#dressinggowns

[null-entity]

Stocktober 2023 Day 2 #Snowman

Full details here

31 Days of Stock, with Prizes for completion!

Model: Me.

Photographer: The Remote Camera Trigger.

If you want to help support me and get awesome stuff like early access/polls & pose requests Become A Patron / DA Subscriber or you can check out my Ko-Fi store for exclusive stock!.

Read My Rules Before You Use My Stock.  

[retroalice95]

This morning ✨

[truckguy84]

Welcoming smile x

[behulibride]

Behold the exquisitely beautiful 'Entwined Love Chapter-2' collection, where diversity takes centre stage and becomes the very essence of beauty. 

From the eco-conscious devotees to the most committed Sanyukta Shrestha brides, this collection is a true masterpiece that encapsulates the very essence of every woman's unique personality.'Entwined Love Chapter-2' is a heartfelt tribute to the extraordinary multicultural/multinational women that Sanyukta has had the pleasure of sharing their wedding journey with.

Join us in celebrating the beauty of diversity and the power of love with the 'Entwined Love Chapter-2' collection.

Learn more: https://www.sanyuktashrestha.com/collections/wedding/bridal/entwined-love-chapter-2/ 

[ceseashop]

Cesea on Etsy . Rococo Floral Nightgown

[monriatitans]

QUOTE OF THE DAY Sunday, April 2, 2023

"The bedroom was larger than our entire cottage. Its walls were pale green, delicately sketched with patterns of gold, and the mouldings were golden as well. I might have thought it tacky had the ivory furniture and rugs not complemented it so well. The gigantic bed was of a similar colour scheme, and the curtains that hung from the towering headboard drifted in the faint breeze from the open windows. My dressing gown was of the finest silk, edged with lace- simple and exquisite enough that I ran a finger along the lapels." - Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The image, initially, was made with and shared via the Quotes Creator App to Instagram; check it out here! The quote choice was inspired by Oxford English Dictionary's Word of the Day: Schlafrock. Interested in seeing where the quote came from? If so, click here!

—

Watch MonriaTitans & WGS on Twitch and YouTube!

[vish-fan]

New stylish Pure Velvet Kimono Robe, Dressing Gown for Women, Bridesmaid Robe, Beach Cover Up, velvet Bathrobe,winter robe, Christmas gift on sale.

[florianrenner]

That feeling after Christmas… British actor Morgan Watkins for New & Lingwood @newandlingwood Agency @in.parallel @h_peltz @joshyentob creative direction and styling @tomleeper #grooming @lukawatabe #setdesign @jgdmn #photoassistant @richardoxford @luciezoelazarus @fphbriance #menswear #luxurymenswear #buttercroissant #coffee #dressinggown #newandlingwood #photography by me @florianrenner @eramanagement #postchristmasblues #postchristmascoma (at Jermyn Street) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmwG1zWNTw5/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[natequarter]

the doctor could easily pull a christopher chant. smarmy. dressinggowned. bratty neglected child. killed in a cricket match and then he has to get back to being alive again. dr. who would burn through those nine lives in a flash

[darkhorse-javert]

Hazy Summer, Shadowed Days

@flashfictionfridayofficial- Canon complient musings from and about Andrew Foyle post war

Hastings June 1945

He slipped down the stairs in the bright summer moonlight, keeping his feet light. Shouldn't wake Dad, not his problem I'm awake at a god-forsaken hour of the night. He pulls his dressinggown closer around himself, skin cold with nightchill even in the warm air of the summer, pads across the hall and curls into the armchair by the unlit fire, seeking comfort in the familiarity of the moment. But the empty grate stared back at him, hollow, bare a shadow of it's normal self. Bit like me really. 26 years old, and what have I got from it? Five long years flying with the RAF, but my eyes are crocked, so that's out for a job, could never stand being a groundbased teacher even if they'd have me, Debden proved that.

Two-thirds of an Oxford degree in English, could finish that I suppose, I've got the papers, but I'm not the merry young lad who bounced into the Quads all those years ago, can't see myself going back there, with all those who are young enough, even if they had enough places.

Scraps and litter of poetry, all based around war-life and flying, but they wouldn't sell- we all want, need to move on from that, I don't want to be one of those Glory Days Warhorses that were a joke in stories. Who would buy them anyway? I'm sure there were better poets than my efforts who were already published

Might have to go in for an office job- as I said to Sam - but when I flinch at a phone, that's going to be a joke and a half for anyone I'm working with. And what skills have I got to offer them that another man hasn't.

Sam- the thought was a slap across the face, his glib words to her of weeks ago 'I'm going to work on you Sam', ah Hell, what have I got to offer her, such a smart, diligent girl as she is, she's found a job of sorts, as well as helping Dad. If I made a go of it, kept up the freindship and we got to something more I'd be sponging off her even as a friend. And if we got married, what a dream that was, would her empoyer even keep her on? Unlikely.

No, Sam was doing far better off on her own, not with me dragging her down like a stone, an old figure in a young skin, scraping around for what I can get, nothing to get it with. Can't even fish well.

"Andrew?"

He turns, Dad a soft dark figure in the doorway,

"Sorry, couldn't sleep."

"Mmm", Dad walks softly across, and perches on the end of the sofa nearest to Andrew.

"I wrote a poem, just before I came home," Andrew, looking back at the empty fireplace finds the words flying desperatly from his tongue 'talked about 'Summer Haze', and 'Uncertain Days' -sounds truely poetic doesn't it? But it's more like trying to walk on thick sand, everything slipping about under your feet, tumbling you down... What have I got Dad? Except wrecked eyes, and a degree I can't face finishing. And yet I'm not really really broken, thank God, and I'm grateful for that."

He hears his father swallow, then finds an arm slipping around his shoulders, tugging him insistantly close.

"Give yourself a chance, Andrew, ask around. Give yourself time."

But- but his mind says what if my time has gone, and I'm a lost fossil before I'm even thirty. And I don't want to have to go cap-in-hand to the RAF or SSAFA, leaning on others, Grammer School and Scholarship boy that I was. I should be able to do something.

[sorryboutsellingtheworld]

In the future, the standard garment will resemble a dressinggown

[twenzie]

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

—Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:

—Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

2 of 1305

Ulysses

—Back to barracks! he said sternly.

He added in a preacher’s tone:

—For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine:

body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

—Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

—The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his

3 of 1305

Ulysses

mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.

—My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

—Will he come? The jejune jesuit!

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

—Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

—Yes, my love?

—How long is Haines going to stay in this tower? Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right

shoulder.

—God, isn’t he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous

Saxon. He thinks you’re not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you have the real Oxford manner. He can’t make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

4 of 1305

Ulysses

—He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

—A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

—I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don’t know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I’m not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

—Scutter! he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen’s upper pocket, said:

—Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

—The bard’s noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can’t you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

5 of 1305

Ulysses

—God! he said quietly. Isn’t the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of Kingstown.

—Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen’s face.

—The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That’s why she won’t let me have anything to do with you.

—Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.

—You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I’m hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you ...

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.

6 of 1305

Ulysses

—But a lovely mummer! he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all!

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.

—Ah, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

—They fit well enough, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.

7 of 1305

Ulysses

—The mockery of it, he said contentedly. Secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You’ll look spiffing in them. I’m not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you’re dressed.

—Thanks, Stephen said. I can’t wear them if they are grey.

—He can’t wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can’t wear grey trousers.

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

—That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He’s up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane!

He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.

—Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!

8 of 1305

Ulysses

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.

—I pinched it out of the skivvy’s room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.

Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen’s peering eyes.

—The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you!

Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:

—It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.

Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen’s and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.

—It’s not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.

Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear t

Yeah just send me the text of Ulysses I don't care anymore

[shop-gypsy]

This dress can be dressed up or down, making it the perfect addition to your summer wardrobe. Wear it to a garden party or dress it down with sandals for a beach getaway – this dress is sure to turn heads no matter where you go. Shop it now- https://cutt.ly/U9MFySG

#dressmaker #DressforSuccess #dressmaking #dressbigsize #dressups #dresslover #dressadict #dressesOnline #dresscouple #dresspremium #dressshoes #dressinggown #dressedtoimpress #dressaddict #dressingtable #dresswell #dress #dresstokill #gypsydress #gipsy #bohodresses