#courtly gala dress

[mote-historie]

Franz Xaver Winterhalter, Portrait of The Beautiful Empress Elisabeth of Austria nicknamed Sisi (also spelled Sissi) in a pink tulle ballgown (Courtly Gala Dress) with Diamond Stars created by House of Worth. 1865.

Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, Austria. 

[rosepompadour]

Detail of Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars by Winterhalter, 1865.

[pickingupmymercedes]

My Venus - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

A MET Gala Special

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Famous!Reader

warnings: fashion world, sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Wrap it before you tap it!!!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: I know it's impossible for anyone to wear the original Venus Dior dress, it's a museum piece and it has been for decades, but it's a fic (and my favorite dress, ever) so let's go with it. Y/n is obviously someone really known in the fashion industry, but I didn't specify how, so it's totally up to you to create a back story.

a/n 2: Kind of a request. I was planning something already but anon gave me amazing ideas, thank horny anon!! Also, smut with a plot, what a shocker for me!!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n toyed with a stray piece of croissant, her gaze flitting from the cityscape outside to Lewis, who was deep in conversation with his stylist.

Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows on the opulent The Mark Hotel’s suite, a golden glow on the remnants of their breakfast. Crumbs danced on the crisp white tablecloth, a playful counterpoint to the elegant silver service glinting in the corner.

Eric, a man perpetually poised on the precipice of tranquility, leaned forward trying the nonchalantly posture as his eyes danced with curiosity. "Come on, Y/n, spill the beans! We’re all vibrating with suppressed curiosity."

Lewis, in is crisp white tee and black joggers, shot Eric a playful glare. "Thanks for that, mate. Subtlety is your strong suit, clearly." He turned to Y/n, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seriously, love. The MET is in a few hours, you can tell us."

Y/n, who had mastered her poker face over the last five months of keeping that secret, took a delicate sip of her orange juice. "Let's just say," she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, "it has a very famous sister."

Eric groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, delightful. Lewis, bro, you're on your own with this one."

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You're a menace, Y/n." He winked, a shiver running down her spine despite the playful nature of the exchange. But the silence that followed held a different energy, charged with unspoken anticipation.

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s something that is going to steal everyone breath away, so maybe it needs a security detail of its own?"

Y/n couldn't help but let a sly smile curve her lips. "Maybe." she teased, leaning in even closer. The scent of his signature cologne, a heady mix of wood and spice, filled her senses. "Maybe it'll have everyone whispering about who dared to wear such a legend."

A low rumble escaped Lewis' chest, a sound that sent a jolt of excitement through her. " An archive, huh?! " He said, his voice husky

Just then, Eric cleared his throat pointedly. "Right, right, all very hush-hush. But remember, Lewis, you have your Burberry fitting this afternoon. We can't have you looking too shabby next to your mystery woman in archives."

Y/n laughed, a light, tinkling sound that filled the room. "Oh, I'm sure Lewis will manage to steal the spotlight anyway."

Lewis winked again, his gaze lingering on her lips. "A competition, isn't it, love?"

Their playful sparring continued through the rest of the lunch, a delicious undercurrent of unspoken attraction running through their every word and glance. As they finished their coffee, the tension in the air thickened, a silent question hanging between them. It was time to leave, to face the world – and the MET Gala – separately.

But Lewis wouldn't let her go without a final flourish. He stood, his gaze holding hers, and offered a hand with a courtly bow. "Until tonight, my fashionista. May the best dresser win."

_______________________________________________________________

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/n stepped out of the limousine, a vision as the cameras flashed like a sudden storm, capturing the first glimpse of her enigmatic beauty. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a palpable wave of awe and recognition as Y/n slowly revealed the legendary Venus dress.

Time seemed to slow. Each step on the red carpet was a carefully choreographed performance, the weight of fashion history settling on her body like a luxurious cloak.

The gown, a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, whispered tales of a bygone era, its every fold a testament to the genius of Christian Dior himself. It clung to her like it had been designed for her. A silent promise of a woman both powerful and breathtakingly beautiful.

Y/n held her head high, a serene and honest smile playing on her lips. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a thrill coursed through her veins. This wasn't just another red carpet.

Lewis, waiting further down the carpet, watched his breath hitch as she came into view. Initially stunned speechless, his jaw dropped in a way that sent the internet into a frenzy.

Here was the woman he knew, the one who matched his every playful jab with witty retorts, transformed into a goddess. He felt a surge of pride, a possessiveness that went beyond what he had felt before with people looking at her.

This was Y/n, his Y/n, stealing the spotlight of the most known fashion event with an audacity as breathtaking as the gown itself.

It was a declaration, a playful rebellion against expectations, most of them that she had created for herself, as she had stablished her style as the non conformative. Still, in The Garden of Time that was the MET, she was bringing one the most known and iconic flowers back to life.

Microphones were being thrusted in her face, a flurry of questions buzzed around her like excited bees, photographers going maniac at the sight of a dress that had been at an exposition for decades months prior being worn.

"Y/n, this is absolutely iconic! How did you manage to borrow this historical piece?" a seasoned entertainment reporter gushed.

Y/n, ever the diplomat, offered a practiced smile. "Let's just say it took a lot of convincing," she replied, the truth a delightful secret she'd keep to herself. "But I believe it was worth the effort."

"Do you feel any pressure wearing such a significant piece of fashion history?" another reporter chimed in.

An understanding glint sparked in Y/n's eyes. "It's a tremendous honour. But pressure is a luxury I don't have time for tonight. It's all about celebrating art, fashion and Christian Dior himself.” Her wit drew laughter and appreciative nods from the crowd, creating a true vision of a woman stunning and intelligent, truly worthy of the Venus.

As Lewis answered his own fielding questions about his Burberry ensemble, he couldn't help but steal glances at her. Her confidence radiated outwards, a magnetic force that drew everyone's attention. He felt a flicker of pride, ever so slightly tinged with a possessiveness that made him want to shout to the world, 'This is my woman.'

"Lewis," a young reporter, eyes wide with admiration, interjected, "What are your thoughts on Y/n's stunning outfit?"

Lewis, ever the charmer, took a playful dig. "Well, let's just say" he drawled, mirroring her earlier cryptic response, "It was worthy of the months of secrecy. She awed everyone as much as she awes me."

As Y/n went up the stairs she found Lewis at the entrance waiting for her, his eyes boring wholes onto her skin. Lewis leaned close, a hand reaching for hers as his voice a huskily murmured "You're incredible, Y/n," his eyes lingering on her "Absolutely breathtaking, love."

Y/n, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her exposed skin, a secret smile played on her lips. There was a thrill in knowing she had surprised him, in seeing the awe and possessiveness flicker in his eyes.

"You know …” she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as he reached for her waist, a sequence of flashes going off as they showed affection "This was all about making a statement”.

The throng of bodies inside the museum buzzed with an electric energy. As they navigated the crowded halls, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way heads turned their way. Whispers and glances followed them like a second skin.

Lewis, sensing her amusement, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention, love?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n deadpanned, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It's not every day I get to feel like a museum exhibit myself."

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, you are a work of art yourself. But you’re also wearing one."

Suddenly, a whirlwind of hair materialized beside them. Zendaya, ever the fashion icon, flashed a dazzling smile. "Y/n, girl! That dress. How?!”

Before Y/n could reply, Zendaya dragged her towards the main exhibition, where Venus’ sister dress – Junon – was center piece, photographers already positioned for the Dior reunion.

Lewis, hovered nearby, a playful smile on his face. Even with the constant interruptions, his gaze never strayed far from Y/n.

As she managed to escape the scene, Y/n couldn't help but notice Lewis's gaze burning into her. "You know," she said, meeting his stare with a smirk, "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating a masterpiece, can you?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur.

Just as Y/n leaned in to retort, a gaggle of socialites descended upon them. Throughout the pleasantries, Y/n couldn't ignore the heated glances Lewis kept throwing her way. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her shoulders, and a playful glint in his eyes hinted at something more than mere admiration.

Finally, as the speeches began and everyone went to their seats, Lewis leaned in close, pulling her towards his side, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. "They can all look, love." his eyes holding hers. "But you're mine."

The speeches droned on, a monotonous hum that Y/n barely registered. Her focus was solely on Lewis, his hand possessively resting on her hand on her lap. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a stark contrast to the cool of the dress against her skin.

As the formalities dragged on, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Every brush of their bodies, every stolen glance, fueled a fire that threatened to consume them.

"This is torture," he breathed, his breath tickling a sensitive spot on her neck. "All I want is..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping suggestively to the exposed skin of her chest.

Y/n raised an eyebrown, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension in her body language. "Finish that sentence, Lewis" she purred, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, alone." he finished, his voice rough with desire. "Somewhere I don’t need to share."

His hand moved up to her shoulders. His fingers finally grazing the edge of the dress, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/n, emboldened by the setting and the audacity of the dress itself, met his gaze with a playful smile.

"There might be a deserted exhibit around the corner," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "One filled with creatures long extinct."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face. "Hm…" he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. Every glance from him felt like a branding iron, searing the memory of him onto her skin.

When the event finally came to its end, they navigated the crowd, Lewis's possessiveness evident in the way he kept guiding her by the small of her back, a silent declaration. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the exposed skin of her shoulders.

They managed to get by the crowds unusually quickly, ushered greetings and nods a clear sign everyone wanted out. But, as they approached the exit, a familiar face beamed at them. Stella McCartney, a vision of elegance in her silver dress, rushed forward to greet Y/n.

"Y/n, you look absolutely phenomenal!" Stella exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/n in a warm embrace. "That dress! It's absolutely breathtaking."

Y/n put out a smile. "Thank you, Stella. It was an honor to wear such a piece of history." While Stella gushed about the intricacies of the dress, Lewis tried to exchange a knowing look with Y/n.

The unspoken desire simmering between them was palpable, an energy that crackled in the space between them. Just then, a low chuckle caught Y/n's ear. Gayle King, stood nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Lewis" she started, her voice smooth as silk, "I haven't seen you this speechless in years. Y/n, you've absolutely stolen the show."

Lewis, ever the charmer, offered her a playful smile. " You know Y/n, she has a knack for making an entrance."

Gayle, unfazed by his attempt at deflection, turned to Y/n, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You two," she said, linking her arm in Y/n's, "must tell me all about this later. That dress…and the look on Lewis's face… well, that was priceless”

Y/n, her cheeks burning, couldn't help but steal a glance at Lewis. His gaze met hers, a silent conversation passing between them. They both knew Gayle was right, and that everyone had probably also seen his gaze.

As they reached the exit, Gayle pulled Y/n to the side, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Keep doing whatever you're doing, Y/n" Gayle said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning in even closer "That boy is absolutely smitten.”

Y/n couldn't help but let out a soft laugh "Thanks, Gayle" she whispered back. With a final hug, Gayle retreated to her own car, leaving Y/n and Lewis to get into theirs. The tension between them thick, a charged silence that spoke volumes as Lewis held open the car door for her.

He slid into the car beside her, wasting no time in letting his hand roam up under the dress, reaching her thighs in no time. A devilish grin spreading across his face, leaned in close. "She's right, love" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers."

The heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. He caressed the soft skin, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her hips. Y/n, unable to contain a shiver, bit her lip. "Lew" she breathed, her voice laced with a playful warning. "Careful now. We're not exactly alone."

He chuckled but continued his exploration, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of her dress. The driver, through the rearview mirror, couldn't help but steal a glance. Y/n, catching a glimpse of his reflection, couldn't help but feel a thrill of exhibitionism mixed with a playful desire to tease Lewis further.

As Lewis's hand continued its ascent, his fingers brushed against a smooth, unexpected surface. He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. A beat of silence hung in the air before it dawned on him. No underwear.

"Couldn't risk an underwear line ruining this moment" her voice laced with a playful challenge. The audacity of her statement, coupled with the realization, made his breath hitch in his throat, raw desire clouding his eyes.

He pulled his hand back abruptly, a silent promise hanging in the air. The confined space crackling with unspoken desire.

As Y/n stole a glance at him, her heart pounded in her chest. He was trying to control himself, a clear struggle evident in the way he held his breath and clenched his jaw. The bulge in his trousers, who had been previously concealed by his trench coat, was now a very visible sign to his arousal.

"Not long until we get back, Love" Lewis finally managed, his voice husky with frustration. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his braids in a frustrated gesture. Y/n, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let out a low chuckle.

Relief washed over both of them as they pulled into the hotel. A small army materialized around them. Her team, ever-efficient, whisked them towards her suite, their focus solely on getting her out of the Venus dress.

Throughout the undressing, Lewis hovered on the periphery, his eyes laser-focused on Y/n. He watched with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Every so often, he would discreetly lick his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of his pent-up desire.

The process was a delicate ballet – a team of stylists unhooking intricate clasps, another carefully lowering the billowing skirt. Finally, wrapped in a plush towel, Y/n stood alone with Lewis, her team discreetly melting away, a knowing smile playing on their lips.

Lewis crossed the room in two long strides, the heat of anticipation crackling in the air between them. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a strand of her now loosened hair. The touch, seemingly casual, sent a jolt of electricity through her, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all evening.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Beautiful, captivating, and all mine. Only mine."

His words hung in the air like a promise, the most possessive claim she had ever heard from him. They resonated deep within her, stirring something primal. As her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, seeking solace and desire in his embrace.

"All yours," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. Their lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of pent-up desire and raw emotion. In that moment, the playful banter of the night melted away, replaced by a raw hunger that neither could – or wanted – to deny.

Each second ticked by like a whisper of urgency. They had only about twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the after-party. With practiced efficiency born of desire, she threw the towel onto the bed, leaving herself bare before him, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as she reached down to undress him from his pants. "Don't have time for that, love," he murmured, his hands stopping hers with a swift motion.

With a sudden shift of momentum, he flipped her, his hands tracing over her tummy as he left a trail of kisses along her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, her breath hitching with every touch of his lips against her skin.

His hands ventured lower with each kiss, until they reached her folds, his touch igniting a primal hunger within her. A low growl escaped his lips as his fingers delved into her depths, drawing out her arousal with a skillful touch that left her trembling with desire.

Feeling the urgency of their fleeting moments, she flipped around, dropping to her knees to palm him through his boxers. The outline of his thick arousal was already prominent, and she freed it eagerly, the velvet hardness filling her hands. With practiced skill, she teased him, eliciting a delicious hiss of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him.

But time was slipping away and they both knew it. Five minutes had already slipped by, according to the bedside clock. His hands gripped her chin, pulling her up "I promise later we can take our time, but I need your pussy right now," he breathed, urgency lacing his words with a desperate plea.

With a hungry nod, she positioned herself, elbows resting on the armchair, presenting herself to him with a silent invitation. The tip of his arousal teased her entrance, collecting her slickness before he plunged into her with a single, deep thrust. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he bottomed out, his hands soothing the skin of her hips as he waited for her signal to move.

"Lew" she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release. His fingers circled her clit, igniting a fire within her as he began to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of oblivion.

It didn't take long before she was panting, her body trembling with the force of her climax. Lewis held her close, whispering words of encouragement as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared passion.

As she steadied herself, he resumed his frenzied thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside her, holding her tightly as their bodies trembled with shared pleasure, the world fading away into a haze of ecstasy.

When he pulled out, she turned into his embrace, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. "They can look all they want, but you're the one here," she declared, pulling him into a passionate kiss, sealing their bond with a promise of devotion and desire.

His hands left her only briefly to clean her up before dressing himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering moments of what had just happened.

As he emerged in his Dior attire, abs on full display, Y/n's eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her voice. "Guess, you're the one drawing all the attention now," she teased as she admired him.

Lewis chuckled, his gaze lingering on her in the black Dior mini. "You don't look too bad yourself, love," he countered, his voice a low rumble.

He pulled her close, his hand trailing down her back. "But trust me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "tonight, the only eyes I care about are yours."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[lavendersartistry]

Once Upon a Starry Night

Space Riders AU - @onyxonline Eve Ewe, Bolt - @lavendersartistry

This is a wholesome fic for onyxonline's Space Riders AU! This is mainly centered on the ask I sent to Onyx about the Space Critters attending a ball/gala! Please check Onyx out, their work is super cool!

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE'RE GOING TO A GALA???"

Upon CraftyCorn's quick turn to DogDay, CatNap frowned at the sudden yell.

By what Bubba has said, their pen pal Eve had invited them all to the evening gala. A bit late for the invitation, as Bubba would put it. But it had seemed fair to have everyone come as a little reward for their recent successful missions.

"Princess Everiene has courtly spoken that we come to the gala as special guests. A very nice gesture of Her Majesty."

CraftyCorn nearly squealed at the news and ran off to prepare and to most likely make formal attire for everyone.

CatNap signed with a puzzled look.

'Do you think Z will come?'

DogDay shrugged and looked back at the set coordinates for Eve's planet.

"I don't know, being honest. He's never met Eve before and I think the gala would be a bit overwhelming."

Bubba nodded and leaned back in his seat, taking another sip of coffee.

"It's to have them meet at their own time. Maybe Z and Eve will get along well."

CatNap signed again.

'So DogDay is free from gossip for now. Oh well, there's always Bolt.'

"What do you mean by that?"

'I'll tell you when we get there.'

........

The gala felt like a fairytale. Elaborate gowns, fancy suits, divisions of the royal courts.

Bobby could nearly squeal at how glamorous the ordeal was, yet CraftyCorn had to calm herself before she actually squealed.

Hoppy and KickinChicken were busying themselves at the buffet tables, lightly fighting over the desserts while PickyPiggy snagged a few cookies in her pockets.

Bubba mingled with the other guests, mostly talking to a blue monarch butterfly lady.

That left DogDay and CatNap left to their own devices. However, they only observed from the drinking table as DogDay looked for Bolt.

"It's a bit past 11. Shouldn't they be announcing Eve coming?"

CatNap shrugged and leaned his head against his closed fist as he mindlessly floated. The captain, on the other hand, sighed and looked back to the dancing crowds, waiting patiently.

A quick lightning bolt strikes the garden path as Bolt approaches the drinking table while grumbling. Despite being so angry, he seemed quite handsome in his blue and gold suit.

Before the two critters could greet him, the wolf slammed his fists against the table.

"Damn that council..."

CatNap raised a eyebrow at him, quickly signing.

'Is Eve alright?'

Bolt sighed heavily and tried calming himself.

"No, she's not! That council, once again, projects onto her! And of course, I can't do much of the matter either."

DogDay patted his back in assurance, being a little upset himself.

As the two tried comforting their friend on the situation, the candle lights from the chandelier dimmed. The three watched as the music became softer and people by the end of stairs moved away.

Eve was guided down the stairs, the silver trim of her dress glittering from the hidden spotlight. Her expression remained calm despite the quick glances to Bolt.

CatNap looked towards Bolt and signed:

'Go to her.'

The wolf sighed softly and leaned back.

"I... I can't. Not when I already caused enough trouble for the both of us."

DogDay didn't believe his words, quickly nudging him.

"Sometimes you have to go against the rules. Go to her, Bolt."

The wolf looked at the both of them and let out another sigh before heading over as DogDay and CatNap watched.

"So how did you know Bolt had a long crush on Eve again?"

'I have my ways.'

[Added Bonus (for funsies!]

"I felt like a father figure."

"Watch me make it canon."

:3 you're welcome Onyx lol

[abyssal-ali]

There is Just no Stopping this Thing Called 'Love' - Chapter 2: The End

Pairing: Jaysteph

Rating: G

WC: 1k

A/N: Jaysteph Weekend 2023 Day 2: Wearing Each Other's Colours | Hand in Unlovable Hand | Annoying Bruce Thanks to my betareader, Esme! See Chapter 1's notes for more information<3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The exotic elegance and golden glitz of the annual Wayne Gala met the couple’s eyes as they exited the carriage, the door held open by one of an assortment of footmen.

Jason looped Steph’s arm through his and they began to ascend the steps to Wayne Manor.

Alfred smiled at them as he hurried by, ordering a handful of harried staff to their posts.

A valet took their coats and Jason’s derby hat, and Jason led Steph to the sparkling ballroom, her white gloved hand resting on his arm and the rustle of her taffeta dress swishing behind them.

The strains of Forget-Me-Not increased as they drew near, the ambient chatter of dozens of guests filling their ears.

They stepped into the ballroom proper, glancing around for the host of the Gala and his extended family.

Steph spotted Bruce’s cousin Kate’s distinctive red hair immediately, as she was chatting with the other redhead in the room, Jason’s older brother Dick’s fiancée, Babs.

“Waterfowl incoming,” Jason’s husky voice sent a shiver down Steph’s spine, but she kept her mask on. The first obstacle was approaching them, the red-vested figure determinedly making his way through the groups of Gotham’s elite towards them, a wrinkle on his brow.

“Jason,” Tim greeted, nodding to her date before lifting her hand to his lips to greet her with a courtly kiss. “Miss Brown,” his tone was puzzled as he greeted her.

“Timothy,” Jason returned.

Caught between the man who had courted her for a few short weeks before ending their fledgling relationship abruptly and her new fiance, Steph strove to not be overcome by the awkwardness and posturing occurring in front of her.

“Well, this looks like a lovely party, Mr. Drake. I’m sure part of this is due to your advice to Mr. Wayne on the newest trends.”

She blatantly ignored Tim’s obvious confusion at her appearance, here, on Jason’s arm.

“He likes to stay up to date on the newest fads, Miss Brown,” he answered hesitantly. “I assure you I provided very little input on this gala’s preparations.”

“Well, if we miss Mr. Wayne, please relay my compliments on the lovely production.” She squeezed Jason’s arm, telling him to take her away from the conversation as quickly as was acceptably possible.

“Oh, Jason, Bruce is trying to make you socialise with Mr. Queen’s son,” Tim muttered as he left.

"Well, that could have gone worse," commented Jason lowly as he spun her past a couple dancing on the edges of the dance floor, her red skirts flaring in a way that pleased Steph. “What is Bruce up to now?”

Steph shrugged. "Mr. Drake is too busy trying to figure out how we know each other; that’s probably why he dropped it so precipitously. Bets on if this is Bruce or Brucie acting?"

“He’s with the Queens, so probably a bit of both,” Jason sighed.

Steph glanced down at her left hand, the glove she was wearing covering her new jewellery.

“I need some champagne,” she sighed, snagging a flute off a passing waiter’s tray. “Should we invade their conversation?”

Jason glanced over at the group. There was a barely contained look of pure mischief on Roy’s face, and Jason groaned. “What is he saying?”

He headed over immediately, Steph following slightly behind so it wouldn’t appear as if she was eavesdropping (she was absolutely eavesdropping).

“Why, Jason loves riding. Not as much as his younger brother, I’ll grant, but he still goes out a fair bit. I’m sure Mr. Harper would be most welcome to join him!” Bruce enthused. 

Jason coughed.

Bruce turned. “Oh, here he is now, how fortuitous! Mr. Harper, this is my second son, Jason Todd. Jason, Mr. Harper.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Roy shook Jason’s hand, barely smothering his cackles. “Your father was just telling us you love to ride. Perhaps we could make a joint adventure of it some day?”

“Certainly, certainly. Do let me know when you are available.” Jason matched Roy’s fake posh tone.

“That vest is a dashing shade of purple, Mr. Todd. Who is your tailor?”

“It’s eggplant, thank you. I usually just use Bruce’s tailor, Thomas Misell.” Jason winked. “Bruce does have good taste.”

Steph, sensing the opportunity for more chaos, nudged Jason’s arm with her elbow.

He smoothly wrapped his hand through her arm and around her waist, pulling her into his side and joining the circle. “May I introduce Miss Brown, my fiancee? Miss Brown, Mr. Harper and Mr. & Mrs. Queen.”

Steph nodded regally. “Delighted to meet you.”

Bruce stared at them, a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, but being in public he had to restrain himself.

The Queens soon moved away to greet a fellow Gala attender from Star City, leaving the couple to Bruce’s scrutiny.

“Fiancee?” was the only thing that he could say.

They nodded, beaming. 

“I proposed tonight.”

“It’s nice to formally meet you, Mr. Wayne. I’ve heard lots about you.” Steph made a half-curtsy.

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Jason began formally courting me last New Years’, but we had been unofficially courting since October?” she glanced up at Jason, who nodded.

Bruce looked relieved that this wasn’t an impulsive thing done either to spite him or because one of them was under someone’s influence. “Congratulations, then. Pardon me, Miss Brown, but you look familiar…have we met before?”

“I’m a domestic for Dr. Thompson,” she supplied. “You may have seen me sometime when you stopped by to donate some money. We really appreciate it, Mr. Wayne. We have been able to help so many more unfortunate souls with your support.”

“That is very good to hear, Miss Brown.”

Bruce shot Jason a look that told him they would be talking about his surprise fiancee later and excused himself to greet Mr. Palmer.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Steph surmised, relaxing against the wall with her champagne.

“Just wait till Dick returns from his trip and hears about this,” groused Jason. “Enjoy the last few minutes of peace while you can.”

Taglist: @jaystephevents

[waltwhitmansbeard]

my fair lady: drabble #14

*smashes mug on floor* ANOTHER! i simply cannot be stopped. this one takes place after the epilogue of my fair lady, which you can read in its entirety here. this, like all the others, is inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au!

Within a fortnight of the princess's marriage to a common guard—or perhaps a holy man of some kind, the grapevine is getting tangled—some nobility from Vesrah come to visit the Zephran court. It is not unusual for visiting Ashari dignitaries to come to Zephrah, where they consult with the sovereign on matters of political import and enjoy the luxuries that proximity to the crown brings, but it is, to Vax, unfortunate that this visit has been timed so closely to the eruption of gossip surrounding him and Keyleth.

He tries to tell Keyleth that he should not attend the planned events to celebrate their Vesran guests, that he could even resume his post as her guard for the duration of their stay, but she is not having it. She insists that the point of their marriage, clandestine as it was, was to make irrefutable the fact that they love each other, that they have devoted themselves to each other before gods and country, and their countrymen would simply have to accept that which they likely find quite scandalous.

To Vax's relief, shortly before the entourage's arrival, he is called away to deliver last rites to a retired miller, so he is at least able to avoid the initial reception of the Vesrans. He will instead have to be introduced at the welcome gala later that evening, which he also dreads as one would the plague. He dresses for the event in Percy's chambers, as he does not have himself a wardrobe befitting such an elegant occasion, and when he arrives, he is announced not with his wife but on his own, as the Champion of the Raven Queen. Vax knows little about how such courtly matters work—his time here in the castle has been spent solely focused on Keyleth, not the frivolities of court—so he enters when he is told to do so, finding the many eyes on him extremely disconcerting.

Keyleth and her father are announced last, and they enter together to much applause. Even after so many years at court, Keyleth still tinges pink before all these people, never one for the spotlight. From the center of the ballroom, the sovereign welcomes their Vesran guests, which Vax learns consists of a pair of dukes who are brothers and a baroness and her wife, and calls for a moment of silence to commemorate those members of the Vesran nobility who were lost in the attack at Syngorn. Vax remembers that Vesrah suffered greatly during that raid, and he wonders how many of those lost were relatives of their guests.

When the sovereign is done speaking, the gathered lords and ladies and the Vesran guests are left to mingle, a string quartet off in one corner scoring the evening's conversations. Vax immediately makes a break for Keyleth, who is resplendent in a silvery blue gown and beaded cape, but his path blocked by a small gaggle of nobles who are fascinated by the newly-appointed Champion. As this is Vax's first time at court as a titled person and not a guard, he has no idea how to extract himself politely from these curious interviews, and he quickly loses sight of his wife through the sea of gala attendees.

Vax finds her again some time later while caught up half-listening to a conversation between the Vesran baroness, her wife, and Lady Kima. He watches Keyleth from across the ballroom—he's always watching her these days, maybe even more intently than he did as her guard—and sees her, so beautiful he can hardly breathe for looking at her, conversing with one of the dukes whose name Vax will never remember. She has that look on her face, the one of polite intrigue that belies a screaming desire to be anywhere else. Vax smiles in pity; she's never been good at small talk, his wife, but he knows she will look to him for assistance if she truly needs to be rescued from the conversation.

Then the duke places a hand on her upper arm, in a display that is wholly inappropriate and unwelcome. Keyleth's eyes flash, and Vax is moving, completely abandoning Lady Kima in the middle of her sentence. He weaves through the crowd of gathered aristocrats, ignoring any and all attempts at conversation and making a beeline straight for Keyleth. He can see her tensing, body arching away from the duke, and he sweeps up to her, easily knocking his hand out of the way as he cuts between them to slide an arm around her waist.

"There you are," he purrs, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. He can see her pulse jackrabbiting in her throat, knows she is on the verge of panic. He keeps his calm. "I've been looking for you everywhere." He turns to look at the duke, whose expression is one of shock and confusion. "Hello, friend." Vax smiles with all of his teeth. "Who are you?"

The duke, a short man who appears to be of human and gnomish lineage, stammers, "I-I am Duke Vallen, grandson to Duchess Uvenda."

"Charmed." He looks back at Keyleth. "My beautiful wife, have you tried the canapés? They are delicious." He delights in the way the duke's eyes bug out of his head. "Come, my love, you must try them." Without another glance at the duke, he sweeps Keyleth away, toward the general direction of food, but he easily navigates her through the crowd and out of the ballroom into a small side chamber, where performers might get ready before an act.

Keyleth is pale, her hands trembling. Vax takes them in his and squeezes. "Are you alright?"

She shakes her head as if to clear it. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, hey." He pulls her in, hooks his chin over her head. "No apologies. He should never have touched you."

Into his doublet, she mumbles, "It was just...the party and then...being grabbed—he didn't grab me, what am I saying—"

Of course. She was snatched from the peace celebration in Syngorn. "Listen to me." He takes her face in his hands and looks her in the eye. "You are safe here. This is your home. I will never let what transpired in Syngorn happen again." He frowns. "What was he talking to you about, anyway?"

She sniffles and rolls her eyes. "He was flirting with me. Apparently he's been on the road so long that no one has filled him in on the good gossip."

Something hot and possessive roils low in Vax's stomach. "He was flirting with you?"

"A bid for the throne, no doubt. It's what they always want."

The roiling turns sour. The very idea that someone could spend even five minutes in her presence and reduce her to the political opportunity she offers makes him sick. "I could kill him." He says it without irony or hesitation. "I'm very talented. They'd never know it was foul play."

She lets out a wet laugh. "I rather think Vesrah has suffered enough loss." She sighs. "I doubt they will take news of our marriage well."

"Why is that?"

She smiles curiously at him. "I forget, sometimes, that you are not Ashari by birth. If my family's line ends, the nation's capital moves to Vesrah and their noble lineage becomes royalty. It's a way to shift the power between the four major cities and a check against tyranny."

Something about that arrangement doesn't sit quite right with Vax, but he picks her hand up to kiss the inside of her wrist. "I suppose we'd better get to work on continuing the family line then. I'm free now."

She rolls her eyes again, this time with a grin. She shoves his shoulder. "You are incorrigible."

"You married a rogue, don't forget."

"About that: I'm sorry, by the way, for our separate announcements tonight." He frowns at her, confused. "We should have been announced together, but because as Champion you are technically not a member of the Zephran court and we have not yet determined what your title in the family is and this whole thing got thrown together so quickly—"

He interrupts her rambling with a kiss. "I don't care. Do I still get to call myself your husband?"

"Of course."

"Then I have all I need." He reaches up to adjust the intricate silver circlet in her hair. "Are you ready to go back out there?"

She takes a deep breath and nods. "Stay with me?"

"There is nowhere else I'd rather be." He presses a kiss to her forehead, then offers her his arm. She snakes hers through it, and together they reenter the gala, their first together as husband and wife.

[didanagy]

1. 1865 Franz Xaver Winterhalter, Portrait of The Beautiful Empress Elisabeth of Austria nicknamed Sisi (also spelled Sissi) in a pink tulle ballgown (Courtly Gala Dress) with Diamond Stars created by House of Worth.

2. Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873) “Portrait of Victoria, Princess Royal” (1857) Oil on canvas Currently part of the Royal Collection Trust Victoria, Princess Royal (1840-1901)

3. Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873) "Portrait of Countess Marie Branicka de Bialacerkiew" (1865) Oil on canvas Located in the Philadelphia Museum of Art

4. Franz Xaver Winterhalter, Countess Alexander Nikolaevitch Lamsdorff, (Maria Ivanova Beck, 1835-1866), 1859

5. Franz Xaver Winterhalter, Countess Olga Shuvalova, 1858. Oil on canvas

6. Franz Xavier Winterhalter (German, 1805 - 1873) Portrait de Wieńczysława Jurjewicz née Barczewska, 1860

7. 1859 Franz Xaver Winterhalter - Grand Duchess Alexandra Iosifovna of Russia

8. Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873, German) ~ Portrait of Augusta Wichrow, 1848

9. Franz Xavier Winterhalter (German, 1805-1873) Maria Obolenskay, 1850

10. Franz Xavier Winterhalter (German, 1805 - 1873) Portrait of Countess Sophia Bobrinskaya (1823–1903), 1857

[t4tbruharvey]

Ok sorry for the late reply I had to collect my thoughts but here we go:

So, originally I just wanted to send you some links for examples of Renaissance armor or parade fashion that I saw and felt would fit the rogues gallery but then I figured I should probably give a little explanation first, because I thought about it and realized that while putting Batman himself into a Renaissance setting would be very easy without changing much about the character (just going from a rich ceo 'dark knight' to a rich nobleman dark..knight.) putting the rogues in such a setting would actually come with fun caveats. The main one of those being: if you want to put the rogues into a Renaissance setting while keeping their designs interesting, flamboyant and eccentric...you'd have to make them all either nobility or rich merchants/other rich civilians of some kind. Because back in those days that's the kind of people that would wear (and be able to afford) exaggerated colorful costumes like the rogues have - particularly in Germany nobility in those days would regularly come together for a festival or a (jousting) tournament dressed in the newest most eccentric fashions and costumes, in fact with time these kinds of events became less and less about the jousting and tournaments themselves and more about parading around in costume, showing off your newest armor and thus your status, flaunting your wealth by showing up in the most gaudy gauche things possible - it was essentially the renaissance Met gala. This phenomenon is called "Rüstungstheater" (armor theatre) and the things people would wear were called "Kostümharnische" (costume armors) as well as a specific type of costume from Nuremberg called "Schembart" (remember this one in particular). The reason this type of dress up event was so popular was that in Renaissance Germany (and other countries) court culture and etiquette was extremely important for members of the nobility and other upper classes, so to the nobles dressing up as a 'character' in costume was some kind of carnivalesque liberation of those courteous standards and expectations, allowing them to be as eccentric and weird as they want to be without social repercussions (especially for those who also wore masks along with their armor or costume), which in some cases certainly also entailed playing a fool or causing some mischief - perfect setup for nobles bored with court life and upset at the rigid expectations of court etiquette that are put on them deciding they'd try their hand at supervillainy, if you ask me. Which ofc means that putting the rogues into this kind of renaissance setting would change a few things about the way they're being perceived by regular civilians as well as their relationship to someone like Bruce Wayne.

Because while in the regular setting the Gotham civilians see them as 'costumed freaks', weirdos that uniquely fall out of societal norms through not just their actions but their gaudy or flamboyant costumes and personalities Renaissance!Gotham citizens would probably be used to that kind of aesthetic and behavior in a very different way and shrug it off as 'just nobles being nobles' - at least initially. So to make them still stand out more as 'freaks and weirdos' you'd probably have to make them extra weird even by Renaissance standards, defy courtly expectations on a daily basis, basically make them be in carnival mode 24/7. because otherwise? Yeah that's just standard aesthetics and behavior for rich people in the Renaissance era. (Then again there is something funny about all of the rogues still having to conform to court etiquette during their 'daytime activities' and behaving like regular nobility for a good part of their time to keep up appearances)

And ofc it would also change their relationship with Bruce Wayne because either you assume that Gotham is a city republic with the rogues being various kinds of rich civilian merchants, city officials etc. (which consequentially would mean Bruce would likely be from a rich merchant family similar to the Medici or Borgias instead of nobility as well) OR you assume Gotham is a place with a local prince or duke (which would be Bruce) and a set of particularly odd nobles that would either live at court (be it as court officials or just in general) or live in nearby smaller principalities owned by their respective families (this option would lead to the imo hilarious situation of Bruce running into some of the rogues on a daily basis because as courtiers they'd ofc. live at court, which with him being the most powerful prince/duke in the region means they'd straight up live in his castle. And there wouldn't even be anything he could do about it because the rules of court etiquette would demand he be courteous and polite to his courtiers, not to mention the whole bit about his secret identity. This would then likely end with all of them having to be just so passive aggressively polite to eachother by day as they have to keep up strict appearances even though they know they're all leading double lives causing mischief and mayhem dressed in their armor theatre costumes. And because they'd almost all be castle-roommates it's be just a uniquely funny situation in general. Found family but make it forced and awful.). And ofc you could also always mix both of these settings since there weren't strict cultural borders and things like armor or fashion weren't limited to one region - in fact there was a whole international trade market for luxury parade armors and fashions of different styles, so even in an english dukedom you'd be able to find Italian armors and German parade fashions. Not to mention that Gotham is a fictional American city with crocodile men and mad scientists, so aesthetically anything goes anyways.

Ok so this pre-explanation went on longer than expected which means I'm gonna tell you about the individual fashions and armors (and link to some images of them) in a separate ask if that's alright with you?

HI HI HI sorry this took so long i'm having a Time right now but this is all super interesting. i think that making the rogues nobles is really interesting as an idea because it allows you to play around with the way people react to them, like you said - so like the whole 'nobles being nobles' thing and then the crime stuff creeps up the general population, which i think is cool because it's basically the way they react to the mob in canon sometimes, except fun and colourful and less overtly threatening at the start. ALSO i do think it's fun to do the absolute opposite of that and have the rogues be of lower social status (due to being criminals, they weren't necessarily that low initially) and for them to be emulating the nobility in a way that's simultaneously breaking social (and actual!) laws like sumptuary laws and stuff AND ALSO it's making fun of the nobility somewhat, which is more reason for them to be hated by the nobility as well. (if that's overly specific, it's because it's what i'm doing with harley in my fun little medieval fantasy au). and i think the way bruce plays into that can get really fun like you said, because it's basically what he already has to do with like, the penguin, but with all of them and it's much more in your face :)

and also the idea of gotham as a city state is super interesting because it's already sort of its own pocket of the universe in canon so it makes a lot of sense for it to be divorced (ha) from what would have been the rest of the country/region and operate on its own ridiculous and oftentimes scary terms

anyway of course you can send me links and tell me about the individual fashions in another ask this is sooo fun and interesting

[oliviaalexandraamores]

"Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars" by Franz Xaver, 1865.

[moonsugar-and-spice]

🌧️19 for TaDa, if you'll entertain OCs?

Of course! I am always happy to write the OCs. 😊

Apologies up front, this one really broke the leash and got away from me. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

🌧️19: "I see, you have a different word for killing when you wear a special uniform to do it."

(Or what I call, the tale of a drabble that wanted to be more)

Send me a prompt and a pairing

-----

A large mirror hung crooked in her borrowed cabin. It rasped against the hull wall as the ship swayed, its edges fogged and tarnished, and as the soldier began to loosen the sash of her long olive tunic, she found her gaze in the glass, wincing a little.

Ta Ming was thirty-one. Thirty-one, and every one of her years felt carved into her. She combed long fingers through her russet hair, loosed early from its usual braid, the shorter locks at the sides scraping her jaw. She fingered the skin under her eyes, tugged at her cheeks and the scar that pocked one arch, ran a finger along her lips. No one had ever been known to call her beautiful.

Not that Ta Ming cared to be beautiful, not really. Beautiful wouldn’t serve her well. She would much rather be called strong or honorable or self-sufficient. Much rather known for the merits of her skills and the content of her character than something so shallow and fleeting.

The thoughts carried her back to the banquet they had attended last night, soldier and pirate playing the parts of courtly Seong and Min Su respectively, the names on their forged invitations.

Looking the part hadn’t been so difficult. With her mixed heritage she could pass for Earth Kingdom adequately well. And with the pirate’s flashier adornments removed, his rings and earrings, the long silk sleeves and collar concealing most of his tattoos, the guests looked — perhaps stared or whispered — but saw one of them. No matter how Lu Da might choose to align his allegiances, the one thing he could never outrun was the unmistakable evidence of his descent.

The gala had been nothing compared to the opulence and glittering wealth enjoyed by Fire Nation dignitaries, but a relatively lavish affair nonetheless, graced by several higher-ranking officials. One of whom in particular, according to their sources, was privy to valuable political knowledge that, if gleaned, could be a major tipping point in the war.

This part of the mission had taken considerably more care. While Ta Ming knew how to adapt when duty required, Lu Da knew how to transform. His brawn and appearance were an easy tool of intimidation, one she had seen him use well. Yet, while mingling with the nobles and dignitaries, the man had not only been suave but seemed remarkably at ease in polite society, as if there weren’t a soaring staircase of difference in their stations. Witty, charming, while also authoritative, a skill that sometimes served to wheedle out valuable bits of information.

And once again, luckily, it had.

But by Agni, she would never envy the beautiful ladies with their fluttering silk dresses and meticulously coiffed hair, their falsetto laughs and sweeping lashes and the ridiculous way they used them. How they swooned and fawned and leaned on men, feigning helplessness to bask in their strength.

Why anyone would ever want to be seen as helpless was beyond her.

The whole affair had left her tired — to say nothing of what these long days in the company of pirates had done to her — and though it wasn’t quite sundown, one night of sleep had not, apparently, been enough to wash it away.

She was glad to be headed back toward Fire Nation soil, even if it would be days yet before her feet would touch it, before she could slip back into her proper uniform. Or anything that wasn’t so infernally earth-toned.

So, she was less glad when there came the tell-tale pull of the ship beginning to slow, too soon. It was not yet near dusk, there were still precious miles to cover.

What was Lu Da doing now?

Turning, she took one long stride toward the door and stopped short, finding the captain already filling its frame, leaning against one side. Lu Da gave a languorous, belated rap on the door, mischief brewing in his warm brown eyes, and Ta Ming tried to keep the apprehension, the impatience from rising in her tone.

“Why are we slowing down? Isn’t there still an hour or two before visibility diminishes?”

“There is. But, so happens I’m well-acquainted with this slice of the Earth Kingdom, and the harbor city up ahead. Know a good place we can shake off our sea legs for a bit. Whatd’ya say? Up for a pleasant evening?”

Define pleasant, she thought, but only said, “We were just out last night.”

“That was business, it hardly counts.”

Ta Ming blew out her breath, not quite a sigh, and turned back to the mirror. Their gazes touched again in the glass for the briefest of moments before she stepped out of reach, winding her loose hair over one shoulder. “I’m not dressed for it—”

“You’re dressed fine enough. If you need someone to braid your hair, Marik’s got some practice.”

That caught her between a scoff and a laugh, unsure whether he was joking. Sometimes she couldn’t tell.

“Frankly, I was about to go to bed. I'm still nursing a headache from last night.” He didn’t respond, and for a long moment it was quiet. But she could still feel him in the doorway, the steady press of his gaze. She turned around to face him. “If you’re so determined, why not just go on without me?”

“And risk you stealing my Mistress, leaving me stranded, depriving me forevermore of your company? Don’t think so.”

She snorted. In truth, they both knew she would never stay back, not when the Fire Lord had tasked her as his second. If anything were to go awry while she was there to help ensure it didn’t, the punishment would be greater than the discomfort of anything the night might have to offer.

A few lights were beginning to glimmer from vessels in the harbor, the buildings scattered along the dock. The sunset had drained the day’s heat away and the tepid salt air filled her lungs.

“This hardly seems like a good idea,” she pressed, her Fire Nation sword secured within the loose folds of her tunic. “I imagine some things may be different since you were last here.”

But Lu Da was already off, heading away from the harbor, in the opposite direction from his crew. Ta Ming was fairly certain Ozai had not authorized this stop, which added unnecessary risk to the mission. There were too many things that could go wrong before they reached home. But she had known the pirate now — or privateer, as it were — long enough to know that arguing when he got that glint in his eyes was futile. It would only be for a few hours. At least she could act as sentry, another set of eyes and muscle if trouble were to stir.

Falling into resigned step beside him, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” There was a decidedly rakish hint to his tone.

“Pirate King,” Ta Ming warned, who had never been fond of surprises, but had come to hate them even more.

“Fear not, soldier. I promised you a pleasant evening out, and I aim to deliver.”

+++

She hated the place the moment they entered.

It was called Solstice.

It would have been more aptly called Gaudy, or Garish, droningly loud and noxiously colorful, with more shades of green than she had ever wished to know existed. Solstice, Lu Da had told her as they arrived, was a leisure establishment, the connections he had with the owner sure to get them through the doors, in a place reserved for the more fortunate to savor an escape.

Beyond the bronze-plated doors, the cool night evaporated and submerged them in the warmth of a summer day. Lanterns burned sun-bright overhead, artificial foliage wreathing an indoor gazebo that veiled everyone beneath in a dappled, virescent canopy. It might have vaguely put her in mind of home, except for the churning sea of people who reminded her where she was, and ushered into the expansive, well-lit venue, Ta Ming felt suddenly, dreadfully, exposed.

“Are you out of your mind?” she hissed, just loud enough for his ears. “We are noticeably underdressed, the last thing we need is to draw attention or cause a scene.”

But most patrons seemed too absorbed in their pleasantries to pay them much mind, and if the guards at the door had recognized Lu Da, an impassive nod was all the recognition he received as they were let inside.

Serving tables offered up fruits and cakes, meats and dumplings, pitchers of chilled summer saké. Beads and tassels or fresh flowers adorned women’s hairpieces. Couples danced or necked in quieter corners, others lounging on pillows beneath the fake trees. Windchimes and laughter spun in the air, that high, bright laughter of nobility as they preened and postured and toasted to the latest gossip, their status on display.

Ta Ming found it sufferable. The whole charade was far too flamboyant, too frivolous, to leave any room for appeal. Much of their country was war-torn and suffering, and yet in places like this, the privileged could still fashion Shangri-Las out of money and play pretend. At least until the war caught up to them, which inevitably, it would.

With a lazy nudge at her back he led her forward, past a serving table, where Lu Da took up two cups of summer saké, pressing one into her hand. Ta Ming kept her face tipped down as she sipped, surveying the room over the rim of the cup.

The pirate steered them to a set of plush cushions beneath a tree, sinking down as Ta Ming followed suit. She took sips of her drink, bright and dry and smooth as glass on her tongue, and having little interest in the rest of Solstice, she considered her companion.

The soldier still didn’t understand his choice of entertainment. This place was clearly a haunt for the well-heeled, and despite how comfortable he might act in their presence, tonight looks were a harder sell. Between the mohawk and the abundant tattoos and rings on display, he stood out among them like a sheet of granite thrust up amidst the softer strata. Had he not had his fill of their kind last night? She didn’t think he was all that fond of it. Not only that, but he had brought them here knowingly underdressed—

“Am I really that good-looking?” he asked without meeting her gaze, pulling her focus apart, while glassy laughter chimed through the room.

The soldier scoffed, cursing the regrettable heat rising to her face. “You think you are, I doubt it matters what I think,” she responded, homing her attention on the grassy carpet beneath her feet.

No one approached them save for an attendant, a pretty, young woman in a pale green and yellow qipao. There was a halting quality to her eyes as they brushed over the captain, and she asked if there was anything she could do to make their evening more enjoyable. Lu Da brandished his smile, an answer in the vein of “You already have” serving both to disarm and dismiss, and earn him a bashful smile before bowing her leave. Ta Ming stifled a groan and rolled her eyes.

“This would be a great deal more fun,” remarked Lu Da, “if you’d stop frowning at everything.”

The press of her lips tightened before she caught herself, smoothing her brow. “I’m not frowning.”

“Is it a sport in the Fire Nation?” he went on. “Do they hold contests, hand out awards for the best—?”

“Would you be quiet. We don’t need anyone suspecting I’m…” She cut herself off, her eyes darting askance and then down. “Besides, I’m not frowning.”

“Sulking then.”

“I am perfectly content at the moment.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he toasted, raising his glass, “glad I took us here then, we can stay all night if you like.”

Ta Ming set her teeth, then took several long, merciful gulps of her drink. She could feel his eyes on her, amused, and at the end she wiped a bead of saké from her lips, placing her empty cup on the low wooden table. “Alright, fine, this place is horrible,” she grumbled.

“Well…” said Lu Da, draining his own cup in one go and setting it down with a thunk, “I suppose we could leave.”

And there it was again, in the pirate’s eye, that glint, and Ta Ming finally understood why he hadn’t bothered with nicer attire. Lu Da hadn’t dressed them for Solstice because it wasn’t their real destination.

“You brought me here on purpose.”

A languid smile, warping the tattoos on his face slightly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You brought me here because you knew I would be miserable and eager to accompany you somewhere else, that anything after this would be palatable by comparison.”

“And?”

“And you’re about to learn the depths of my capacity for suffering,” she said, reluctant to know what he thought she’d find so disagreeable that he’d use Solstice as a cushion. Even so, Ta Ming could feel the fight leaching out of her.

Lu Da must have felt it, too. With that signature grin, he rose to his feet. “Excellent. Then I imagine you’ll have plenty of reserves to fall back on.” His collection of rings caught the light as he offered down a hand. “Shall we?”

+++

Most of the sea birds had gone to roost, the townspeople either home or engaged in leisure pursuits, and the night now was filled only with the distant sigh of waves or snatches of conversation carried on the wind.

Ta Ming drank deep of the cool briny air, letting it wash over her. It was a long walk to wherever they were headed, and a rare but comfortable moment of quiet between them; she found both to be much-welcome.

Darkness was complete by the time they passed into the rougher part of the city. Buildings etched a patchy silhouette into the sky like broken teeth. Street lanterns grew fewer and farther between, a weak glow glancing off Lu Da's ear cuffs whenever they passed underneath.

He led her through an alley and around a corner, finally stopping before a truly shoddy-looking tavern. Warm light leaked onto the street through grime-clouded windows.

And then, she saw it. The sign above the paint-peeling door, engraved with the likeness of a willow and its curtains of drooping branches. Bold characters boasted the tavern’s name at the top.

Ta Ming read it aloud.

“The Mourning Wood…” Punctuating each word, she turned to him with a wry, tart twist of her mouth.

“Named for the distinguished weeping willow tree, as evidenced by the sign, soldier. You really oughta get your mind out of the gutter.”

Her disapproval deepened as he opened the door, extending an arm in what might have been a gentlemanly After you, were it not for the roguish smirk on his face.

Inside, it was every bit what she’d expected from the outside: seedy as all fuck, and the crowd, too. The place smelled headily of sea and sweat and spilled liquor, mingling with the aroma of what was probably food. Where Solstice had been ostentatious and open, all bright lights and vivid colors, the Mourning Wood was made of murky corners and low-burning lanterns. Booths and tables were sprawled like bodies across the room, occupied by all manner of men who left no speculation to their less than honorable livelihoods.

At least this place was honest with itself, thought Ta Ming. No pageantry. No charades.

The air was thick with smoke and loud with raucous laughter and drunken threats. At their entrance, Rizo waved them over, his face lit up not only in cheerful recognition, but with the knowing glint of a shared joke.

These Agni-damned pirates.

As they reached the cluster of pushed-together tables, Lu Da was swept away toward the other end of the brigade in a wave of enthusiastic greetings, leaving her at the only remaining seat, next to Marik. He turned as she slid into the chair, saluting her with his almost-smiling nod and a tip of his tankard. There was a strangely quieting effect to his understated, more subdued presence, and Ta Ming felt something uncoil just slightly. She returned his acknowledgment with a small smile and a nod.

A generous tankard of baijiu was set before her and the soldier drank half of it in one continuous gulp, relishing the tingle and the swiftly brewing buzz. A handful of approving whoops and hollers rang up from the table.

Time slowly evaporated, minutes and hours blending in a haze of gambling and brawls and storytelling. At the other end of the table, Ta Ming watched Lu Da boast and cheer and drink with the rest of them, and marveled at the way he could shift to fit his needs. Last night, smooth and silver-tongued, he had a hall of nobles convinced he was Min Su. Back on the Mistress, he was dashing captain and king. But here, in this tavern, surrounded by his crew and the colorful array of rabble, he was simply one of them. Always with a presence that commanded the room, always taking up space, but he held himself no higher than the rest.

He could crack rude jokes and pull pranks, then turn around and coax a blush from an unsuspecting maiden with a word and a smile. Jhu Lin once said he could charm the dudou off a nun. So much about the man was performance of one form or another, that Ta Ming sometimes wondered which version of Lu Da was the real one, or if, somehow, they were all real, each in its own way.

This was the Lu Da she knew best, the one that laughed easy and loud, flirted and joked and sloshed his liquor, even though Ta Ming had seen him fuss if ever she spilled water or tea in his cabin. Another facet still. Gregarious as he was, it was the one place, she’d gathered from Rizo and Marik, that he kept for himself. Rare for their captain to bring someone outside into that protected space, even on nights with more intimate company. The soldier tried not to think too hard about all that it might mean, that she had been afforded the privilege.

A stranger on her other side jostled her with an elbow, clinking his mug against hers at a joke’s bawdy punchline. And in spite of herself, Ta Ming felt an echo of his smile tug at her lips, too, just as Lu Da’s gaze found hers from across the table. The moment seemed to narrow to just the two of them, that ineffable space between words and a look. With a final quip and a slap to his neighbor’s shoulder, he excused himself, the chair scraping as he stood and walked around to her side of the table.

“Marik making sure you behave?” he asked as she rose to meet him. The man in question raised his tankard, as if to a feat worthy of commendation.

She chuffed a quiet breath of amusement through her nose. Jutting his chin in the direction of a booth outside the mob, Lu Da said, “C’mon, let’s get a bite to eat, I’m starving.”

+++

They ordered the “clam hammer” — a bowl of steamed mollusks with a spiced dipping sauce — and a basket of crab puffs to share.

“It was all Rizo’s idea, by the way,” Lu Da said around a mouthful. “I didn’t wanna go along with it.”

“Is that so?” She washed her own bite down with a swig of baijiu. “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“What? I thought you believed everything you were told like a good little soldier.”

Ta Ming scoffed. “I don’t believe your nose would stand up to my fist.”

“Fair enough, I don’t believe that either. But, as I happen to be a pirate of some repute and your colleague — dare I say, friend? — I also don’t believe you’d hit me. Besides, if I recall, isn’t there something you’re here to be doing?”

“Assisting you.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

She rolled her eyes, but the crease at the corner of her mouth betrayed the small bubble of lightness expanding in her chest. Maybe, she could admit to herself, she wasn’t having a completely terrible time.

As she ate and looked around the tavern, her gaze snagged on a pair of men lurking in the gloom of a corner, closest to the door. Something about the way they hung there — watching them? — plucked at her soldier’s instincts.

Lu Da must have noticed. He followed her line of sight.

“Why are those men looking at us like that?” she asked quietly.

The pirate shrugged one shoulder, but he didn’t take his eyes off them. “Probably don’t get a lot of women in here is all.”

“Do you know them?”

He looked ready to respond in the negative when the first two parted, revealing a third man behind, and Lu Da blinked.

“Chenfang,” he said by way of greeting.

“Lu Da,” the man returned, quite pleasantly, as the three sauntered up to their booth. “Thought that was you we saw leaving Solstice a bit ago. Been a long time.”

“That it has. Didn’t know you stuck around here.”

A flicker behind the man’s eyes. “Well, you know. Some of us like to grow roots in just one soil.” Ta Ming caught the almost imperceptible feint in Lu Da’s expression as he shifted to lean against the table. “Gotta say, I was a little surprised when I recognized those tattoos. Didn’t think I’d see you back in these parts again, just muckin’ around like old times.”

Something wasn’t right. Chenfang’s tone was light enough, but there was a poorly concealed edge to it, like a razor buried in a moonpeach.

Lu Da slipped her a surreptitious glance across the booth.

“Call me sentimental, I guess,” he shrugged, looking up at him. “Was on an excursion with a friend and passing by, couldn’t resist the opportunity.”

“Mm, isn’t that nice,” Chenfang drawled, glancing from one of his comrades to the other and then back at Lu Da. “On holiday with a buddy, just showing her around some of your old stomping grounds, huh?”

Lu Da set his drink down, the edges of his easy smile tightening. “That’s right.”

A bead of condensation slid like sweat down the side of the tankard, tracing its way toward the scarred wooden table.

“Say…” Chenfang sniffed the air, looking to the man on his right. “Do you smell something?”

“Matter of fact, I do,” he responded, gruff. “It’s a very particular scent, one you never forget.”

“It sure is. It’s the smell of bullshit.” The word rang through the fog of drunken laughter and voices, bringing the din of the tavern to a murmur. “I remember clearly, getting wind of it a while back. You’ve become the Fire Lord’s little stooge, haven’t you?” The brawn of Lu Da’s arms tightened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Oh yeah, good news spreads far and wide, doesn’t it?”

“Look…” He held up both hands in a show of comradery. “You gotta understand how things go in my line of work. My fealty’s bought by the highest bidder, but that’s all there is to it. I’m—”

“All there is to it?!” he roared, anger and something deeper bursting in his face. “You got a lot of fucking nerve coming around here all free and easy, like you’re still one of ours, like some of us don’t know exactly whose ass you’re kissing now, while playin’ footsie with one of his minions.”

A dart of outrage pricked between her ribs, along with a seed of alarm. How did he know who she was?

“Doing the Fire Lord’s bidding, bathing in his money, while they lay siege to your motherland. Your friend here, how many of your own do you reckon she’s slaughtered?”

“Don’t speak as if I revel in it,” Ta Ming spat, nursing the flame of her anger. Anger was better than the panic that pulsed just beneath it. “A soldier is bound by duty—”

“Duty. Oh, how nice it sounds when you put it that way.” He barked a short and scornful laugh. “Does it help you sleep better at night? Coat that pesky conscience so you can swallow it, shit it out in the morning, and do it all again?”

The chair ground harshly, one of the men inching back as Lu Da stood. “Alright, back off—”

“And I wonder just how many of ours you’ve slain now in the name of duty.” His ire scorched a path between the soldier and the pirate, a ripple of dismay spreading through the tavern. “Cute, how there’s a different word for killing when you wear a special uniform to do it. Or when someone pays you to do it.”

There was the slower, quieter grating of chairs and the whisper of movement as others began to stand, eyes shifting, hands ghosting over weapons. Lu Da scanned the room, some of his acquaintances staring with flared nostrils and trembling fists, others eyeing the scene with growing tension. His crew locked eyes with their captain, poised and ready for a signal.

Chenfang’s voice, when it shivered the silence, was hoarse and heavy as gravel. “You're one of my oldest friends, Lu, we go back a long way. So just this once, I’m gonna give you the chance to get your dirty, traitorous ass outta town, and take your girlfriend with you, before I show you the special word I got for it. And if I ever see your faces larking about here again… on my life, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

For several beats, nobody moved an inch, primed for sudden action. But at last, Lu Da gave the barest of nods and his crew began prowling toward the exit. Hand on her hilt, Ta Ming followed alongside him as they filed out, and the privateer stopped momentarily in the doorway behind her.

He looked back once, locking eyes with his old friend.

“Nice seeing you, Lu Da.”

[royal-diaries-podcast]

Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, 1865

Also, never forget how the Phantom of the Opera movie ripped off this look so hard.

This look tutorial says "Phantom" but it's totally Sissi!

[ancient-hoe]

Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars, by Franz Xaver, 1865.

[eirene]

Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars, 1865

Franz Xaver Winterhalter

[vizuart]

Franz Winterhalter - Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars(1865)

[danaa-scully]

Do you know the names of the artwork in that one post you made? Especially the second to last one. I know you shared the movie names but I’m actually a little more interested in the art haha

Hi!! Of course, unfortunately there is little info about it, but what I could learn about it is that the illustration is called “Fashion Plate (1892)”, apparently is from a french fashion magazine that was very popular back in that time period, hope it helps. Anyways, I first saw it here :) Ohh and for the rest of them, here’s the list:

1- Queen Marie Antoinette of France and two of her children walking in the Park of Trianon (1785) by Adolf Ulrik Wertmüller

2- Comfort (1796 approximate)

3- Ophelia (1851-1852) by John Everett Millais

4- Napoleon crossing the Alps (1801) by Jacques-Louis David

5- Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars (1865) by Franz Xavier Winterhalter

6- Portrait of Henry VIII (1536 or 1537) by Hans Holbein the Younger

7- Marie Antoinette et Madame Elisabeth s’embrassant by Alexandre Moitte

8- Victoria Regina (1880) by Henry Tanworth Wells

9- Fashion Plate (1892)

10- Liberty leading the people (1830) by Eugène Delacroix

[luasworkshop]

Arcana MC: Lua (they/them)

“The shape-shifter magician afraid of emotional intimacy”

Favorite Food: Mango

Favorite Drink: Peach Bellini

Favorite Flower: Aminita muscaria

Birth Date: October 1st (Libra)

Favorite Season: Fall

Favorite Ice Cream: Double Chocolate

(Second) Favorite Fruit: Peaches

- They are bilingual (fluent in Vesuvian and the language of their country of origin). They have snatches of other languages from they and Aleis’ travels (varyingly useful, but nothing approaching fluency).

- They have a lovely singing voice (an alto) if they don’t get too anxious. They can play the harpsichord (and by extension the piano) decently though not expertly. If warmed up and thinking about it they can sight sing/sight read reasonably well. They do not like to perform for others.

- They are about the same age as Nadia and Aleis.

Continuity: A blend of the through-line and conclusion of all upright plot lines and then some – all people have been freed, all villains have been defeated (or redeemed), everybody’s pretty much happily in love with everyone else. Lucio is still living (albeit having served out punishment for his misdeeds). Julian can… probably die now and has his own practice. Nadia is countess instituting major, positive social change with Portia at her right hand (serving as a major diplomat). Muriel lives quietly and peacefully and no longer so scarred. All five of the Courtiers have been freed of their bonds to the devil and have had some career changes. If it’s good, it’s probably happening. Lua, Aleis, Asra, Aisha, and Salim serve as court magicians in turn with each other or based on their skill set. Morga is still living… somehow. Tasya sails the seas. Lua, Aleis, and Asra still live in and run the magic shop, when they are not away on other business – their friends and lovers are all welcome by and come and go, and they come and go at their own places too.

Background: Lua is incredibly quiet about anything involving their origin, family, childhood, and background. The had been rather distant from their family prior to their death, and their death became a clean break. They do not concern themselves with familial affairs and no one seems to ask after them. This is not a litany of trauma and sorrow, but something where Lua simply never really fit. There are hints about the pressures of a gifted child, the difficulty of fitting in with an accepting enough but never truly understanding and accommodating family, and the nature of simply not being ‘right’ for those around you. They have chosen to move forward, and love those they have found along the way.

Those looking at the right clues will notice that they must have come from a reasonably well-off family (as their musical knowledge implies a relatively expensive instrument and long-term training, in addition to other clues that imply implicit familiarity with courtly business.) They generally require no briefing on how to behave in a passably polite and formal way. Their abilities to ride, swim, and sail taken all together with these other small clues imply that their family had the means for training in areas where one either gains skill through work or has means, time, and opportunity to train. Valerius is pretty sure that despite them being from another nation, they couldn't be from a major aristocraticfamily or he’d already be aware of them, however the fact that they came from some means is clear. Others might notice they dogive off strong ‘only child’ vibes.

Lua is not originally from Vesuvia (neither is Aleis, and they are not from the same nation), and they and Aleis moved around quite a lot after getting married in their 20s (they have known each other since their teens and been through a lot. Aleis respects Lua’s desires for privacy regarding their family). They went place to place making their way as magicians (honing their skills, making commissions, doing odd jobs), until eventually deciding to settle in Vesuvia. An extended relation (referred to as their “Aunt”, but not actually related to Aelis or Lua) took a shine to them and eventually left Lua and Aleis their shop (when she retired to travel the realms), and the two have been comfortably settled there for quite some time.

Personality: Lua is fine… until they overthink things, which, inevitably, they will. This is Lua, as they are now (reincarnated, and post main story), in a nutshell. They are nearly always confident in their work, skills, and knowledge (apart from the usual human foibles there, we all have our days), but they are very anxious about themselves, personally. They are good… until they think about the fact they’re squishy and weird and full of feelings. They might be described as shy or anxious, and they definitely are leery of social situations. This doesn't mean they’re deeply fearful or difficult to communicate with, but they can be guarded and come across as aloof. They can also come across as a bit cranky or crabby. When at their lowest they tend to think of themselves as ‘old, crabby, and boring.’ At their best they think of themselves as ‘clever, fluid, and tender.’

They are comfortable and confident in their gender identity.

They are by nature introverted and private and always have been. Their social anxiety can be a problem now, but they’re never going to be tremendously outgoing if they overcome it. Still, they’re not impossible, and will have fun with the right people at the right time when all is going well. At functions, balls, galas, masquerades, etc. they tend to stick to Aleis or another more extroverted friend, or hang around quietly as they can with the other introverts.

They dress in a way that might generally be considered ‘modest’ however this is less from any sort of dysphoria or shame and more of a preference of being generally unknowable (also, they run cold). They favor soft, natural fibers in loose, but practical, cuts over their body, primarily in earth tones with jewel tone highlights. They like to wear large earrings, and often other pieces of quite decorative, but earthy and natural, jewelry (shell, stone, wood, etc.). They tend to wear flat, comfortable shoes that are easy to walk around in (they’ll switch to boots if hiking or doing other more physical activities). They don’t tend to wear makeup unless dressing up for something, and they rely on Aleis’ artistic eye to help with that. They’re a bit shy about ‘dressing up’ more formally but they do ‘clean up’ nicely.