled under the sheets, brought a certain warmness to his heart he had never felt before.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but the least he could do was hold you in his arms while he had the chance.

Maybe, one day, this could be real.

BONUS !!

The shouts of your captain snatched you from your death-like sleep, waking you with a groan as your eyes fluttered open, only to be blinded by the golden rays of morning light seeping through the window.

You let out a tired whine, covering your head with your pillow.

'I knew I should've got those curtains...'

Sitting up, sluggishly, you almost immediately regretted it when a jolt of pain shot through your core, the following soreness and aching rippling throughout the rest of your body.

"The hell?" you winced at the pulse between your legs.

It practically hurt to breathe.

And you had no idea why.

Confused, you lifted the blanket to check what was wrong, only to find that you were completely naked.

'Oh, shit... oh shit, oh shit, OH SHIT!'

You whipped your head around, looking for any sign of the handsome pirate, only to find him snoring soundly right next to you, one of his arms haphazardly strewn around your waist.

Going off his positioning, it looked like you two were tangled in the sheets, his arms holding you protectively for most of the night.

"Last night was real..." you muttered, wincing again, your voice nearly gone.

A raspy tone only acquired after screaming nearly all night long

'Oh, shit! Fuck! The others! I was so loud!'

Frantic, you didn't realize how close you were to the edge, your lips letting a yelp slip as you fell over.

Instantly, you hit the floor with a harsh thud, letting out a string of curses as another jolt of pain coursed through your legs and hips.

"Fuck..." Zoro groaned as he patted the space next to him, attempting to feel for you as he stirred awake from the noise. "Where the hell did she—oh, shit, (y/n)!"

Realizing you were on the ground, his eye shot wide, and he quickly scrambled to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around your waist and effortlessly hoisting you into his lap.

"Crap, (y/n), are you alright?! Are you hurt?!" he asked, frazzled, and still trying to wake up. "Shit, (y/n), I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all this to happen. I shoulda listened to you and left the damn sake alone."

To say he felt ashamed was an understatement.

He was absolutely mortified.

The events of last night began coming back to him in flashes, the pit of guilt in his stomach sinking deeper with each one.

Where he dragged his tongue against your skin...

Every hickey and bite mark he left behind...

The feeling of your gummy walls squeezing against him...

That's not how he wanted your first time together to be.

He wanted it to be something slow and special, something a woman like you deserved.

But instead it was fast and in the spur of the moment, all because he was stupid enough to guzzle some mystery drink and fall under the effects of a lust spell.

"I—"

Raising your finger to his lips, you silenced him, eyes suddenly lidded as you leaned forward, forcing the two of you to lay back down, much to his confusion.

"Talk later," you mumbled, sleepily, nuzzling into his side as you pulled up the covers. "Sleep now."

Allowing your eyes to flutter shut, you let out a smooth, content sigh, slowly drifting back into slumber.

Incredulous, Zoro let out a small chuckle, but complied anyway, his arms snaking around your waist once more, pulling you further into him with a slight smirk.

Maybe he had that jug to thank after all...

[dresshistorynerd]

This is kind of random, but would it have been a struggle for a big busted women to wear fashionable silhouettes in the medieval era? I’ve heard some costume historians discuss that there were forms of bust support, but most of what I’ve seen pre-1500s seems like it would have been a nightmare for any ancestor with a similar bodytype to wear. Am I just from a line of women doomed to horrible back pain? (On the flip side of the situation, I’ve found corsets and stays to be rather comfortable, so that’s not a problem)

As a fellow big boob haver, I have good news for you! There were pretty good Medieval bust supporting garments and I have tested one of them.

With sturdy fabric, tailoring and lacing you can create pretty good bust support. Lacing was popularized first in 12th century in form of bliaut, and in 14th century tailoring became standard for everyday garments. I don't know how well bliaut supported the bust, but since it doesn't fit super snugly, I assume it doesn't distribute the weight of the boobs as well as tailored supporting garments and therefore isn't as supportive. I'm also not actually sure if there was proper bust supporting garments before that, I haven't looked into it. I know Romans bound their breasts with cloth wrapped around the chest, so maybe that technique continued (at least for those who especially needed it) till lacing and tailoring became a thing. For more about how supporting garments developed in Europe through history, I have a post about development of lacing, which coincides pretty well with that history from 12th century forward.

Personally I have experience with Medieval Bathhouse dress, which was used in the Germanic Central-European area roughly in 14th to 16th century. It's called the Bathhouse dress because most depictions of it are from bathhouse settings, but there's depiction also in bed chambers and other contexts, so I think it's pretty safe to assume it was used more generally as an undergarment. It often had separate cups for the boobs (see the only extant garment left of it, the so called "Lengberg Castle Bra"), but not always. Unlike most other undergarments at the time, it was sort of a shift (the lowest layer) and a supporting garment combined into one.

I sewed my own recreation of it (with some alterations because I made it for my everyday use, not as a historical recreation) and did a post about my results, where I go deeper into the history of the garment too. I didn't construct it very well and I did an error in the design of the back, which cause the strain of the shoulder straps to focus too much on very specific spots in the back panel, which eventually made the fabric there break too many times. (There were some other smaller design flaws too, like the waistline is lower than my natural waist so it rose and wrinkled annoyingly.) I did use it daily (except when I washed it) for a fairly long time though and it was super comfortable and helped a lot with back pain (and shoulder pain caused by use of modern bras). I hate that I've had to go back to modern bras because I haven't had the time to remake it yet. (I'll probably make a follow up post once I get around to it, where I go through the issues of the first version and how I addressed them in the next attempt.) Well fitted and shaped bodice which is then laced does surprisingly much even without any additional reinforcements.

I haven't made a Medieval kirtle (though I will some day), but it was the more widely used Medieval supporting garment, which eventually replaced Bathhouse dress in the area where that was used. Kirtle is worn over a shift, but it broadly works similarly. Kirtles could be front, side or back laced depending on the time period and how the Kirtle was constructed. Multiple layers of kirtles could be used and looser overgarments (like houppelande) were often used on top of it. Kirtle was used by everyone, including men, but for those who didn't need bust support, it's purpose was mainly to create the fashionable silhouette. Here's three depictions of kirtles from 15th century. First unlaced, but has lacing on the front, second close up of the side lacing and third shows nicely how both front and side/backlacing shaped the bust.

Morgan Donner is a costumer, who focuses a lot on Medieval costuming and has a big bust, so while I haven't personally tested the supportiveness of kirtle, she certainly has. The kirtle bodice part needs to be patterned to accommodate the breasts by giving it round shapes and the kirtle needs to be a little too small so there's room to lace it to fit well. Lining also helps to reinforce the fabric and make it more firm and supportive. Here's Morgan's pattern from the tutorial in her website and how the kirtle eventually fits for her. (Also look at the handsome boy in his handsome matching outfit.)

She also has a video relating to the same kirtle project, where she explains her method to pattern a kirtle specifically so it's supportive for big bust.

In 16th century more stiffness was added to kirtles, first with very stiff lining and then with boning, but that doesn't necessarily add to the bust support, rather it just allows the kirtle to shape the bust and the body in general more and better support a heavy skirt. Firm fabric secured snugly with lacing is already very good at distributing the weight of the boobs to the whole torso.

In conclusion, at least since 14th century people with our body type were not doomed to eternal back pain and even before that some ways to help with it were probably used.

[dakusan]

can i just say i think vamp!chan would 100% go crazy with the clothing and literally order everything to be personally made and tailored for his chosen.

like.. why waste money on smth someone else might have if you can just hire a professional to sew you exquisite and one of a kind clothes? it can be anything, from underwear to casual clothing to silk dresses you wear for events.

and isnt that so cute and hot, like, imagine you're standing on a little platform while the tailor is taking your measurements and adjusting the fabrics with pins and chan just walks in to have a look. you look so pretty like this, treated like royalty, everything is customized and just for you to wear and be pretty

jupitermarss, my couture queen, i need you to understand something—you just canonized it. this is 100% happening in vampire!chan’s universe now. there’s no going back. you’ve unlocked a blood-soaked, silk-drenched, painfully specific fantasy that I didn’t know I needed, but now I am feral over.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

V A M P ! C H A N + C U S T O M C L O T H I N G F O R H I S D O L L

he refuses to let you wear anything mass-produced. “You’re not everyone else. Why should your clothes be?”

he hires designers personally. tailors. lingerie artisans. entire ateliers swear silence under contract.

he sketches ideas at midnight on parchment—lace placements, slit lengths, how he wants the back cut so he can kiss your spine.

yes, there’s a fitting room in the penthouse. yes, it’s velvet-curtained. yes, there’s a raised pedestal. no, you don’t step down until he says so.

he watches fittings like a hawk. arms crossed, face unreadable. until he sees you spin. then it’s—“Don’t change. I’m keeping you like this.”

he orders things in pairs: one version for events, one for when he ruins you in it later.

yes, even your panties are custom. embroidery inside the band: mine.

and you? standing there, soft and beautiful and untouchably his, wrapped in fabric no one else has ever worn— he looks at you like you're the final design of his darkest dream.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

thank you for this ask. you’re no longer just living rent-free in my inbox—you’re furnishing the manor. and yes. the lingerie *will* match the curtains. i’m sorry it took me a hot vampire century to answer—real life drained me harder than chan ever could 🧛🏻‍♂️ (barely)

[shiny-jr]

how to steal a heart (I)

[ a dummy's guide on how to steal the heart of a poor pathetic man ]

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Female reader. 

- Note: This has been an idea (heavily inspired by Howl's Moving Castle) I had in my docs since fall 2022. I was talking to a mutual about how writing on Tumblr vs Quotev feels very different. If I leave something unfinished on Quotev, I feel incredibly guilty which prevents me from posting new stories. However, on Tumblr, I don't feel as guilty. Not sure why. Anyways, I know most of my followers here don't care for my ocs, and I've been wanting to post this for so long. So instead of posting on Quotev, I'll post it on here just to get rid of the urge to share this story (might delete this later). This is the same story I posted that little screenshot of not too long ago, and that screenshot was basically just the prologue chapter. So yeah. Hope you enjoy?

IN WHICH THERE IS A SEAMSTRESS . . .

Black smoke concealed the window like a thick veil as the walls around her shook. It was a sure sign that the train was inching by. The screech from its whistle and clanking against the railroad tracks, so loud that it must’ve been heard over a mile away, only confirmed her guess. Her hands continued to cut smoothly through the linen fabric, separating enough to fulfill another order placed this morning. As the young woman worked to separate the colors and gather more material, the corner of her eyes caught sight of the smoke concealing her perfect view. 

The train’s fading motion and clanging against the tracks was eventually replaced by chatter just outside her workshop. It all became background noise, as she began to utilize the sewing machine. Lines formed over the cloth, blending it and connecting so they formed an article of clothing. Needles, pins, and scissors cut and dug deep through the cloth. Buttons of all shapes and sizes were neatly organized in little boxes, so she could easily take what she needed. Time just seemed to fly as she worked so quietly and efficiently, oblivious to the hours ticking by. Any other noise fell on deaf ears, even as a knock resounded on the firm wooden door that happened to be wide open already. 

A pause before the person tried again, knocking a little louder again. “(Y/n)?” 

Snapping out of her efficient trance, the tailor snapped to attention and straightened her sitting posture. Gazing at the door and back the window where the sun was much lower than before, it took her a moment to figure out what exactly was going on and what time it was. It was later in the day, and the woman at the door was Dalena… Well, everyone called her Ma Dalena because she was a kind older lady who tended to see the young female tailors as her own children. At least, most of the tailors. 

“We closed up five minutes ago. You can go now.” Ma Dalena gave an encouraging smile that displayed the dimples on her skin, showing signs of age evident by the wrinkles. Judging by her long dress and small woven handbag hanging from her wrist, it was probably safe to assume that she had evening plans. “Why not spend the rest of the day with us?” 

Us. Correct she was again. As welcoming as the invitation was to join Ma Dalena and the other tailors, she wasn’t willing to join them anymore. Not after the first time when she dared to venture with them. After shifts, the tailors had a tradition of going out into town. Not that it was a bad thing. But they used their time cafe hopping, searching for flirtatious men to satisfy their need for affection. Oftentimes, they would get caught up with the pushy kind. And ever since some troops from the military have returned from their duties, well… encountering a bunch of men who hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in months, was not ideal. At least for her. 

Taking her foot off the pedal to pause her work and silence the sewing machine, she pretended to consider the invitation before mustering a polite smile with a shake of her head. “Hm… It sounds nice. But I promised the client I would finish this so they can pick it up tomorrow. So I’ll stay, but have fun. Have another drink in my place, alright?” 

Ma Dalena merely nodded in understanding, her polite smile turning somber as she turned on her two-inch heels and began walking to the front entrance. The chatter of the other tailors ready and eager for the rest of the day off, went quiet as she announced, “We’re leaving now. Hurry now if you’re coming!” 

The chatter resumed, accompanied by the sound of more heels tapping quickly against the wooden floors in an effort for the straying members to catch up with the group. They complimented each other's outfits they spent days making by hand, discussing various fashion trends, gossiping about clients and others in town. 

In a way, she did and she didn’t regret accepting the invitation. It may have been nice to have good company for once, but it never felt right when she was present within their clique. It was as if she were trying to forcefully add a puzzle piece to an already complete puzzle, which is why she stopped forcing it. She wouldn’t want to sit there awkwardly during tea, unsure what to say as they spoke so confidently and loudly. It felt as if she were an imposter, someone trying to disguise themselves to blend in. It was why she worked in a small separate room, away from everyone else. That, and because she was the fastest tailor there. Part of her wondered if Ma Dalena was beginning to dislike her since she turned down invitation after invitation. But how was she to explain what she was feeling, when it would only sound like whining? 

Drowning out her thoughts with work to occupy the space in her mind, she pressed her foot against the pedal and began sewing once more. The loud hum of the machine filled her ears as it worked against the red cloth under her fingertips. This was the way it was supposed to be. Mindlessly spending her waking hours working at a craft she didn’t excel at, but was decent enough to earn wages in. All while wondering what could’ve been, and secretly hoping that maybe soon there is something that can be–– 

“Look! Look out there! It’s Reyes’ temple!” 

“Reyes?!”

“Where? I don’t see it!” 

“There! Over the hill!” 

Now that was something you don’t see everyday. Everyone retreated back to the window, desperate to catch a glimpse, even Ma Dalena. Halting her work once again, (Y/n) too was the tiniest bit curious. 

In truth, magicians failed to interest her, not that she had an opportunity to see them much anyways. But all those in Etére knew to be cautious of two particular magic wielders: La Bruja de Bruez, the Witch of Bruez, and Reyes Ladrón de Corazones, Reyes the Thief of Hearts. The pair were like the local boogeymen, tales of their horrendous deeds spreading and becoming bedtime stories for children in order to scare them into good behavior. 

Ever since her youth, she heard stories of La Bruja de Bruez. It was said that she was a wicked woman who’s lived for over a hundred years. A slight against her is taken seriously, and she curses those she comes across. But she was no mere fairytale. The witch has been a thorn in the country’s side for a long time, as she terrorizes the towns she visits. There hasn’t been much action taken against her, because she’s so powerful that hardly anyone stands a chance and she’s so elusive. Besides, the royal family don’t particularly care if the witch curses a random citizen every month or so, as long as they don’t have to risk pawns in their own arsenal of magicians just to take her down. 

Only a few years ago, a second magician with fearsome spells and a horrible reputation, appeared. Reyes Ladrón de Corazones, or more commonly known as Reyes, was another brujo many feared, although not as much as his counterpart from Bruez. There were rumors, yes, but they were more lighthearted with little evidence to ever back up the claims. While the Bruja de Bruez spared no one, it was said that Reyes chose to pursue only young beautiful women. If you asked around town, half of the population would consider him a threat, while the other half would giggle and whisper about his rumored good looks. Maybe that’s how he lured them in? With charms. Either way, he was a cause for concern. It was said that at a young age after abandoning his position as apprentice under the royal sorceress, the most powerful known magician, he not only challenged her but won and stripped her of her powers. Of course, no one can neither confirm nor deny it, as the king kept a tight lid on the situation and supposedly those who approach Reyes meet a terrible fate. But his abode was proof enough of his sheer strength. It was like a castle, a temple wandering on mechanical legs, rumored to not only be fueled by magic but also made of it.

Through the mist and low hanging clouds, just over the rolling hills on the horizon she could make out the distinct shape of a temple. A magnificent temple that appears so small from so far away. But she knew that it was a beast, a titan wandering the wilderness where very few dared to venture. It prowled around on its mechanical legs, spewing black smoke as the only trail it left behind. Reyes’ moving temple disappeared behind the clouds, seemingly vanishing from sight. Onlookers within the tailor shop could only awe and wonder aloud what the brujo was like, what was true and what was not, their minds creating horrible fears and outlandish fantasies that would take root as rumors. 

Lowering her gaze back to her work, she resumed once more, but the rumors overpowered the hum of her machine until their words reached her. The other tailors proceeded back to the front entrance, marveling about what they just witnessed. Was he hiding from soldiers practicing their flights just outside the town? Did you hear that he literally steals the hearts of women, but only beautiful ones? Someone said that a pretty waitress on the other side of town had her own heart torn out and stolen by Reyes just last week! 

The door was shut and she was alone, left with her work and the noise outside. Swiftly she worked, able to repair tears and wears with ease and create other things. Able to get lost in the work for much longer, until she felt the ground shake and the screech of another whistle. The afternoon train. It’s smoke covering her window once again. It was getting late already. Not wishing to waste the rest of the day by continuing work or go to bed with a book she had already read twice, she switched off the machine and organized all the tools back into their places. Brushing off all stray strings from her dress, she then rearranged her completed work thus far and prepared to have a different kind of day. 

Today, she would try to make it a can be sort of day. Even if it meant just visiting a close friend like Lía at the bakery. Just putting out the effort to go out today was more than she was usually willing. Although wishing it would be something special, a proper can be day without even trying, was like wishing to be acknowledged by a person you admire but never once talked to, it was much like winging it on a test without studying and praying you would get a perfect score even though knowing that it’s almost near impossible. But it isn’t statistically completely impossible, so you cling to that thin shred of hope that’s as taut as a piece of string. 

The whirring of small planes buzzed overhead, the flying machines brandishing their flags like the proud and numerous soldiers. On nearly every home and business, there was the flag hanging over the door, a symbol of patriotism and support of the war effort. (Y/n) quickly crossed the streets and reached the trolley station that would take her further into town. Right now there was not a soldier in sight, but that was sure to change the closer to the center of town she got. She only prayed that there wouldn’t be any trouble with them. 

The trolleys were full, people all going towards the center of town, in the same direction the planes overhead flew towards. If she had to guess, most of the people within the trolley were likely friends or family of returning soldiers. All giddy from the victory high of a major battle just won. 

While watching the scenery go by, she wondered how Lía was fairing. 

It was because of Lía and her family that she now worked in a tailor shop. (Y/n)’s parents had met an unfortunate end while traveling outside the kingdom. They were doctors dedicated to a good cause, determined to stay in dangerous war torn lands to heal and treat the poorest of folks. While she was busy with school and often alone but checked on by family friends, her parents were saving people an ocean away in a faraway land where Milavi’s war had spread. They had been too close to Milavi claimed territory, likely mistaken for doctors healing rebels, and were thus punished for their good deeds. With no one left to turn to, her family’s closest friend, Señor Obregón, adopted (Y/n) and treated her as one of his own. 

Señor Obregón was a quiet but respectable man that spent his time either working or with his family. He was the one that taught her how to sew, knit, and tailor, after she became curious of his skills. There were two other girls, Lía and Cova, a few years younger than (Y/n), which is why she became the oldest sibling. Lía was the beauty admired all throughout their childhood and still beloved to this day. She most resembled her mother, but she wasn’t half as vain. Cova was the youngest and somehow the smartest, as she was able to quickly grasp the concepts from lessons even in (Y/n)’s class, despite being a few grade levels apart. She mostly resembled her father and his own wits. Then there was her, (Y/n), who had… whatever was left. Of course she never held any resentment toward her sisters, since they were always well behaved but perhaps a bit annoying with their squabbles. Lastly, was Señora Obregón, Rosita, who she just called Tia Rosa for short, was never rude or dismissive to her. Tia Rosa was actually very outgoing and talkative, but she was the sort of woman that wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something from last season. She desired the finer things in life and settled for no less, which is probably why Señor Obregón ended up in an early grave due to working himself to death just to try and afford the luxuries his wife craved. 

Immediately after the funeral, while they were still dressed head-to-toe in black and their eyes were puffy from crying, Rosita sat all three of her daughters for a conversation about the future. It would be impossible for her to keep them all in school, especially considering she hadn’t worked a day in her life. However, she wasn’t cruel enough to just toss her young girls out into the streets with nowhere to go. So, she devised a plan for each girl. Cova would be able to best utilize her smarts in a challenging field full of promise, which is why she was sent to a good witch in the next town over, to become an apprentice in magic. Lía was already very popular around town, she would thrive in a social environment like the bakery on main street where to this day men constantly asked for her hand. As for her, (Y/n), she would stay here in Obregón’s tailor shop, where Tia Rosa deemed was best fit. Afterall, she did know how to carry on the business, she had even helped their reputation grow substantially as more people came in every day and profits increased. Although, she hardly had the time to spend the earnings on herself, that’s what Tia Rosa was there for. Rather, never there for. She’d collect earnings from the business (Y/n) ran and would disappear for weeks or months at a time to another town or city. But that's besides the point… 

By now, the trolley she was on was near the center of town that happened to be within blocks away, the streets became crowded with people walking on foot. On roads below bridges, there were lines of military tanks rolling by. Not much further in, the sidewalks were jam packed with hundreds, upon thousands, of people. Confetti rained down, banners and flags were strung from every corner and door. Every window was occupied as citizens cheered and waved at the parade of temporary victors, a show of military strength. Soldiers in their crisp uniforms marched in unified lines, cavalry on horseback carried large flags. 

As the density of the crowds increased, and the volume of cheers and the parade along with it, she felt her heart beat louder. This was too much, it was too loud, she couldn’t even think…! But she had come this far, to go back home now when she was so close would be a little pathetic. Avoiding the commotion like a plague, she decided it best to take the maze of alleyways to calm her nerves. There were hardly any people on those backstreets, just the occasional stationed soldier. Focusing her gaze on the war propaganda posters on the brick and clay walls underneath window boxes filled with colorful flowers, she pretended to carefully study them as she increased her pace from a calm stroll to a quick speed walk, examining the items as if they were the most fascinating objects she ever saw. Really, she’d rather not make awkward eye contact with the soldiers on guard that watched her like a hawk, which is why she hurried along until they were out of sight.

Now that she was alone, with the crowds and their entertainment separated from her by walls of homes and businesses, she felt relief as the once loud sounds melted into background noise. For now she could concentrate on the address scribbled out on the folded piece of paper in her hands, and her anxiety could be replaced with confusion as she attempted to navigate these small hidden paths. This was only the second time she was on this path, since (Y/n) barely had time to ever go out due to work and her own incompetence. The first was on a holiday some weeks ago when the shop closed early, which granted her a few hours to venture on the main roads to the bakery where her friend worked. This was the second time, and she’s never taken the back roads, which was why she couldn’t tell left from right here. 

Just in time, she looked up from her note to stop her feet from moving, as she came face-to-face with an obstacle. It wasn’t another dead end, this obstacle wore clothing and golden pins, and had a head that could easily look down from his height and see the top of her hat. Immediately she stiffened up and took a step back, hesitantly forcing her eyes to look up at the smiling soldier that casually leaned against the wall. 

The young man only appeared amused as she jumped a step back in surprise. (Y/n) noticed that delighted sparkle in his eyes, as if her skittish self and startled reaction was his entertainment for the afternoon. Before she could open her mouth to mutter an apology and force her head down to continue ahead, the man leaned just a few inches closer to get a better look at her face hidden by the rim of her colorfully embroidered sun hat. “Huh, just like a mouse. Are you lost?” 

A mouse… A skittish field mouse. Would that then make him a rat or a predator? Holding her tongue so not as to speak her mind, she merely shook her head. Offending a soldier would not be good. Not that she had the confidence to say the quick comeback that came to mind anyways. “No… I’m not lost.” That was a lie. 

The young soldier persisted, refusing to move off the path as he continued to block her way. “You look lost. Say, what do you say to an invitation to tea? Afterwards, we can go over directions and escort you to where you’re heading.” Even his partner in patrol, an older gentleman, also a soldier but likely more experienced by at least a few years, moved from his post and approached in curiosity. 

As the second man stepped closer, she could distinctly hear his polished shoes tapping in a steady rhythm as he stood beside his friend. Her own heart rate easily outpaced his steps, and it wasn’t increasing due to excitement, it was due to growing unease. Yes, she knew rationally that these soldiers likely meant no harm and merely wanted to flirt, but her mind could only conjure up the worst possible scenarios as she reminded herself that they outnumbered her, they were stronger, and they had their long firearms strapped to their backs. Keeping her head down, she replied, “Thank you, but no. I’m supposed to be meeting up with someone.” 

Just like the first did, the second soldier bent down a bit to peer at her features. Just like his accomplice, he wore an amused smile as he shook his head and remarked. “A mouse? That’s not very nice. Don’t worry, you’re much better than a simple little mouse.” 

Rolling his eyes, the younger soldier only continued, “If you’re old enough to drink, we can go to a bar if that’s more your style? Do you live around here?” 

This was getting ridiculous. Did they never learn to accept rejection? No means no, even children could comprehend that. But for now, she was at their mercy, no one would come to help her here. It would be up to them to decide she was no use for any fun and let her go, or continue to persist for their selfish desires. “No. Please let me pass.” 

Barely phased by her firm reply, the younger of the two turned to his partner and scoffed, “See? I told you the girls don’t like the beard you’re growing out. It scares them.” 

It’s as if her plea went through one ear and out the other, not swaying them in even the slightest bit. The older gentleman merely rubbed the stubble on his chin, “It makes me look better. Besides, I’m sure she doesn’t mind. She might even prefer a man with facial hair.” Actually, the word gentleman did not describe him well. 

In that moment she was wondering, would she truly risk it all just to snap back in reply? It must’ve felt so satisfying, but was it necessary? Later, would she come to regret her decision or revel in it? Would she seriously use this sprouting frustration, minimal not only compared to her current fears but also in the grand scheme of things, to temporarily push past her anxiety and say something…? Probably not. As annoying as these men were, like the constant buzz of a pestersome fly, they hadn’t caused any harm except to waste a bit of her precious free time. 

“Ah, there you are, mi corazón. I was worried about you.” A smooth and silky voice interrupted.

[themildmahariel]

@rookappreciationweek

Thorne: Darkspawn | Weisshaupt | Independence

Note: this takes place before Euzen transitions, so I will be using his birth name and female pronouns at times. Needless to say, if u reference my Rook pls use the name Euzen and he/they pronouns <3

(divider credit)

Euzen sat in the shade of an aravel to work on their sewing project. They were humming softly to themself but stopped at the sound of commotion at the other end of camp. The laughter and excited shouts didn’t indicate any danger, so they turned back to their work. 

“Rahnel, did you hear?” Talana, one of the scouts, sauntered over, “We found an ancient elvhen ruin. We’re taking a small band to investigate — you should come with us.”

Euzen slowly looked up from their project, “You want the tailor to explore the ruins with you? Aren’t those usually dangerous?”

The other elf rolled her eyes, “The Grey Wardens that we ran into the other day didn’t say anything. Can’t they sense the Blight or whatever? If it was dangerous, they would have sniffed it out and told us. Besides, there were some interesting tapestries near the entrance. We may need your expertise.”

“I don’t know . . .” Euzen ran a finger over the cloth they were holding, “I wanted to finish this piece before nightfall.”

“Rahn, you can finish that thing whenever. You’re always sewing, I think it’s time for you to add some adventure to your life. Live a little!”

Though Euzen continued to resist, they finally agreed after Talana had sufficiently wheedled them into it. They gently folded their project into their personal chest before making their way toward the others. 

Other than Euzen and Talana, two others would join them on their investigation: Soren, the oldest of those gathered and the lead scout, and Cillian, Talana’s partner. 

“Good, we’re evenly balanced. Two boys and two girls,” Talana said. Euzen squirmed uncomfortably at the descriptor. 

“How far is it?” Euzen inquired.

“About an hour’s walk, assuming you can keep up the pace,�� Soren replied without turning to look at them, “Are we good to go?”

Upon everyone’s agreement, they departed. 

Euzen couldn’t see the ruin’s entrance until Soren pointed it out to them. It really was easy to miss; vines crawled around the entrance, casting shadows on the stone. 

“How far did you go in before turning back?” Euzen asked.

“Not far, just the foyer,” Talana answered, “We wanted some backup before venturing further. You know, just in case it is dangerous.”

“And to drag the poor defenceless tailor into this mess, too, it seems” Euzen muttered under their breath. It was a mistake to come here.

“There is another reason why we brought you, actually,” Talana lowered her voice so that only Euzen could hear, “I know you’re a mage.”

Euzen’s eyes widened and Talana lifted a finger to stop them from replying.

“I’ve seen you practicing at night, you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. This will stay as our little secret — all you need to do is help us here. Light up the place, maybe burn away a few creeping vines so that we can continue through the ruin.  You’ll get some magic practice in, and we’ll get to keep exploring. Everyone wins.”

“You didn’t tell the Keeper about this place?”

“We will! We just want to see it for ourselves, before she and the rest of them start tearing through here. It’s fun exploring overgrown ruins, you’ll see.”

“Who else knows about . . . my abilities?” 

Talana nodded toward the others, “Just these two idiots. Soren was the first to figure it out, actually.”

Euzen turned back to the ruin. They would explore it with the others, it seemed they had no other choice.

Once inside, Euzen hesitantly cast Light in order to see better.

“Wish I could do that,” Cillian grumbled. Talana elbowed him to be quiet. 

“We were trying to get through this door,” Soren said, walking to the leftmost passageway, “Most of the other entrances look to be caved in, but this one still seems solid enough.”

Euzen could see the issue right away. Black vines creeped out from cracks in the entrance, snaking their way up the doorway. It looked as though someone had taken a hatchet to the plant and tried slashing it away, to no avail.

“You already tried getting through yourself?” Euzen asked, nodding to the debris.

Soren blew out of his nose, exasperated, “Yes. That’s why we had to come get you. Can you do it or not?”

Euzen took a step back and tipped their head, “I can try. I’ve never done something like this before, though.”

The room was hushed with excited anticipation as Euzen prepared themself. They decided to burn the vines away, using a spell that they had been working on over the past few weeks. 

Euzen closed their eyes and concentrated on their connection to the Fade. They had no formal training, but all mages, with enough practice, could learn how to tap into the source of magic and channel its energies. 

A ball of fire coalesced in the air in front of Euzen, emitting the occasional spark of electricity. Once it was sufficiently hot enough, Euzen let it fly to the door. The vines were set ablaze with a loud woosh and it almost looked like the plant moved by itself, weakening its hold on the door and retreating back into the room that it came from. 

“Nice job, Rahnel, I knew you could do it!” Talana hollered. 

Soren looked at Euzen with newfound respect, “That was impressive, actually. Good work. I think you deserve to be the first one through.”

Euzen would have rather been the last one through, but they didn’t want to say anything. Instead, they tentatively reached for the door and let it swing open. 

It was dark, even with Euzen’s light, as if the very space was devouring all source of illumination. Somewhere in the gloom, water was dripping from above, and there was a stale stench of rot in the air. 

Euzen took another step forward only to be knocked down by something clawing at their face. They managed to defend themself from the worst of the onslaught, but they could not stop the creature from tearing open their forearm. 

“Close the door, it’s darkspawn!” Euzen heard Soren shout. 

“But Rahnel—“ Talana cried.

“Has just been blighted, I saw it myself. Close the fucking door before we are too!”

Without another word the door swung shut and Euzen heard something heavy fall against it from the outside, blocking it from opening again. They had no time to react with the darkspawn still wailing on them. With teeth snapping mere inches from their face, Euzen managed to free their left hand. Palm against the creature’s skin, they let their magic flow through their body and into the darkspawn’s, scorching it until it fell down, dead. 

Euzen laid on the ground for a moment longer, too stunned to move. It was quiet outside the door. 

Slowly, painfully, Euzen managed to lean against the wall, “Talana? Soren, Cillian? Please, let me out.” No response. Did they leave? Already?

Euzen struggled to their feet and pounded on the door, “Hey! Don’t leave me here. Open the door!”

Nothing.

Their ears rang in the silence and it was becoming hard to breathe. Euzen choked back a sob, their mind raced with incomprehensible thoughts. They were trapped here. They were going to die here. All they wanted to do was finish their sewing project. 

The light above Euzen’s head flickered as their concentration wavered. 

“Please, don’t leave me here.” Euzen said again, just before darkness engulfed them.

It did not matter whether Euzen’s eyes were open or closed, the same blackness enveloped them either way. Their head roared with the sound of ringing in their ears, the only other noise was a drip, drip, drip of water somewhere further off. Their back and head ached and they somehow felt . . . attached to the wall. They reached behind themself and confirmed this suspicion. Sometime during their unconscious state (how long had it been?) the blight had managed to spread from the ruin and into their skin. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the blight that they already contracted was reaching outside, seeking its kin among the stone.

Euzen could feel tendrils of corruption spreading from their arm, their back, up across their neck and snaking around their face. They felt hot and feverish, and their thoughts kept slipping sideways. 

Somewhere, far away, a sound of stone grinding against stone caught their attention. They were about to slip back into unconsciousness when a sliver of light fell across their face. 

“There she is, I see her,” A stranger's voice said, “She’s still alive! Antoine, go fetch the Joining ingredients from yesterday. We might be just in time.”

Euzen tried to speak but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. 

“It’s all right, it’s okay. Your clan told us what happened, we’re here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

“Rahn—“ They paused, feeling the name crumble to dust in their mouth.

“What was that? Can you speak up?”

“Euzen. My name is Euzen.” He said.

[auncyen]

Jouvente's most awkward lunch is finally underway.

"So you're still traveling around, huh?"

"Mhm."

"Any special reason you're in Jouvente?" you ask, and try not to get your hopes up.

Siffrin doesn't answer for a beat, cutting off another small piece of the croque-madame he ordered after you reassured them that you were going to pay and didn't mind. The poached egg yolk oozes over the ham and cheese sandwich; Sif moves his fork around to sweep the few drops that run down to the plate back up on the bread. "Um. I...wanted to look for jobs."

Oof. Feels like your hopes got up without your permission. It's fine, they've been put back in place. "Oh! That's right, you used to do odd jobs, right? Any luck?"

"It's going alright! So...what about you? With the..." Siffrin trails off, their brow furrowing in a frustration all too familiar to you. You quickly finish chewing through the broccoli and egg in your mouth to bail them out.

"With the tailoring? Well, I could say it's only sew-sew, but actually, I'm really enjoying it!"

Okay, you had to wedge that pun in there, but still, you thought it'd get a smile out of Sif, maybe a chuckle. Instead, Siffrin looks confused before giving you a smile best described as 'polite'. Sure, his mouth turns up and all, but you don't think he got it in the slightest. "That's good!"

...Probably your mistake for going for sewing puns right after they forgot the word for your work. Yep. Move on, Isabeau. "Yeah! I really lucked out--the store was owned by a seamstress who's retiring. Well, still is owned, but we've got a contract for me buying the store from her. She already moved out to live with her bonded partners, but she stops in twice a week to teach me what I still need to learn about making clothes."

Sif...nods, encouraging you to go on.

"She's cool! She pretty much worked as a seamstress all her life, so she really knows her stuff. Tells me right away when I'm making a design way more work than it should be." Sometimes all the fiddling details were necessary, but other times, you could get the right effect a simpler way.

Siffrin nods, still smiling politely.

Huh. You scoop up another bite of your quiche as an excuse not to talk for a minute, noting that Sif goes for another cut piece of croque-madame at the same time. You never thought a lunch with Sif could be awkward, but...

Boy, is this awkward!

Why is it awkward? You and Siffrin were thick as thieves during your adventure. Sure, it's been a while, you couldn't expect things to be the same right off the bat, but...

“M’dame Odile and Mira will be glad to hear you’re doing okay.”

Siffrin nods. Then he looks confused. Then...you're not sure what that expression is.  “Wait, are they here too?  In Jouvente?”

“No, no, but we’ve been writing!  The last letter was a week ago, they were going to see...aha, apparently there's a play about Mirabelle? She said it was embarrassing, but she and Odile were too curious not to go. Hopefully they liked it!" You weren't all that curious yourself. After all, you'd already lived the adventure. You knew the real story, the real Mirabelle! You hoped the play portrayed her and everyone else well, but you were pretty sure there was no way they had all the details.

Also...you had a bad feeling you were probably portrayed as a jock through and through. Since that was how you acted. You could picture the cast: determined Mirabelle, leading the way; clever Odile, strategizing against hordes of Sadnesses and then the King himself; fun-loving Sif, raising everyone's spirits with jokes and protecting them from traps; brave Bonnie, keeping everyone healthy with good food; ...meathead Isabeau, whose good point was being too dumb to fear the danger.

You're jolted out of that extremely unhelpful thought by Siffrin's next question. “They’re traveling…together?”

...That's a weird tone. “Housemaidens usually go on at least one pilgrimage, not sure if you knew that.  Since M’dame was interested in seeing a little of what Vaugarde's like when it's normal, Mira asked her if they could travel together. So they spent a few months in Vaugarde, and right now they're in Poteria. I think they're planning on Lichtland next? Eventually they'll get to Ka Bue, but it sounded like both of them planned on taking their time.“

Sif's brow is furrowed again as he looks down at his plate. Is he jealous? You were jealous too when you found out. But you get it! Of course Mira and M'dame didn't ask you. You were busy being a sad sack about Siffrin. Well, and even without that, why should they have invited you? It was their trip. Not like you had a good reason to tag along, just...

It would have been nice to.

You can't complain--Jouvente's been good to you. You were the guest of honor at a party hosted by the city, your family is so proud of you (though you know Guy is just happy to boast that he's a Savior's sibling to his partner of the week, which keeps making you secondguess how sincere everyone else is when they reach out to you), the neighbors in your new place have been warm and friendly, you got to start on designing clothes so much faster than you thought you would.

You just miss Mira and Odile a whole lot. You miss Bonbon. You miss what you had with Siffrin, because everything about this lunch feels so off, and at this point you have to ask.

"Sif...you are doing okay, right?"

They immediately smile brightly enough that their eye closes. "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

[boodee-existz]

Hey friend, can you do how your oc looked throughout the series?

Hi! Thank you for this ask! I've been wanting to do Henry's 'closet tour' for a few weeks now, but I haven't gotten around to it because I thought I wouldn't need it for myself. BUT ALAS‼️ You get reference sheets AND a rant.

These are his two main outfits, the ones I draw him in the most, (especially the second one, because to me, Varian and Henry got together after the show and this is what he wears. And I like drawing their cuddles) and they would be his only ones if my brain didn't think up excuses to give him other clothes in comics.

The first one is his debut one, the one he wears throughout season 1. It's his work attire for helping around the kitchen, inspired by actual medieval cooks. It establishes his color scheme — red, blue and a dash of gold. Henry's clothes all have similiar tailoring, usually it's two cloths divided by a gold sash. It's supposed to be reminiscent of Pittsford, his mother's birthplace, because she sews all his clothes. (Because I assumed that's supposed to be the "Fire" and "Chinese–inspired" kingdom in Vat7K, so I went with it. Feel free to correct me on that one.)

Pittsford's main color is red, and that's what dominates this first outfit, but over time Henry is more partial to blue.

The second one is a more knight inspired outfit. Henry's usually not the one going along with adventures, he kind of just worries back at home about everyone, but in season 3 he decides to join in on the action and starts getting sword fight lessons. He doesn't particularly enjoy it, but at least he's helpful.

His secondary outfits have no other reason to exist than me laying down a comic sketch and going "Well... He's not really his season 3 self just yet, but he's not his season 1 self either, so I'm making him a new outfit." To be so for real he probably wouldn't actually wear anything else than his main outfits in the actual show, but this is my oc and I get to dress him up.

The first outfit is the one he wears when he gets out of work and can just walk around town. The second outfit is the same, except it would be his default for the first half of season 3, apron or no apron.

Last batch! His winter outfit, worn during Queen for a Day, where he's more influenced by Attila, as he's his apprentice for a while now and they built a bond.

And his Vat7K outfit, although I've only had him have this one in comic sketches I won't post. At some point I had a Vat7K high where I finally learned what the hell it was, mourned, and in spite put Henry in there. Not my proudest moment. It did make for good character exploration, though. Eh!

Once again thank you soooo much for asking, I'm glad I finally did this. Now I can keep track with his outfits :) I know the question itself didn't ask for this much detail, but hey, why not.

[angeart]

I had to go back and re-read Elegy with this new info in mind and just, awwww Mumbo....the general panic of everything on top of THAT? I say again I wanna give him hugs

you have even MORE to tell about Mumbo tho? 👀 Yes I wanna know more, yes I wanna know more about him and Grian. When you're ready to share ofc :3

-🎀

ohhh i'm so happy you went back and reread with this new info <3 yeah he struggled so much there. it'll catch up to him i'm sure.

anyway! yes! more about boatem circus mumbo! [prev post here]

so technically speaking, scar bought him. it was a scam and all, but there was a small upfront fee scar paid in order to be able to get mumbo away. and mumbo is aware of this, unsure how to feel about it, even though scar waves it off as if it meant nothing. 

but, you know, if he was bought into any place… this one isn’t so bad. (it’s not bad at all.) 

he’s given all the accommodations he might need, and all the time to recover and come out at his own pace. and… it takes a while. but he does feel like he can’t stay still for too long, and there’s only so long he can pace around his room. 

he gets to meet other people (and their endless kindness). he gets to watch the circus performances and learn what they do, with the stress on the caveat it’s all voluntary and safe. he sees people freak out and others taking care of them. he sees people fall out of scheduled performances because they’re not doing well and nobody making a fuss about it. he sees all the aspects in which scar puts them above all else. 

and he feels like he owes him something, you know? 

but his only marketable skill is teleporting and… he doesn’t want to do that. not yet. he can’t.

he does help out however! in his own way. he knows his way around redstone, after all. and there isn’t a lot of it in the circus, but mumbo feels like he can still be of some use! so he helps set up and improve lights and effects for the stage, a task that helps him come out of his shell as he gets excited about all the innovations and little ways he can add to things without being in the spotlight.

he also helps in the backstage.

but there’s one more skill he picks up: sewing.

as an enderman, he’s tall and it’s hard to get him clothes that’d fit. but he thinks maybe he can learn to solve that himself. and he finds that sewing and tailoring calms him. even if he’s only doing it for himself for a while.

he makes his suit himself. and! the other crew members like it so much they start asking him for specially tailored stage clothes too! 

scar softly tells him with a smile that if mumbo ever felt like he had a debt, it’s now surely paid. just to further reassure him, because he knows mumbo was worried about that for the longest time. (and it does bring mumbo some relief, to know that. he can start feeling equal with everyone. more free.) 

… and then grian comes along :3

[yellowcry]

Special just the way you are

Eleven years ago, Mirabel wouldn't believe how far she had come today

@encantober-official prompt - Thread

Just a little more left!

Mirabel sat under the fluffy tree. The burning sun crawled against her skin, light wind ruffled her hair. The cold metal pins clanged against each other. This was her day off, so naturally she would spend it on her hobby rather than making embroidery for the local tailor. Nobody seemed really surprised when Mirabel said she was going to tie her life to embroidery.

Mirabel loved embroidery. This was something she realized back in the beginning of school when she was very young. They were taught some basic sewing skills. In the very least how to patch a clothes or embroider something small. And suddenly she found herself drawn to it. Her various skirts were growing in decorations. Same to her family, except for the fact that theirs was professional. But Mirabel didn't feel like she deserved it (sometimes she really wished to hug her younger-self), so she decorated her clothes herself. Stitch after stitch. Even after collapse, embroidery was always a constant. Like an old friend, ready to embrace her no matter the day. If she was anxious, if the walls felt like they would crush... Mirabel would pick her needle and embroider her feelings away. With the passing years the flow of the thread became easier. And the style became finer, more delicate. And she loved how this life was going. Simple but steady.

The woman closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the faded leaves. After all these years, Mirabel was proud to say she came this far. Yes, pain of the past didn't let go completely. But compared to what was ten years ago? She was in a far better place. There were good days, there were bad days.

There was a heavy thud as somebody dropped besides her. 'Luisa' – she thought briefly. Simply from the estimated size.

"What cha' doin'?" Luisa looked down, resting her head in her hands.

"Oh just some knitting to relax." Mirabel shrugged. "Have you checked Paloma's dress design? Should I start working on the embroidery?"

This was one of the things that made Mirabel nervous lately. This was another gift ceremony to come. And, unlike Teresa, Luisa's daughter was very stubborn. There was no way to force her if she didn't want to comply. So naturally, Mirabel was worried. She was the one decorating her family's clothes for the last few years. And, obviously it included ceremony dresses. With all their white lace and sunny golden flows.

"Looks great to me. But I haven't asked her yet." And even when they asked, knowing her sobrina Mirabel was sure she would find something to complain about in the end. Making her redo the embroidery. Paloma just had to take Mirabel's attention to details and Isabela's demanding nature. The only really good thing is that she wasn't into insane level of energy like Luisa. "Why does my girl grow so fast? I'm so very not ready!"

And Luisa could agree. It feels like just yesterday Mirabel was knitting a blanked to wrap newborn in. Just yesterday Luisa seemed to be freaking out, unsure if she was ready to be a parent. Now she was so grown up. Even if there wasn't such pressure as it used to be back in the day. Ceremony was probably still the most important day for any Madrigal. And Mirabel couldn't allow anything but her best for such an important event. Call her whatever you want, but it was her sobrina. And it was a big event too, pretty much everyone would be at the ceremony. So, there was a worry of not doing it good enough. Failing her supposed job

The fact Paloma was so big already was unbelievable. Needing her very own ceremonial dress. All embroidered and decorated. Jewellery dancing in the snow. And even stranger for Mirabel was her own role at this all. Back at Antonio's ceremony, she would never think anyone dared to give her such an important role. Embellish costume that was the most important for them all. 

Of course, Mirabel did decorated clothes for her family included. But when ceremony was such an important event in life, Mirabel felt even more honoured by this. And also wanting it to be even better, even despite Luisa assuring Mirabel she shouldn't overwork herself (and interrupting her work sometimes to ensure Mirabel had rest enough). But then again, it wasn't just about Luisa. It was about a birthday girl. And Mirabel wanted to be sure it was the best day of her life. It was hard, of course. Sometimes thinking about upcoming celebration was just too much. A salt into old wound. Even it was over twenty years, Mirabel wasn't sure she would ever forget it. The trauma didn't define who she was, not anymore. But it was a ever-living presence. She wanted to be present at the ceremony. Just for her love to Luisa. But, just as it happened with Teresa, her parental cousins allowed Mirabel to stay over with them.  

But, after doing one more ceremony, after ten years since the last one, when Antonio was getting his own gift, it did calm Mirabel's anxiety a bit. It was all okay, she didn't feel as bad as the last time. And for now, Mirabel wanted to focus on what she had to do in the moment. Bringing the dress to life, painting in write and gold. Just to ensure she made the best dress of all time for her special little girl. And know Paloma would have fun at the party. No matter if it was successful or failed, leaving the girl with empty hands. Let her know her family loved her regardless.

[abyshal]

dumb little useless headcanon i thought of a few days ago: ajax is very talented with sewing. since his family had fallen on hard times but were detemined to try and continue to appear as though they had wealth, clothing mending was done mainly by their own hands... which, with ajax basically raising his siblings, means he also had to mend their clothing as well. he learned through trial and error the best ways to sew tears back together in the most inconspicous ways possible, so that there were no tell tale signs of wear and tear that childrens clothing normally goes through. and since ajax has kinda, in a way, a determination to be the best at everything he does (this includes mundane chores like this) he practiced as much as possible with scrap and embroidery projects left abandoned. he doesn't need this skill anymore in a practical sense, since with the income he makes as a harbinger he's able to afford tailors and new clothing for his siblings, but, this talent translated very easily into being a soldier. with deep gashes and wounds, all ajax's underlings know exactly who to go to to minimize most of the scarring and the best sutures. when ajax's own clothing tears, he still mends them instead of taking funds from his family. he does consider this to be a life skill everyone should have so he actually does make his siblings also learn how to sew on a basic level, as well as encourages his underlings to learn as well.

[msfbgraves]

So Daniel runs the household, pretty much. He keeps the home tidy and welcoming, cooks, takes care of the puppies, etc. I suppose he's the one who takes care of the accounts and stuff, and budgets the money? Did he learn that in school or was it something he just picked up in his married life? They seem to be well off from Terry's "business" (o_O!!!), but does Daniel ever worry about how to stretch the money? Do the Silvers ever go through hard times financially in their marriage? Where they've got to count every penny? I mean, nine pups and there is Mama and Daddy too. Eleven people!! Also: does Daniel sew? For some reason I remember you mentioning something that implies it or you stated it directly idk lol. I can definitely picture him patching up Terry's coats ("Really, Terry? Missing cufflinks AND another button missing??" or "Is this a BULLET HOLE? You'd best explain that RIGHT NOW Mister!!!" *angry pout*) and fixing up some hand-me-downs for the younger pups ("I'll make it look as good as new honey, don't worry!" or "Sammy, would you like some more ruffles on your dress? Maybe a nice satin ribbon? My girl's going to be the prettiest at her Prom!" <333)

A life of crime and penny pinching? Aw, Nonnie, no. Why have a life of crime if you're still poor? Both the Don and Lucille grew up poor, though, and Terry too, so Daniel will have been taught many skills some of the children in omega school would have "the help" know about. Sewing is one of these skills, as is home repairs. If you can do it yourself it's simply quicker and no one will care that it's done well as much as you and there's no one to snoop. Also with clothes, especially at the time, everyone had stuff made, and being able to tweak ready made stuff was one of these life things like setting up a basic wifi now. You could have it done but honestly, it comes with the territory of being online. But the bullet holes are a cursed menace, doesn't Terry understand he can't send laundry out like that? And the blood, per Dio! Terry'd better understand Daniel regularly performs miracles.

They're both good at accounting. Terry urges him to get some more money saving tips for daily life, and Daniel will urge Terry to curb enormous impulse buys because "you never know when you'll get the chance to splurge". The money is not going anywhere, my love. Daniel indeed was schooled in accounting and he takes Terry's accountant to task by telling Terry what to ask about. There's discretion fees, and there is overtaxing rich people fees, and those last soon somehow disappear. Also maybe it's better to tip smaller amounts more often, Terry, your people switch from famine to feast and back all the time that's no way to live.

As for the pups - Samantha and Yasmin often pool clothes, Eli destroys everything which means Robby often looks the smartest of them all because he needs everything new. Gianni doesn't mind wearing out Robby's old things, until he shoots up, Anthony is inconsolable at always wearing hand me downs (no matter how well altered), so for his birthday, he always gets one set of specially tailored clothes at a real tailor! And a new haircut! Luna is so much younger than her sisters that hand me downs don't read that way, and when she's old enough, her sisters love taking her out and dressing her up (Anthony would love to come but no boys allowed, argh, pups can be cruel. Sammy always brings him something though. Yasmin decidedly does not). And the other two are so little everything by now is new again.

[nobodieshero-main]

Cecily

right off the bat: her real name is actually Kathia (Cah-tee-yah), but she goes by her mothers name which is why everyone knows her as Cecily.

She's the youngest of three siblings, and when she was very little her parents died of an illness so her older brothers (Sidiro + Nima) worked together to raise her and provide for her the best they could. For this reason, the three of them are very close, and Cecily is very protective of them.

They're from the outer edge of the Capital, which is the poorer area, so when she was old enough she started helping her brothers with their jobs (Nima is a tailor, Sid is a blacksmith) and picked up a lot of random skills and habits.

As a kid she was always using her brain to get into all sorts of mischief and while she eventuallygrew out of sneaking into fancy parties and playing pranks on city guards, she never grew out of her talent for strategy. This, of course, came in handy throughout the multiple times in her life where she got into fights with bullies because she has personal beef with anyone who picks on someone else. (And later, when she joins a quest to slay a dragon.)

This is how she met her bestie and partner in crime Naz!

When they were 8 some noble kids broke Naz's pan flute and Cecily was like "great, now im gonna break your faces" and Naz was like "well i cant let this random girl get hurt for me, i may as well help" and then they both wound up at Naz's house while their mum Pieka washed the blood out of their clothes. It's no surprise they're ride-or-die for each other, Naz even attempted to sneak into PABC once to smuggled Cecily some of Pieka's baking.

(It feels worth mentioning that Naz is usually the one who's saying "Kathia, no" while Cecily grins and says "Kathia, yes.")

When she's 12, Cecily is taken to Prota's Academy for Beginner Casting (the previously mentioned PABC, aka "youth caster training") which is where she meets and befriends Atlas! PABC ends when the caster is 16, hence the "youth" part of the nickname, and instead of going off to become an apprentice, Cecily went back home and started working at Pieka's post office with Naz.

In their spare time they were performers- Naz played music and Cecily would either dance or sing with them.

She meets Ahria when she's about 17, and it's very much a love-at-first sight type of deal, even after Cecily watched Ahria almost brain herself seconds after their eyes met <3

By the time she hit her 20's Cecily had mellowed out a lot and had become much more mature and level-headed, and she'd learned when she needed to use her words and when she needed to use her fists. She was quite content with her life, actually, and then suddenly one day Atlas was at her door asking her about dragons and quests and oh there's the part of her that thrived on using her brain for adventure.

So all of this leads to a person who's calm and collected on the surface, she's a very grounded and somewhat serious person and she can be unbelievably stubborn about some things; but she's also curious about the world and people in a mad-scientist sort of way. She's a trickster and loves the thrill of a plan coming together, especially when if it involves fucking with a bully.

random things about her

her magic is strongest with plants, and some of her more complicated casting allows her to communicate with them

she can sew, but she always stabs herself with the needle at least once

she takes the longest to trust keika, mainly bc she sees how quickly atlas does and she's like "is this how naz feels-"

she has a tiny note book tucked away in one of her packs that's full of recipes she's learned along their journey, that she intends to give to her aunt Pieka when she gets home (it's an extra incentive to make it home)

she's the best at first aid, and general healing, out of all of them

she makes flower crowns for her wife, and uses her magic to make sure they last for ages

enjoys hearty and warm food, hates the fancy shit they serve at noble dinners

she likes things that jingle

[soft-for-them]

Textiles classroom - Billy Hargrove x plus size reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Billy Hargrove needs your expertise in sewing so you both go to the out the way textiles class room to be alone together whilst you sew. I ended up writing this gender neutral because dysphoria and stuff.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Ahhhh, I'm not sure I like this one shot, the request was such a good one but my writing ability isn't the best... so yeah, no proof read.

Often the classrooms that hold the textiles classes aren’t like the other classrooms housing different subjects. If the textiles class has its own classroom, rather than a borrowed art classroom or a spare room that’s coved in mathematics posters of geography dioramas, then that textiles room is small and out the way, often in an abandoned part of the school which only a few teachers and fellow sewers go to linger.

The textiles classroom at Hawkins High is tiny probably even smaller than the staff room and it’s hidden away too, often students who are looking for it for the first time are late because the small single door looks too much like a janitors closet rather than an entrance to a classroom.

With a row of yellowing strip lights, the last light near the doorway all ways flickering so much that it’s like in a hospital corridor in a horror film. The light flickers so much so that there’s a piece of paper with the words ‘don’t turn on’ written in bright highlighter blue sticky taped over the row of switches to deter any students or unknowing teachers from turning it on.

A big cupboard at the front of the classroom near the teacher’s desk, an ancient chalk board on wheels and a pristine Singer sewing machine (the type that has its own stand and looks like it’s like it from the Edwardian era) hold all the ‘updated’ sewing machines, which the classroom only has five of.

These sewing machines are cheap and off brand, they were bought in baulk ten years prior when Hawkins began teaching the textiles class along with other classes considered too ‘hippy’ by the grumpy older parents when don’t care for the arts.

Normally the avocado green machines, with their easily snapped needles and dodgy presser foots that jam too much are locked up at lunch time in the cabinet with the bobbins and threads but your teacher trusts you enough not to steal the machines so she trusts you with the key to the cabinet.

So right now you tow a green sewing machine over to the nearest plug socket, your back pack still on your back and your boyfriend Billy Hargrove awkwardly standing in the middle of the room holding a pair of forest green gym shorts, his rather small pair of gym shorts that he plays basketball in, that have a large rip in them.

Billy Hargrove, the school’s resident bad boy and handsome Cali man looks like a lost puppy among the large desks off to the side of the room and the many mannequins, drying racks and clothes horses bustling with fabric and clothes sew by a handful of students that scatter the classroom.

Then there’s you, the school’s resident tailor, that chubby nobody who people pay to fix and alter their clothes on the down low.

The only other people who know of your little scheme is that guy who sells candy and alcohol out of his locker (what secret sellers have to stay together) and of course your secret boyfriend.

No one is surprised that Billy likes you, it’s evident in how protective he is of you.

Many wonder why, most don’t realise that you and Billy have known each other for far longer than just a couple years, all those times spent holidaying in California as a child weren’t for nothing after all.

However, almost everyone would be surprised, apart from the betting teachers of Hawkins High and locker snack guy (what, he sells a lot of beer to the Populars so he sees how Billy looks at you), that you both been dating for quite some time.

For months now it’s been sneaking around town and late night car rides, blowing off school and getting high in a random fields sharing aspirations of becoming someone or moving back to California and giving a big ‘fuck off’ to everyone who ever hurt you both.

Honestly, you’re not sure if it will last, the relationship that is.

Sure you’ve come to realise you love the curly blonde mullet of a man, anger issues and all but you’ve been sewing like hell saving up some spare money so hopefully you’ll have a chance at Art school.

More and more time has been on making your portfolio, you being stuffed away in the textiles class room sewing dresses and suits, sofa covers and curtains whilst Billy does the opposite, him often skipping class and flunking exams.

Though you don’t dwell on it so much, especially right now as you thread a black thread through the sewing machine, pressing the presser foot down until the strand picks up the same black thread from the bobbin below.

It takes a few tries and as you try to be patient with the fault machine Billy sliding over to you as you try again, his feet lifting up onto the desk next to your sewing machine as he lounges back into a blue plastic school chair.

The man has always been fascinated with you skill so his mouth is always zipped shut when you sew.

It’s like he’s in a trance when looking at you, the love oozing out but when your hands sew so quick and delicately he thinks of how skilful and intelligent you are.

There’s your looks too; you’re pretty despite the lack of sleep making you groggy and easily irritated and your curves make him feel so many things. He could be rude and say all the rude things he thinks about you but he can also say that being around you makes him a better person.

His blue crystal eyes bore into you as you finally start sewing, you own eyes cast away from him your sight fully focused on fixing the smallest of rips that could have easily been left without the pair of shorts getting ruined.

Billy realises that he likes it here with you, in this classroom so out the way and quite that the world seems to stop when you’re alone here together, it’s a safety or maybe it’s just because you’re so comfortable alone together.

So with sparkling blue eyes and time to waste, the thought of asking you skip Algebra class after lunch is over flowing in his head.

Billy Hargrove relaxes and cherishes the moment hoping it will last.

[themildmahariel]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

thanks for the tag @in-the-drowning-deep!

I've finished this piece so it's not exactly a WIP, more of a preview for my Rook Appreciation Week submission. It's been so painful having to keep this in my drafts, I want to post the full fic noooooow!

Note: this takes place before Euzen transitions

Euzen sat in the shade of an aravel to work on their sewing project. They were humming softly to themself but stopped at the sound of commotion at the other end of camp. The laughter and excited shouts didn’t indicate any danger, so they turned back to their work. 

“Rahnel, did you hear?” Talana, one of the scouts, sauntered over, “We found an ancient elvhen ruin. We’re taking a small band to investigate — you should come with us.”

Euzen slowly looked up from their project, “You want the tailor to explore the ruins with you? Aren’t those usually dangerous?”

The other elf rolled her eyes, “The Grey Wardens that we ran into the other day didn’t say anything. Can’t they sense the Blight or whatever? If it was dangerous, they would have sniffed it out and told us. Besides, there were some interesting tapestries near the entrance. We may need your expertise.”

“I don’t know . . .” Euzen ran a finger over the cloth they were holding, “I wanted to finish this piece before nightfall.”

“Rahn, you can finish that thing whenever. You’re always sewing, I think it’s time for you to add some adventure to your life. Live a little!”

Though Euzen continued to resist, they finally agreed after Talana had sufficiently wheedled them into it. They gently folded their project into their personal chest before making their way toward the others. 

Other than Euzen and Talana, two others would join them on their investigation: Soren, the oldest of those gathered and the lead scout, and Cillian, Talana’s partner. 

“Good, we’re evenly balanced. Two boys and two girls,” Talana said. Euzen squirmed uncomfortably at the descriptor. 

“How far is it?” Euzen inquired.

“About an hour’s walk, assuming you can keep up the pace,” Soren replied without turning to look at them, “Are we good to go?”

Upon everyone’s agreement, they departed. 

[black-stede]

part 1

there is a funeral for stede bonnet, mary makes sure of it. they made his ‘death’ as public as possible, and his funeral had to be just as well

there are many strangers at the funeral, but that was to be expected. even if stede wasn’t known as the gentleman pirate (what a dork), he was also now known as a man that got mauled by a leopard, run over by a carriage, and crushed by a piano, body mangled beyond recognition

there is a man at the back of the service that catches her eye as she looks upon the sea of mourners and curious onlookers. to anyone else, he would be another person she hadn’t known but maybe stede had, or maybe someone wanting a peek at the nobleman that decided to be a pirate

however, mary wasn’t just anyone. she was a smart, independent woman, a talented woman with a painter’s eye. unlike everyone in the crowd, his clothes weren’t tailored to his body- the ill-fittedness wasn’t stark enough to draw eyes, but it was there for her to notice

yes, this man was different. and as she continued to watch as the priest spoke, she could have sworn stede had once had a similar outfit.

mary allamby bonnet wasn’t just a smart woman- she was a curious one. so when people started to filter out of the cemetery and toward their manor where the reception was being held, she made a plan.

she and doug walked her children back to the manor. she pulled doug aside and told him about the strange man that caught her eye, that she wanted to go back and see who he was (he was still lingering as they’d left). he immediately offered to cover for her and greet the guests and she was struck again with how much she loved him, of how much she loved this considerate, understanding man

with that handled, she looped back to the cemetery, and just like she’d expected, the strange man was still there. she took a moment to look him over, eyes trailing over his slumped posture and slightly shaking hands. he seemed to be speaking softly to the fresh grave.

mary took a breath and exhaled before moving towards the man and her ‘dead’ husband’s grave.

the man heard her approach and straightened, posture going rigid as she stepped next to him. “you knew stede?”

the man looked at the grave, not her, as he answered. “yes, I did,” he cleared his throat, “I’m very sorry for your loss, mrs. bonnet. he was a good man.”

she looked up to him, hoping to meet his eyes. you could tell a lot from a person’s eyes, she knew. it was how she knew, meeting stede for the first time, that their marriage wasn’t going to be easy. it was how she knew he wasn’t really in it, even when it was obvious he tried. how she knew their lovemaking was just procreation, a task needed to produce the children they were expected to have. how she knew he’d been crying. how she knew something was off in the days leading up to his disappearance.

it was how she knew that through the glance he threw at her, this man was not some stranger or onlooker, that he was not an ordinary mourner.

“how did you know him?”

the man hesitated. “we were friends.” he sniffed, “things ended badly, but I just wish I could talk to him one more time. make things right.”

the man fingered the lace of his sleeve, drawing her eyes once again to his outfit. the outfit that stole her breath as her gaze landed upon the mismatched button she’d sewed onto the overcoat when the original fell off.

this man was wearing stede’s clothes.

her blood went cold, her stomach dropping. “oh my god, you’re ed”