#ottoman sash

[galleryofart]

An Elegant Chieftain in his Palace

Artist: Rudolph Ernst (Austrian, 1854-1932)

Medium: Oil on panel

Collection: Private collection

Description

An elegant Chieftain in his Palace, is a wondrous compilation of selected designs from different sources such as Algeria, Tunisia, Turkey and Andalusian Spain. Ernst's exceptional mastery lies in his ability to combine layers of genuine artifacts in order to create outstanding fantasy. Details such as the 19th century Syrian bronze lamp, on the left of the chieftain, the 18th century Ottoman sash tied around his waist, the blue and green Moroccan octagonal tiles are part of Ernst's classic repertory. The whole is set against a background of Hispano-Moresque architecture inspired by the Alhambra and exemplifies Ernst's skill in visually cross-referencing the archetypal designs of various regions in order to create an extraordinarily evocative whole.

[baebeylik]

Sash or Scarf Fragment. Ottoman. 1601-1700 CE.

The Art Institute of Chicago.

[belinda-amy]

Boston Living Room Formal Inspiration for a large, traditional, transitional living room renovation with beige walls, a stone fireplace, a standard fireplace, and no television.

[bobemajses]

Jewish sash from the Ottoman Empire, 19th century

[hazbinshusk]

day seventeen of salem's unofficial attempt at kinktober:

handcuffs/blindfolds/flogging/biting and marking (stolitz x reader)

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

“The game is simple,” you tell Stolas in a playful, taunting tone as you circle him slowly.

The prince stiffens slightly as you let the spade of your tail skim across his shoulder blades, a shiver ruffling his feathers. The owl is sitting on a small round ottoman in the middle of his chambers, hands cuffed neatly behind his back and a jewel-toned sash tied around all four of his eyes.

“You’re going to sit there, nice and pretty… and Blitz and I are going to touch you.” you explain, still moving around him slowly. “Your job, your highness, is to guess which one of us is the one doing it.”

“Get it right…” you lean in and run your fingers teasingly through his chest feathers, smiling when the prince hoots softly in response. “And you get rewarded. Get it wrong…”

You let the threat hang in the air, and Blitzø lets out a low, appreciative whistle from where he’s leaning against the bookshelves.

“Well, damn, tits. I should let you plan shit more often.”

You grin at him, winking before turning back to the Goetian prince. “How does that sound, Stolas? Think you can handle that?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” he practically moans, nodding eagerly. “I can’t wait to feel your hot little imp hands all over my—”

“Slow your roll, birdie-boy,” Blitzø interjects, straightening and stalking across the room towards the two of you. “Let’s see just how good you are at this before you start gushin’ about how good it feels.”

He grabs a fistful of feathers at the back of Stolas’ head and jerks it back, teasing his fangs over the side of his throat. Stolas hoots happily in response. “We ain’t gonna take it easy on you.”

“Please don’t.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“That—that was Bl-Blitzy,” Stolas chokes out breathlessly, and the imp in question smirks at you over Stolas’ shoulder as you withdraw your hand from where you’d grazed your claws over the prince’s feathered hip. His body is now littered with ruffled feathers, damp with saliva and the hint of blood. They’d heal quick, but right now you could enjoy the look of his perfect silver form marked up by you and Blitzø.

“And here I fuckin’ thought ya knew me, Stols,” Blitzø taunts, and the prince gasps as he feels the bite of the supple leather of the flogger Blitzø is holding across the small of his back. The sound turns to a low moan, his body stiffening and relaxing at the sharp sensation. “I’m a little fuckin’ hurt here.”

“Ooh, maybe you should apologize, Stolas,” you suggest as the two of you make your way around him, smoothing the spade of your tail over the spot Blitzø hit soothingly. Stolas shivers at the sensation, and whimpers when you drape yourself against his back and turn his head to capture him in a kiss. Stolas kisses you back eagerly, his tongue sliding into your mouth for a moment before you pull away. “I’d hate for ‘Blitzy’ to feel unappreciated, wouldn’t you?”

“Eat a dick, tits,” Blitzø shoots back despite his apparent arousal, flipping you off. You knew full well Stolas was the only one he’d accept that particular pet name from, and you pouted playfully back at him just as Stolas began apologizing profusely.

Blitzø responds by snapping the flogger over Stolas’ thighs, and the prince keens at the feeling of it. “You wanna make it up to me, bitch, you gotta do better than that.”

“Don’t tease him, Blitz,” you admonish teasingly, reaching around to slide your fingers up between Stolas’ thighs to tease against his cloaca. “He’s such a good boy, after all.”

“Oh!” Stolas sits bolt upright, and you can see the faint red glow of his eyes behind the sash as he blinks at the sudden sensation. “Oh, my… Yes!”

You giggle despite yourself, and Blitzø takes the look you give him to lean in on Stolas’ other side, speaking in the prince’s ear. “Wanna take a gamble on which one of us has got their fingers buried in your hot little bird-puss right now, Stols?”

Stolas’ fumbles for an answer for a moment and Blitzø takes the opportunity to bury his teeth in Stolas’ shoulder. Stolas moans aloud, and you feel his body tense and relax again, cum gushing over your hand and soaking the feathers of his inner thighs.

“We’re waitin’ on an answer, Stols,” Blitzø reminds him with a blood-stained grin, trailing the flogger promisingly against his thigh. He smirks, wrapping his other hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss in front of the prince’s face. He kisses you almost obnoxiously, but you know the sound is for Stolas’ benefit, but that’s not what makes you moan into Blitzø’s mouth.

Dear fuck, this imp can kiss.

Stolas whines as you withdraw your hand from between his thighs, and Blitzø smirks as you bring your hand up to his mouth. The imp holds you gaze as he wraps his tongue around your fingers and draws them into his mouth to suck them clean.

“Here’s an idea,” you say, your voice coming a little breathless with the way Blitzø’s tongue feels on your fingers. He grins around them, wrapping an arm around your waist and squeezing your ass. “…One more turn of this… one more chance for you to guess right, Stolas.”

“O-only one?” the prince asks.

“Mm-hm.” you nod, reaching down to press your hand against the bulge in Blitzø’s pants. He groans, leaning in to kiss your throat hungrily.

“Oh, this is just cruel,” Stolas whines at the sounds Blitzø is making as you squeeze his erection, unzipping his pants. The imp exhales a curse as you wrap your hands around his cock and pump it slowly.

“Ain’t it just?” you smirk, eyes rolling back for a moment when Blitzø’s teeth graze against your collarbone. He winds his tail around your calf, pressing his thigh up between your legs. “Now, here’s the proposal, your highness…”

“One more chance to guess right.” you tell the two of them. Blitzø is only half listening, his attention on your throat. “One more chance. Get it right, and Blitz here will finally slide that thick cock of his into your wet cunt. Get it wrong…”

You reach out to trail your fingers through the feathers of his cheek, and Stolas leans into the touch eagerly.

“…And you have to sit here and watch while he fucks me.”

Blitzø snickers. “Fuck, you’re evil. So fuckin’ hot.”

You grin, squeezing the base of his cock before turning your attention back to Stolas.

“Deal?”

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

“What's your pleasure, master?”

Tech x F!Reader One Shot

Summary:

Your main objective as a gift for this battle celebration is to make sure everyone is visibly enjoying themselves... it would insult the king after all if any one were to look bored or uninterested at HIS party. So this tall, goggled soldier... one specially invited no less, with his head buried in a data pad sitting quietly by himself is a bit of a problem. Possibly a political one. You need to get him enjoying himself before any one takes note.

WC: 3,612 - Read on Ao3

Content Warning:

Smut. Tech losing his virginity to a(n implied) Sex Slave. That's it, that's the plot. Oral (m and f recieving), unprotected piv and creampie. The rest of the squad briefly being embarrassing. Orgy mention.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The sash on your hips jingled as you made your way through the floor, serving drinks from the golden tray chained to your wrists. 

You offer the tray to a well dressed diplomat chatting with local royalty. Their speech faltered as they took the drink, eyes lingering on your bare breasts almost resting on the tray as you lifted it to them. You rolled your eyes as you turned to the next group

Off worlders.

A few more drinks, a bit more idle chatter, and plenty of ogling from the visiting Republic Politicians and their veritable horde of soldiers… and your tray was empty. The guests were mostly upper Command but a few squads that distinguished themselves in battle received special invitations. Your neutral planet could import supplies again because of them. 

You returned the tray to Minara and she undid the locks on your arms with a tiny key. 

“Look there,”

She pointed with her chin to a darker corner of the plushy gala hall. 

Sunk into one of the deep sofas, trying not to look conspicuous it seemed, was a tall, slender man. Hair slicked back, goggles turned down at the holopad he was attempting to hide with his body against the arm rest. 

Someone prefers to read at functions…

“Make sure all our guests are enjoying our hospitality.”

She pushed you in the direction of the corner, before turning to circulate more drinks onto the floor. 

As you approached you scanned around the lone soldier… he must've been a soldier, clothes scruffy, the look hastily assembled for a party well above their pay grade; but they were rarely alone. Didn't take long to spot the rest of his squad, not too removed. The big one was making a loud show of picking up girls two at a time to bounce on his flexing biceps to much giggling. The others were already sunk into the couches, arms about their own party favors. 

Finally even with the slim one you sank onto the ottoman before him clearing your throat. 

Sharp eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“What's your pleasure, master?”

“I'm fine, thank you.”

His tone was dismissive, looking back down without even a consideration. Either he was completely uninterested or incredibly shy. 

“I can fetch a male if you prefer…”

You glance back to the more involved squad members wistfully… they're preferences seemed varied… but at least they were eager. 

“I said I'm fine.”

More tension in the voice now, that's the opposite of what you needed. You glanced back to the floor manager and she caught your eyes, scrunching her brow in the direction of the unreceptive man in front of you. You sighed,

“You're going to get me reprimanded, master…”

He put the data pad down abruptly. 

“Excuse me?”

“You're not accepting the King's gifts… it can be seen as an insult, … I can't let that happen, at least let me sit with you,”

You pouted, batting your lashes exaggeratedly. He looked up with real attention now, scanning the crowd and catching the questioning glances from the locals. 

“Ah… I didn't realize, there were some mention of the gift culture of this planet but I didn't expect…”

He trailed off, eyeing you sitting in front of him, naked besides the belled sash tied around your hip. 

“Is that a yes?”

A gulp, a nod, and he tentatively picked his data pad back up; shifting slightly to make a space on the sofa. You rose your brow, and instead sat in his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Oh…”

A flush was working up his cheeks. Uninterested or shy? 

You leaned casually, careful where you put your weight on his legs. 

“Why don't you rest it here?”

With gentle hands you guided him to set the data pad across your breasts, acting as a podium for his… you looked at the pad upside down, biology of megafauna notes?

“..uh-em…”

He was flustered but seemed at a loss, mind racing behind his eyes as he tried to plot a course of action. With a small whine he frantically started to hit buttons on the data pad, pausing when he remembered your breasts on the other side of the translucent screen. He had pulled up a brochure to your planet. You weren't sure that was going to help. 

“It'd be easier to ask, master,”

“...right. Uh, What am I expected to… do… uh, with my gift?”

You tilted your head, glancing at the rest of his squad already leagues ahead in the festivities. Surely he understood the… concept. 

“I'm here for your use, what that may be is for you to decide… baring anything a bacta tank couldn't fix,”

His eyebrows flew up at that, imagination no doubt running wild. That earlier flush was starting to turn a deep red over his ears and cheeks. 

It can't be that…

You glanced back at the squad, comfortable with themselves and the situation, and then back down to the blushing man under you. 

“Tell me, master… have you not celebrated your manhood yet?”

“You could… certainly word it like that,”

His face went completely red now, sinking into the sofa and away from you, clutching his data pad to his chest defensively. 

“No, no, love, this is exciting…”

You soothed, cupping his hot cheeks. 

“I can show you how, as slow as you wish, master …”

“I was… under the impression,”

He looked away,

“The first time should be with someone special…’

You glanced back at the other soldiers. 

“Was that how it was for them?”

“I think they thought so,”

“And how special are those first people now?”

His brow furrowed, deciding how to process your logic. 

“Has there not been someone special for you?”

“I'm… No. I'm not sure how to quantify this… ‘special’ variable…”

You turned his face back to yours, trying again,

“Special is a changing energy, unstable, I think feeling safe is more favorable for… such decisions,”

His speech patterns were difficult for you to mimic, but the little manipulation seemed to be working; the tension in his thighs relaxing under you with the comfort of false familiarity.  

“How does safe apply in this context?”

“Well… it's a rather vulnerable state, and needs a lot of experimentation,”

“... Experimenting…”

It was low, under his breath; but you caught the flicker of interest finally stirring behind those lensed eyes as something clicked for him. You smile softly, picking up the direction to steer him.

“And I'm meant to feel safe with you?... You're a stranger…”

You raised your hands in surrender,

“I exist to please, not to judge or harm, and I have the experience to guide you…”

Eyes behind amber lenses narrowing in thought.

“You seem like you have a healthy curiosity. There must be a few questions I can help you…answer?”

His disposition was changing fast though some reservation remained as he glanced about the wide hall. The cushioned and draped space was filled with people, slowly dissolving into a chaos of flesh as the night grew deeper and the alcohol flowed. 

“Does… does it have to be here?”

He asked in a small voice, glancing at his squad mates who had started to take notice of you straddling their comrade. The silver haired one nudging the inked man next to him to turn to you as well. 

“We can go somewhere private, if you wish? Master…”

“Please…”

You slid from his lap, gently prying a hand from where it was locked to the data pad to lead him away with you. You caught an approving nod from Minara as you disappeared with him into the back hallways. 

Turning into a standard room, low lights, burning resins, and a soft platform at the center of the room piled with large, silky pillows. You closed the door behind you and the lock clicked as the door swished shut. 

He looked at you and you looked at him in the dim light. Tall- and now that you really considered him… quite handsome, standing more confidently away from prying eyes. Your pulse quickened at your luck. 

“Is it okay if I record this?”

“Oh, um… Yes?”

He made no move to change anything, leaving you to guess the goggles he sported were already recording long before you approached him. Clever… they weren't likely to take a seeing aid from you at the door. 

The real question though, was where to start. 

“Would you like to get undressed?”

You approached his back, running your hands over his hips from behind. 

“Would you like me to undress you?”

He stiffened at your touch, an involuntary twitch from the v of muscle over his waistband as your fingers brushed against it through the thin shirt. 

“Ah, um no… clothes. For now.”

He stepped out of your hold, putting some distance between you and you held your hands up disarmingly,

“As you wish… do relax though,”

You made your way to the edge of the low bed and sat. 

“You're in control here, master… nothing will happen unless you want it too,”

He took a deep breath,

“Sorry…”

“No need,”

It was clear you'd still need to hold the reins a while,

“Are you more curious about me or yourself?”

He considered the question,

“How so?”

“Do you want to know more about pleasuring yourself or a woman?”

The more direct question had him blushing again,

“I've uh… I know, I mean I've… released before,”

You clenched your jaw to keep from giggling at his fluster. It was rather cute, but you didn't want to frighten him any more than he was. 

“Sit, master”

You patted the bed next to you,

“Tech…”

“Hmm?”

“Call me Tech… master doesn't feel…”

“Okay, Tech,”

You patted again, more insistently.

He sat, far more upright than need be. You moved to the floor to kneel between his legs, looking up at him and he gulped. 

“We'll go slow, you already know yourself… we'll take it one step further. To start,”

You winked up at him, once again making for his pants fasteners. 

“Is this okay?”

He nodded, jaw clenching as he watched you undo the fly of his slacks, breath catching as you reached in to stroke his cock before withdrawing it. 

“Already feels different, doesn't it?”

He nodded again, content to observe as you stroked his hardening length. His eyes were darting between watching your hand and then watching you, watching him. Every time his eyes meet yours the member in your hand twitches, hardening rapidly under your attention. It was time to escalate. 

Holding his eyes deliberately, you lowered your mouth to him, licking slowly over the swollen head in a move that made his breath hiss between his teeth and his eyes to widen. 

“Maker…”

Positive reaction. You continued running your tongue over his sensitive glans to work him into a pant. His hands found their way to your hair. Good, his instincts were kicking in; evidence in the little bucks of his hips as the need to be in your mouth started to overtake him.

You obliged, opening wider and letting him thrust forward. His eyes shut at the sensation of your warm mouth wrapping around him. You sucked gently, maintaining the bulk of control so that he didn't overwhelm himself. His composure broke with a wispy moan as you bobbed on him. His thigh pressed against you began to shake subtly and you slowed freeing him from your mouth with a pop, continuing gently with your hand. 

“Do you want to come like this, m- Tech?”

He took a shaky breath, hands tightening for a moment in your hair. 

“No… I'd like to… if I can?”

He was looking away. His shyness was indeed cute, he knew well enough what you were here for. 

“Of course. How would you like to have me?”

Silence as the pressure of such a decision weighed on him. 

“Would you like to lay with me as if a lover?... Or would you prefer a position where you could see what's happening?”

…

“I’d… I’d like to see,”

Somehow you knew that's what he’d choose. 

“Switch with me then.”

You moved to sit back on the bed, perched to the edge this time, and spread your thighs, making your bare sex beneath the tied sash obvious as he knelt on the floor in front of you. His eyes were moving over you swiftly, from shoulder to knees and everything in between; trying to take in every detail. You raised a brow as he reached forward, fingers hesitating just before your folds. 

“Can I… can I examine you?”

“You can. First time being so close?”

Just because he hadn't consummated it didn't mean he's never seen a naked woman. 

“... It is, I’d… like to take some time if that's okay,”

“This is for your pleasure, do what satisfies you,”

He relaxed, once again reaching out for you. The touch was very clinical at first. Prodding the less sensitive lips that hugged the rosy petals, pulling them away with his thumbs, spreading the pink folds to see the shape of them. He pulled the hood away from your clit, brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves as he went. You squeaked at the sudden contact to the exposed button, twitching slightly and drawing his gaze back to your face. He touched it again, gently, watching how your spine tightened. Then again, pushing much harder.  

“Ah! Careful,”

You gasped, the rough press jolting through you. 

“Sorry… does that hurt?”

“Not really, it's just… a strong sensation,”

He looked down between your legs again, and then, leaned in to flick his tongue against the spot. 

You gasped again, but lighter, almost a moan as his soft tongue pressed against you. Tentatively, mimicking the motions you used on him moments ago. Your back arched slightly, already turned on, but something about the way his eyes caught you, held you… you felt a more desperate heat start to build at the look in his eyes. He'd found something interesting to investigate. 

He was testing methods, swift flicks, long hard drags; each time watching to see what it did to you… it was hard to believe he hadn't done this before. 

“You're a fast learner…”

He scoffed, harsh breath hot against where he was still pressed to your quim. 

“I am an exceptional learner.”

The sudden arrogance threw you a moment, but it barely registered as he sucked you into his mouth causing a wave of pleasure to crash into you. How'd he know to do that? Almost as if to prove his point he licked hard and rhythmic driving you to an edge…

“How?”

The notion was lost as you came. Your back was arched, and your head thrown back but you knew he was still watching, still studying the effects of his motions. As the surge of ecstasy ebbed from you, you pushed away from him, gasping. 

“Stop… stop for now…”

“What happens if I don't?”

He had folded his arms on the edge of the bed where you were moments ago, resting his chin on them to gaze at you, waiting. It was a genuine question.

You caught your breath, trying to figure out how to explain. 

“When you've taken care of yourself before, how easy is it to do one right after another?”

“I do not know. I've never needed a second release so soon.”

You must not get bored often…

“Uh… it's intense. The strong sensation can be more… painful, if you're not careful.”

“And if you are careful?”

“It can still feel good, I can still come… faster even.”

“So why stop?”

“It's overwhelming.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm not sure you will till you… experience it I suppose,”

“Hmm, and you don't want to be overwhelmed… now?”

He was subtly reaching for your ankle making to draw you back. You weren't sure how to say you didn't need to be kriffed silly on the clock. 

“There's other things to cover…”

…

“I agree.”

You let him grab your leg tugging you eagerly to lay over the edge of the bed again. His fingers found you once more, this time concerning himself with the opening beneath the slick petals. He slipped a finger inside, tilting his head at the way your muscles squeezed around it. 

“I fit here…”

He wasn't addressing you, talking to himself softly in a tone of wonderment. 

“Are you ready? Tech?”

He blinked, looking to you again he withdrew his hand, raising on his knees to bring his cock back into view. He held himself, soothing his aching length by massaging the precum that started to leak out into the throbbing head. 

“A moment…”

He paused, pulling his shirt off and tugging the pants the rest of the way off, kicking them away.

“Now I am.”

He positioned himself against your dripping entrance, angling his face to watch what he was doing as he started to push into you. 

You let out a pleased groan as he filled you, slowly, meticulously watching his length disappear into you. He swore as he bottomed out against your thighs.  

“It's so…hot.”

He was still, eyes closed, cock twitching, face calm as he contemplated the sensation of warming his cock in a woman. You found yourself enjoying his… methods. The slow, contemplative way of operating a welcome change to the usual rushed rutting of your work. 

“I'm going to move now.”

“Would you prefer me to stay still or move with you?”

…

“Still… for now.”

He took hold of your hips and rocked back, pulling his cock out almost fully before thrusting back in, only slightly faster than before. 

“Mm”

His eyes flicked to your face a moment as he withdrew again. A shorter, harder thrust, pulling a moan of pleasure from you. 

Small nod to himself and he repeated the motion, moving his hips more confidently as he was rewarded with more pleasant noises from you. It was hard not to rock your hips against him, the feel of him against your sensitive walls easing a fuzzy feeling of bliss into your mind, urging you to chase it. 

“You can move now… I can feel you trying too…”

He let go of your hips, leaning to plant his hands to either side of you on the mattress. Grateful, you reached out wrapping your arms about his ribs to pull him down to his elbows and wrapping your knees about him to give yourself leverage. He groaned as he felt your legs tie around him, triggering that primal instinct he had held at bay till now. 

No longer concerned with observation, he gave in, wrapping his arms about you to hop your body further up the bed against the silk pillows climbing the rest of the way on with you. He crashed against you, bare chest pressed against your breasts as he kept snapping his hips against you. Tech was whispering to himself, little observations you decided to take as compliments as he lost himself in you. You scooped your hips to meet him, intensifying your own stimulation. 

“Just like that, Tech, you're doing so well…”

His breath hitched at the praise and then his lips were on yours, the kiss unexpected and hungry as his thrusts became a hammering flurry. 

It was too much and your muscles snapped tight. You moaned into his mouth as your orgasm crashed through you. He was moaning too, gasping against your lips as his focus started to dip. His hips stuttered as a brief moment of clarity broke through…

“Inside?”

“Mhmm, come for me Tech,”

He buried himself to the hilt, pressing his lips hard against yours as if to hold you still again. The feral instinct to fill you satiated itself as thick loads of cum poured from him; You could feel it shooting from his twitching cock, hot little jolts rushing through you. A sense of pride filled you, knowing you had received his first spilled seed. 

Your lips were released with a gasp and he rolled off you, attempting to catch his breath a moment, hand yanking his goggles off to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. 

Shifting to the side, you watched him, his eyes closed, breath slowing… hand still clutching the goggle strap draped over his brow. He really was handsome.

His eyes fluttered open, and you could tell they were brown now as they slid up your body to meet your gaze once again. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“...very much…”

He pulled his goggles back on, moving to gently spread your thighs, watching as his cum leaked from your twitching sex. 

Suddenly there was a pounding at the door making you both jump, followed by raucous wolf whistles and whooping from the other side in the hall.

Tech groaned, leaning his head against your thigh. 

“Tech, Tech, Tech!”

It was his squad mates, but how'd they figure the room… you were sure they hadn’t followed. 

“Don't tell me you have a tracer as well…”

You hissed at the man at your hip, once again a wonderful shade of scarlet. 

More pounding and whooping from the door. 

“They're going to get thrown out!”

“Knock it off, I'm coming!”

He shouted at the door. 

“I bet you are!”

A loud, gruff voice boomed back. 

~~~

You watched as the group of soldiers were escorted back to the entrance by security. As you had hoped, Tech looked up and around before they were pushed out the foyer. 

You wiggled your fingers at him in farewell. 

His squad mates were clapping him on the back, playfully kissing his temples and ruffling his hair. 

He smiled goofily back at you, bright red… but standing straight and tall. 

[wisteria-lodge]

Hi! I’m loving The Prison of the Phoenix and I was curious about the dressing gowns that Severus and Remus have been gifted by Lucius. I’m really intrigued by the detail that these articles of clothing are quilted! They sound really comfy and luxurious to wear.

I was wondering if you would be willing to expand on the details of snupin’s dressing gowns? Perhaps even a moodboard of the silhouette and type of fabric? Do they have hoods? A sash? A wand pocket, perhaps?

Sewing is a hobby of mine, so I’m always interested in reading about textiles and the details in wardrobe choices of stories (and the same goes for food! I love eating 😆✨)

I hope you don’t mind the peculiarity of my question and I wish you all the best with the next chapter!

Cheers ♥️

Oh you came to the right place. I ALSO love clothes, and it IS DEEPLY maddening to me that Severus has so few costume changes, and that he is a narrative voice that... honestly isn't going to spend much time describing clothes.

I pulled all the dressing gowns and dressing-gown adjacent garments off my master Malfoy Manor pinterest board... and I've never made moodboards before... but it sounded like a fun, aesthetic fall evening activity.

Lucius knows he's not going to get Severus into anything *too* crazy, so I took some notes from 1700s banyan robes and wrapping gowns. So lots of decadent, soft, draping fabric. Slouchy, open front. And yes, I think Lucius would go for layers of quilted fabric, because Severus always neglects lighting his fireplace, and as a result his house is always cold.

And yes, I am all about wizard clothing just almost exclusively having wrist-length sleeves, because everyone keeps their wands against their forearm in wand-pockets.

The dressing gown choices Lucius makes for himself are going to be a *lot* more elaborate, take more fashion risks, and be a little ah, sluttier. He's not wearing this stuff out, so this gets to just be him having fun. I see Lucius leaning into Victorian dressing gown cuts (he would have loved all of the authentically Victorian loud color and fabric choices.) There would just be a lot of antique clothing lying around Malfoy Manor, especially since you can magically preserve and repair clothes. Lucius would absolutely get a kick out of wearing that kind of thing. I also think he'd go a little international with his fashion. There's some asia in there, there's some ottoman empire in there. What says 'British Aristocrat' more than that?

In public, there's always a little bit of armor and a little bit of bite to what Narcissa wears. But when she's is in private-facing mode, with the handful of people she actually trusts... Narcissa enjoys going very soft and airy-fairy, or (when she's in the mood) - full on vampire bride. Her dressing gowns are a bit more 1930s glamor, with a lot of delicate details. (and Lucius ALSO buys her clothes, so some of these reflect a little more of his taste.)

~

Also, you didn't ask, but this is my quick mock-up of the clothes Lucius and Narcissa wear to the ballet in Chapter 6. I had Lucius in that crystals-as-water Robert Wun look, and Narcissa is in custom Givinchy ( I made the skirt longer.)

[royalty-nobility]

Archduke Ferdinand II (1529-1595), Knee Piece in Eagle Armor

Artist: Francesco Terzio (Italian, 1523-1591) Renaissance

Date: c. 1550

Medium: Oil painting

Collection: Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna, Austria

Description

The knee-length portrait shows Archduke Ferdinand II in the so-called ‘Eagle Garniture’, one of the most expensive ensembles of plate-armour made during that period. Ferdinand is depicted at the height of his regency in Bohemia. He wears his trademark ‘Bohemian hat’, a head-covering made of felt and silver wire. On the table beside him lie a mantled helmet with a red plume, a gauntlet and a red sash. These military accoutrements probably allude to Ferdinand’s military command in Hungary against the Ottoman army in 1556, where he was responsible for the organisation of supplies of food and munitions for the royal fortress of Szigetvár.

When Archduke Ferdinand II was appointed regent of Bohemia in 1547, his exceptional position as supreme representative of the House of Austria demanded a display of magnificence at court. This also included operating an armoury, which produced not only military equipment but also suits of plate-armour and accoutrements for courtly tournaments. Armourers who worked for Ferdinand included the Nuremberg-born Wolf Keser (also Kheser), Melchior Pfeiffer and Wolfgang Kaiser. One Francesco Ligozzi (also Ligotza) is also mentioned as a ‘harnischmaister’ (master harnesser).

The Court Armoury was kept very busy supplying equipment for the numerous tournaments that Ferdinand hosted, notably those in 1556, 1559 and 1560. New suits of armour were also made for the Hungarian campaign of 1556. The Prague harnesses are typified by their elegant lines, compact, rounded shape and high waist. Other remarkable features include the burgonets made in two pieces, a striking motif of scales on the gorgets with powerful corded edges and the lames (overlapping plates) of the pauldrons (shoulder-guards) divided into two sections.

[eyeslikewatercoolers]

"you're so warm" for sashnetra please? Or another ship if you’d prefer!

This fits perfectly for my hc for always cold Sasha and human heater Anetra

"You're so warm," Sasha said as she curled herself tighter into Anetra's side. The thick comforter and throw blanket covered them as they stayed in bed, although it was already mid-morning.

"Sash, you know I love you. But can I please turn on the fan? I promise I'll come right back," Anetra said as she wiped the sweat starting to form on her forehead.

Sasha playfully pouted her bottom lip, "But then I'll get cold again," she pressed her cold bare feet on Anetra's leg for emphasis, causing her girlfriend to jump slightly.

Anetra thought for a moment for a compromise, "How about you let me turn on the fan, and I'll give you one of my hoodies?"

Sasha considered the idea, then asked "The martial arts one, or the one from the church camp you went to ten years ago?"

Anetra knew the right answer, "The church camp one, I've seen you nap in it before," she playfully smiled.

"It's not fair that the most hateful people make the best comfy clothes," Sasha said as she let Anetra slip out of the bed. Anetra searched the pile of clothes on the ottoman before pulling out the yellow hoodie.

Sasha pulled on the hoodie, surrounded by Anetra's scent once again. After the ceiling fan whirled to life, she patted the empty space on the bed. "Now get back here," she smiled.

"Yes ma'am," Anetra gave a mock salute before slipping back into the bed.

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

And back to you! Day and Hair 🥰

My beloved, thank you so, so much for this wonderful Ask! Both questions were so much fun to work on — it did take me a while to put it all together into a proper response, but I do hope it will be just as fun to read as it was fun to answer! Sending you the biggest hug imaginable, my loveliest. 🥰️❤️️

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

Wallachian nobility in Vlad’s days wore characteristic attire that did not really change much. What made it special was the difference in colour, material, or embroidery, but the cut was quite standard and representative of the region (maybe not as much for Wallachia per se as more for Eastern Europe at that time — there were some differences from country to country, but the style was quite similar). Here are some murals, paintings, or drawings to give you an idea!

(The last two show the Moldavian fashion of the times, and the last painting depicts the Moldavian Voivode Ștefan the Great, Vlad’s cousin, during his later years.)

This is what Vlad wears on a normal day — see it as a kind of professional attire, something like a medieval version of a suit and tie combo. It consists of:

giubea — You can see it best in the picture of the Moldavian family, as well as the drawing of Vlad. It is a long and wide coat, lined with fur and worn by nobility. The sleeves have a slit in the upper part through which a person could push their arms and wear it more as a “cape”, or push their arms through the whole sleeve so they could wear it as a standard coat during colder months.

tunică — This is a long, heavily adorned garment with a sash over the waist. You can see it best in the picture of Ștefan who does not wear the giubea but only has the tunică on. It is a long robe, with its length varying — sometimes to the knees, sometimes to the ankles.

cămașă — It is a shirt worn beneath the tunică. It is hard to say what it looked like because it was always hidden underneath the outer layers, but we can tell it had an embroidered collar because you can see it peeking out of the tunică. Personally, I think it was made of colourful fabric.

There is another plain linen white shirt underneath, worn as a type of underwear.

pantaloni — Of course, there are trousers, most likely made of sturdy cloth. Their colour most likely matches the tunică.

Of course, underwear beneath. I am not sure if there were any specifics for this region, but medieval men in general used to wear braies. They looked like modern-day boxers and were made of linen, with strings on the waist and thighs to secure them in place.

A pair of nice, high-quality boots! Being an excellent and passionate horseback rider, Vlad cares a lot about having durable, comfortable boots, made of several layers of cow skin, with side ties and buckles.

Of course, he does not wear such formal attire all the time. When he goes out for a morning ride or just spends some free time with Cătălina and the boys, he wears something more casual, like pants and a plain shirt. I HC he also has a kind of doublet (or something similar to it) when he wants to feel more comfortable during sporty and casual activities — it keeps him warm but does not get in the way as much as longer garments would.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Oooh, I love this so much! Vlad’s hair is definitely a character in its own right skdskfjsks I am very excited to finally have the opportunity to introduce ✨the lore✨.

As a child, Vlad wears his curls a bit longer, almost reaching his shoulders. When he is taken as a hostage by the Ottomans in 1442 (Vlad is almost eleven years old), he has his hair regularly cut short. While long hair on men was not uncommon in some Islamic cultures, the Ottomans preferred shorter styles as they conveyed discipline and authority. Long hair was often looked upon as an unwelcome foreign influence or sign of excess. Short hair is also easier to maintain and keep clean, which aligns with the Ottomans’ pride in their high standards of hygiene. His hair remains short to various degrees until he leaves the Ottoman Empire for good in 1450.

Afterwards, he decides to let his hair grow freely until it becomes long (which is how we know the historical Vlad as well). In his adulthood, it kind of becomes his trademark — long, midnight-black curls richly tumbling down his shoulders and back. The longest he ever wears it reaches his shoulder blades. In the Middle Ages, long hair was a symbol of status and masculinity. Having long hair symbolised the status of freedom (shorter hair often signified servitude and the peasantry), but it also represented financial status — seeing a man with long hair meant that he had the comfort of being able to take care of it. In his forties, he no longer wears it that long anymore but still keeps it long enough.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Lookbook: The One With The Wedding

If you're not 100% caught up on To B With Love this this may be a bit of a spoiler, but it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that Steve & Billy get married. 🎉😘

I have been waiting to get to this point in the story and had a ton of fun researching and piecing together what a 19th century country wedding would look like for this world. So I thought I'd share my lookbook below.

Fun facts: in an early draft of my outline I had Stevie in a full gown. I was happy with this for the most part and it was in keeping with the rest of the world building - their society idolizes feminine beauty and male omegas are still encouraged/pressured to conform to those ideals. So yes, gowns made a lot of sense.

But then, thinking on it more I decided this was a good opportunity to further emphasize how their society's idolization of female omegas and subsequent devaluing of male omegas, has always othered them and forced them into a lower status within their social classes. So I started thinking about ways that dress might have been used to differentiate between male and female omegas.

Ancient Rome being one of the most influential early civilizations of the world seemed like good place to start digging for references and it bloomed from there into Greece, Albania, the Ottoman empire and Hanfu

So. Male omegas wear grecian style skirts called fusta, which traditionally are pleated and short without long trains. The ancients believed that showing off their legs would prevent families from passing off their male omegas as their more desirable female counterparts. The alternative was to wear a long skirt without a shirt or tunic to bare the chest.

However by the 1800s these skirts have undergone many different changes and been adapted by other cultures, so the popularity of a certain cut depends a lot on ones social class and their region.

But no matter what the cut, style, or padding, the skirt is typically paired with the some combination of cloak, sash, doublet, vest or jacket. These can be very elaborate with an emphasis on intricate detailing and embellishments. That can include flowers, jewels, coins, and family crests. There is a social expectation for male brides to be flashy, in order to make up for their lack in natural beauty.

[rookwurmwood]

The Den

It had been five or six years since I laid on the deck of the Joyeuse in a puddle of my own blood. The ship’s doctor, a Swiss gentleman named Max, leaning low over me so that the cannon fire which flew over us did not hit him; all while trying to put my guts back in my abdomen after it had been unzipped by the cutlass of a pirate. The din of the fighting slowly fading to a piercing drone as a foggy veil slipped over my eyes.

I was no fighting man and fell first when they had boarded us but fate would have it that I was the only of the wounded who would survive the long journey when we limped our way to Hong Kong where I had first taken up that poison to ease the pain as my stitches healed. I would sail with the crew of the Joyeuse for two additional voyages before the captain discharged me after several incidents when the tendrils of withdrawal wrapped 'round my mind whilst underway which deprived me of the sweet milk of the poppy. Coming to a head when I had been seized by a particularly violent episode of delirium which saw me attacking the first mate. After my relinquishment from the East India Company, I returned back to my native Paris to wallow in shameful self-exile. I consider that to be the darkest period of my life as I lived in the most squalid slums of the Left Bank; a maze of narrow boulevards and high, crumbling buildings. There I dwelt with my fellow low-lives and destitutes amidst shadowed alleys which conceal the darkest of doings. Though with all the back-stabbing common in such circles, I had no friends and was well and truly alone.

I made a meager living as a worker on the river-boats which congest the Seine and spent the few Francs I got from slinging crates and tying bowlines on whatever sins of the flesh I could afford. I do not dare to ponder just how many nights I spent traversing the unsavory underbelly of Paris though my face was a familiar one to the proprietors of the brothels and opium dens of the slums. I, of course, frequented those hazy burrows of degeneracy quite often as they had ample supply of opium which was smuggled 'cross the deserts from the Ottoman Empire. I was very much privy to the lengths others who dwell on the lowest realms of society will go to in a bid to see another day, so I dared not leave my hovel without my effects whenever I was off to my preferred lair of corruption and degeneracy. Those two items being: a short cutlass which was given to me as a morbidly ironic parting gift from one of my friends aboard the Joyeuse and concealable percussion cap pistol I won in a game of cards. Desperation and drug-fueled paranoia had greatly sharpened my ability to fend for myself as if I were to let someone get the drop on me again, I would not have another Max who would save my life.

I would tuck both weapons into my sash, wait until sun-down, and skulk down the filthy avenues and gutters to whichever place had not been raided by the police. One night, I had gone out on my usual routine of pursuing vice with additional fervor as I had been paid extra that week. I had found a reputable (as reputable as such a place can be) locale which I had heard of by word of mouth from other untouchables. I soon found myself reclined upon a mound of oriental silk cushions, my limbs heavy, body numb, and mind swathed in ignorant euphoria as I watched the smoke dance about the flame of the candle which sat on a stool in front of me. I sunk deeper and deeper into lethargy until my eyes felt impossible to keep open until I succumbed to the baneful yet caressing hands of my master. I felt that familiar sensation of death yet again; but this time, I resisted not the embrace of Azrael for if this is what it felt like to pass through the curtain of death by the kiss of opium, then I would go willingly. The darkness seemed to swallow the darkness as I found myself amidst endless black gulfs of nethermost confusion.

Yet, I awoke. I was still surrounded by darkness, yet I could feel cold stone beneath me. I then became aware of the funerary silence around me, my ragged breathing and clumsy stirring produced no echo which indicated I must have been in a very small room. I blindly groped around my surroundings and was met with a uniform surface of damp stone and the stale air was thick with the odor of mold. I reached into my pockets and felt for my book of matches and stuck one against the side which bathed the chamber in a dim light. I was at the end of a narrow tunnel with a very low ceiling. I looked above to see if there was a trap door above me but saw only the yawning darkness of the shaft which stretched above and beyond the light of my measly flame. I had heard of this happening before, patrons of opium dens overdosing and the owner dumping their bodies into the catacombs beneath the city to dispose of the evidence. Someone must have taken me for dead in my fugue state and I was dropped down some shaft into one of the fringe tunnels of that subterranean labyrinth.

Panic washed over me. I had been aware of the catacombs since I was a boy and had known that people would always go in and never come out as they practically ran the width and breadth of the entire city of Paris. Eventually, I had gathered my wits and resolved to find a way out and pressed forward into the dark tunnel ahead. I had assumed a strange, stooping posture to walk or crawl down the tunnel; as I progressed, the floor became covered in frigid, stagnant water which gently rippled beneath the soles of my boots which pried the iron doors of silence just a tad farther open as I continued. Eventually, the tunnel grew wider and taller and I could stand erect yet again. I had burned out most of my matches by this point but by chance, my hand brushed upon the rusty torch-sconce on the wall which still held its load aloft. I seized the handle of desiccated, worm-eaten wood, and saw that the head still had a bit of moldy canvas or linen bandings on the top which I set alight with my final match. This increased the reach of my vision and provided a good deal of warmth and comfort which eased my addled nerves as I roamed the Hadean darkness.

The tunnel I was in soon gave way to a larger chamber. The flame which clung to the end of my torch struggled to part the tenebrous curtains which obscured what appeared to be the undercroft of a cathedral with a gothic vaulted ceiling held aloft by many stone pillars which further obstructed my view of chamber and threw dancing, wraith-like shadows on the moist stone walls. The water was still present, shimmering in the light of my torch and a distant dripping could be heard. The walls that made up the perimeter of the room were lined with several alcoves which were elevated above the floor by at least a foot though what was noteworthy about these recesses were their contents as every single one of them had bones neatly stacked into them. Creating a morbid wall, almost cyclopean in appearance, from which the hollow eyes of many skulls peered out from. I had heard that many had used parts of the catacombs as ossuaries but had never seen them first-hand. I trembled as I walked about the room, the shallow water on the floor splashing with my every step as I was silently observed by my sightless spectators. At the far end of the room as a doorway in the shape of an arch and bordered by two ossuaries which held their skeletal sentinels. Beyond this threshold was a flight of stairs, choked by thick sheets of cobwebs, which lead up into a lugubrious void and with that: a potential path to the surface.

I know not how long I climbed but I had to rest at frequent intervals to catch my breath. The height of the climb was uncannily tall and called into question how exactly I had gotten down here. If I had been dropped down some chute like I had initially assumed, then the fall would have certainly killed me. Near the top of the stairs I was assailed with a sickening odor, far worse than the mold, a charnel and metallic stench like that of putrefied blood and I was met by a heavy wooden door. Strength had not yet fully returned to my limbs as a side effect of my binge and it took tremendous effort to push the door open, the hinges creaking and groaning while the timbers scraped the stone floor.

I was met with a wide passage, the walls of which looked as if they were entirely composed of yet more skeletons which had been meticulously arranged into patterns like some macabre mosaic which stretched from the smooth stone floor to the low-hanging ceiling. The horrible miasma was so thick in the tomb-air that I had to untie the sash from my waist and wrap it around my nose and mouth like a scarf, though this helped little. It was only then did I realize that whoever had hauled me down here had taken the liberty of relinquishing my cutlass from my custody, yet neglected to rid me of my pistol which I resigned to carry in my off hand. Traversing these tunnels proved quite difficult as they twisted and turned and intersected, all while I was scrutinized by the empty sockets which mockingly leered out at me. I began to panic and started to run through the halls, hoping that I'd chance across some hatch to the surface. My footfalls broke the sacred silence as I frantically searched for a point of egress until I stumbled on an uneven patch of floor and dropped my torch which was promptly snuffed out. I tried in vain to rekindle the dying embers yet no amount of blowing would revive it and I found myself plunged into blind darkness yet again.

I resorted to steadily walking with my hands outstretched, pawing at the intangible void to ensure I did not run head-long into a wall. I went on like this for some time, my hands occasionally meeting the dry surface of the tomb-dweller or cold, rough-hewn stone.

As I progressed, I found myself conscious that I could actually see my surroundings in some dim radiance. I had at first assumed that fancy had overtaken my vision until I realized that it was the faint glow of candles. The light grew brighter until I rounded a corner to be met with a wrought-iron gate, beyond which was another sepulcher quite similar to the one I had seen earlier. This one was free of water and lit by hundreds of candles which sat upon whichever surface could hold them, many where perched atop mountains of layered wax which had indicated continual use. I took this as a sign that I was nearing the surface and opened the gate, stepping into the warmly illuminated chamber. It was here where I also discovered the source of the malodor. There were no ossuaries in this undercroft but the parallel walls to my left and my right were lined with stone slabs, upon them were white shrouds, stained and moth-eaten, beneath which I could make out ghastly profiles of anthropoid forms. I dared not remove these grave-cloths as I was all too aware of what they were concealing. At the far end of the room was yet another archway which led to a short vestibule which was terminated with another door of heavy wooden planks. Above the doorway was an inscription which I could decipher as it was written in a curiously archaic hand which I had first thought to have been Hebrew yet with closer examination revealed certain characters and runes which looked out of place. My next assumption was Greek yet I still failed to see any familiar letters.

As I drew closer to the door, I grew conscious of an indistinct sound just beyond the hatch. It sounded first like soft weeping, gently echoing off the stone walls but as I reached for the great iron ring on the side of the door I began to make out syllables. As I pulled the door open, I could hear the sound more clearly as the stifled resonations of prayer. The room past the door was bereft of any ghoulish contents yet it still greatly unnerved me. Upon the floor in the center of this square room was a circular tile or slab set onto the floor, engraved upon its face was a seal or sigil made up by a seven-pointed star. At each point of the heptagram was a black candle, the flames of which did not react to the breeze generated by my movements. On the left and right side of the room each had a doorway. One had a short flight of stairs heading upwards whilst the other led to a dark room, barely illuminated by the shaft of light which spilled in from the chamber I was currently in and from which drifted the soft sounds of supplication.

I turned to the doorway on the left, hoping to ask whoever was speaking if they knew a way out of catacombs. I lowered my improvised bandana to make myself appear less suspicious and hid the pistol by my side. I approached the threshold and saw a figure resting upon its knees just beyond the light which issued forth from the doorway. I called out to the worshipper, yet they ignored me, simply continuing to whimper and pray under its breath in a harsh, gibbering voice. I made out the invocations were being spoken in a very archaic dialect of French which I had only heard men of the cloth us to speak to one another, assuming this was the sexton who oversaw the catacombs and called out again only for the caretaker to disregard me yet again. I had become frustrated at this point and began to enter the dark room.

I approached the kneeling figure just as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness and stopped. As my vision began to acclimate, I could see the worshipper in more detail. They were nearly nude, save for what appeared to be a pair of fur trousers, the skin on its back was saggy and wrinkled, accentuated by the bumps of the spine which ran down the middle. It did not kneel as much as it squatted upon the floor like the gargoyles atop the buttresses of Notre Dame. I reached out a hand to tap them on the shoulder and quickly drew it away in shock.

My heart nearly leapt from my chest as it turned to face me. As it did not turn its body to look around, rather its head swiveled over its shoulder at a freakish angle atop a neck which was far too long than should be natural. Its head was topped with greasy strands of black hair which hung in-front of its face, parted by a protuberant set of jaws which extended out from the rest of its gaunt face in a grotesque snout-like fashion. Without moving its head, it turned its body towards me and stood. Its skin hung loosely about its frame and closer inspection showed a mutated upper body like a man yet what I had initially assumed to be a set of pants were, in actuality, a pair of crooked legs covered in matted fur which ended in feet that were neither wholly hooves nor claws. The whole thing was horribly fantastical, like the mythical faun rendered in nightmarish clarity.

The thing then dropped low, like an animal stalking its prey and it outstretched its long arms which terminated in great taloned hands. I then saw something behind it from between its bestial legs. A twisted something which gleamed red in the light which could barely reach into the room. It slowly advanced towards me and I could hear more whispering in the darkness around me. I soon broke free of the restraints of terror and lifted my pistol to fire upon the thing, there was a thunderous crash followed immediately by high ringing which drowned out all other noises around me. The shot had hit its mark and the thing reeled back in agony, it must have screamed a great deal for its jaws parted wide to reveal rows of yellow teeth as it brought its had to its chest where the lead ball had pierced its abdomen and shattered its ribs.

However the crowning horror came when the flash from the muzzle illuminated the room for the briefest of instances which revealed several more of the tomb-fiends slowly creeping towards me, previously obscured by shadow, all issuing forth from a cavernous opening on the far wall.

I promptly turned tail and ran, screaming and wailing as I clambered up the stairs to be met with an iron door which I heaved open. Hope swelled as I felt the cool night air and saw the moon between the growing gap between the doorway and the plate of rusted metal but as hearing returned I could hear the creature's cloven feet clacking upon the steps behind me. With a tremendous effort I threw the door open and made my escape. I was greeted with dirt paths and moss-covered headstones as I realized I was in the Calvaire Cemetery in the Montmartre district. I looked back to see if my pursuers still followed and saw only a mausoleum with the door ajar and stair leading down into a yawning chasm with many sets of yellow eyes staring back at me.

I don't remember what happened after that, save that I woke up in a gutter somewhere in the Left Bank to a vagrant trying to steal my boots. It took me a while to rationalize what had happened that night, eventually coming to the conclusion that I must have overdosed and had been lying in that ditched all night, deep in a state of delusion as I frothed and spasmed. I took the whole fiasco as a sign to stop pursuing vice and I've since turned my life around after a stint at a sanatorium. After a long and grueling effort, I had broken the chains of dependency and freed me from my slavery to opium. I still work on the riverboats of the Seine but have since left the red-light district behind and eventually managed to get an apartment away from the Left Bank.

I still have nightmares of those apparitions and illusion conjured by opium and can still swear I see yellow eyes peering out at me from the storm drains. Yet the detail that haunts me the most is when I awoke in that ditch, my sash was still loosely tied around my neck and my pistol, which I had always kept primed and loaded was empty and the percussion cap was spent.

[galleryofart]

Man in Oriental Costume

Artist: Rembrandt van Rijn and Workshop (Dutch, 1606-1669)

Date: c. 1635

Medium: OIl on linen

Collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, United States

Description

In this imposing half-length image, a bearded man wearing an elaborate, bejeweled turban stares out at the viewer, his features strongly modeled by light streaming in from the left. A fur-lined cape, loosely clasped at the neck with a gold chain, covers his shoulders. His right hand grasps the sash that wraps around his waist, while his other hand rests on a wooden staff. An aigrette, a type of pin with a tuft of ornamental bird feathers that was a standard part of Ottoman attire, secures a heavy gold chain on the man’s turban.

[malkaleh]

Have some Robert/Elizabeth knife kink apparently. This is set in my Tudors OT3 verse not long after their marriage. Also I do have outfits in mind here. Note for explicit content/knife kink.

“I’m going to ride you.” Elizabeth let’s the sheathed dagger trail down his naked chest, underlying her control. “And you, Robin are going to scream my name so loudly that bitch of a courtier will know not to try touching what” she pauses, pressing in a little with the knife “doesn’t belong to her”

“No. Take them off slowly - give me a show good enough and I might let you touch me after you do.”

He strips slowly, oh so slowly with Elizabeth saying the filthiest things that he’s ever heard, as though he’s merely a toy for her - and there’s something so incredibly arousing about it, something that makes all his thoughts disappear in a haze - as though he’s a whore in a brothel, there to be displayed for her. 

When he’s naked, finally - Elizabeth is still clothed, maddeningly but she pushes him onto the bed and fuck, he cannot remember ever being harder in his life and yet, yet he’s not going to come until she tells him he can - she has him that enchanted and Robert has never been happier. 

“I’m going to tie you to the bed Robin. And then, then I’m going to make you scream my name so loudly that that bitch of a woman will know exactly who you belong to and exactly what she is never going to get.”

She stops a moment, fully clothed, toying with the dagger that he’d gifted her. 

“If you will it?”

In her words is a hesitancy, a willingness to stop if he wishes - the safety and the love in all of it. 

“Whatever you would, my mistress.”

Say the word and I will stop. I will always stop. It is in his Bess’ eyes even as she smirks down at him. 

“Maybe I’ll carve my initials into your skin - mark my dagger and mark my husband? Would you stay still while I did it, while I fuck you?”

He takes it back. He’s never been harder in his life now - he thinks about Elizabeth above him, about her hands on the dagger he gave him, the slight sting as she lightly shapes her initials into his skin, makes tangible what is already true. Thinks about how she might do it while sitting on his face, might let him fuck her with his tongue and christ, he’s so close. 

There’s a satisfaction in how quickly Elizabeth sheds her clothes and both of them are thanking everything for the new fashions that make it so much easier to do so - the Ottoman style trousers, shifts, gowns and coats have far far less to undo. 

She ties him with her sash, grins wickedly at her work. 

Elizabeth is already wet when she guides Robert’s cock into her. In fact she thinks she has never been more so - the way he’s tied with her sash, with her ring on his hand, obeying her words - it’s a rush that almost makes that bitch of a courtier trying to flirt with her husband worth it, to see him beneath her, looking up at her with utter and complete devotion. 

Robert watches Elizabeth stop, then start again - she never quite gets into a rhythm - instead alternating between fast and slow riding him, whispering filth into his ear (“aren’t you so good for me, lying still while I take my pleasure on your cock” “I want to fuck you where everyone can see - or perhaps in a alley like some filthy slut” “you look like you belong in a harem Robin - laid out for my pleasure alone”) and then, then she takes out the dagger. It’s beautiful. 

It hardly hurts in truth, when Elizabeth traces the knife across his hip - he’s had worse cuts from accidents and he almost, almost wants more - the cool knife on his hot skin, the way Elizabeth is so graceful in her work means he ends up urging her to go deeper, more, more - mark me Bess. She just smirks and is even gentler which makes him moan and beg. In the end, Robert doesn’t think he’s ever come so hard, especially when Elizabeth orders him to scream her name. 

He hopes the whole fucking palace heard them. 

[shereen1]

Kaftan vs. Jalabiya: Unveiling the Nuances of Elegance at Emalina Fashion

Hey fashionistas! As a content creator passionate about exploring the world of style, I'm thrilled to delve into the captivating realm of kaftans and jalabiyas at Emalina Fashion. These garments, often mistaken for one another, hold unique stories and radiate timeless elegance. Today, we'll embark on a journey to understand their distinct characteristics, rich heritages, and the reasons why they deserve a special place in your wardrobe.

The Kaftan: A Global Tapestry of Style

The kaftan boasts a truly global appeal, having graced the figures of royalty and commoners alike for centuries. Its origins can be traced back to Mesopotamia, where it was a symbol of social status. Over time, the kaftan journeyed across the Middle East, North Africa, and beyond, evolving with each culture it touched. The Ottomans embraced bold colors and rich fabrics like velvet and brocade, while Central Asian kaftans often featured intricate embroidery and fur trims.

One of the defining features of the kaftan is its forgiving silhouette. Flowing and typically ankle-length, it offers a comfortable and flattering fit for all body types. The sleeves can vary, ranging from short and flowing to long and dramatic. Traditionally, kaftans were fastened with a sash at the waist, but modern interpretations offer a variety of closures, including buttons and zippers.

At Emalina Fashion, we celebrate the kaftan's global spirit. Our collection boasts a dazzling array of these versatile garments, catering to every taste and occasion. We have breezy cotton kaftans perfect for a day at the beach, glamorous silk kaftans that will turn heads at an evening soirée, and everything in between. Whether you're drawn to vibrant prints inspired by Moroccan tilework, delicate floral embroidery reminiscent of Persian gardens, or the minimalist elegance of a plain silk kaftan, Emalina Fashion has the perfect piece to ignite your inner fashion icon.

The Jalabiya: A North African Legacy

The jalabiya, on the other hand, has a more specific cultural heritage, deeply rooted in North African traditions, particularly in Egypt. It's a long, flowing garment with wide sleeves, traditionally crafted from lightweight and breathable fabrics like cotton or linen. The jalabiya served a practical purpose in the hot desert climate, offering protection from the sun while ensuring ease of movement.

Unlike the kaftan, the jalabiya often features a simpler design. However, this doesn't equate to a lack of elegance. Traditionally, the beauty lies in the high-quality fabrics and intricate embroidery that might adorn the neckline, cuffs, or pockets. In recent times, designers have introduced more modern variations of the jalabiya, incorporating bolder colors, embellishments, and even different sleeve lengths.

At Emalina Fashion, we recognize the cultural significance of the jalabiya. We offer a curated selection that honors the traditional design while embracing contemporary aesthetics. You'll find lightweight linen jalabiyas perfect for everyday wear, perfect for layering with a statement necklace or a chunky belt. For special occasions, we have exquisite jalabiyas featuring delicate embroidery or shimmering fabrics that will make you feel like royalty.

Beyond the Fabric: The Enduring Allure

Kaftans and jalabiyas represent more than just stylish clothing. They are cultural treasures, carrying within them the stories and traditions of the people who have worn them for generations. By choosing a kaftan or jalabiya, you're not just making a fashion statement; you're connecting with a rich heritage and celebrating the artistry of traditional craftsmanship.

Emalina Fashion: Your Gateway to Timeless Elegance

Whether you're captivated by the global flair of the kaftan or drawn to the cultural essence of the jalabiya, Emalina Fashion is your one-stop shop for these captivating garments. We believe that fashion should be inclusive, comfortable, and empowering. Our curated collection of kaftans and jalabiyas offers endless possibilities for creating unique and unforgettable looks. With our commitment to high-quality fabrics, exquisite craftsmanship, and a range of styles to suit every taste, we invite you to discover the magic of these timeless pieces.

So, are you ready to embrace the elegance and rich heritage of kaftans and jalabiyas? Visit Emalina Fashion today and embark on your own stylish adventure!

[dyannawynnedayne]

Oh, Vi did design notes on their beautiful Daenys piece (twinsies), I should do some too! It's really fun to break down the thought process, and I loved see theirs broken down.

-I wanted to go with a very loosely inspired 14th c. Ottoman kind of look because. Well because!

-Very light inspo taken from the show on the general colors, tried to keep them (somewhat) muted, but also not too muted because we are a rich empire?

-Again, teeth and nails dyed black because dragons and also that's just a hot tradition various peoples have done.

-The glyph on her hat is the glyph for 'eye', since I feel like she was having dreams before this.

-I wanted the blue top to originally be a jacket but I lost track of where I was putting the thistle-patterned trim so now it's a blue shirt with.... a... sash? Yeah!

-heeled shoes because in my heart Daenys is a dragonrider but also bc I didn't consider the differences there'd be between riding clothes and hanging out clothes lmao

-I wanted things to be sharp sharp sharp. Pointed hat, diamonds and triangle jewelry, thistle motifs, the little..... /\/\/\/\/ <- these thingies on her skirt trim are supposed to be vaguely reminiscent of dragon scales.

-The sleeve trim I actually stole from the show:

-Also the fact that she definitely looks old is bc I definitely forgot she was meant to be a baby when she had her dream! Whoops.

Daenys the Dreamer, and her vision of the Doom of Valyria

I thought it would be fun if dragonriders, at least at the height of Valyria, dyed their nails and teeth black, gesturing to their dragons own bones, as a sign of wealth

feat. a highly edited version of Volaire's 'The Eruption of Vesuvius' lol