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izvmimi · 8 months

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cw: part of three princesses au. written from the perspective of highland princess. female reader. sfw.

“Princess, are you sure that this is the correct location?”

Your handmaiden looks and sounds concerned, as she should, and so are you really as the carriage slows to a trot, and you find yourself drawing closer and closer to what appears to be a list field, an arena for jousting. Taking a longer peek through the small carriage window, then looking back to your attendant, you frown. There’s a semi-crumpled piece of paper in your hand which is the Rendezvous letter received by Coastal Princess at the close of the Courting Ball last night, and it clearly gives the current address, you judge by the map plastered on the side of your carriage. You probably should have looked at exactly where you were going before agreeing to swap with Coastal Princess, but she was so eager to get the letter from Valley Princess that the exchange happened in enough of a whirlwind to disorient you.

“It seems to be correct,” you reply. Your handmaiden tuts, but once the horses come to a stop, she’s quick to help you out of the carriage and you thank your driver with a hefty tip. After all, you are partially buying his silence.

Your dress is less extravagant than that of the ball, however the brightly-colored light pink taffeta fabric appears wildly inappropriate for the setting. You hike up the bottom of your dress as it skirts the mud and muck, already slightly disgusted by the way your heels sink into the ground with every movement. Your handmaiden holds your elbow as you move along.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath. You would have appreciated a warning if you were to end up in a place like this. Before you is a large crowd, a mix of people of all stations from elites to common folk to beggars, but you are clearly one of the most extravagant-looking attendees of this event. Cheers abound, mixed with the clashing of metal against armor and the whinnying of battling horses.

“Most ridiculous,” your handmaiden agrees. You are at a joust and Prince Midoriya is nowhere to be found, not that you’re sure you would absolutely recognize him within the hundreds of faces you’re now seeing.

Warmth rises in your neck up to your cheeks and you realize you are embarrassed. Here you are, at a sporting event, with a man you have never met, with a man who is not betrothed to you, and you are possibly being stood up.

A few more minutes pass, and you and your handmaiden stand on lookout, waiting for someone, anyone to claim you, or to at least tell you where to go. It is painfully embarrassing, and while the people of Central City in Welstranha are not particularly aware of what the royals of the surrounding nation-states look like, if you were to be seen by anyone of importance, standing with partially soiled clothing with no aim, you’d be a laughingstock.

Your father alone would berate you for months.

The fingers of your right hand tighten on the rendezvous letter as you consider tearing it to pieces. Hanging from your contralateral wrist is a small pouch in which a golden watch is contained. It is meant to be a gift and you are already deciding to keep it to yourself, because if he doesn’t show up in the next few seconds, you will absolutely turn on your heels and -

“Highland Princess!?”

In a flash, it seems like Prince Midoriya is suddenly before you, green eyes widened like a cat falling from a great height. While he is approaching, you stay put, analyzing, and somehow, your anger seems to leave you as though a demon exorcized by prayer and blinding light.

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Prince Midoriya, but it’s the first time you’ve really seen him. He’s dressed far more casually than you are, however no one would mistake him for a commoner by the crisp appearance of his beige color tunic accented with gold thread or the shine of the brass buttons in his dark navy banded pants. He’s dressed in boots that fare better against the mud than your shoes, and he looks genuinely surprised by your attire and also clearly tries not to stare. His stark dark-green curls, portenders of his lineage from Grascendres’ royal family, are more grasslike in the bright sunshine, and the freckles on his face are numerous and incongruent with his royal status.

But he is undoubtedly handsome, you have to admit, even if his pedigree is otherwise not up to par with yours. He’s quite tall, with broad-shoulders and slightly sunkissed skin, and the rolled up sleeves of his shirt reveals nicely toned forearms, revealing some physical training, although he looks more like a knight than a royal.

“Prince Midoriya, you appear to be late for your rendezvous,” you say, attempting to be polite and yet still communicate your irritation.

He smiles rather than look accused which surprises you.

“Am I meant to rendezvous with you instead?” he asks. It’s meant to be tongue-in-cheek and this has you tight-lipped. He senses this and continues to explain himself.

“I was expecting Coastal Princess and did not consider that you’d be coming.”

You nod in acceptance and present the letter to him as proof.

“It is true that we probably should have given you a heads up, but Coastal Princess, Valley Princess and I were hoping to meet each other’s future beaus instead.”

Prince Midoriya’s eyes seem to be watching you a little too intently and it’s hard to read his expression. He frowns, tapping his chin with his hand as he thinks.

“Was I that unimpressive to Coastal Princess?”

“Not at all. We girls simply hoped to have some fun,” you state, and then you smile, sweetly but poisonously. Your handmaiden bristles, knowing what you look like when you aim to taunt or tease.

“Prince Midoriya, am I unimpressive to you?”

He looks up, previously somehow deep in thought, and but looks you in the eyes quickly, meaning to correct any offense.

“Oh no, I just was a little startled, I-”

He looks down at the sullied bottom of your dress, then back up, and you find your cheeks warming again. Perhaps he really does think that you are inferior to Coastal Princess and the simple thought of that makes you feel momentarily bad about yourself.

“If you are disappointed, I could leave,” you offer, disallowing your tongue to be bitter. You give your handmaiden a look and she prepares to help you back to the carriage but he quickly stops you from beginning your transit.

“Wait, no, I would be flattered to accompany you, as long as Coastal Princess is okay with it.”

“Well, she does have Valley Princess’ letter and will be meeting with Prince Bakugou.”

“Ah,” is all Izuku can offer. There is another round of cheers in the background that fills a now mildly uncomfortable silence, and your heart starts to thump as you consider that this may perhaps be a bad idea overall. For a moment, you find yourself looking at your feet, then catch yourself, raising your head up high. He should be excited that he gets to meet you - your family had first dibs on suitors and must not have selected him for a reason, whether it is because his kingdom is nouveau riche or because you are too good for him in other domains.

Ignoring all that, you attempt to regain control. “What did you have planned for Coastal Princess?”

He looks up again and the slightly downcast expression is gone, now replaced with an expression far too sweet for a young prince. Suddenly produced from his right side in almost a sleight of hand is the most beautiful bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen.

He takes your hand and bows.

“I’d like to start over,” he asks. Your eyes widen as he takes your hand and bows, keeping his face at eye level with yours.

“Greetings to you, Highland Princess. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a joust?”

The palm of his hand is calloused against your soft fingertips, and you’re surprised by his boldness, the actual nerve to touch you, but you allow it.

“Yes.”

—

Prince Midoriya did not tell you he’d be IN the joust, and the fact that you sit in a stand, a parasol held over your head lest you bake in the sun watching him in a full suit of armor is not what you expected in the least.

But you are intrigued. You’ve never seen such a violent match up front - in fact, you’ve never met any of the soldiers of the land, and given that you’ve had no brothers or close male cousins, you are not particularly aware of what it means to swing a sword or stab with a lance - but something about the way the prince seems to effortless dodge and thrust with purpose and pride has you captivated. His mount appears to be an extension of him, and he moves seamlessly in the wind. In a fluid, effortless motion, he makes his mark and the man unfortunate enough to be set up against him topples from his horse in a heap. Prince Midoriya stops and watches, offering a hand as the victory is decided, gentlemanly as a royal is wont to be but often is not.

Prince Midoriya wins the tournament, as though he had expected to, and looks up in the stands at you. His smile asks you if you were watching and yes, you were. Every second.

—

“Congratulations,” you state. Your handmaiden is long gone, off to explore the remainder of the city with a few coins you’ve given her as bribery in her pocket, and you take that opportunity to make your way down the field to praise the prince once the last match is over. “Assuming you did not pay everyone to throw the match, I’d say you are a formidable fighter, Prince Midoriya.”

“Izuku,” he says, removing his helmet. “Call me Izuku.”

“Izuku,” you repeat. The name is unfamiliar yet significant on your tongue. As though you should remember it forever.

He smiles at the careful way you say it. You don’t yet offer to drop your own name, and he doesn’t ask, continuing to address you by your title. You don’t drop formalities with him just yet, either. After all, he is not your betrothed and you may not see him again.

“Were you impressed?” he asks.

“I am not particularly easy to impress,” you reply, slyly. He smiles as he removes the shoulder pads. A pageboy presents himself to help with this process and for a moment you wonder if you really should be there watching him undress, and yet you don’t move. No one is there to judge you anyway; no one will recognize you even if you stand out like a sore thumb.

“Is that a no?” he asks. His curls stick gently to his forehead and he blots most of the sweat with a handkerchief. You watch him too entranced, then wonder if you just haven’t met enough men to be so easily swayed by one.

Coastal Princess is lucky, you will leave it at that.

“It’s not a no,” you reply. He beams and his eyes nearly close shut with his smile. You look away suddenly, watching the other fighter’s wounds be tended to.

“Do you have wounds to care for?” you ask him.

He shakes his head. “Not very many, but I appreciate you caring for me.”

You should say “you’re welcome” but your mouth opens and closes. Saving you the embarrassment of gaping like a fish, Izuku changes the subject suddenly -

“Highland Princess, have you ever been to a tavern?”

Your eyes grow wide. A tavern?

“I don’t think I belong in such a place.”

Izuku grins. “The whole point of a tavern is that everyone belongs!” He’s quick to link arms with yours, and your heart flutters.

“Come, let me show you what it’s like to live a little less lavishly but a little more fully.”

—

Grenadine is sweet on your lips as you answer Izuku’s every question about yourself, your childhood and your hopes and dreams. Leaning in over a mug of beer, he hangs on your every word, offering a few and then some more to challenge your thoughts. It’s been a while since you were challenged but not oppressed in conversation - he listens easily and speaks freely.

“Izuku, did your parents let you choose your potential list of matches?” you ask.

You shouldn’t ask this question, but you want to know now, if he ever had the chance to consider you. You think perhaps you would have not been so upset to have been picked as his bride - but perhaps it is the high of making a good friend that makes your heart stir as such.

He sips his beer, then looks away shyly, before looking at you.

“I never saw the list.”

You nod, and then you ask, and you probably shouldn’t but you do anyway.

“If you had seen the list, would you have considered me?” you ask.

He blinks and you can see his cheeks redden. He pulls at the collar of his shirt as you wait. Your eyes remain intent on him but your heart thumps and your insides twist. It shouldn’t matter what he says now, because he is Coastal Princess’ husband to be.

“Yes. Very much so.”

He hasn’t said he prefers you and you don’t want him to, but your heart swells. You consider leaning in further to kiss him, his face is so close to yours anyway, but you remember your gift instead.

A keepsake.

“I have something for you,” you tell him, removing the watch from your satchel. His eyes take a little too long to pull away from you but then he follows you as you unwrap your watch.

“It’s been in my family for a few generations,” you offer. “I think you should have it.”

The clock face is gilded gold and encrusted with small emeralds. It costs a fortune, but your family has always been prone to flaunting its wealth.

“I am not-” Izuku starts.

You won’t let him refuse it.

“I have other gifts I can give Prince Todoroki. I want you to have this for being so kind to me today.”

Izuku tilts his head in confusion. You push it towards him and look away, taking the last of your grenadine with a gulp.

“Princess, I…” he starts. He looks embarrassed, then confused, then you can see him pull his lower lip between his teeth. You don’t want him to say again that he shouldn’t actually have anything to do with you.

“Would you please accompany me home?” you ask. Perhaps you’ve had too much grenadine, enough to saturate your tastebuds, because there is a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your suggestion has saved him from making a fool of himself. He nods and helps you rise.

“Of course, Highland Princess.”

—

Your handmaiden asks you if you’ve had a good date as your carriage returns you to Gokon palace, where you and the other princesses share wings throughout this marriage rite. You decide to reply honestly.

“The best I ever had.”

She smiles at you knowingly and clasps her hands over yours.

“The only one you’ve ever had,” she teases. You smile back at her but your stomach turns a bit. The golden watch is gone and you hope he’ll wear it some time to check the time. You wish you had more of it together.

A small part of you hopes your friend’s dates went as well, or perhaps it would be better if they didn’t.

The wheels of your carriage turn and you hope your fate will be kind to you.

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: izuku #mimi writes: three princesses au #mimi's notes

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random-brushstrokes · 1 year

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Eugène Emmanuel Amaury Duval - Madame de Loynes (1862)

When Amaury-Duval painted her portrait, the Comtesse de Loynes was still just Jeanne de Tourbey. The daughter of working-class parents from Reims, she took advantage of her beauty and wit to conquer Paris and, through her lover Prince Napoleon, to open one of the most brilliant Second Empire literary salons. This was keenly attended by writers and critics such as Charles Sainte-Beuve, Hippolyte Taine, Alexandre Dumas, and also Gustave Flaubert, who admired her "panther-like graces and devilish wit". To do justice to such charms, Amaury-Duval called upon all the expertise he'd gleaned from portraits by his master Ingres; set in a jewel case of buttercup silk cushions, the brilliant black taffeta gown —extended by the deep purple drape and the jet-black hair— lend the downy face the opaline brightness of moonlight. The hypnotic gaze from the shaded gray eyes, framed by earrings in the neo-Greek style, celebrates the gift of this "admirable listener". But, comparable to the gaze of the Comtesse de Castiglione in her photographic self-portraits, this stage effect also introduces the intoxicating allure of the female sphinx, the enigmatic femme fatale, which enjoyed great success with the symbolists at the end of the century. The critic Emile Cantrel observed that, "There is a world and a half-world in those eyes". (source)

#Eugène Emmanuel Amaury Duval #french art #portrait #1860s

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only-lonely-stars · 12 days

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A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 1 - The Hairclip)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 1 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 2 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

Pixal Borg is a dedicated student and a creative problem-solver, but her life never seems to get any easier...

In the Borg household, life progressed in its norm, as every family member expected it to.

Cyrus Borg worked long and hard, creating inventions and conferring with inventors from every corner of the Central Commonwealth. His second wife, Amaryllis, lived as a queen and headed their estate, doting on her daughters Begonia and Columbine as if they were incarnate angels. Pixal, for her part, toiled daily to do the chores and housework, eager to please the spirit of her mother even as her stepmother and sisters tormented her. In the little free time she had, she worked on her own sorts of inventions and sciences in the safety of her basement, to which she had been cast when Columbine had taken custody of her old bedroom.

One day, as was his habit, Cyrus gathered the women of his household before he left on yet another business trip. He asked each of them a question.

"My dearest, what gift would you like me to bring home when I return?"

Each gave a separate response.

"I would like for you to bring home a bolt of fine western silk brocade, so that I might have an evening gown made from it," Amaryllis requested, gently smoothing the taffeta fabric of her skirt.

"I want many strings of pearls!" Columbine demanded, pulling on the chain of her gold necklace.

"I want the most beautiful set of combs you find, with gold and silver inlay," Begonia cried, stroking her long locks of auburn hair.

Pixal was silent when Cyrus came to her. Concerned, he took her hands in his. "Pixal, my daughter, what gift would you like? Your sisters and stepmother have asked for such beautiful things. Would you like me to bring you those, too?"

Pixal shook her head. "No, Father. I do not want gold or jewels. My only wish is that you might find something small and rare– a flower, or a locket. Something with a story, that I might hear it."

Cyrus smiled and kissed her forehead. "Of course, Pixal. I promise, I will bring you a rare treasure, with a magic all its own."

Once all his goodbyes had been said, Cyrus departed from the Borg estate, and the women went back to their lives, with even more resentment toward Pixal because of Cyrus' greater love for her.

-----

After several weeks of travel, Cyrus Borg eventually returned to his estate, laden with gifts. Just as he had promised, he brought back fine fabrics, stones, accessories, and garments for them, all paid for with the money he had earned from selling yet another invention. When he parceled them out, he gave each many things. One such item was a beautiful purple dress with white and red embroidery and matching shoes, given to Pixal. Along with it, he also placed a little box in her hand.

"What is inside?" she asked, opening it.

"It is a silver clip. I searched far and wide to find it for you, my daughter. The man who sold it to me promised that it has a magical property, but he could not explain it. You will have the pleasure of learning from it."

Pixal took out the hairclip and examined it. It was plain silver, with no adornment of any kind, save for a tiny engraving of an ancient symbol. She smiled and put it in her hair, which it seemed to blend with, the color nearly identical. "Thank you, Father. I will cherish it." Once he had given out his gifts, Cyrus and Pixal talked for a long time about his travels.

When he had gone to bed, Columbine and Begonia came to see Pixal in her basement. She had laid her new dress and shoes safely away, hidden behind a loose wall panel, but still wore the clip. Her stepsisters came up to her, smugly adorned in their new finery, fingering them with pride.

"Your clip is so dull, Pixal," Begonia said. "I've never seen such a useless hairpiece."

"Why would you ask for something like that?" Columbine asked incredulously. "At least the dress makes sense."

"I do not want finery," Pixal said, meeting their eyes with eerie intensity. "I wish for utility instead, even though you do not understand why."

"No wonder you are a maid, Pixal. Nobody in their right mind would ask for something so useless and claim it's useful."

"With that strange name, could she be anything else? Really, Pixal, it's a wonder Father puts up with you."

The two stepsisters snickered to themselves. Pixal only watched them and was unafraid. Eventually they tired of her and left, claiming to have other things to do. Only then did she take out her hair clip so she could examine it.

The clip was indeed simple, as if it were a cheap gift. For a moment, Pixal wondered if it had been a scam. However, her father had trusted, the vendor, so perhaps it was true. With her nail, she traced the engraving. It was a complex character of an ancient script, perhaps Old Shintaran. She went to the library with it and pulled out a book of history, which she opened to a section on Shintaro, the elusive northern kingdom.

It was as she had thought. The symbol was magical, with an incantation to match. Slowly, she sounded out the symbol, which was a word.

"Salva me in opere..." The clip began to glow in her hand. Pixal's eyes widened, and she glanced at the translation again for guidance. The symbol was used for tools to help the user in work. Magical items that used it would be able to do all sorts of things– saddling horses, cleaning dishes, and lifting heavy furniture were all examples. Knowing this, she looked back at the clip. "Close the book," she told it.

The clip began to shine brighter, and an apparition of light burst from it in the form of a hand. The hand went to the book and closed it gently, then disappeared. Once it did, the clip laid still and silent once again.

Pixal beamed at it, knowing her father had spoken truly. She re-fastened it in her hair and asked it again. "Salve me in opere. Put the book away and dust the shelf."

Just like before, the clip began to glow, and two apparitions burst from it. Just as she had instructed, they did the work asked of them, disappearing into the air when they were finished. Pixal gazed in amazement as they worked, faster than she ever could. This tool was more invaluable than anyone could tell her, but clearly more valuable as well. She could not tell her family– not even her father, who would entrust the knowledge to her stepmother. Instead, it would be her secret.

-----

Days and weeks passed, and Pixal slowly learned more about her magical tool. Just as the book had told, the clip could do incomparable things. It washed dishes, cleaned, retrieved things, and more. However, it was not infallible, so she eventually composed a mental list of restrictions, which she kept in the forefront of her mind. The clip could not be used without the trigger phrase, could not lift or move anything weighing more than fifty pounds, and could not be used more than twenty times per day. If she commanded it to do something it could not, it would do nothing, as if it were never magical at all. Knowing this, she began to use it well.

Over time, Pixal learned to use the clip for the most time-consuming work, so that she might use her energy for the quicker things. With the time it afforded her, she began to read copiously, learning as much as she could about mathematics, the sciences, histories, the arts, and politics. Whenever her father would ask her what she desired after his travels, she would ask for literature and heavy tomes, such that he carried a trunk just for her gifts during each journey. Her thirst for knowledge was great and rarely abated, such that she would often spend her nights reading by candle light. In envy of her father's love, however, Begonia and Columbine began to tell Pixal to do more and more work for them, so that she would be unable to educate herself so thoroughly. Amaryllis encouraged them, and slowly, Pixal took on all the work of the hired help, who were thus dismissed.

Unbeknownst to everyone, however, Pixal began to learn from her tomes the quiet ways of magic. She learned of wards and spells, hexes and curses, and all manner of charms, and slowly became a novice mage, even as her workload grew.

-----

NOTE:

For the rest of this fic, underlined sections are meant to be "magic words." (That is, things translated into Latin with Google Translate, because I was being lazy. If I wrote this fic today, instead of 4 years ago, I'd go the J.R.R. Tolkien route and actually make up a fictional language... but I'm not about to go back and change my old works just to fix it.)

Salva me in opere = "Help me in my work"

#ninjago #ninjago pixal #ninjago zane #pixal borg #zane julien #pixane #ninjago fanfiction #OLST fanfic #OLST writing #ninjago fairy tale au #a bride for the prince

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squeakadeeks · 30 days

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I'm on my knees BEGGING for an Austin Powers cosplay from you holy shit you would make it insane!!! Side question: My biggest issue I have with sewing is deciding which fabric I should use for specific projects/pieces. Trying to find an answer on that online is not easy as usually tutorials just say like "With your fabric, do X" without saying which fabric to look for 😭How do you personally choose your fabric when doing your cosplays? Do you have a cheat-sheet of like what to look for?

I'm about to have a micro-lull in projects so who knows! maybe now is the time for Austin Powers.

To tell true, my strategy for choosing fabrics is kind of a goofy one. if you look at everything i've made, you'll notice that I tend to use a lot of the same fabrics repeatedly. Microsuede, mystique spandex, pleather, stretch twill/sateen, stretch denim, and matte satins. I dont have a lot of access to fabric stores anymore where I can go in person choose it based on inspection, so instead I take what I know and work with it! So I tend to either choose projects based on a fabric that I'm familiar with, or I take the design and make it compatible with one I like. for example on Thistle, i'm sure using something like taffeta, dupioni, or velvet wouldve worked for his design, but I chose microsuede because I like it and I leaned into properties it has like a textured appearance and stiffness.

But that being said, even if you help yourself by working with a more limited scope of fabrics, how do you choose between fabric A and fabric B for an application? Typically what influences how a fabric behaves is its weight (ie is this a super light fabric that blows in the breeze, or something heavy like what you might find on a couch), its drape (will this fabric hang straight down or be stiff and fold more like paper), and its finish (is this something shiny and reflective, or matte? does it have a texture, or a totally smooth surface?).

in general if you want something fitted and structured like a crisp jacket, bodice, or a skirt that holds its shape, you tend to want heavier, stiffer fabrics. if you want something to look soft and flowy, then lighter, more draping fabrics are best. (thers also the mechanical issue that if you're working on something big like say a ballgown, if you chose a heavy fabric, you will need to account for the scaling weight. making a short skirt vs a long skirt out of a heavy fabric will have very different outcomes.) it's hard to give specific advice about fabrics in general, since each project has its own specific needs and each project can be made with any variety of fabrics, but will result in different appearances in the overall garment.

BUT i do have a mini word of wisdom, which is if you have a fabric in mind but you're not sure it will work, you can always try looking up like....."matte satin dresses", or "suede jackets" and see if you can find any examples of the fabric you're thinking of being used in the garment you want to make (or in general) to check if it gives the look you want. you can even go backwards and look up like...."prince costume" and try to identify common fabrics that usually come up for that garment style.

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dinner-at-charlies · 1 year

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Founded in 1687, by King James VII of Scotland (James II of England and Ireland), The Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, is an order of chivalry associated with Scotland.

Appointments are made at the Sovereign’s sole discretion, and membership of the Order is limited to the Sovereign and no more than sixteen Knights and Ladies; though so-termed Extra Knights (who do not count towards the total of sixteen), may also be admitted according to status. Prince Albert was the first such Extra Knight. His Majesty King Olav V of Norway, being a further example.

The Order’s primary emblem is the thistle (the national flower of Scotland). The motto: Nemo me impune lacessit (No one provokes me with impunity). Its patron saint. St Andrew.

The mantle is a green robe lined with white taffeta. It’s tied with green and gold tassels; the left shoulder, bearing the star of the Order.

The hat is made of black velvet, and is plumed with white feathers with a black egret or heron’s top in the middle.

The collar is worn over the mantle. It’s made of gold, and depicts thistles and sprigs of rue.

The St Andrew (also called the badge-appendant), is worn suspended from the collar. It comprises a gold enamelled depiction of St Andrew wearing a green gown and purple coat and holding a white saltire; gold rays of glory, being depicted as emanating from his head.

The star of the Order is worn at the left breast. It consists of a silver St Andrew’s saltire with clusters of rays between the arms. In the centre is depicted a green circle bearing the motto of the Order in gold majuscules; within the circle, a thistle on a gold field. Since the Order of the Thistle is the second-most senior chivalric order in the UK, a member will wear its star above that of other orders to which he or she belongs, except that of the Order of the Garter.

The broad riband is a dark green sash worn across the body from shoulder to hip, where the badge of the Order is attached depicting St Andrew in the same form as the badge-appendant surrounded by the Order’s motto.

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cosmicwhoreo · 1 year

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somebody once asked how Taranza (among other guys who i wouldn't personally trust around a baby) would interact with Taffeta, and I figured i'd give ya'll wholesome Taffy-related stuff for once. As well as have an excuse to draw mr. I miss my ex wife tails

Spider guy would absolutely adore the little prince, on no small part due to the lil' tot's overwhelming cheeriness and fluff. being an absolute sucker for babies and wanting to have a family before.... Well... It still took the king a while to come around to Taranza when they visited, even back then...

#I'll get around to asks and mentions I have soon bear with me lads #kirby #king dedede #krbay #taranza #prince taffeta #dipple #fankid #fan child #king dedede x queen ripple #Taranza wanted the whole fairy tale ending thing with Sectonia but then she went cray cray #So he'll make due with emotionally adopting someone else's kid #i'm sure they won't mind #yes he is the aunt that steals the family baby when visiting to coo and play with

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chibifox2002 · 11 months

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@cosmicwhoreo I applaud you for being able to draw your boi as flawlessly as you do, I struggled a lil bit! (Had fun drawing him regardless tho)

Also some extras because I'm living thru Connie in the first one and then added something to go with it

Big sister Connie, wow!

Such a good big sister!

With our kibbos together DM has two lil babs to mess with because hey, if one plan fails just jump back to the next one, am I right?

(he also made it so Connie can't snitch, the bastard)

#prince taffeta #connie dot #kirby oc #my character(s)#others characters #my art #krbay #kirby right back at ya #kirby dark matter #chibi's gifts for others #I guueeesssss???

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tinknevertalks · 4 months

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Teslen and the also cliche royalty AU? :)

So yeah, this is more pre-Teslen, but Gregory knows where it's at. XD This isn't much longer than three sentences (she said, lying through her teeth), so no read more to save your screens. Enjoy! ✌️☺️

King Gregory pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, as he tried to count to ten (again). He’d found his only daughter (and heir to his throne) playing poker with three of the stable boys and the son of a visiting monarch under the kitchen’s eaves. True, she was winning by all accounts, and not because she was the princess, but it was all rather unseemly. “What if one of King Milutin’s men found you gambling with the prince?” he asked later, whilst they had tea.

“They'd be falling over themselves to tell the king his son is making friends,” she answered, her face working hard to not roll her eyes. “And that is the point of this exercise, isn't it? That I chum up to him?”

“I'd hardly call getting to know your betrothed ‘chumming up’,” Gregory grumbled, taking a proffered tea cup from her.

Helen arched a brow. “No, I call it laying the groundwork for my continued independence.”

“Helen--”

“If I don't do this now, Father, I'll be doomed to a life of ballgowns and taffeta.” She softened. “All my life I've been told I would rule this country after you die, and never has anyone said anything about an arranged husband.”

Gregory could not deny that. Sighing, he offered her the plate of biscuits. “And what is the prince like?”

A faint flush graced his daughter’s cheeks, with a twinkling in her eye he hadn't seen in years (not since her Shire horse, known to the stable lads as Biggie, had passed away). “Nikola? He’s… fine. A bit stuck up, thinks he’s better than everyone.”

“And is he?”

Helen tilted her head and levelled a look at her father that screamed, ‘Obviously not.’ But the smile came back, and the twinkle. He might not have been Gregory’s first choice, but as the Duke of Cornwall’s son, James, had declared himself a confirmed bachelor (and moved in with another gentleman called John), the foreign prince would have to do. Not that Gregory could do anything even if he wanted to. Helen guarded her heart fiercely, so for even just a smidge of feeling to translate onto her face was a big step in the right direction.

He just hoped Nikola realised what he was letting himself in for.

#ask meme answered #ask meme answer #sarcasticsciencefictionwriter #teslen royalty #teslen #helen magnus #gregory magnus #ok teslen adjacent atm but if there's ever any more of this... XD #i made this #i wrote this #fanfiction #fan fic #sanctuary

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chic-a-gigot · 3 months

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La Mode nationale, no. 5, 5 février 1898, Paris. No. 1. — Chapeau pour jeune femme. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 1. — Chapeau rond pour jeune femme, en feutre pelucheux noir, légèrement relevé de côté et garni d'une torsade de velours orange, remontant sur le côté et formant des coques. Torsade de velours noir derrière dans laquelle est posée une touffe de cinq plumes prince de Galles. Choux de velours orange posant sur les cheveux. — Pèlerine de zibeline avec grand col Médicis dans lequel on met un nœud de taffetas plissé mauve.

No. 1. — Round hat for a young woman, in black plush felt, slightly raised to the side and trimmed with a twist of orange velvet, going up the side and forming shells. Twist of black velvet behind which is placed a tuft of five Prince of Wales feathers. Orange velvet sprouts posing on hair. — Sable pelerine with large Medici collar in which is placed a purple pleated taffeta bow.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1898 #on this day #February 5 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #cover #color #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #hat #collar #bow #cape

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ligiawrites · 4 months

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Some of my online friends introduced me to ur VN, "Love the Guard Become the King," and now I've been playing it obsessively for the past few days.

After going through ur blog for more information, I was surprised to learn about Murdoch, Mathias' older brother. If it's not too many spoilers, would you be willing to share some more information about the eldest Yvanson sibling?

Or if you can't right now, would you be willing to share the heights of the royal siblings?

For some reason, I can just picture Mathias getting so annoyed if Mandra wound up growing taller than himself now that they're all adults. Mel is probably still shorter than her two eldest siblings, but I could easily see her wearing some fancy boots or heels to make her taller than them both for fashion and just to mess with her older siblings.

Aww, I'm glad you enjoyed it so much! ♥♥♥

Hmmm. I can share some general info about him, yes! Murmo (Matt's nickname for him) was 3 years older than Matt. He was the life and joy of Elias and Yvana, the perfect little crown prince, and he LOVED the idea of being a monarch and having Mathias as his advisor, even if they weren't super close emotionally.

Murdoch was almost the symbol of the unification between the Tides and the Yvansons, so when he died in 8:24, a lot of the nobles saw that as a bad omen. He died in the same year Melike was born.

I have a short story about him called "The Summoning of Mermaids" on my ko-fi page if you'd like to check it out! ^^ For now, it's only for ko-fi supporters, but I'm preparing to release it in a booklet with my favorite short stories of 2023. Here's an excerpt so you can see a bit more about him:

Before Murdoch could answer, Mathias flumped from the tallest rock on their climbing site and into a dying wave. He raised his chin in a challenge. “Brother. Don’t. You. Dare,” Murdoch hissed. “To do what, Your Royal Stinkness? This?” Mathias—that pesky brat—kicked a big splash towards Murdoch and ran, laughing like a devil. Mandra squealed in Murdoch’s ear and giggled. "I want splash too! Me down, Murmo!" “Goddess, what did I do to deserve this?” Murdoch took in a deep breath, waiting until the water ran down his face. For all his brains and education, Murdoch always felt like he missed a very human component in his relationship with other people. He was either serious, focused, or angry, with no in-betweens. He didn't have that touch that seemed to come naturally to Mother, Mathias, and even Mandra, sometimes. What Murdoch had, though, was a ruined taffeta cravat and a headache wholly improper for a ten-year-old.

And about the heights, hahaha! Yeah, Matt would lose his head if Mand were taller than him xD he's lucky he's almost a monolith XDD The sprites show their height difference! Master Mercúrio is the only person in the group who's taller than Matt. Melike quite likes her height, though! She's used to making people bow to her, so she doesn't feel like her height matters. >8)

Here's everyone:

#love the guard be the king #jpriest85-blog #visual novel #vn #amare game #ltgbtk #writerblr #Mathias J.Y.#Murdoch Y.#Mandreis J.Y.#Melike J.Y.

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