falirault-blog

[falirault-blog]

Queen Anne + “most beautiful” dresses | Requested by @iker-casillas-deserves-better 

[falirault-blog]

list of costumes

character: queen anne; series: the musketeers, 2014; appearance: season 3, episode 6; period: 1640s.

[falirault-blog]

[falirault-blog]

.

[falirault-blog]

STARTER FOR @rcsecrxns !  LOCATION: cobalt district, the castle (?) 

          she knows the cobalt district like the back of her own hand, and the castle as well as the lines of her own palm. and, as a princess, no one thinks twice of her comings and goings, here. no one stops her. so the light-footed patter of her shoes on the fine floors continues unabated through every twist and turn until she finds the door she had been looking for. it’s left opened just enough that she needn’t truly knock, only stand within the doorframe, hands folded in front of her, regarding the kebastan princess with eyes that carefully conceal all of her thoughts. “so, rumor has it that you were the one to send that black-cloaked figure into my mother’s funeral,” she says with a lift of an eyebrow. imperial, impassive...until the smallest slip of a smile is allowed to crack through the mask. “ridiculous, isn’t it, what people will come up with? i did not think for an instant you or any of yours could be behind so foolish a plan.” 

[falirault-blog]

tessalirault‌:

and there she was, tessa thought. it was so exhausting, trying to act like a normal family with faline. she knew how she saw them –faline’s siblings; as competition. and though there was a measure of truth in it, that should not have meant that they were not a family. at least, not in tessa’s eyes. 

“you needn’t be soppy,” she mimicks the voice in which faline implied the word, “to grieve.” she pulls her hands from her back and smooths out the fabric of her dress, an eyebrow shooting up as faline’s voice rose once again. 

she might have argued that she wasn’t lingering; that she knew that faline, in cases like these, was unpredictable in the worst kinds of ways, and that she was wary of how faline might behave in such times of grief. after all, they had not known grief like others had, and she doubted most of her siblings new how to cope with all of this. however, this was faline, and she saw no need to explain herself to her sister. though she might be older, she saw in her no mentor, nor no queen. “I only wanted to see how you were, faline. believe it or not, I do actually care, no matter how you choose behave.”

           suddenly, she laughs. cool and clear as spring water, though there isn’t any joy in her eyes. “how i choose to behave? oh, please, tessa.” she’s entirely unbothered, both by the mimicry and by her sister’s words. unbothered and untouched. “i see you think you know me, don’t you? that you know how i behave, what people think of me, what i am?” her head tips, that amused smile still playing on her face as she absently twists a red-brown curl around her finger. “you don’t know the first thing about me, little sister. you only know what i choose to show you.” 

            because faline has made it that way, crafted it that way. she has spent hours and hours cultivating it, until her siblings believed her worth nothing more than a pretty trinket. (but that was ending, now. she was going to shed that skin for another.) but all of that? that was for her siblings. to the people, she was something different. to the nobles, she was something different. under her siblings’ very noses, she had made sure of that. she’d been casting out lines and nets far and wide to inspire loyalty. (who was the real faline? which face was her true one? only she knew that, and she’d never tell. never give it away.) “so no, darling girl, you don’t care. not really. it’s a show, like all the rest of your pretty little tricks. and done in awfully poor taste, too, when - - if you profess to care as you do - -  you would know how close i was to our mother, and in what poor taste this display of caring truly is. given the timing.” 

[falirault-blog]

diandalls‌:

FATA’S TEMPLE @falirault

     “your highness,” wavering voice betrays the carefully constructed facade of calm she’d erected. panic trembles in her fingertips and hurries her breathing as an eager hand dares to grab the princess’ arm, the other clutching amara tightly to her chest. “are you hurt?” she glances between the princess’ face and the still burning body and decided that she was very much glad that she wasn’t in the princess’ shoes. “we should get back to the castle.”

           what she is, of course, is in shock. not that she will say such a thing, of course. not that she ever could. wide eyes blink up at diana, every muscle tensed with the warring desire to turn and make sure her mother’s body still burned as it should be, and not to turn back at all. at least she does turn, turns to the smoke and the smell of it, and watches with unblinking eyes as at least one thing continues as it was meant to. “i’m....fine,” she manages to say at last, though she isn’t - - not really. she’s shaken and angry and bristling, but still she takes a breath. “i am fine, please - - - don’t fuss over me.” but she turns over her hand to grasp diana’s arm in return. “get yourself and that baby back to the castle,” she says. “i need to find my father, and....someone needs to quell some of this panic somehow.” and it may as well be her. 

[falirault-blog]

a starter for @irelina ! 

           “i refuse to believe kebasta is behind this without proof. it’s all terribly flimsy - - - if they wish to be our enemies, i would expect more of them. not to mention, their presumptive heir is here, and what ruler in their right minds would put their heir in danger by a display like this?” if she sounds unbothered it’s all a ruse. if she looks unbothered, its all a mask. she pops a sweet into her mouth (for comfort, of course, she has after all just witnessed a murder at her mother’s own funeral!) and shakes her head. “and i want to ask a favor from you, irelina. you aren’t like those silly ladies who flutter about over tasks like this : i want the expenses for that man’s family paid. the one who died. and i want food sent to them as well. and, of course, i want them to know that the princess faline grieves for their loss and, in honor of his sacrifice, wished to give it all as a gift to his family. can you arrange that for me?” 

[falirault-blog]

Elie Saab // Haute Couture, Fall Winter 2o19/2o2o

[falirault-blog]

the would-be saviors of france

[falirault-blog]

sparksact‌:

     was it sacreligious for them not to attend the funeral? perhaps. nyko didn’t know the empress at all - didn’t have any ties to her except their banter with princess faline - and felt it was perhaps a waste of time to go and pretend to be heartbroken over her demise. it was sad when someone died, of course, but nyko couldn’t muster up the emotion to act like this really hurt them. the tavern had been empty except nyko and the bartender for a long while, but now - a flood of people with wild, frightened eyes have barged in with a frantic rise of cries and sobs and shouts. “what happened?” they ask, more confused than concerned, of the first person they lay eyes on.

        for a moment she only blinks, half-forgetting that there might be those who didn’t know, who hadn’t been there. (though if she wonders at their absence, she doesn’t wonder long - - - they’ve always done what they wished to do, much like faline herself.) “some fool black cloaked figure appeared and tried to kill the matriarch,” she says, looking around the room of panicked people as she tries to catch her breath. “a man jumped in front of her and was killed.” her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, her mind on other things than the telling of the tale. “i need them calmed, there’s no time for so much fuss. is there anything you can do to....distract them, somehow?” but before she can hear their answer, she huffs ”oh, for pity’s sake...” and clambers up onto a chair to be seen atop the crowds. “barkeep!” she shouts, “food and drink for everyone, on my account. the rest of you, be calm! whoever did this isn’t likely to pop up upon the bar. you are safe here.” her piece said, she climbs back down from the chair and props her hands on her hips, turning to nyko with an expectant expression - - - as though waiting, at last, for their answer. 

[falirault-blog]

Petit Palais, Paris, France | Molly Carr

[falirault-blog]

diandalls‌:

regret pinches her features, slowly turning her eyes to meet faline’s. they both knew the empress was too hearty, too healthy, to be reasonably taken by illness so quickly. in all the years diana knew bianca, she could count the amount of times the late empress was ever sick. at least sick enough to let anyone else know she was unwell. her death has rested uneasily on her, and it clearly disquieted her daughter. “feelings only, so far, your highness,” she murmurs, tone conspiratorial, nervously scanning for anyone close enough to hear. the last thing ultea needed was a panic. “i’ve no proof of anything, but… you know your mother. i don’t think there’s an existing disease that could have naturally claimed her so quickly, if at all.”

         rage is the only word for the feeling that simmers in her stomach as diana speaks the same words she has long been turning over. not rage toward diana kendall, no! - - - far from it. but a rage that makes her want to stamp her foot and demand an inquest into the matter of her mother’s death immediately. rage that wants to find the one to blame, the one who dared to think that they could touch the empress.... but it is a flare of feeling that she manages to quell, to beat back and trap somewhere hidden - - - for now. it would not do to cause such a scene here and now, she would only seem grief-crazed and senseless, and a panic now would be the worst possible sort of incident. 

          “well, then they are feelings we share,” she says, and if the words are just a little clipped at least they come with a tight smile. “and if they prove true, i would suspect there is danger within this court as well as in your wood. more than even i might have imagined.” (and she will have blood for it, once the traitor is uncovered.)  she shakes her head, gazing absently up at the violet-hung wall nearest them, and her free hand clenches into a fist that dig her nails - - hard - - into her palm. “for now, i ask you: be more...prudent in who you divulge such suspicions to,” she says, and eyes flicker again to amara. “....for her sake, if not for your own. this will not be a person who wishes to be caught.” and she does not wish that particular daughter to lose this particular mother, not when it is obvious how close they are. “i am glad you spoke them to me, but i would trust few others with them.” 

[falirault-blog]

throughout most of the first days of the funeral, faline is mainly seen at her widowed father’s side. she does not leave him long, and when she does it is only briefly. (as for her siblings, she spends most of the day avoiding most of them, and looking with distrust on many of them.) 

[falirault-blog]

battlesorceress‌:

The raw and genuine emotion in Faline’s eyes made Reina’s heart catch. What would it be like to lose a parent? A treasured family member? In the army, Reina was prepared for a life of risks, but if war ever reached Numor - such as this looming, mysterious threat… then what of her own parents? They were commoners - spending a simple but merry life in the stormy highlands, herding sheep, and creating a herby cheese which the nearby villages loved. What would happen if Reina lost them? Her heart twisted at the painful thought, and she found herself relieved that she was not in Faline’s position, but equally sympathetic for her because of the loss and the anguish the princess must be enduring. 

Reina’s expression softened at Faline’s words about her mother, and yet she could not help but wonder what legacy Faline hoped to continue. The Empress had been a mighty and influential figure, but the war had been a worrying action. If Faline desired the crown, would she seek to continue that part of the legacy? 

“Your mother’s legacy will be remembered in Ultea for generations to come and no doubt her successor will add to that honour,” Reina carefully replied, as the topic of succession was still potentially a sour conversation, but Faline’s change of topic helped ease Reina’s worries. Her posture relaxed noticeably and she smiled at the princess with a playful wince. “Is it that noticeable that I do not fit in?” She chuckled and shook her head, amused. “I am adjusting slowly - even in my own homeland’s courts - but I am growing accustomed to being around those of …. noble authority. I am perhaps a tad too blunt sometimes,” and here she flashed Faline a bright, mischievous grin, “but I am loyal to the cause. I just find it easier to speak when I do not have to worry about a hundred customs or mannerisms.”

Surprisingly, the conversation she was having with Faline was not as strenuous as predicted, and Reina felt more relaxed to ask, “Perhaps you can enlighten me, Your Highness.  How does everyone seem to know what to say and to do in these regal settings?” 

it was interesting, she thinks, that a captain of the infantry with so little experience at court had been selected for such an occasion as this. and yet, perhaps the time will come when they are in need of captains more than diplomats - - - who is she to say? so much has happened in recent history that seemed so unlikely only moments before it all began : the ceasefire, her mother’s death, the arrival of all of these strangers...

but in any case, it seemed she had been right in how to make reina feel a little less on-edge, if not on-guard. people were ever so much more interesting when they were just a little more relaxed, just a little able to speak more freely....after all. 

“in truth - - and forgive me, captain, for saying so - - it is very noticeable that none of you quite fit in.” but it is said cleverly and with a smile. “but then, i would suppose the ways of ultea’s courts are not easy for any newcomer to master, whether royal or captain. and, in a sense, it means you all fit in.” 

and yet it is easier to speak with reina than she had expected : her intelligence is obvious, and came even with a certain sense of humor (despite her initial stiffness). “well, i daresay that some courtiers could stand to hear a little bluntness used against them, now and then. though there are certain ones i would advise you to soften the blow against. tempers, after all, can be nasty things, and i do not wish any diplomatic inconveniences.” 

her own smile comes in response to that last question. how could she help it? when she knew ultea’s court better than anyone (better, even, than many of her siblings who had chosen battlefields or training grounds over days in court!). “i’m afraid it’s mostly practice,” she says. “and observation. what one says to appease one person might only ignite another’s fury, after all, and it is best to know which it will be. and you should always speak at least twenty more words than you need to prove a point, particularly if it is an upsetting one.” she tips her head a little bit, tones down the playful tone of each advising comment made. “and, as you are - - in fact - - a guest of my family’s, you in particular could turn to me for assistance. i am never far away from....how did you put it? regal settings.” 

[falirault-blog]

I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below

[falirault-blog]