#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!

[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.

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[woolandcoffee]

You know, I do think that as a society, we need to reevaluate our relationship to sewing. Like, that post that says everyone should learn how to do some basic sewing even though it's difficult is a perfect example. Basic sewing isn't difficult. It just isn't. Yes, sewing techniques like pattern drafting, tailoring, or crafting a coture gown are certainly not something that a beginner is going to pick up overnight, but genuine beginning sewing isn't hard. Not that long ago, in the U.S. at least, it was standard to teach young children the basics of hand sewing. Even after that was no longer standard educational material, plenty of parents taught their young children the basics of sewing a seam. Sewing isn't rocket science. Most people, with enough practice, can learn even complex sewing techniques. Anyone can learn to hand fell a seam, straighten a hem, do a running back stitch, sew on a button, etc. Treating these things as though they are difficult, in my experience, leads to further alienation of people from their clothing. If all sewing is regarded as difficult, then it makes it harder for people to want to learn. It makes it harder for people to create a participatory relationship with the maintenance of their clothes. On the other hand, if basic sewing is seen as a valuable life skill that any adult could quickly learn, then it makes that learning so much more approachable.

Look through the notes on that post and you'll find lots of people saying that they're good at "shitty sewing" or that they can mend something in a pinch, but it doesn't look good. I really want to push back on that. Because all of our fast fashion clothing is made using machines, we are accustomed to seeing our clothing finished in certain ways. That is going to influence what we think "good" sewing should look like. But here's the thing. Those fast fashion items are not well made (not a dig at the laborers btw, no one could make clothing well in the conditions that they work under. No one). Overlock stitches are not the be all, end all of good sewing. I make most of my own clothing, and almost all the clothing that I make includes noticeable hand-finishing. The seams and hem on my wool skirts are slightly bulky because I turn and fell down my hems and seam allowance by hand. Those skirts look handmade. If you're evaluating them by how they compare to fast fashion, my hand sewing probably looks "shitty." But the thing is, my hand-stitched seam is going to last so much longer than the seam on a fast fashion garment. My hand-stitched hem isn't going to get pulled apart because exposed overlock stitches get caught on something. Maybe that button you sewed onto your Shein blouse doesn't look exactly like how all the other buttons on the blouse do, but I'd wager its more secure. Your occasional hand sewing isn't shitty, it's hand sewing and it's okay that it doesn't look like it was done by machine.

Sewing isn't difficult, and hand sewing isn't worse than machine sewing. Check out some YouTube videos, ask your grandma, check out a sewing manual from the library or Archive dot org. And when someone compliments the cool way you've patched your jeans, or remarks that they could never mend their own skirt, please tell them that of course they can do it because sewing isn't hard.

[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

[telemna-hyelle]

@bokettochild

CONGRATULATIONS UPON GRADUATING!!! Love you, Mama Lava, with all my heart, I'm super super proud of you, and may blessings be upon your next step in life! 💖💖💖

Here's a little something I made for you!

......

.....

“You guys are overreacting.”

Wild threw his hands up in the air. “You’re gonna get frostbite!”

The veteran crossed his arms and scoffed. “You’re not the only well-traveled one, Champion. I know how to handle myself in snowy areas.”

“Clearly you don’t, if you plan to travel in Hebra without pants!”

“I HAVE pants.”

Everyone froze, eight heroes staring at the veteran in stunned silence.

Legend sniffed. “I just don’t wear them.”

Wild threw his hands in the air. “For the love of hylia, WHY?”

“Cause I can do just fine without them, thank you.” His gaze darted to one side, and after a moment of silence he added in a tone just above a mutter, “Besides, they have some tears in them from working in my orchard and I can’t… I haven’t had time to fix them.”

Warriors was standing nearby, and he saw the way Legend flexed his fingers; the faint grimace that darted across his face before the veteran viciously wiped it away.

The Captain was the son of a tailor and his seamstress wife, and remembered how hard it had gotten when arthritis settled into his mother’s fingers. How her handwriting deteriorated, how her grip slackened. How her ability to sew became slower and slower, until she couldn’t hold a needle at all due to the pain.

“Well, if you aren’t going to at least dress for the weather, can you please take this chilly elixir? I don’t want the next traveler who comes along unfreezing icicles for chest to find a Linkcicle instead.”

“I never needed an elixir before! I—”

Warriors tuned the argument out, knowing Legend would eventually cave and this part of the affair was only for show and the enjoyment of driving Wild mad, and casually made his way over to Hyrule and Wind, who were watching the argument with wide eyes, snacking on roasted chickaloo nuts.

He set a hand on both their shoulders, and leaned down to whisper, “I need you two to do something for me.”

c[]xxx[]:::::::::::::::>

It was getting late, so they had decided to table the ascent up the mountain until tomorrow. Hyrule had dragged Legend off to forage in the surrounding area and it was hours before they managed to find their way back to camp. Wild had cooked up a hearty stew for dinner, and once his belly was full, Legend began to drag himself towards bed. Normally he wasn’t the fondest of sleep—dreaming hadn’t been his friend for a while, now—but the chill and dampness in the air in upper Tabantha was staring to seep into his bones. He ached. Not just his hands, but all over, and all he wanted to do right now was lie down with a fire-rod tucked in his blankets.

He held up his bedroll and gave it a practiced snap—and out fell a folded piece of cloth Legend didn’t remember putting there.

He squinted at it, suspicious.

It appeared to be his pants.

Last he remembered, though, his pants were safely tucked inside his pack.

His suspicious gaze lifted, darting around the camp to examine each of his brothers.

To his surprise, all of them were staring at him.

Legend knew he could be paranoid but Din’s blazing rocks, he didn’t think he’d ever been this paranoid before. He drew his sword, gave the camp one more suspicious glare, and flicked the crumpled pile of cloth.

No beetles or lizards rushed into the open.

Legend scanned the camp again.

Eight pairs of eyes blinked at him from around the campfire, waiting, waiting… waiting for what?

Finally, against his better judgement, Legend picked up the pants and shook them out.

Nothing fell to the ground, but Legend was nonetheless struck with the distinct impression that something was off.

He held the pants higher, and squinted, nose twitching as he sniffed suspiciously. Wild might have stuffed the pockets with korok seeds, or—wait, where had the rips from when he’d fallen out of the tree gone?

Legend ran his fingers down the fabric and—sure enough, there were tiny stitches, neat and precise, mending what once was torn. The thread had clearly been carefully picked—it wasn’t a perfect match for the fabric, but it was close enough to not be noticeable.

And that… that wasn’t all. The pants now had new weight and heft—when Legend turned them inside out, he found it had been lined with wool. High quality wool, very soft, giving the pants an extra layer… perfect for a journey into the mountains of Hebra.

Legend stared at it for another long moment. Then he folded the pants, stuffed them in his pack, and crawled into his bed. The other heroes nudged each other into movement, spreading out and seeking their own bedding, and nighttime fell upon the camp.

Yet, when they all gathered at the base of the mountains on the morn, Legend bumped against Warriors shoulder.

“Thanks.”

Warriors stopped in his tracks, and looked at Legend’s back as the veteran hurried to join Hyrule and Wild at the front of the line.

A slow smile crossed his face.

The tips of Legend’s ears were distinctly red, and what’s more… he was wearing the pants.

Hey lovelies!!

Did you know that @bokettochild graduated college??? Did you know that she’s awesome and deserves to be celebrated and have her tumblr family celebrate with her??? Because she 100% does.

So! I’m declaring a graduation party post for Ketto! Reblog this post, tag Ketto, and send her some love/accolades. ❤️ I’ve got a few gifts for her from some of us!

Here’s some art from @nancyheart11!

And some art from @kikker-oma!

And here's a gift from me :D

Lon Lon Ranch had been lovely. It really had. But Legend wasn’t accustomed to staying in one place for too long, and seeing a Hero of Courage settled into such domesticity was…

The veteran sighed, crossing his arms irritably.

At least they were done. A part of him felt bad even thinking that, but he was too annoyed and tired to worry about it much. Malon was wonderful, and he would love to visit again, but… whatever. He woke up irritated today, he was sore and hurting and wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone.

When the sailor bounced over and started talking excitedly to him, Legend did his best to make an exception for the kid. He didn’t have to speak much when Wind was around anyway - the youngest Link usually did enough talking for the whole group.

As Wind started showing Legend his seashell collection, however, the veteran’s patience started to wear thin. His acknowledgements grew shorter by the second, and when the sailor paused to rifle through his bag, Legend pat the kid’s back and walked away to just get some distance.

Which was then taken away from him by Wild stepping in his path. “Hey Vet, I had an idea about your fire rod–”

“No,” Legend immediately said dully. “You’re enough of a pyromaniac. You’re not touching it.”

“Well, technically the captain has it now–”

“And I can take it from him whenever I want. He’s borrowing it.”

“Long-term borrowing,” Warriors pointed out with a smirk as he waved the rod. “Thanks again for that, though.”

Legend waved his hand dismissively, stepping around Wild.

“Hey, I found it!” Wind chirped cheerily, completely missing the fact that Legend was desperately trying to be alone.

“I don’t care,” the elder Hero finally snapped. Wind’s brow furrowed in exasperation and the kid huffed.

Warriors rolled his eyes. “You’re already not a morning person, are you not an evening person either? Is there any time you’re not a grouch?”

Legend felt his ire bubbling more. “Not everyone can babble aimlessly for two hours like you can.”

“What’s eating you up?” Warriors asked, his face pinching in annoyance.

“You are! Anything is! I’m just tired, damn it, aren’t I allowed to be tired?” Legend finally snapped before pointing accusingly at Sky. “Sky’s always tired and nobody gets on him for it!”

The area quieted, most of the boys looking in his direction. Legend regretted saying it the instant he did. Sky’s exhaustion was both a point of contention and a point of concern to many in the group, most notably Sky himself.

Feeling even worse now, the veteran stormed out of the camp, ignoring Wind’s call.

They had traveled fairly far in the day since they’d departed Lon Lon Ranch. A portal has fed into a bright, forested area, and they’d cut their path through hills until they hit the base of a mountain and had settled for the day. With fresh energy within his body, fueled by frustration and an ache he couldn’t put words to, Legend traipsed up a set of stone stairs that overlooked the forest sloping down the mountainside. He traipsed onward, foliage and sticks snapping in his wake, birdsong echoing in the air alongside the distant call of fairy magic. The air cooled the higher he climbed, his face flushed and stinging by the time he emerged from the dense woods.

The vague path he’d been following bled into a wide opening, the peak of the mountain, a place of harshly cut stone and constant winds and a view of the world below. He climbed the rock a little ways before sliding into a seated position, the wind settling a bit as crickets heralded the oncoming dusk.

Legend sighed.

He… hadn’t meant to snap like that, but by the triforce it wasn’t like he hadn’t been trying to hold himself together.

There was the sound of a foot slipping on rock, and Legend reached for his blade automatically when he turned and saw Sky.

The veteran hero froze, unsure what to expect. The Skyloftian was huffing a little, clearly winded, but trying to keep it quiet as he followed Legend’s path up the steep rocks. Eventually, he settled beside Legend with a little smile.

“Sorry for the captain,” Sky offered after a moment. “He means well, but he pushes too much sometimes.”

Sky had followed him all the way up here to apologize for someone else? Legend’s annoyance grew, but it died just as easily. He didn’t have energy to be upset about this anymore. He wanted to be alone, he wanted comfort, he wanted isolation, he didn’t know what he wanted.

“No, it’s…”

It’s more than that. He knew it was. Spending too much time at the ranch… it…

It reminded him of everything he didn’t have. Everything he could’ve had if he hadn’t lost it. And maybe it was stupid to feel that way, especially when he did enjoy adventuring so much, but…

But sometimes it just hurt.

Sky watched him for a little while, body relaxing as he had time to catch his breath. Legend didn’t know what to say.

“Do you miss home?” Sky asked.

Legend huffed. “Not much to miss. Besides, I’m on a new quest. I don’t think about home much.”

The elder Link’s brow furrowed slightly at the words, and then Sky grew pensive, staring out at the view in front of them. A falcon flew across the way, gliding by their line of vision as it let the wind carry it effortlessly.

“I didn’t want to be a Hero,” Sky said softly, making Legend stare at him. The crickets filled the silent void that followed before the knight continued, “It didn’t make sense that it was me. I was the lazy one, the guy who was always tired and daydreaming. I didn’t really have a direction or plan for anything. I just… coasted through life.”

Legend watched him, unsure what to say about the situation and still too caught in his own head to offer words anyway. Sky smiled softly, his eyes distant. “But the goddess had other plans. It’s… comforting to know we all have paths laid out for us, and it’s fun figuring out where we fit in with the world around us, you know?”

Sighing, the veteran hero nodded, gaze drifting to the valley below. He puffed out his chest a little. “It’s an honor to be a Hero. I’m thankful for that honor.”

“Yes,” Sky agreed, though the lilt in his tone indicated there was more to it. “But your path has sucked.”

This startled a laugh out of Legend, harsh and bitter and surprisingly vulnerable. The veteran hero hiccupped and covered his faux pas with a little quip. “That wasn’t the most eloquent way to phrase it.”

Sky shrugged with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not really an eloquent guy. But I can tell when there’s more to things than people say.”

His friend looked him in the eye, eyes seeming to bore into his soul. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Legend was held hostage in the gaze, words caged in his chest alongside his breath.

His uncle. Marin. He’d lost many on his journeys. He’d been isolated, hurt, terrified.

His breath released shakily, shoulders slumping as he looked at his lap, breaking the hold Sky had on him. “.....Yeah.”

The crickets chirped gently as a breeze brushed by them, cooling the hot flush of tears threatening to spill. Legend closed his eyes a moment, letting the wind carry him, feeling his hair tickle his face.

Sky’s hand was gentle on his back. “It’s… okay not to be okay sometimes, you know.”

The words were so simple. Ridiculously simple. Stupidly simple. Legend bit his lip.

He truly did love being a hero, he truly did love being able to help others. Why wasn’t that enough? He didn’t need to let everything else phase him.

It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.

Legend hiccupped. Folded in on himself. Shuddered.

And then he cried.

It was embarrassing, really, and at first he tried to downplay it. The hiccups and sobs tire out of him in startled gasps, but the more he tightened into a ball and tried to muscle through it, the gentler Sky’s hold became.

Legend tried to snap at Sky to lay off and leave him be, and all that came out was a loud hiccup that caught him so off guard he had to laugh at it. Sky took it as an invitation, pulling him sideways so his head settled on the knight’s shoulder, and Legend couldn’t stop the tears and desperate gasps that escaped him.

Sky’s head relaxed over Legend’s, his body warm at the veteran’s side. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t have to. Legend cried until he only had little pathetic hiccups remaining, and the younger Link sniffled, grumbling as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pouch.

Legend blew his nose and had a snippy halfhearted remark at the tip of his tongue before he sighed and pulled away, letting himself be vulnerable a moment longer. “Thanks. I… thanks.”

Sky’s smile was as soft as the clouds overhead, eyes watching him carefully. “You’re welcome. Want to head back?”

The air grew chillier by the moment, and though Legend probably would prefer to stay up here, he knew the others would start to worry. Warriors and Twilight would probably go searching for them soon. He took a breath of the mountain air and let the wind dry his tears, and then he nodded.

When they returned to the camp, everyone was waiting in various states of worry or curiosity. Wind offered a small hello, and Legend smiled at the youngest member, reassuring him that his earlier outburst was not the sailor’s fault.

The veteran hero hugged himself a little, not caring for all the scrutiny he was receiving and definitely not knowing how to backtrack on his earlier outburst. He didn’t have to, though - everyone settled into a routine, worry abated by Sky’s smile and nod. The team huddled around the fire for dinner, a quiet cheer bubbling from Link to Link in the form of snippets of conversations. 

Wind flopped onto the ground with a laugh. “You should’ve seen the captain and the rancher, they were about ready to arm wrestle over who was gonna find you two!”

“Arm wrestle?” Sky asked with a laugh as he slipped his sailcloth off.

“The old man suggested it because they kept trying to one up each other,” Hyrule explained with a smile. “The captain would say it was his responsibility to make sure you were ok and then Rancher would say he was the better tracker and it went on for like forever.”

Four silently laid out some blankets for a softer seating area, and he and Sky settled with a space in between as the knight plopped his cloak over his friend.

As Legend settled beside Sky, comfortably wrapped in his sailcloth, he accepted Wild’s hearty stew and sighed with a little smile. “Thanks. I… I don’t deserve you guys.”

“Ah, yes, you are correct, you absolutely do not deserve me,” Warriors tutted with a false air of superiority and a wink. “But I shall grace you with my presence nonetheless.”

Legend shoved the captain with a roll of his eyes, chuckling despite the maneuver, and the group shared a hearty meal that warmed his heart and soul alongside his stomach.

[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.

[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”

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 12

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Summary = The police are after Thomas Shelby. Ana takes John's suit to his house, the pair having another meaningful conversation.

Warnings = Language, Gang Activity, Guns, Mentions of Sex, Anger issues

Word Count = 3268

Note = Thank you all so much for the comment's reactions and reblogs, it really makes my day that you love this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

For the first time since breaking my foot, I managed to fall and stay asleep last night and it was a good sleep, so amazingly good. I woke up feeling refreshed, ready for the day instead of the usual groggy and irritable version of myself, I had been experiencing lately.

There was no sign of James when I got up. He probably went straight to work after staying at Martha’s. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay over at her place, it was unusual that he didn’t call in to say hello though as he passed through here to get to work.

I walked down in the living room, smiling at the discarded white shirt just tossed onto the floor. A stark reminder that last night did in fact happen. Picking up the clothing and throwing it back into the clean laundry pile I made myself some breakfast before heading next door.

Being the only one in the shop meant that everything fell on my shoulders. Not only did I have to do the administration side to the shop, the inventory, general upkeep but I also had to deal with any clients that came through the door needing something altered or fix. It all rested on me for the first time.

Pushing some loose hair out of my face I looked up at the sound of the door opening. Inwardly rolling my eyes praying the people of Small Heath would just go away. I had been on my foot most of the day, my underarms were red and aching from the fiction caused by the wooden crutches. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

“Everything alright in here Ana?” James’s voice laughed looking around the store. I had things everywhere. Literally everywhere. Random swatches of material were laid over the front desk and my sewing machine, samples of the materials we had in store for people to choose from. I had papers, laying in all directions with measurements, dates and names written on them. I was working in chaos.

“Thank God you are here. Close the door, lock it and keep everyone out” I sigh throwing myself back into the god-awful wooden chair. I was absolutely exhausted. First time having full control of the tailor shop and I managed to do it on a broken foot, it would be a piece of cake in the future with two feet.

“It’s after 5pm we are closed anyway” James laughed shaking his head. He started grabbing the random swatches on fabric putting them into the swatch's basket. “Busy day?” He asked walking around tidying up after me.

“It was the worst day ever. People needing trousers and dresses mended, some needed them altered within an hour. Others wanted to request a new outfit for a family wedding in five days.”

“You know you didn’t have to alter anything right then and there, right?” James asked, putting the work baskets in the far-right corner.

 I smiled thinking back to the days when James worked here. We never got anything done, it was so bad, our parents had to separate us. My father taking James under his wing, my mother, me. All too soon though my brother wanted independence. He wanted away from the shop and away from our parents. It was then he got himself mixed up in gambling and the Shelby brothers.

“I know but I just, didn’t want to let anyone down” I sighed rubbing feeling back into my fingers. I lost count how many times I had stuck myself with the needle trying to hurry things along.

“Ana, that’s fine when you are at yourself, not when you have one foot” James scolded handing me the pieces of paper with scribbles on it. “What does half of this even say? That is not how father writes out a measurement sheet” He laughed shaking his head at me.

“It’s how I write it. Easier and saves time” I chuckled snapping the sheets from him using the desk to tap the loose pages together and placing them on my desk.

“If you say so” James shrugged walking around the shop, stopping when he came to a suit. “This is a fine suit Ana, Shelby not been around to collect it yet?” He asked lifting the pant leg and inspecting it.

“Nope, God only knows why. It’s not like the Shelby’s to be late” I sigh with a smile. My mind drifting to my favourite Shelby brother, nibbling on my bottom lip.

“Well with everything going on. I’d say they have their hands full” James nodded leaving the suit alone and walking over to me. “You best hope he comes tonight; father is coming home, and you know he won’t be happy with the suit still here”

“I thought they were coming home tomorrow night?”

“No it’s definitely tonight. Martha is away to some show with a few friends from work. I remember the date clearly as I was going to the Garrison with a few mates”

“Come on” I sighed rubbing my temples with my fingers before standing to my feet, grabbing a nearby empty basket. “Help me”

“Help you what?” James asked confused at my sudden panic like state.

“Grab that dress and put it in the basket with the suit.”

“What are you going to do? Deliver it?” He asked with a laugh but seeing me nod my head, his face fell. “How exactly are you going to carry a basket and two crutches without falling flat on your face Ana, be realistic.”

“I’m not. You’re gonna carry the basket”

“Hell no. I’m not going near the Shelby house are you mad? What if Arthur is there?”

“What if he isn't?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Please James. Father entrusted me with the running of the shop, I don’t want him coming home and thinking I can’t handle it alone.”

“I’m sure he won’t…”

“James, it’s father. Come on I help you place a stupid bet you can help me deliver a suit” I brought up the incident from a few weeks back when he asked me to go to the betting shop for him. Bringing me into the life of the Shelby’s albeit unintentionally.

“I hate you”

“You love me.” I grin, balancing as best I could while putting my coat on. Taking the crutches once more and hobbling out into the street. “I can’t wait to be free of these”

“Should not of kicked a wall over a Shelby.” James growled dragging his feet behind me.

“Shut up” I tell him with a glare of my own, urging him to hurry up.

Before we even got near the shop James told me that if saw Arthur he would be gone, suit in hand or not. Rolling my eyes at my cowardly elder brother, the streetlights came on, the dark night started to take over. Hopping over the puddles in the street, I noticed a few lights were light in the main house, the betting shop door was no doubt locked now meaning Polly should be at home.

Knocking on the door, I waited for someone to answer the door, my brother was looking over his shoulder every two minutes in case a Shelby brother snuck up on us. I was about to tell him to stop fidgeting when the front door opened, the light shining on both my brother and I. Polly had a smile on her once her eyes landed on me.

“Ana dear, I was thinking just about you.” She grinned, her eyes glancing over to my brother who stood still, a glare on his face as he held the basket in one hand. The other hand casually in his pocket. “James” Polly spoke plainly at him.

“Mrs Gray” James returned, no emotion in his voice.

“Hi Polly, I have John’s suit he was supposed to collect yesterday. I wanted it out of the shop before my father returned.”

“From London, yes Tommy said you had the run of things”

“He did?” I asked with a smile. A blush appearing on  my cheeks at the thought of Thomas talking to his family about me.

“Mmm” Polly nodded with a smile of her. Clearly his throat my brother made his presence known, holding the basket up. “Is that the suit then?”

“Indeed” James nodded handing the basket over to Polly. “I’ll see you at home later?” He asked me backing away from the Shelby home towards what he considered safety, even though Arthur was more than likely at the bar now that Thomas brought it for him.

“Yeah” I shouted my shoulder at him, watching him walk backwards before turning at my answer, disappearing around the corner.

“You must be freezing, come in” Polly spoke once my brother gone, like myself she was watching him leave. Carefully making my way into her home she ushered me into the kitchen, pulling out a chair for me and putting on the tea. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately; things have not been easy”

“I heard Ada had her baby. Congratulations”

“Yes, shame his father was taken from her. Haven’t seen her since the birth. Held up in a basement, not good for her or the baby” Polly groaned, shaking her head at the predicament. “Things only got worse when the boys pathetic excuse of a father turned up. Arthur and Tommy have been at one another’s throats.”

“I can come back at a different time Polly. Clearly you have a lot going on”

“No, no you are fine dear. A breath of fresh air in my world of madness.” She smiles, taking the teapot into her hands and pouring the hot liquid into my awaiting cup.

“While I was waiting on John, I finished your dress” I tell her taking a sip of the tea, ensuring I didn’t burn myself on the liquid.

“You did?” She asked, moving John’s suit of the way, hanging it on the door admiring it. “That would have been a nice suit for his wedding, shame he didn’t have it in time” She nodded admiring the work before taking the dress from the basket, holding it up to inspect it. “Ana…” She gasped

“If there is anything you don’t like I can remove it or add to it no problem” I tell her unsure if the gasp was good or bad.

“It's perfect. Oh, Ana you talented little thing” She breathed excitedly his hands running along the lace material at the hips. It was a show stopping piece, to really bring attention to one of the more prominent features of a woman. “Thank you”

“Polly, Polly the police are after our Tommy. They want to take him away” The youngest Shelby brother ran into the room breaking the moment. I felt my eyes widened at his words, what had he done now?

“What? Where is he Finn?” Polly rushed towards the younger brother, dress still in hand as she held his shoulder.

“The barmaid took him away with her. The one Arthur says makes Tommy soft” He shrugged nonchalantly, he was too young to understand what his words had meant, it hadn’t made them hurt any less though.

“Where did they go Finn?”

“I don’t know, her place I think.” The younger brother shrugged, his eyes wondering to me “Hey it’s you. I remember you. What happened your foot? Tommy wouldn’t tell me the other day.”

“Finn, go to your room.” Polly instructed, a worried looked on her face. She was standing, a hand over her mouth, her other holding the dress and ushering the boy out of the room. “Stupid boy, stupid, stupid boy”

A million thoughts ran through my head as the pieces started falling into place for Polly. The only thing I could focus on was he was with that pretty little barmaid. Just him and her, alone in her home. I swallowed back some sick, needing to get out of this house, I got up attracting Polly’s attention.

“Where are you going?”

“Home” I answered her sharply. The stupid tears I swore I’d never cry threatening to spill. How many more times was I going to allow a man like Thomas Shelby make a complete and utter fool out of me before I realised, I needed to move on, like Martha and Polly said.

“Why are you upset?” She asked once I had my back to her. Immediately she reached forward taking my wrist through the crutch to stop me moving, using it to turn me to look at her. Her hawk like eyes scanning over my face, looking down my body before back up to my face. “You slept with him?”

“No”

“But you allowed him to touch you” She pressed. Hearing the words leave her mouth had the tears falling freely from my eyes, I felt so dirty. So stupid. “Oh, my dear, Ana”

“Why is he doing this Polly?”

“He is a man; they only think with their cocks” Polly almost growled holding me against her chest. “I warned him. I told him not to lead you on, but he doesn’t listen. Stupid, stupid boy”

“I think I’m the stupid one”

“No Ana, no you’re not. He is an idiot for not seeing what he hasn’t in front of him”

“I thought he liked me. I was ready to give, you know 'it' to him last night, but he stopped me” I tell her, my voice muffled in her shoulder. “He’s such a pig”

“He is” Polly whispered in my ear before pulling back slightly. “Wait he stopped you from having sex with him?” She asked confused. I simply nodded my head at her question, Polly couldn’t help the look of surprise on her face.

Shaking whatever was going through her mind off, she held me at arm's length, hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly. “You promise me now, you are done with him. He is not good for you Ana, sweet girl like you deserves a man who would give her the world”

"I have no doubt it is him, Ana. You bring out a side of him that only existed before the war, I thought that part of him died in France”

“So, there is still a chance?”

“No” She answered sharply, conflicting her words. “There is no doubt in my mind Thomas would give you the world. But you are too pure for this world, his world.”

“I can be who Thomas wants me to be”

“You most certainly will not. You do not change yourself for a man Ana, don’t do that to yourself” She scolded holding my face in her hand gently yet firmly. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes”

“Good girl”

“Polly the guns are gone, Campbell has them, there after Tom…” A loud booming voice yelled; it was so loud I was surprised the house didn’t shake due to the volume. “Hello dear…” Arthur stopped himself, seeing me in his aunts' arms. John trailing after him.

“John, take Ana home. We have things to discuss when you get back” Polly directed to the younger of the two men. I expected the man to refuse or kick up a fuss, but he didn’t. He simply walked forward, extending a gentle hand forward. “I’ll will call around tomorrow love, before lunch”

“Okay, goodbye” I called allowing John Shelby to escort me from the home and into the cold night once again. The atmosphere was different than it was when I first left for the house, the police whistles were blowing all over, along with shouts as they marched through the streets looking for Thomas Shelby

“You alright?” John asked after a moment

“Yeah, fell for your stupid brother again like a foolish idiot” I tried to laugh off, but it was too soon. “Congratulations on your wedding” I tell him changing the subject. Ever since our chat at the bar I started to feel safe around John, he was nice. Different than his brothers.

“Thanks. My stupid brother didn’t give me much of a choice. Thankfully she isn’t ugly, I can live with that”

“That’s good?” I questioned unsure how to respond to his reply, my response caused him to laugh.

“It is, believe me I have some standards.” He nodded, nudging me softly, a smile on his face. “I was the only sane one available left to marry anyway, Arthur is out of his fucking mind and Tommy is in love so, wouldn’t have been right for him to marry”

“Wouldn’t you have preferred to marry for love?”

“I did marry for love, but she died. I just wanted to marry for convenience for the kids. I’ll grow to love her” He answered plainly. The marriage really was a business deal, one that benefitted both sides.

“I’m so sorry John" I sigh feeling terrible, the man was the same age as me and he had already lost so much. "I know you said you feel like you have a choice when it comes to your family, but it doesn’t seem like you do sometimes”

“I know it looks that why sometimes, but it's not. I am okay with marrying Esme. As for my brothers, I think they should marry for love at least once. So, I had to give me brothers a chance.” He laughed as we reached the door to my home. “Polly is right about one thing, you're pure Ana but you shouldn't stay away. Your what our Tom needs, something to ground him. She just doesn't see it yet"

“Finn says it the barmaid that has his attention, has him going soft.”

“That’s our Arthurs. He doesn’t know much about you, so course he thinks it’s the barmaid that has my brother soft. If he knew about you, he'd know it was you.”

“John, I don’t…I can’t do this. I can’t be waiting around wondering what Thomas has done and whether or not he will be coming home to me. Maybe Polly is right, maybe I should stay away.”

“Are you giving up on my brother?”

“Can’t give up on something you never had”

“Oh, you have him Ana, you just don’t see it. Idiots the both of you” John replied shaking his head walking towards the front door “Thanks for the suit by the way.”

“You’re welcome” I replied waiting for him to leave before breaking down again, my heart breaking. I limped up to my room, a surge of angry pulsating through my veins as I used my crutch to knock things off the top of my drawers. Screaming in frustration as I hit the books and broken porcelain repeatedly with the crutch.

“Ana” A voice yelled but I didn’t care to stop “ANA” the voice got louder walking up behind me catching me as I threw the crutches across the room. The person ‘sshing’ me as they wrapped around me tightly squeezing me, bringing up both to the ground.

“I hate him” I yelled my hands smacking at their hands as they held tightly onto me.

“It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay” James continued to repeat in my ear, rocking me backwards and forwards until I calmed down.

“I hate him, I hate him” I repeated, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

“I know, I hate him to”

“I really hate him” I whispered twisting myself, so I was snuggled tight into his chest, his heart beating erratically in his chest. “I hate that he made me love him. Why, why did I have to fall in love with him?”

“I don’t know Ana; I wish I knew”



Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary

[adickaboutspoons]

Thank you for taking the time to wade through my ridiculous tag novel and replying so thoughtfully and kindly. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is in fandom to find someone who doesn’t take a disagreement of interpretation on a topic as a personal attack. I’m glad you love talking about “The Plan”, my v. dear, because I do too, and Brevity? I don’t know her.

So in re: Ed worrying about whether he would fit into Stede’s clothes - the thing is, Stede’s clothes aren’t nearly so well-fitted or highly tailored as you might think. The reason Stede wears all those layers in the hot Caribbean sunshine complete with frock coat (other than because that is what the well-dressed gentleman is wearing) is to hide the fact that a lot of his clothes are split up the back and fit is achieved by means of tightening laces. Here’s a bts pic of Rhys that demonstrates what I mean:

But you can also see it at work in the back of Ed’s Academy breeches:

It’s the reason why we’re meant to understand why Stede was able to clothe everyone from his wardrobe during the Tea Party scene from slimmer body types like Jim and Frenchie to larger like Olu:

(Who wore it better? Though, to be perfectly fair, it’s clear to me these are cut from completely different pattern blocks and only made to seem as though it’s the same garment)

Fit through the thighs is a simple matter of taking in or letting out the seam allowance at the sides and inseam - a simple alteration that, (in spite of Pete’s assertion to the contrary) as sewing was a normal part of a sailor’s skillset, would have been easily done. Fit at the knee is a simple matter of moving the placement of a button on the cuff or loosening or tightening a buckle.

What I’m saying is that Ed has no good reason to suspect Stede’s clothes wouldn’t fit at least well enough to get him to a tailor for any more complicated alterations. At worst, he might have to worry about whether they're the same shoe size.

With regard to “disfiguring beyond recognition”, a fire that consumes, at the very least, the head and right arm sufficiently enough to render the body unrecognizable, but somehow leaves the identifiable clothing unscathed is… unlikely. And even if that did pass muster, there’s still the matter of body hair. Stede’s (presumably unburned) leg, pubis, chest, and left armpit hair are still going to be yellow. Or at the very least NOT black.

Why would someone disrobe the corpse? Well, an excellent question, but one I would answer with another - WHOM is the corpse FOR? To convince Ed’s crew (minus Izzy, who is in on The Plan)? Well, waste not want not with good leathers. An enemy that invades their ship? Why would they take the word of a bunch of pirates that the corpse is Blackbeard and not just someone dressed up in his clothes with a highly improbable pattern of burn marks? (Not to mention the truly gruesome things that people used to do to the bodies of enemies of the state). Was he planning on somehow letting people get a good look at him in his distinctive clothes on a ship he was raiding, sneak off during the heat of battle and dress up the corpse, and hope to sneak off without being noticed?

And that’s the thing - it’s not just the corpse part of The Plan that reeks. It’s just a bad plan. Certainly not one worthy of the genius of Blackbeard. Consider:

Why take over the identity of a guy who, presumably, has already mixed in society at least to some extent, instead of making up a whole new identity? It's not like he needs Stede's money; Ed already has more money than you can shake a stick at (though look me in the eye and tell me the man who, within 24 hours of waking, shared with Ed his secret wardrobe, the very clothes off his back, a pleasant night's sleep in the main top, and breakfast of his favorite marmalade, wouldn't just GIVE Ed money if he asked for it). So the only benefit of taking Stede's identity for his own is what doors the Bonnet name can open for him. But the cachet of the Bonnet name isn’t going to automatically grant him entry into high society spaces. He can’t, for instance, show up at some fancy party and say “I’m Stede Bonnet. Of the Bridgetown Bonnets?” and expect to be granted entry. For that he would need either a letter of introduction or a shared acquaintance. 

And you can be sure that, even if the host permits entry based on no more than a promise of shared acquaintanceship, the first thing they’re going to do is send off a letter to said acquaintance with news and commentary about “Stede Bonnet’s” conduct. Ed might have moved on by the time the reply comes stating “My dearest Cecily, what ARE you on about? Mysterious dark looks? Stede Bonnet is FAIR!” but before long, word would spread that there is an imposter trying to pass himself off as Stede Bonnet amongst the rarified set.

And that’s the BEST CASE scenario. Suppose there was someone else in attendance who already knew Stede? The game would be up before it even started. And how dangerous to rouse the ire of people who can afford political influence by claiming the identity of one of their own. Ed would be jailed for fraud or sentenced to death for murder before he could blink.

Supposing he didn’t want to try and insinuate himself into other people’s affairs - suppose he just wanted an excuse to buy a lovely manor-house by the sea and quietly retire? Well. A gentleman of leisure is still expected to receive visitors and host gatherings. Does he trust that Stede would be able to sufficiently  impart ALL of his training-since-birth to navigate those social situations? Because, no slight upon Ed’s considerable intelligence intended, a few weeks training is not sufficient time to cover every contingency. In fact, Stede’s training had ALREADY failed him the night of the Boat Party, and I mean before he even had a chance to select a single wrong spoon. Ed was already seated at the table when the rest of the party started to file in. Apparently Stede neglected to inform him that there is a very strict protocol for the order in which the party is meant to enter the dining room, based on where one falls in the hierarchy of social standing, and that an accountant would surely have been among the last in the procession.

“Well how is Ed supposed to know all this junk?!” I hear you cry (or not; I don’t know you well enough to put words in your mouth). That’s kind of my point. Ed is a genius. He knows well enough that there’s plenty that he DOESN’T know, and couldn’t hope to anticipate. How much BETTER an idea, if a gentlemanly retirement is all he wants, for Ed to invent an identity of his own design, and keep this man that has captured his fascination around to write all those letters of introduction and advise him when an unfamiliar scenario arises? After all, who’s to say that the corpse, if a corpse there must be, HAS TO BE Stede?

Izzy. That’s who. The Plan only really makes any sense if you’re trying to sell it to someone who HATES Stede Bonnet. Who needs a plausible reason why you’re going to be spending ALL your time with him. Who is so accustomed to your brilliant plans and so shamed by his recent failure to trust you that he won’t interrogate the merits of This Plan too closely.

Because here’s the thing - at the beginning of ep 5, Izzy monologues that they’ve been on board the Revenge “nearly a fortnight.” That’s fewer than two weeks from the moment Ed scooped Stede up from the deck of the Spanish ship (or, more likely, had a couple of his heavies come rig up a stretcher. Whatever. You get where I’m going with this) and set him to recover in his own bed on the Revenge to “Stab Me” night. Let’s look at that timeline more closely.

Let’s generously offer Stede one whole day for his fever to break, and then we have Lighthouse Night. After “a few days of training” (so let’s say day 4), we have the raid and the Boat Party. At which Ed suffered a humiliating setback, and nothing could be clearer that he’s going to need a whole lot more training before he can reasonably pass himself off as a gentleman. And now MAYBE a week later, Izzy is demanding that Ed gets a move on with The Plan and send Stede to “doggy heaven”? Under any criteria that’s an absolutely bonkers timeline (For comparison, I was once part of a small team sent by my company to transfer a small part of the workload from a branch in Indianapolis. The projected timeline at the beginning of the trip was one month. I ended up being there THREE months because there was just too much shit to learn. And that’s just one small cog in a much larger machine - not the work of a lifetime of breeding). If The Plan all along was to kill Stede and take his place, all Ed would need to say is “Chill your oddly sculpted tits, Iz. The trial-run with those toffs on the party boat went to shit, and I need more instruction before I’m ready.” If The Plan was only ever to placate Izzy, though, THIS is the moment of critical failure, and the point at which a New Plan needs to be devised.

I DO think that when Ed said “It’s my mess; I’ll do it.” that he fully intended to kill Stede himself. But NOT because that had been The Plan all along. Because Izzy had just smarmed up to him on deck and said, “I’ll happily end it.” creating the crisis point at which a New Plan needed to be initiated. Ed has every reason to suppose that if he doesn’t do it, Izzy will, whether Ed wants him to or not. Izzy had demonstrated himself to be insubordinate multiple times. His problem-solving approach is v. much of the blunt tool variety. Right now he views Stede as the Problem to Solve. And Ed is RIGHT in his supposition; just look at what Izzy does the INSTANT it becomes clear that Ed is not going to go through with The Plan.

At this point, The Plan is v. much about What Izzy Wants and Izzy has made it clear he’s going to get What He Wants one way or another. What agency Ed has in these circumstances is deciding How It’s Going To Go Down. I genuinely think he thought he could make himself do it. After all, the murder of his father was an act of mercy to the person he cared about most; his mother. If HE is the one to kill Stede, and Stede IS going to die one way or another, then he can make it another act of mercy; he can at least make it fast and relatively painless, and make sure Stede doesn’t have time to be scared or surprised, as opposed to whatever Izzy has planned for him. That’s why he raises the dagger behind Stede’s back behind the curtain. It’s an act of love.

Just one last note - the music cues during the conversation about The Plan are what really seal the deal for me that it was Never A Thing. Ed and Izzy briefly discuss retirement and how it’s not a thing in their line of work, and then, as Ed start to spin out the idea of a corpse in Blackbeard’s clothes, the dark cello of the Blackbeard theme begins to play. When Izzy tells him “You’ve still got it”, Ed spreads his hands and gives a little bow. In this moment, he is PERFORMING Blackbeard for Izzy. The instant he turns his back, the strummy guitar of “The Empty Boat” starts playing instead, Ed lets out a tiny sigh and just looks. SO. Done with everything. You know - like he told Stede he wanted to be done with being Blackbeard. Right before they started playing dress up.

All of which is to say, I fully respect your interpretation of events and I don't need you to agree with me. Lord knows I have plenty of dearly beloved headcanons based on far less actual text (Lucius in the walls; Olu came to the Caribbean on his Grand Tour, lost all his money in a rigged card game run by Jim's long-lost brother, who was abducted and raised by the Siete Gallos and now is an enforcer in their ranks and married to Spanish Jackie, etc.). I just wanted to spell out (exactly, with excruciating detail) why the "Always a Plan" hypothesis holds no water for ME.

all the posts abt the clothes swapping that are like “these fools just speedran all the important dating tropes the first day they met each other” or “can’t believe ed made stede get into his right leather pants like the man is recovering from a stab wound” or “they’re playing dressup like little kids” are cute and like i agree but like

i feel like i’m one of the only people who watched ed start to explain his plan to izzy at the end of e4

and after watching how ed pondering the shape of the clouds was him assessing the weather and how ed making lucius count down was him keeping track of time until sundown,

heard ed say “he’s wearing blackbeard’s clothes,” and IMMEDIATELY thought “oh my god ed wasn’t just goofing off when they swapped clothes. he was checking if stede fit in his leathers”

[badassindistress]

Floofy Shirt Sew-along - Step 0: Getting Started

I’m thinking we’ll start properly in August to give people the time to find fabric. For now we’ll do some measurements so we know how much fabric we need and get the preliminaries out of the way.

What you are definitely going to need:

Fabric

Thread

Needles

Fabric scissors

Pins

A measuring tape

3 buttons for the cuffs and the neck (or one button and cufflinks)

A ruler or stick you can use to draw the 1cm seam allowances

 What will make this project a lot easier:

Tailor’s chalk or other method to mark lines on your fabric

An iron and ironing board  - I would say this is a necessity but not everyone has one and you can make a shirt without, it will just be harder and won’t look as good.

A thimble - in the long run it will make you sew quicker and be better for your hands

A sewing machine (I am intending to handsew this because not everyone has a sewing machine, but if you do have access to one and want to be done quickly, do the long seams on a sewing machine and glory in the speed of modern technology)

A cutting mat, quilting ruler and rotary cutter – This thing is all squares and triangles and quilters have got squares and triangles figured out

If you’re used to inches, keep a converter handy because my brain is used to centimeters

How much fabric do I need?

If you’re going full period accuracy, you’re going to need about 240cm of fabric (if it’s 150cm wide), this is supposed to make a shirt long enough to use as underwear. If period accuracy is not your game (or thrift takes precedence, which is very period indeed), measure  the full length (back and front) from a tshirt and get something about 20 cms longer so it can properly be tucked into your waistband. For me, 160x150 will probably do the trick (for reference, I’m 1.72m)

Necessary measurements:

Desired full length of the shirt, 240cm if you want to go full floof

Neck circumference = measuring tape goes around the neck

Wrist width = measuring tape goes around the wrist

You don’t need to adapt the other pieces of this pattern to your own sizes, it’s basically one size is gloriously large on all (if your build is very large to begin with, you might want to add about 10cm more width to get the desired blousy effect, but if you’re slight you don’t need to make it smaller.

For the type of fabric I’d recommend cotton or linen for the historic feeling, but go with whatever brings you joy and isn’t stretchy. It needs to be light enough you can gather it up without it getting bulky and not terribly prone to fraying so you won’t go insane while sewing. Silk isn’t particularly historically accurate, but it would be amazing, so. Go with what is available and sparks joy. (Thin sheets or table cloths can definitely be used for this). Same with colours. I’m going for black, and white is perfect if you want to go swim in a pond á la Darcy, but there’s no rules that says it can’t be pink and flower infested.

tl:dr – procure 160-240x150cm of non-stretchy fabric of a lightness and colour that you would like to wear. Wash it, iron it and congratulate yourself on being super productive.