#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.

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[retroalice95]

This morning ✨

[truckguy84]

Welcoming smile x

[behulibride]

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[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

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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!

[florianrenner]

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[kayatekstilaksesuar]

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[helensavoncosmetics]

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[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.