court garb

anonymous asked:

We know that John was a bit of a bull in a china shop while serving as special minister to France--I'm curious, do we have any idea how he dressed when hob-nobbing in the royal court? Did he follow Franklin's example of dressing down in plain American civilian clothing, or did he do the whole powdered wig, fancy attire thing?

We don’t have any accounts of what he wore while in France, but I would definitely bet that he tended more towards the French Court garb.  Laurens was born into wealth and he certainly dressed that way.  While he was serving in the army, he repeatedly wrote to his father to ask for new clothes, more hair powder and pomade, better spurs, etc.  He likely dressed to the nines while in France.  He never wore wigs, but he did powder his own hair.

A Shadow Seen: A Nuala/Cerridwen Fic

Maybe the taste of danger would make her feel something.

Thank you @sparkleywonderful for giving it a proof read!

Part I

Nuala was beginning to resent her sisters presence. The only constant in her life, it seemed. Her conscious was her own, thankfully. To an onlooker, it wouldn’t seem that way. Every movement she made was matched by Cerredwin. Cauldron damn her, they even wore the same Night Court attire. She felt as though she were becoming a shadow, seen by only those who dared to stare. 

Cerridwen seemed to have accepted this fate. Looked as though she was ready to reduce into nothing but information for the High Lord that ruled them. Nuala couldn’t fathom it. Her sister’s willingness to become nothing, just a whisper of a shadow between pillars and walls. 

No. Nuala wanted to be seen. Especially after recent events at the Night Court. After their new High Lady found her place in Lord Rhysand’s home. Had become Rhysand’s home. It had been beautifully heartbreaking to watch. It was no mystery to those who resided here that Feyre and Rhysand truly loved each other, a perfect paring by the Mother. And it was that love that broke her out of the dream like trance she had been in.

She wanted that. She wanted companionship that differed from sisterly love. A person to combat her darkness and shadows. Someone with a flame like touch and a smile bright enough to end the darkness forever. Because it seemed the shadows were getting to her more easily these days. No one was able to cut the endless fog that surrounded her. 

What are you thinking about, sister? You seem as though you are deep in thought.

She jolted slightly, once again thankful her mind could not be read. Well, at least not by Cerridwen. 

Nothing. She shot back, trying desperately to conceal its venom.

Good, because spymaster Azriel ordered us to gather intel on Her Lady Amren.

Yes, yes. 

From then until her duty had ceased, Nuala tried to shut out thoughts of forbidden love and lives lived in bliss. Lady Amren hadn’t done anything suspicious, and Nuala couldn’t help but feel annoyed at Spymaster Azriel. Had he not realized, after multiple centuries, that the woman would not do anything to risk her position in the Inner Circle? Typical Illyiran protectiveness, Nuala supposed. 

To be quite honest, her and her twin were lucky to be able to serve here. Typically, faeries aren’t the gifted sort. Thought it was by some stroke of luck that they inherited their mother’s abilities and their father’s immortality. Together, they could do most anything in a Court setting. For it was their abilities that allowed them to gather information easier than most could. Because of this, they were granted positions as spies for High Lord Rhysand. 

It had been difficult at times. Especially being under the mountain. The creatures down there had been the most gruesome she’d ever seen. Cerredwin, in her blind determination, had been the stronger of the two. Nuala wouldn’t have made it through the fifty years if it hadn’t been for her twin.

After hours of surveilling, Spymaster Azriel had given the twins the night off. They now entered their quarters at the far side of the Night Court. If anyone where to stumble on their room, they would’ve seen nothing but a vacant room. Two beds on either side of a melancholy room. Trunks sat in front of them, both filled with nothing but shear black Night Court attire. One window hiding behind wooden shudders, and a dead flower plant Nuala had failed to Nurture. Destruction, it seemed, sprung from her finger tips. 

Cerredwin took a place at the vanity and began to un-spool her intricately plaited hair. Cerredwin did little to conceal her narcissism. Every morning, she lined her eyes perfectly with kohl and put on earrings of luminous gold. She always told Nuala, a good spy must look as though she belongs. So Nuala held her tongue and allowed her twin to duplicate the look on herself. They were the same side of a coin. Looks were as far as the similarity went. Where Cerridwen was content with silence and stern looks, Nuala yearned for spaces filled with laughter. It was all she could do not to sit down at the dinner table among the Inner Circle. They had such fun. 

While Cerridwen readied for bed, Nuala laid down and feigned sleep. If was often that she slept in her Night Court garbs. After some time, Nuala heard sounds of sleep from her sister.

She gathered herself and left the room through the wall rather than the door, if only to avoid its clicking. The feeling of solid matter around her never seemed to become normal. Once bone met flesh and skin again, she walked through the gardens Lady Elain had planted. They were beautiful in the silver light of the moon. The feeling of grass beneath her feet and plants tickling her legs made the corners of her mouth turn up in a quiet smile.

“Nuala.” Spymaster Azriel’s voice came from behind her, and her body turned to face him. 

“Yes?” She cursed herself for addressing him with such a lack of respect. 

“Where are you going?” The steel in his voice had been something she had grown used to. 

“Just for a walk. Cerridwen is asleep.” 

“Ah, so she doesn’t know about your little walk.” The implication rattled her. What exactly did he think she was doing? Taking a lover? Nuala hadn’t had one in centuries.

“She never does. You know she would attempt to stop me.” This was true. It was far too dangerous in the eyes of Cerridwen. 

Understanding veiled his features, and she found herself resenting the pity on his face. She took this job willingly and knew what it meant. There were to be limited outside communications, as well as no relationships outside the confines of the Townhouse. 

These thoughts echoed through her mind as she left him behind her. Most nights, if there weren’t assignments to be completed, Nuala was free to roam Velaris. And it was among the fae and faerie strangers alike that she felt solace. For though they could not see her, she could feel their warmth. Their joy and laughter pulsed through Nuala’s very bones. 

The light of the lanterns allured her. The smattering of stars across the sky made her feel that she wasn’t so alone. It was their light that chased away the shadows, made her feel as less of a spy and more of a person. 

Azriel had lectured her before leaving on the dangers of mostly everything. Little did he know that Nuala dared the night to claim her, take her away for just a little while. Maybe the taste of danger would make her feel something. The thoughts of a madwoman, she scolded herself. She acknowledged her spymaster’s worry and left the house in a rush. Soon the sun would be coming up and her shadows would return, following her always. 

She passed shops and people of all sorts while walking the aged cobblestone street. The journey back would be more difficult if her burning thighs were any indication. But she liked not using her magic for once, not relying on the ability to float where she wished. It reminder her that she wasn’t her abilities only.

Usually, she stayed in the shadows surrounding bustling streets, content to be alone in her thoughts. But tonight, she ventured to a corner of Velaris that wasn’t easy to miss. Music called to her, and she went along with where it might take her. 

At the base of the narrow street lay a dance floor of sorts. Faerie lights were strung in between two shops. One of the two looked to be closed for the night, as if its workers were too joining in the festivities. And the other, emitting smells of delicious spices and meats, appeared to be a eatery. They were obviously taking advantage of the men and women gorging themselves on faerie wine. It was fascinating to her, the lives of these people. They were not afraid of the darkness. They were not afraid of the triumphant mountains at their backs. Velaris’s people basked in the starlight, looking as if they’d be content to stay that way forever.  Between the shops was empty air, filled with the view Velaris was known for. A sky full of stars met by a body of stagnant water, glistening in the starlight. As if it, too was used to the darkness. Even the boats, usually trading or moving about, stood still. Down the street a bridge stood, astride with people all looking skyward. It was a sight that healed her weary soul again and again. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of strong hands cupping her mouth and pulling her back into a solid force. She had forgotten the alleyway behind her and the peculiar feeling she got from it. 

“Try to get away, and i’ll let your blood stain the streets.” The voice was hissy, as if not used to speaking in a long while. 

Someone from the Court of Nightmares, then. So far they had done well in the transition, as if worried their High Lord would punish them individually for any misstep. They should be worried. 

Nuala was not panicked. She could easily materialize into shadow and escape. Yet, for some reason she remained in the hands of this scoundrel, daring him to make the cut. Daring him to condemn himself to death at the hands of her High Lord. More likely, her High Lady. Nuala was the only one who could get her hair the way she liked it. If her blood spilled, it wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Look at these fancy clothes,” he whispered. “From the Night Court, are we?” His voice was echoed by the laughs of what seemed like two other men. Her spine tingled with the thrill of danger. 

“Tell me, lady. Why are you walking these streets alone?”

He foolishly loosened his hold on her mouth, as if he truly wanted the answer.

“Because I was under the impression that I could walk about my city and feel safe, you oaf.” Her voice was a sensual purr made to alarm any threats.

He bristled at the insult. “I should kill you for that.” 

Do it. End this miserable life. 

The man angled his dagger towards her neck, only to be stopped by a deep growl coming from down the alleyway. Whoever- whatever it was, was cloaked in the darkness. 

The men were smart enough to look alarmed. One even called out in a shaky voice, “Who- who’s there?” It was echoed by a devious laugh from the creature, now seeming to be man. 

Looks were exchanged between the three, as if questioning their lives worth over a wealthy Night Court dweller. When the outline of a hulking a muscle bodied figure materialized, they chose to flee. 

Nuala remained where she stood, if only to prove her rescuer that she had some semblance of bravery. When the beast of a man came closer, she didn’t falter. 

“I didn’t need help!” she shouted towards the figure, now approaching at a quicker pace. Her voice shook, despite efforts to appear formidable. 

“Is that right?” His voice took a playful tone, stark against its gravelly bite. Though Nuala couldn’t see him, she knew he was smirking.  

“You arrogant beast. I had it under control.” She was surprised at the shear honesty in her voice. Rarely did she emit her her true feelings.  

A booming laugh skidded across her skin. “Was it the knife at your throat you had under control? Because it looked to me like your guts were about to be scattered about the street.”

His features were now distinguishable against the darkness of the alley. A strong jaw offset by eyes of the richest blue. His body, encased in muscles, looked to have been honed over centuries. A lean waist and strong broad shoulders that probably charmed many women over the years. He was bred for perfection, and that worried her the most. Men of that appearance were usually used as weapons. After all, it was easy to trust a face meant for charming. A face that was now split with a impish smirk.

“I know. Gorgeous, right?” His smirk widened into a grin, and it took all of her efforts not to swoon. Had she not been trained in the art of a stone face, she would have.

“That was some growl. Part animal, maybe?” 

“Only in the bedroom, sweetheart.” 

Unable to generate a response, Nuala scoffed and began to walk away. 

The beautiful man guffawed, and began to catch up to her. “Wait. Stop.” His face had become slightly serious and infinitely less boyish. It’s severity halted her steps. 

“Whats is your name, lady in the alleyway?” 

She wanted to smile, and that realization made her still.

“Well, my name is Hyram.”

Requiem: Part Eleven

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X

Aurora brushed out her hair, letting it fall behind her in a wave of black. SHe studied herself in the mirror. She had on her traditional Dawn Court garb and her eyes lined in kohl and her lips stained red. She needed to be presentable for her father, needed to phrase her words just right.

She looked behind her to Ash. He crossed his arms and ankles and leaned against the doorframe, his face was hard; his firey hair tied back behind him. He looked down at her with a hooded stare. “We should take Blake.”

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leechbrain  asked:

i want to say obirex fake dating trope of some sort, but idk if you can fit that into a 15 minute thing. if not (or if its just.. nah): oh no he's hot(ter).

Originally posted by idiot-eden

Or at least, I tried for both.


             Rex had no idea how he had gotten into this situation.

             It was supposed to be a routine intelligence gathering mission. That was all. Except when they had arrived, he and General Kenobi had quickly learned that the council of elders had been expecting a bonded couple, as was traditional for politicians amongst their race.

             Later, once they were in safe within the privacy of the room (massive, and far more lavish than anything Rex was used to) they had been given, Obi- General Kenobi sat down on the (sole) bed and rubbed his face, looking apologetic.

             “I am very sorry for this Captain. I understand it is far from regulation, but the Jedi council did not inform me that anything along these lines would be necessary for the success of this mission.”

             Still standing by the door, Rex shifted, uncertain and feeling out of place in the face of the luxury that surrounded him, the elegant mosaics covering the floors, the finely woven wall hanging that seemed almost translucent.

             He made himself focus on the General’s words, and refused to think about the heat he could feel rising to his cheeks.

             “It’s alright, General. We are only here for a week or so, and if it allows us to get the information we need…”

             Obi-Wan, General Kenobi, nodded, looking more a little relieved. “Alright. But if anything happens that you are uncomfortable with, you must tell me as soon as you can. I don’t want either of us to feel…well…”

             Rex nodded, understanding the Jedi’s meaning. “Of course, Sir.”

             Kenobi smiled. “Good. And you should probably call me by my name, Rex. After all, we are apparently married, at least for the next week.”

             And gods but that smile did funny things to Rex’s heart.

             ‘Kriffing hells, he’s beautiful.’

             “Of course, Obi-Wan.”

             With a satisfied noise, Obi-Wan rose from the massive (oh god they would have to share it) bed, stretching his arms behind his back.

             “Well then, we have a few hours until we are expected for dinner. I do believe I will take advantage of what is no doubt an absolutely sinful ‘fresher room, and clean up. Our host did say something about bringing more….what did they say? Court appropriate garb?”

             Rex nodded, consciously forcing his muscles to relax as Obi-Wan padded across the room, blue eyes taking in everything in its turn.

             “I believe they did.”

             “Wonderful.” Obi-Wan looked back over his shoulder, still smiling. “Once we have both had the chance to get clean, we can go over our plan of action for the next few days.”

             Rex swallowed, and nodded again, watching silently as Obi-Wan vanished through the arched doorway that led to the attached ‘fresher room. Once the Jedi was out of sight, Rex crossed over to the bed, slumping down and rubbing his hands over his face, silently begging for his heartbeat to slow and the blushing to stop.

             For the next week, he was going to pretend to be married to Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was going to be sharing rooms, sharing a bed, with the man.

             Oh gods, he was so, so screwed.

The Space Between

By @heronfem for @toddnyallison.  The prompt asked for Satinalia gift exchange or birthday celebrations; Bull trying on Tevinter clothing or Dorian wearing Qunari-inspired fashion; or someone being mildly sick and the other helping them. I managed two of the three, and I’m sorry that this is late!

“Teach me how to do the knots.”

Bull looked up from where he was working on a report for Cullen, monocle firmly in place. “What?”

Dorian stood in the doorway to his room, shifting uncomfortably back and forth. He was carrying a heavy bundle of bright red rope, just thin enough to be used for decoration instead of more athletic endeavors. Bull removed the monocle, and Dorian stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“What’s this about?” Bull asked as Dorian set the rope on the bed.

“Well.” Dorian took a deep, slow breath. “I was talking with Adaar.”

“And?”

“And she told me about the knots meaning different things. I thought- I thought it might be nice to learn what they meant, and know how to make them.” He ran his fingers over the rope, not looking at Bull. “I know they’re not just for armor, Bull. You put me in some of the same decorative harnesses as I’ve seen when Adaar wears the Antaam-saar. I want to know how to do them too.”

Bull leaned back in his chair, considering Dorian for a moment. “This is kind of strange,” he admitted. “We’ve been tiptoeing around this for a while now, this whole culture clash thing.”

“I know.” Dorian glanced up, giving him a faint smile. “We should do better, don’t you think? They’re so much history between us, and yet so little we talk about. I want to learn more about you. I want to understand, and learn, and this- this is important. Will you teach me?”

“Yeah,” Bull said quietly. “Yeah.”

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tagged by das-tier-in-mir to post some selfies. I took these a while ago, but I think they show my court garb for sca pretty nicely. I forget if I posted em or not.

I’m trying to get used to wearing this dress still. I never seem to feel comfortable wearing it at events. Not that I don’t like it, it’s a wonderful dress.

Politics among Eeiga is no small matter, it’s a game betwixt family wreathes to see who can gain what, and who is allied to whom. Most other species and their politics are often the laughing stock of any Eeiga who’s head is in the game and has at least 4 talons in any one metaphorical pie.

One way to perhaps have a chance if you’re an outsider is to consult a lone Bule or a Taime or Female who’s fallen in rank and wanting to get back into the game.

Another is to bring an Eeiga relic to the playing field of a Court. Their history is precious to them and to present a relic of their ancient times is assuredly going to win you a few ears, no matter who you are or what you’ve done.

But since relics of Eeiga’s history and lore are hard for outsiders to discern and harder to find… Do not place all of your cards on that bet.

Redid and finished this speed paint. Had a lot of fun doing it now that I’ve redone my brushes.

Speed Paint Video 1 | Speed paint Video 2