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creativepawsworld · 2 years

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Silence Chapter 1

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Summary = Anastasia Adler, the youngest daughter of Edith and William Adler, where the tailors of Small Heath, Birmingham. Today, on her birthday she is hoping for a brand-new start for her life. Helping her brother may just lead to that new start but will it be what she really wants?

Warnings = Mentions of violence and gang related activity, language. Minor Do Not React

Word Count = 2175

Today I felt like a princess, I had finally finished a personal project I had been working on for the past two months. I was only ever able to do it at night when the tailor shop was closed. During the day, I had other commitments. Inventory, paperwork, the general running of the store for my parents. They were the tailors; I was only a trainee.

It was a beautiful, celestial linen, blue skirt that reached two inches below the knee. It was fitted to my waist but as it fell from my hips it expanded slightly, I added a few pleats to create an almost ballgown effect, so when I walked it felt as though I was floating. Matching the skirt with a part silk, white buttoned blouse with a high collar. My upper chest was decorated with lace and from my breasts down simple white lines finished the garment with long sleeves that were simply white covering my arms.

It was a rather elegant especially for around these parts, but today was a special day for me. Pinning my hair up at the base of my skull, before checking my make up in the mirror. It was the basics, my grandmother always told me I didn’t need any, I was beautiful the way I was. No need for all the paint.

Walking down the stairs to the living room which was empty but off to the left in the kitchen, I noticed my brother sat at the table his nose deep in the newspaper while my mother tidied away a few things from breakfast. My father was always the first to wake up and leave in the morning. He would go next door to open the tailor shop and get everything ready for the day.

“Good morning, mother, James” I bid with a smile towards them both as I pulled out an empty chair which was in front of a piece of bread and water, breakfast.

“Good morning sweetheart, that skirt is beautiful. You’ve done a really good job.” My mother smiled at me once she turned to look in my direction. “Give me a twirl before you sit down” She beamed. Feeling rather giddy myself I couldn't help but giggle as I held onto the skirt spinning in a tight circle before giving a little curtsey and taking a seat. “You’ve come a really long way” she said as she lay a hand on my head, placing a peck on my cheek.

“Thank you, mother, I’ve had the best teachers.” I smile referring to her and my father, stealing a glance at my brother who was biting his lips nervously across the table from me. The next thing, my mother had taken the paper from him, hitting him on the back of the head with it, an angry look on her face.

“How many times James? You are not allowed to gamble. Your father and I are still trying to come back from the last gambling debt you made with the Shelby’s. We will not be doing it again.” She reminded him throwing the paper in the bin, throwing the used lard from last night’s dinner on top so the paper wasn’t salvageable.

“Sorry mother” James mumbled under his breathe, his nervous behaviour not stopping. He had sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, his eyes cast down at the table, avoiding all eye contact with me. My mother didn’t notice, neither of our parents would notice unless it was bluntly obvious. That was the kind of people our parents were, business first. As long as there was food on the table and a roof over our heads, we were considered fine, lucky even.

Growing up my brother and I had always been close. Our parents held little to no interest in most things in our lives. If it didn’t revolve around making money or tailoring, they didn’t have the time to listen or patience to indulge. So, we indulged each other. We became best friends.

A few months ago, my brother James had got himself into trouble with the Shelby family who ran an illegal betting shop along Watery Lane, a few streets from ours. There was an illegal boxing match in a factory workshop one night. To make things interesting, odds were drawn, and bets were made. James had bet on the wrong man. Arthur Shelby had won the fight. My brother didn’t have the money to pay him right away, so in return he was beaten by the older Shelby brother who demanded his money.

Upon returning home in a battered and bruised state, my parents immediately cleared out their savings from the family safe. My father ran as fast as he could over to the Shelby's shop paying off the debt, with interest and the promise of free tailoring services in exchange for sparing his son’s life. It was the one time our parents showed that they truly cared about us. A night that was never forgotten.

I had only heard stories about the Shelby family through their reputation of fear, violence and respect. Their lack of humanity proven by how beaten they left my brother over money, something they were never short of. Only my parents would deal with them whenever they made appointments for their garments. I was told to go home every time before they arrived, for my own protection my father would say. However, on one occasion the family matriarch Polly Gray came to the shop completely unannounced while my parents were visiting my grandmother in Artillery Street.

At first, I didn’t recognise her. I thought she was just another customer until she removed her hat, I remember feeling instantly terrified as those dark almost soulless eyes starred into my own.

Tears pricked in my eyes, as I felt a crippling fear consume me with every step, I took towards her. She watched my every move until I was standing in front of her, my head bowed to show her I was no threat and that I meant no harm towards her, the actions making her chuckle.

It was that day, I realised she was only scary if you were on the wrong side of her. We talked about how she admired the clothes I was wearing and how she wanted a few pieces for herself. Something I was only too happy to provide for her.

From that day, she would call to the shop occasionally to discuss potential designs that she had liked and whether or not I would be able to execute her ideas and bring them to life. Each request was finished, beyond her standards, proving to not only myself but to my parents I was ready.

It made my parents both uneasy allowing me to take full control over Polly Gray's wardrobe not because I wasn't capable but because of who she was. But seeing the repour I had with the woman, they handed me her custom, making Polly Gray my first official client as a tailor.

The Shelby men however, I had never met. I only knew what they looked like through various descriptions and stories told by my family and customers coming into the store. Identifying the men however wasn't hard, they were always well dressed in their tailored suits and peaked caps. The leaders of the Small Heath gang, The Peaky Blinders.

Whenever I was walking in the streets, I would sometimes catch a glimpse of them, their faces always hidden underneath their peaked caps, however. They always walked with a purpose, with meaning. Seeing them however, I would turn and walk away as wherever a Peaky Blinder went, trouble was sure to follow.

As my mother bid both James and I goodbye, her voice breaking me from my thoughts, I waited two minutes before tilting my head to the side as my brother stared in my direction. Silently watching each other, waiting for the other to break. He knew I knew something was wrong, but I wouldn't be the first to break. He would have to talk first.

“I fucked up Ana”

“I can tell James, just tell me it’s nothing to do with the Shelby’s. Mother and Father haven’t recovered financially from that since the last time, and I don't think they ever will.”

“It’s not the Shelby’s” James replied, the words that left his mouth should have given me some kind of joy, but it didn’t. The way he said it, had a dark shiver running through my body, a chill throughout my spine. “It’s Kimber”

“Kimber?” I repeated, the name sounding familiar before it clicked. In Small Heath the Peaky Blinders were in charge, it was theirs. Their territory. However, Billy Kimber and the Birmingham boys owned everywhere else in the city. They were in charge, nothing happened without their say so, without their consent. Getting involved with them was simply a death wish. “William Kimber? Billy freaking Kimber James?”

“It was a sure bet; I was guaranteed to win the money I had lost to the Shelby’s and a lot more. I would have been able to pay mother and father back.”

“Then what happened?”

“I lost, ten times, a guinea each time” He mumbled causing me to choke on my own saliva. My eyes widening at his confession. A hand flew over my mouth as a strangled whimper left my lips. I tried to regulate my breathing as I looked at him, shame and guilt filled his eyes as he stared at me. The gravity of his mistake sinking in.

“Where did you even get that kind of money?” I whispered harshly as if someone was listening to the conversation and would report back to our parents.

“Does it matter? I got it, I lost it and now am fucked. If mother and father find out…”

“If mother and father find out we would have to sell the shop, sell our home, live on the street and even then, that wouldn’t clear your debt. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I could finally get out of this fucking place. Away from mother and father, away from the Peaky Fucking Blinders, away from Arthur Shelby who never lets me forget that he owns us now.”

“And away from me leaving me to deal with whatever other mess you've created?”

“No, I would never put that burden on you. Never you.” James insisted watching the tears fall from my eyes. We weren’t stupid, growing up in Birmingham we knew debts had to be paid. Either with money or your life.

James knew he couldn't run, if he ran Kimber and his men would come for his family. He knew Kimber would just kill our parents and take me for himself. Everyone knew he loved his women. He didn’t care if they went forced or willing, they were his to do as he pleased. Objects, nothing more.

“What do we do?” I whispered trying my hardest to stop the tears. I couldn’t go to work with my parents with puffy red eyes, they would know something was wrong the minute I walked through the door. They would find out what was going on and that would be the end of Adler’s tailors and our life as we knew it. I had to keep my emotions under control as best I could.

“I need you to do something for me.” James spoke lowly, getting up from his chair and kneeling in front of me on the kitchen floor. He was begging. “I need you to go to the betting shop and place a bid for me”

“Are you serious?” I asked my voice raising as I stood to my feet. My brother loses his balance and falls on his behind as I walked into the living room, my hand on my head. Today was supposed to be a good day, I finally finished my skirt. I was a princess. Today I was 26 years old, a new year of my life. A new start, a new beginning. It was supposed to be different.

“It’s the only way, I’ve definitely got a sure bet this time”

“You were told that the last ten times you betted and now look where we are, £100 in debt never mind the interest.”

“Please, this is my last and only chance” James pleaded, literally crawling over to me on his knees as he held a guinea in his hands. Tears in his eyes as he looked at me, pleading with everything he had in him to help him. Sighing to myself, I avoided eye contact with him as I reached forward taking the guinea from his hands. “Thank you, thank you. The horse's name is Monaghan Boy”

“I pray you are right” I tell him stiffly, still refusing eye contact, turning on my heel, taking my beige coat from the coat rack at the front door and wrapping it around myself as I opened the front door, walking into the dirt and grime that is Small Heath, Birmingham.

#cillian murphy fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #peaky fucking blinders #tommy shelby #OC #PEAKY #originalcharacter #thomashelbyxcharacter #thomas shelby fanfic #peakyblinders #gangster #birmingham #tailors

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cozy-possum · 1 year

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i just have to say that i love your grisha headcanons, especially the one about different types of grisha + body horror <3 do you have any more headcanons or ideas like that?? i'd love to hear them! it's such an underutilised idea around powered beings!!!

AA thank you!!! I was surprised more people haven't though about it!

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OG Post (Here)

I have a couple other ideas;

Heartrenders controlling a volcra (Here)

Volcra kill because they remember the want (Here read tags as well)

Specifically with the body horror aspect I would love to see it more casually brought up, I know I went extreme in the original post( and ended up going extreme here too)

Tailors who's skin is warm and soft always, their beauty a little too blinding, they never keep a steady appearance as they appeal to what the viewer wants most, in order to gain their trust. Sometimes that backfires, someone wants to see scars, or fangs, or a monster, and what Grisha to better satisfy that then one that can be what they need. They can make wounds or hide them, they can create scars, they can give someone who wants to hurt, to see others hurting what they want and no one has to suffer, do they?

Squallers who offer comfort through the constant feeling of a warm breeze surrounding someone, the soft sound of wind through chimes or leaves. They can control music just as much, crafting songs and sounds from instruments that never existed in the first place. They become sirens, pulling people in, deafening them with sounds before they even realize they can't hear beyond the wind whistling in their ears.

Tidemakers who's body's move fluidly, their ability to dance, their flexibility is unmatched, they move like water and most feel refreshed after they talk to them. They can bend and twist their bodies so easy, it's muscle memory to show others, to force the bones to bend and break under the pressure from them and their water. Some spend too much time with it, they become similar to a deep sea creature, unblinking and adapted in ways others could never live with.

Inferni who are always the perfect temperature, who can keep a group calm, lowing their body temperatures so they're forced to settle, they can take heat as easily as they can bestow it. The can keep the others comforted, complacent on missions with only each other for comfort; heat fills the space, heat can be the phantom memories of those gone. If there is a death on the field, often an Inferni will keep the bodies warm, to not spook others. They mimic the body heat of someone next to you, a phantom partner or lover in all the wrong ways.

Heartrenders who can manipulate the chemicals and neurotransmitters in a persons brain, even if they don't know what they're doing, people always feeling happier around them, feeling calm, feeling safe. Too much of a good thing is equal to bad. They become addicted like anything else, they become desperate, even the heartrender cannot control it, and often they succumb to those they subdued if not kept safely away from others, or if they use their powers sparingly.

Fabirkators that can breathe life into inanimate things. They create toys, things to comfort young Grisha, to comfort anyone who has lost something. If they focus, if they bargain and find help in other grisha, they can bring a loved one back for a moment, they can twist and warp the corpses before burial, to give comfort to those grieving, to take from those already dead. They often forget, creating things from nothing can lead to viewing everything as a tool. How can things be combined, how can they be taken apart. Fabrikators who pull at flesh a little too easily, after all it's only components, and those that volunteer, well they never have a reason to fear their friend who made their teddy bears dance when they were scared.

Amplifiers that find themselves connected to Grisha in ways they cannot explain. They can sense pain, fear, happiness, they can sometimes sense before the Grisha know themsevles, the whispers of power from under small fingers. They push too much into some, exhausting their power when they pull back, leaving material for the Fabrikators to take apart. Whispers of Grisha killing their own is what the Amplifiers bring. They find the ability to comfort, showing Grisha that their powers are not to be feared, that they can stop too much power leaking out. Small hands reaching for them, crying out for parents who cannot stay, the amplifiers find themselves drowning in both grisha power and human emotions no heartrender can hope to break the bond of.

Sun Summoners, Lightbringers, who always shine. They excel in anything they try, learning, power control, it comes easy to them because praise, love is light. Grisha find themselves blinded, the way sunlight is too warm, the way light trickles into the cracks. Even those that hate find themselves warmed and drawn into the light, moths to a flame. They can blind as easily as they comfort, creating blisters and welts, sunburns and heatstroke, photosensitivity can burn into someone's eyes and brain and leaving them with a body that jerks beyond their command.

Shadow Summoners, Shadowbringers, that keep those that are forgotten. They pull those that are lesser, Grisha who can't keep up with the training, grisha who's powers do not follow the strict pathways they army wants. They take those that slip through the cracks. They spends hours training in pitch black until themselves and the grisha no longer need their sight to kill. They use the shadows to move around, creating shapes and monsters, creatures and enemies not only to scare but to protect each other. They take the absence of light and create the world within it. They plunge anyone who goes against them in the lack of, sensory deprivation at it's strongest. They either slowly let the senses come back or flood them with the removal of shadow all at once, neither are survivable

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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Wearing a bow tie is a statement. Almost an act of defiance.

- Angus Cundey, owner of Henry Poole & Co, Savile Row

If you're going to wear a bow tie - especially on a tuxedo - it simply needs to be one that you tied yourself.

Scratch that. No if’s about it.

Any self respecting man who is serious about being a gentleman who cares about the way he presents himself to the world should know how to tie a real bow tie.

Anyone and his dog can always identify a pre-tied bow tie by the fact that it's just a little too studied. Perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, and perfectly balanced. Just like plastic surgery, clip-on bow ties just look too perfect to be real. It is one of the most obvious signs that you're a style amateur.

Avoid pre-tied bow ties (and its ugly sibling the stick-on bow tie) like the plague....unless you’re a child who is unable to tie his own bow tie.

Bow ties are supposed to be imperfect and worn with what Italians call, "sprezzatura" - an Italian word that first appears in Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier in 1528 - that means a disheveled elegance by way of studied carelessness.

Perfect symmetry is not a goal worth pursuing here. Being an elegant gentleman is.

#cundey #angus cundey #quote #bow tie #gentleman #femme #beauty #tuxedo #black tie #henry poole & co #savile row #tailors #fashion #style #culture #british

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stromuprisahat · 2 months

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Possible explanation for Tailoring: Healers restore the body to it's default state, Heartrenders change the body away from ita default state. So Heartrenders can change facial features but not change hair or eye color, only a true Tailor can do it. This makes me wonder if Heartrenders can produce insulin for diabetics or fix other autoimmune diseases🤔

You've managed to find that part of biology I've always hated- metabolism.

If I understand it correctly, Grisha can make organ produce substances, but immediately, not "reprogram" the organ permanently.

... Most Grisha Corporalki focused on the body—to kill or to cure—but Nina ... slowed heartbeats, eased breathing, relaxed muscles. She had a lucrative side business as a Tailor, seeing to the wrinkles and jowls of the wealthy Kerch, but her chief source of income came from altering moods. People came to her lonely, grieving, sad for no reason, and left buoyed, their anxieties eased. The effect didn’t last long ... Nina claimed it had something to do with glands ... “You make him feel better, ease his woe and all that … but could you compel him to do something? Maybe make him forget his wife?” “Alter the pathways in his mind? Don’t be absurd.” “The brain is just another organ,” Kaz said, quoting Van Eck. “Yes, but it’s an incredibly complex one. Controlling or altering another person’s thoughts … well, it’s not like lowering a pulse rate or releasing a chemical to improve someone’s mood. There are too many variables. No Grisha is capable of it.” Yet, Kaz amended. “So you treat the symptom, not the cause.”

Six of Crows- Chapter 5

But then again, this is ordinary teen Heartrender with unfinished education. We know nothing about old, highly specialized, talented, amplified Healers. Sure, brain's off limits- it has too many functions- but what about other stuff-producing organs?

Apparently, changing hair-colour is only about transporting pigment. Eyes probably work the same, but take more time- you don't want to fuck up your eyesight to look prettier:

... ordinarily Nina would have used pigments to alter her own hair color, but there simply wasn’t time. Nina bled the girl’s bright red color directly from the strands of her hair into Nina’s own, leaving the poor Kaelish with a mop of white waves that looked vaguely rusty in places, and Nina with hair that wasn’t quite Kaelish red. Nina’s eyes were green and not blue, but that kind of tailoring couldn’t be rushed, so they’d have to do.

Six of Crows- Chapter 28

My best guess on difference between a true Tailor and dabbling Corporalnik is something akin to aesthetics surgeon and dermatologist vs. general doctor. Plus Tailors have a sense for chemistry, so they should be able to draw from non-organic, or possibly toxic sources.

#reply #Grishaverse #grishanalyticritical #Tailors #Corporalki #SoC Chapter 5 #SoC Chapter 28 #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo

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roscoe-conkling · 11 months

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Ship's tailors and their pets photographed on board the USS New York in 1896.

#us navy #sailors #tailors #animals #vintage men #vintage photography

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girlactionfigure · 1 year

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The Jewish family stitching for the King

A family of Jewish tailors will see their work feature heavily in King Charles III’s coronation procession — and on the King himself. Their firm, Kashket & Partners, is the main supplier of ceremonial outfits for Britain’s armed forces. It also has a special history with the royal family. Chief executive Russell Kashket created the uniform worn by Prince William at his wedding.

Now new BBC documentary Coronation Tailors: Fit for a King will take the cameras into the Tottenham factory where items for the King — secret until the day itself — as well as 6,000 other uniforms are being made for the coronation by the firm’s small army of tailors.