#pink caftan?

[bitter69uk]

Born on this day 83 years ago (19 September 1940): effervescent and eccentric fuchsia-haired doyenne of British fashion, Dame Zandra Rhodes. She is of course the undisputed queen of the elaborately bejewelled float-y chiffon caftan, but I prefer Rhodes’ response to the rise of punk in 1977. To the revulsion of punk purists, Rhodes launched her own deluxe haute couture interpretation of punk fashion, with artful jagged rips and tears, embellished with glittering safety pins and chains! Some have claimed this made her “the high priestess of punk”, although I suspect the late Vivienne Westwood disagreed. Anyway, over the decades her clientele has numbered international jet set superstar names like Elizabeth Taylor, Jacqueline Kennedy, Cher, Bianca Jagger, Barbra Streisand and Princesses Margaret and Diana. But as far as I’m concerned, no one looked better in Rhodes’ signature caftans than drag mega-star Divine! (Rhodes and Divine were friends in the 1980s and in fact the only times I’ve ever spotted Rhodes socially, it’s been backstage at John Waters’ events in London, accompanied by Helena Kennedy QC and transgender trailblazer April Ashley). Pictured: portrait of Rhodes by Alun Callender, 2022.

[silkkaftanwomen]

Draping in authentic attires build up confidence!!! This kaftan goes very well with this proverb. Parties are to show off your best appearances and wearing this kaftan you boost up your style to set new fashion trends around. It is beautifully designed with beautiful print and embellishments add spice to it. Short Silk Kaftan

[fledglingwings]

Cotton Pink Hand Block Print Short Caftan This caftan dress cover up is made of a best quality material with no structure so that it drapes effortlessly and elegantly.

[humasahsultanimsworld]

Sultans and Their Colorful Clothes + Gevherhan Sultan's sweet light pink caftan

[lokisgoodgirl]

Hot & Bothered: Snack Shack [Avenger!Loki x Fem Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (14) Ice-cream ain't the only temptation waiting in the Snack Shack. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Hostility. Language. "Friends" w/ benefits. (4.2k)

You and Loki walked most of the way in silence. A small hut came into view, a half-shuttered awning facing the sea. The Snack Shack, a faded rectangular sign above the front read.

Loki chuckled mockingly, shaking his head. “I shall never become accustomed to this realms insistence on purchasing frivolities.”

“Like food?” you muttered. “Besides, you’re like, the poster boy for frivolities.” you said scathingly, pinching the arm of his chiffon robe. Loki sniffed. “I meant the exchange of coin. So uncivilised.”

“Well, it may surprise you to know” you whispered secretively, leaning towards him. “That not everyone has the benefit of being a spoilt arsehole.”

Loki scoffed, offering a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can assure you that if I was necessitated to use such vulgar methods of capital exchange, I would not waste it on trifles such as…”

He trailed off, searching for any sign on the dilapidated exterior of what could be found inside the Snack Shack. You rolled your eyes, turning the key.

“After you, my Liege.” you mocked, waving him inside. The god tilted his chin up, flicking his hair past his shoulders before striding barefoot through the rickety door in a swirl of black silk-chiffon.

Prick, you thought. “Peasant.” Loki snapped dryly in response, not looking back.

You tilted your head, a wave of irritation at his insufferable new habit giving way to curiosity. “I thought you said you could only see flashes of things. Like photos of certain...whatever?”

Loki nodded, picking up an empty plastic jumbo-cup and inspecting it with mild interest. He tilted his head, voice saturated in feigned innocence.

“You must be feeling something very strongly, Agent. Either that or the reason for your unfortunate position is deepening its hold. Oh dear.” He ended with a theatrical narrowing of his eyes, the blue of his irises darkened in the unlit gloom.

A coy smile pressed against the god's cheek as he watched your brow twitch; words failing to bridge the gap between your brain and tongue. He straightened, flipping the jumbo cup to spin flawlessly back to its position at the top of a curved stack.

A beam of afternoon sun snaking through the shutters ran a sliver of sunlight across his broad chest as he leant against the counter. It caught the golden embroidery of the caftan resting against his obliques, illuminating the luxurious weave that hung like a fucked-out lover around the muscle of his hips.

The god’s hands gripped the sides of the stainless steel, drumming them lightly as he waited for you to respond.

“Steve didn’t ask you to talk to me, did he?” you said, suddenly very aware you were bare but for a simple bikini. In the cover of shadow, Loki let his eyes wander leisurely over your curves; a flash of pink running across his bottom lip. His tell.

“He spoke to me earlier. He didn’t speak to you.” you analysed slowly, running a finger along the length of the steel counter. Loki’s eyes flashed, a roll of his shoulders betraying his arousal. He pulled the flowing length of the caftan to the side, letting it swirl and flutter. You supposed he thought it looked casual.

“He spoke to me prior to-” he started confidently.

“-Liar.” you snapped, cutting him off.

The god raised his brows. “You lied to me, Loki.” you said coyly, noting the way he was pressing himself back against the thick steel bar. His grip had tightened around the edge, the unexpected causality of your statement taking him by surprise. Not that he had lied. But that you had caught it.

Loki glowered, lowering his chin. “You are the one lying Agent. To me. And to yourself.”

“You’re full of shit.” you snapped, heart beating louder with every slap of your flip flops against the rudimentary tiled floor. “Why did you lie about Rogers? Why did you come over to sit with me? Did you miss me?” you goaded, pouting mockingly as his glare intensified. The bitterness in your voice surprised even you.

He had shuffled slightly to the right, subconsciously moving away from your stalk around the L-shaped counter. “Or did you miss your toy? The game.” you continued non-nonchalantly, reaching out and gathering the opposing edges of his caftan in a fist. “Which you were cheating at, by the way.”

You could smell the dried salt crusting in his hair, the undertone of spiced musk which infused his insufferably biteable skin hanging thick in the heat. A thrilling tingle soared over every hair on your body, his beautiful eyes squinting suspiciously as he tried to read you. “What’s wrong, Loki? Lost your upper hand?” you sneered.

Suddenly you pulled the fist gathering the sides of the slutty caftan towards you, slamming his mouth to yours in a violent kiss. Loki jolted in surprise, before his hands fastened to either side of your head. The feeling of his warm tongue invading your mouth after so long was heaven. Infuriatingly, it was fucking heaven.

He shuffled you back across the tiny kitchen. You lost a flip flop. And then two.

The force of his kiss was electric, the animalism of his covetous passion overpowering every ounce of dominance you had held mere seconds ago. He released you against the opposing steel counter, a fresh chill of metal hitting your lower back.

“You wish to know why I can see the desires that your mind screams across the lonely abyss you have created around yourself? One of misdirection and sabotage?” he hissed, taking no mind of the fist still gathered at his chest. Loki’s face was inches from yours, eyes wild and dangerous. Salted onyx curls fell around his cheekbones, rugged and dry.

“No.” you said slowly, rounding your lips. You watched his eyes hover on them as they remained parted, waiting for him to fill them again. “Liar.” he echoed.

You rolled your eyes, using the free hand not hoisting his robe together to roughly palm the front of his swim shorts. Unsurprisingly, he was already hard. Of course he fucking is, you thought. Despite your distractions, Loki continued unperturbed.

“You think that by conceding to your need for my intel on our little party trick, that you concede yourself?” he let out a mirthless laugh that stifled the small space, vibrating against the pots and pans hanging on the wall behind your head. “Oh Agent…” he hissed, as you squeezed his manhood tighter than any mortal man would find pleasure in; “...we are too far gone for that.”

“You’re awfully full of yourself for a man in a negligee.” you snorted, dragging your nails along the sensitive ridges of his cock through the nylon.

Loki grimaced, releasing a ragged growl as his head fell back to the ceiling. He let himself enjoy a few moments of submissive pleasure, before he brought himself forward; renewed determination glowing in his eyes.

“Be that as it may...it does not change that I can read you the way that I can.” he smirked, trailing a long finger between your breasts. He drew it between the mounds, groaning lightly as the digit disappeared into the valley of your cleavage before tracing it up your neck. His thumb lingered on your thorax, igniting the nerves that longed for his absent touch.

You let your head loll to the side, hips thrusting forwards as you felt him grow harder through the tight swim shorts. Harder? Fuck; you thought, as Loki’s fingertips grazed the length of your neck, back and forth; feeling every pulse, every breath. He descended to sweep your exposed collarbone, drawing tingling lengths over every pleasure point hidden beneath your skin with the lightest of touches.

It was torture. He was torture.

Loki’s forefinger and thumb clasped lightly beneath your chin, pressing against the angle of your jaw and forcing your face to his. He rocked his hips into your hand, grinding against the passive fury of your desire. “So fucking weak for me, aren’t you, Agent?” he murmured thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as he watched a new wave of infuriation blossom over your features nestled in shadow.

Before you could answer, his hands were wrapped around your wrists; tearing them from their grip on his caftan and cock like tissue paper. You gasped as he raised them above your head, sliding them roughly down your naked waist and hoisting you on top of the counter with a jolt.

“The only time you’re drawn to me is when I make you rage, isn’t it?” he grunted, grasping ravenously at your thighs as he spread them wider and slotted himself between. You panted, gasping as his hands wound in your hair possessively. “You are such a fucking arseh-”

“-Yes, Agent.” he groaned from deep in his gut, clawing mercilessly at the bikini bottoms wrapped to your hips.

“Loathe me. Scorn me. Hate me. Rage for me...I care not.” he spat through a desperate moan as the white briefs were cast to the floor by your flip flops. “Just fuck me.”

His own swimwear had disappeared in the fray. The thick cock you fantasised about filling you in the long hours of the night bobbed at his naval as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t, Agent.” he said softly, pressing a finger to your lips to quell the biting words hovering there.

Perched on the counter-top, you gazed up at the god who irritated you more than anyone or anything ever had. If you chose, you could pick up your shit and leave. But why would I do that? you thought fleetingly, catching a fleck of something spark in the greenish hues of his eyes.

You lurched forwards, catching the tip of his finger in your mouth and sucking with your eyes locked to his.

Loki lowered his chin with a rumble, the timbre making your slick pussy tremor as you swirled your tongue around the tip. “You are playing with fire, little thing.” he growled, tinged with desperation as your mouth released his finger with a final wet slurp. “Fucking burn me, then.” you snarled, running your palms down his chest to the treasure below.

“A month…” Loki groaned wistfully, as your hands looped around his neck; pulling him deeper against your keening body. You wondered if he had meant to say it out loud. His mouth latched to the curve of your shoulder, sucking messy kisses into the salted skin.

The flimsy material of your bikini top did nothing to stop pangs of pleasure soaring as your nipples rubbed against his body; shooting in blissful stars.

With an aggressive sweep of his hand, the pans hanging on the wall behind you shot across the room; clanging menacingly against the stove and falling chaotically to the floor. You gasped, descending into giggles as Loki lowered you against the cool counter-top with a satisfied smirk.

He hoisted your legs onto his shoulders, the silky material of the chiffon caftan feeling taboo beneath your naked calves. The god towered over you who lay spread and ready; running his feral stare over your glistening pussy as your back arched against the steel.

You moaned his name in frustration, pulling shamelessly at the golden hem of his slutty cover-up. Loki chuckled, holding his cock in one hand and dragging it leisurely against your wet slit.

“And you think you’re not weak for me...” he muttered, dipping the wide tip teasingly inside; watching a sticky web of arousal string outwards as he withdrew. His hair fell around his face, his eyelids closing gently with the smallest thrust of his hips edging lightly against your core.

“Only for what you can do…” you teased, fingers grasping around the counter’s edge; steadying for the coming reckoning. You bucked your hips so the first inch of his cock was swallowed into wet heat. “Fuck.” Loki choked, losing his concentration. His palms slid up the front of your thighs hanging against his chest before he bit ravenously into the flesh to his side.

“Please.” you sneered, feeling his length pulse against your clit as he stalled for time with his teeth and tongue. “You’re weak for me, Laufeyson.” Your fingers tightened around the chiffon hanging at his waist, yanking hard. The god’s eyes fluttered open in your direction, lips still fastened to your skin mid-bite.

“So desperate for the one who doesn’t want you.” you cooed, watching the familiar primal glaze blossom in his stare as you arched towards the ceiling. “So desperate for v-validation…”

The god’s hands cupped your knees, straightening your legs against his broad shoulders. “Lying to yourself again, Agent? How unattractive.” Loki snarled.

His fingers wrapped around your calves, squeezing tightly as you squirmed on the steel like an animal marked for slaughter. You bucked upwards, trying to capture the tip of his weeping cock like before. Loki tutted, wild hair melding in amongst the folds of black fabric covering his shoulders. “Doesn’t seem like you find me unattractive, Loki.” you purred, pressing your lips together mischievously.

Your hostile lover’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth together as he leant forward; tight obliques pressing against the rear of your thighs. The veins of his furiously hard cock pulsed against your slit as he slid back and forth through your folds. Testing you. Teasing you.

You gasped as Loki thrust into your pussy without warning, his brows slanting before resuming their haughty, regal set. He bottomed out, a low groan vibrating against the back of your legs through his chest as he began fucking you with your straightened limbs jiggling shamelessly by his ears.

Dirty grunts spilled from his lips as he rode you into battle, primal desperation soaring as you rocked violently into his passion.

You could do nothing but feel the enormous weight of Loki’s arousal stretch and fill your sex, every long drag of his cock making your face scrunch in aggressive pleasure. Loki’s jaw gaped, unhinged as dark hair swung against his cheekbones; errant strands sticking against his parted lips.

A line of utensils on the wall shook, every messy slap of the god’s hips meeting your centre making them clang. A spatula clattered to the steel counter, bouncing along the shaking surface before descending loudly to the floor. A ladle followed.

One of his hands ran down your thigh, finding its way between your spread legs. He began rolling your clit with his horizontal thumb; firm and mercilessly targeted – each massage of the digit timed against his wet thrusts.

“Tell me what I want..” you gasped between filthy curses, your back squeaking against the steel as sweat made it stick. In a flash, Loki roughly lowered your legs around his hips, swooping his hands beneath your waist and heaving you into the air.

His cock never left your slit as you clenched around him, hanging on to the heady fuck only he could deliver with all the strength you had.

He slammed you against the lowered shutters, crushing your mouths together like a man possessed. You’d never seen him like this, hands spasming in their impatience to squeeze and grip and pull every curve of your body to his. “Say that again.” he growled disbelievingly by your ear, making you shudder.

“Tell me..w-what I want, d-dickhead.” you managed to gasp as he rutted into you; your back flat against rickity corrugated metal. It rattled ominously with every smack of his hips, your hands running through his hair and pulling his head back with a sharp tug. Loki hissed, lips stretching to reveal his teeth bared as he bit air. “F-uck, Agent…” he groaned. “I shall n-never understand you.”

“Good.” you whispered groggily, clenching tightly as he dragged his pelvis against yours. He couldn’t be any deeper. Every tight thrust bottomed out as he impaled himself again and again, withdrawing only an inch or two from the back of your channel before the temptation was too much. “You owe me that.” you murmured breathily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His face hovered in front of yours as he stilled, fully sheathed and hard as rock. He jutted his chin, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and drawing it back. A thoughtful hum shuddered the air as he squinted, eyes flickering between your own. You could feel a tingling by your temples, a low buzz of static filling your mind as your lungs clenched. Am I imagining that, you wondered; as Loki’s hypnotic stare sank into yours.

The god inhaled sharply, head titling to the side as he pursed his lips. “You’re a bad girl.” he murmured, punctuated with a slow roll of his hips. “No worse than you.” you countered, as Loki’s attempt at a lean for a kiss turned to a grin.

“Where?” he said. “There.” you replied, nudging your head towards the opposite side of the small kitchen space. The only unspoilt surface.

Loki smirked. “Very well. Although don’t be disappointed when you do not have the strength to facilitate the desired result.” he mocked, sliding his cock from your tight, wet heat and lowering you to the ground. The tiles were cool on the soles of your feet, flushed with faint pins and needles from Loki’s iron grip on your thighs. “Oh, we’ll see.” you replied petulantly. “I have a lot of pent up frustration.”

Loki chuckled, backing slowly towards the steel counter on his left. “That much is obvious, Agent. Perhaps it will teach you not to punish yourself with the withdrawal of your affections from me.”

You rolled your eyes, before being drawn back to the sight of him leaning seductively against the ledge. His slutty caftan spread out as he rested his hands casually behind him, knuckles popping as long fingers wrapped around metal.

The chiffon cover-up glinted in the slivers of light through the squint shutters, embroidery framing his deliciously luxurious erection in the scruffy surroundings. “Or perhaps affections is the wrong word, hmm?” he interjected, looking at you appraisingly through heavy-lidded eyes.

You stepped forwards, noticing him brush the long line of dark material from one thigh, holding it beneath his thumb against the steel. It exposed the meat of his muscled thigh which bulged as he adjusted his stance. Tease, you thought with a smile as you padded past him, enjoying the moment his look of smug assurance melted to a frown.

“What are you doing?” he snapped incredulously, as you reached up to a high shelf. You fished around in a box, drawing out a solitary wafer cone before placing it beneath the ice-cream machine beside Loki.

“I’m mortally offended you would choose that over the delicacies I offer, Agent.” he coyed, bristling beneath the humour. You shrugged, watching the vanilla soft serve swirl in a perfect loop, higher and higher. The machine growled, chugging as an exasperated huff expelled from Loki’s throat. You smirked.

Turning to face him, you held up the loaded cone. “I thought you said you can see what I want.” you postured bluntly, before giving the ice-cream a whoreish lick. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” he growled, widening his legs. You sashayed the several steps between you, pressing your chest to his. He opened his mouth, eyes never leaving yours as you let him lick the cone. Slow, sensual. Filthy.

You whimpered as he covered the tip with his mouth, sucking before his tongue darted across vanilla-soaked lips. “I’ve had better.” he murmured playfully, a dark strand falling over his eye. “Me too.” you said, before shoving the remnants of the ice-cream in his face.

Loki spluttered, smiling back at your own grin as you began to run the ruined cone down his neck. A drop of white fell from his nose, splashing your cleavage. The scent of artificial vanilla filled your nostrils, soft serve melting instantly against his heated skin. It nestled in the crevices of his collarbone; sticking in tacky pools before finding a slow path down his chest.

“Did you see that coming?” you whispered provocatively, letting your tongue roll over the final word. Loki shivered, shaking his head. You ran your palms up his neck, feeling the thick sugar clinging to your fingertips drag across his skin. They slid over his cheekbones, carding past his temples as Loki gave a reluctant twist of his neck.

“Beware the robe” he muttered, “it was crafted by Asgardian crones, the finest weavers in all the realms.”

You smirked, wiping a wet finger down the embroidered collar. “Oops.” you purred. Loki sighed heavily, restless irritation bubbling beneath the surface of his perfect skin. It felt like all your senses were heightened. His submission. That was what you had wanted more than anything else, right here. Right now.

A seaborne breeze fluttered through the gap in the shutters, coolly kissing the sweat gathered on your chest and neck. Without a moment’s pause, your messy hand slid down his abdomen, rippling over valleys of muscle before wrapping around his heavy cock. Loki hissed, a rasping groan filling the air as you began to slowly wank him back and forth.

Your free hand fastened around the thick muscle of his neck, the cartilage of his Adam’s apple hard against your tingling skin. The span of your thumb and forefinger barely reached edge to edge.

Loki smirked down beneath half-lidded eyes. “I told you.” he growled goadingly, before you pushed the flat of your palm backwards. Loki let out a grunt of surprise as the digits hooked beneath the angle of his jaw, tilting his head back further as you increased the speed of your hand around his cock. The drying stick of ice-cream made every tug drag as you watched him relent beneath your touch, becoming undone against the steel.

“Gods...more…” he whimpered huskily, toes curling on the floor. Loki’s thighs twitched, femur muscles bulging against your own as you pressed harder against the soft flesh of his neck. “Fuck.” he choked, rasping moans filling the air as wetness slid between your legs.

You squeezed his windpipe, clenching at the sound of half-breaths struggling to surface. The god’s hair swung around his shoulders, chin pointed to the ceiling. His stomach muscles flexed against your chest, the desperate thrusts of his sex into your palm making you feel more than turned on. Making you feel alive.

You slowed the motion of your hand, feeling a silent whimper vibrate his throat. Toying with the foreskin covering his shaft, your fingertips gently massaged the weeping tip as his knees began to buckle.

“You’re so fucking weak for me, Loki.” you parroted, seeing his brow crease in feral anticipation. If he could, you were sure he would have nodded. You pushed the hand pressing at the angle of his jaw further, making his eyes roll back as you tugged the delicate skin of his cock out and pulled it back with aching slowness.

A ragged groan from Loki charted every step of it’s ascent.

“Mercy.” he gasped, as you stroked him slowly. Too slowly.

Every devastating rub of his sensitive tip made him lean back further under the weight of your hand at his throat. He was dripping with precum, each roll of your thumb against his frenulum making another pearl squeeze forth. You glanced down, seeing his fists clench and unclench against the metal counter-top, body shaking with unspent lust. Ready to burst.

Your pace quickened.

“Why can you see into my head, then?” you panted, beginning to tug mercilessly. The fluid motion of your hand sliding against the magnificent column of flesh was it’s own reward, the pretty flutter of his lashes as he came undone making you mewl alongside him.

Loki let out a strangled moan, velvet skin melded to your own; moist with arousal and saliva and liquid sugar as you stroked the underside of his exposed shaft with every flick of your wrist. The veins on his neck stood erect as muscled shoulders juddered, abs clenching as he leant into your grip.

“Because you...fuck. l-love me, f-fuck...uhhh…” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut as glorious white seed spurted over your fist. His roar was apocalyptic, a deafening exhale of your name as he spilled himself over your waiting skin. His cum shot up your wrist, coating your palm. Your forearm. Your chest.

You squeezed a final time as Loki let out slow, shallow pants; gathering every drop before smearing the handful down your cleavage. Bringing your fingers to your lips, you sucked the remains as the god leant forwards, tongue primed.

He met the curve of your breast with a sigh, letting slow licks trail languidly as he lapped himself from your skin. Fuck, it tastes even better than I remember, you thought; pressing the back of the god’s head further between your mounds.

There was still a ringing in your ears as he surfaced. “Did you hear what I said, Agent?” he said tentatively, mouth sticky with ice-cream and semen; glistening in the low light. “I was distracted...” you purred, your hand already fumbling for his cock, ready for round two.

“Because you love me.” he said slowly, brows slanted. An awkward smile tugged at his lips.

You snorted with laughter, brushing a thumb against his mouth to gather the remnant slick gathered there. You sucked it, able to instantly tell the difference between the ice-cream and his own delicious vanilla-infused seed.

“Very funny. You’re insane.” you snapped, pulling the collar of the sluttish caftan towards you to kiss him. Loki frowned, placing a palm gently against your lips. His brow was furrowed, deep lines set above eyes which sparked with barbs unsaid.

“I should have known better than to think you’d actually tell me.” you said petulantly, muffled against the flat of his palm. The god leant forward, the scent of his cum hanging sweet and heavy on his breath.

“Since you will not take my word, I think it best you have a conversation with my brother.” Loki said with disquieting bitterness, lowering his hand. You realised that the tight swim shorts had reformed around his hips as he readjusted the sheer robe, haughtily flicking fucked-out hair over his shoulders.

“Wait-what?” you stuttered, stumbling to gather your bikini bottoms from the floor. “Loki, wait –is that it? What about the water?”

“I have it on my person.” Loki grunted dryly, casting a shaded glance behind him with a theatrical flourish of the slutty caftan. “You are not the only expert at hiding things, Agent.” he said snidely, letting the door to the snack shack clatter shut behind him.

Continued in Bow to Me Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

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[lizzybeth1986]

Laylat al-Henna

Book: The Royal Romance

Rating: PG

Pairing: Kiara Theron x Hana Lee

Word Count: 1, 882 words

Summary: It's the night before Kiara and Hana's wedding! What fun things do Kiara's cousins from Fes have in store for their henna night?

A/N: You'll find details and visuals on the fashion and henna designs (as well as faceclaims for the OCs!) in this post.

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 1: Culture, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW/LGBTQ Archive, @choicespride as well even though it may be a bit early for the pride event.

It is tradition - Kiara has been told over and over, wedding after wedding, from the time she was twelve - for a woman to have her bridegroom's name hidden in the designs of her henna.

Their families back in Fes would make a game of it on their wedding night; the groom could touch his bride only when he found his name, tiny and dark and perfect - leaving the most beautiful stain on her palms.

At least four (well...three, really) of those cousins had giggled over how it all went down at their own wedding nights. Nour's henna had her husband's name written in extremely small print, squirreled away among a row of curls. Imane's flowed along the curves of a large, floral paisley. Nissrine's husband was rumoured to have taken hours searching for his name in her henna and poor Fatimazahra's collapsed into an eight-hour slumber before he could even truly try.

All four of them laughed even harder when they were told that Kiara would be marrying a woman.

At first Kiara assumed it had to be the fun of celebrating two brides rather than just one. Double the joy, double the dancing, double the bridal henna!

Should've known better, Kiara mutters to herself as her eyes search frantically for telltale signs of calligraphy along the darkened vines on Hana's palm.

She almost lets out a triumphant yell when she catches a lovingly inscribed kaaf, deceptively mirroring the vines. That's before she realises the other four letters are scattered in Arabic all over Hana's palm.

Kiara purses her lips, immensely annoyed. Why did she think this to be so romantic in the first place?

"Oh!" Hana whispers in delight, "Look! I've found mine." Her finger lightly traces the soft skin underneath Kiara's little finger, caressing the spot where her own name is inscribed, in Mandarin....as a whole word. Her eyes sparkle in childlike glee.

Kiara manages to catche an alif peeking out from behind a flower on the soft skin just below Hana's thumb. She lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head.

Perhaps she should thank every deity of every faith that her parents' gave her a name as short as Kiara. Imagine her plight if it had been as long as Fatimazahra's, zut alors.

"My darling cousins," she says, her eyes still roaming over Hana's palms. Now...now she understands all those hearty cackles Nour seemed to be making, at the idea of arranging a henna party for two women. "Elles me conduiront à ma tombe!"

--

Every woman at the henna party in Castelserraillan that night shared very knowing grins as Kiara and Hana entered - completely blissed out, skin dewy and aglow, a mixture of a french lavender scent and the earthy aroma of ghassoul clay emanating from their bodies.

They'd been brought into the hall like princesses of old, carried in jewelled palanquins, dressed in caftans and takchitas whose golden threads reflected the soft light of the hall, the candles that seemed to receive their own henna treatment in tones of pink, purple and rose gold, and their light glowed softly in trays of pure gold.

Having experienced the joys of the pre-henna night hammam baths themselves, most of Kiara's aunts and cousins could tell how good the treatments must have been within the first ten minutes of a bride entering the ceremony.

Beneath her golden veil, Kiara's eyes roamed around the hall, in awe of the sheer love and detail that must have gone into planning this party alone. Both women being daughters to a multitude of cultures meant that Kiara and Hana had to pay their respects to several of their homes - Bethulia. Castelserraillan. Udvada. Orleans. Fes. Shanghai. Cordonia. - in different ceremonies, and include a multitude of relatives.

Which meant that Kiara's aunts and cousins knew this night was their moment to shine.

Hana was whisked to another corner of the room before Kiara could even get a chance to speak to her - a bevy of ladies already surrounding her to fulfill requests, give her mint tea, admire the henna's artist's craft or just for a small chat. Anything and everything Hana wanted. Tonight (and this was exactly how Kiara wanted it) Hana was going to be treated like a queen.

From under her lashes, Kiara sneaked a look at Hana. The woman she would call her wife tomorrow. Listening, nodding, her silken brown hair catching the glow of the lights as she threw her head back at a joke her aunt Hala said.

"If you stare any harder you'll bore a hole in the wall behind her," Nissrine came to her, grinning as she followed Kiara's gaze. She looked around the hall, slightly doubtful. "How did we do?"

Kiara laughed, placing her free hand on her cousin's arm, reassuring her with the word they would all use to describe something as beautiful. "Zwina."

Fatimazahra - who had been minding the caterers this whole time - seemed to appear out of nowhere, chukling. "Tomorrow is her wedding night. Of course everything will be zwina. The macroute will be zwina, her henna will be zwina, her wife will be the most zwina."

Kiara moved her gaze from Hana to her own palms, admiring the naqasha's speed and precision. The henna felt cool on her left palm, the designs on her arms already beginning to dry a little and the paste itself smelling pleasant and earthy - the way real henna should.

The naqasha - an experienced henna artist from their hometown whose team had become popular among the family circles for their vast knowledge of different henna styles (Indian, Pakistani, Khaleeji, Fassi, Marrakechi, Meknessi, Saharawi - you name it) - had finished making a beautiful dome at the centre of Kiara's palm, and was now referring to a tiny piece of paper Imane seemed to have given her before carefully writing out Méihuā - the name Hana's paternal family often used for her - in Hànzì script.

Kiara smiles mistily as she watches Soraya, the naqasha, labour over each character of the script, making sure she never got a single line or slant wrong. Hana often told her that that name reminded her of happier times, far more than her own birth name did. It meant plum blossom - the flower that grew fragrant and resilient in the snow, China's national flower. Her Năinai's favourite flower.

And over the past year...she'd begun to answer to it a little more too.

Kiara mouthed a silent "thank you" to Imane as she sauntered to her side, looking very pleased with herself.

"Wonderful work, Soraya," she patted the naqasha lightly on her shoulder, "What oils did you add in the henna paste this time?"

"Tea tree, geranium and lavender," Soraya said, smiling, "She can hold her hands in front of some herbal incense later. A lovely rich colour and the scent will be incredible."

"Ohhh...what a deep stain it'll leave behind when the henna comes off!" Imane looked back at Kiara, winking. "Remember what our aunts used to tell us, Kiara? The darker the stain of the henna, the deeper the essence of his love. Or her's, in this case."

Kiara was grateful for her golden veil as heat creeped up her neck. Maman loved that adage, ever since her own wedding where - if Kiara's aunts were to be believed - her henna deepened to a dark, rich brown without even holding her hands to a brazier like everyone else did.

Kiara always liked to call herself a practical woman. But this didn't stop her from dreaming of showing Hana her palms, rich and deep brown from both henna and their love.

"Is Hana liking her designs?" Kiara asked Imane.

"Iyyeh," Imane nodded. "Soraya's girls have really outdone themselves. Indian designs are usually very elaborate, but Hana wanted something simple, a little floral."

She gave Kiara a wolfish grin, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I think you're going to love it."

Kiara narrowed her eyes at Imane. She knew that look. It was the kind she would give all her cousins when, as children, she was about to do skin her knees climbing the branches of a fig tree.

Kiara was going to open her mouth to ask what Imane had in mind, when the low, deep strains of the guembri rang throughout the room.

It was Nissrine's younger sister Nour, closing her eyes in reverence and plucking the strings of the family guembri - a legacy from her father, a renowned Gnawa master himself. The guembri had been in the family for generations, itself decorated with henna patterns so intricate it would amaze even the best of naqashas.

As the women in her family got up to dance to "Toura Toura", a song Kiara would listen to and relish in 12 hour lilas every year in Fes (singing in Bambara - a language neither she nor her cousins truly understood but loved to hear), she found herself somehow dancing next to the woman she had been craving to see for the last few hours.

"Well, hello there," Kiara said, sneaking a kiss to Hana's cheek.

Hana giggled. "Fancy running into you."

They danced until their feet were sore, until their eyes begged for sleep, until their henna dried - leaving behind a stain that was a deep, dark, rich brown.

--

"They did that on purpose!" Kiara huffs, ten minutes after she has triumphantly shown Hana the final letter - the rāy curling at the base of her wrist. "They were planning to annoy and vex me this entire time. If they were here right now I'd tell them to go cook themselves an egg."

For all her grumbling, however, Kiara was quite overjoyed. She had hoped that her extended family in Fes would adore Hana just as much as she did, that they would love her and pamper her silly. They went above and beyond; they made Hana's first real experience of Morocco practically unforgettable.

It was. In every sense of the word. Even if that involved secretly pulling Kiara's leg.

Hana pouts, her fingers still tracing the name on Kiara's palm. "I wish they scattered letters for me too. Seems like more of a challenge." She shifts a little more into Kiara's arms, turning her gaze to her own palms. "Not that I don't love your henna already. It's gorgeous; look at these curls in the center! They remind me of a compass rose."

Hana runs her fingers purposefully along the length of Kiara's body. She presses five tiny kisses along her face.

"A kiss for each letter," she hums happily against Kiara's skin, "A just reward for your hard work."

Laughter bubbles in Kiara's throat. "Only five?"

"Kiara Yasmine Thorne," Hana's voice takes on a raspy, sultry quality, "Don't be greedy."

"Ma moitie," she whispers back, "I believe tonight's the one night when greed is allowed."

Hana bites her lower lip to stem her own laughter, then lets her lips roam free over Kiara's face.

"Fine, then," Hana huffs in mock-petulance, only too happy to go along with the joke, "Eighteen kisses it is."

Kiara buries her hands in Hana's hair as she breathes in the fragrance from between her shoulder and neck. "I won't mind if you give me more...but alright. Eighteen's a start."

Translation -

Darija:

Kaaf (ك), yaa (ي), alif (ا)(twice), rāy (ر) are the isolated letters that - I think - will form Kiara's name in Arabic. I believe that it may look somewhat like this (كيارا) when written as one word, but the letters are meant to be scattered around Hana's henna just to tease Kiara.

Ghassoul/Rhassoul clay - a type of clay that some people use as a cosmetic product for their skin and hair. It’s a brown clay only found in a valley in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. The term “rhassoul” comes from an Arabic word that means “to wash.” Typically used in hammam baths.

Zwina - a compliment, literal meaning is beautiful or good.

Macroute - a diamond shaped sweet cookie filled with dates and nuts or almond paste.

Naqasha - Henna artist

Guembri - a three stringed skin-covered bass plucked lute used by the Gnawa people

Lila - a rich ceremony in the Gnawa community, of song, music, dance, costume, and incense that takes place over the course of an entire night, ending around dawn. Learn more here.

Toura Toura - Popular Gnawa song. Here is a version by Innov Gnawa.

French:

zut alors - an expression of annoyance, like saying "darn!" or "damn!", mostly used in non-serious instances.

Elles me conduiront à ma tombe! - They will lead me to my grave!

Va te faire cuire un œuf! - Literally, "go cook yourself an egg!". An expression of annoyance, similar to "go take a hike!" or "leave me alone!"

[raparopa]

could you do Tolya Yul-Bataar x Grisha!fem!reader

you walk around the ballroom, you simply trip that someone was holding your waist it was Tolya, you apologize, you seem so nervous to see him but he very kind to you, so you two talk and lots of chemistry together *fluffiness*

(hope you will write it, thanks and have a lovely day)

a/n: I continue the marathon

warnings: alcohol

pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x reader

lady tidemaker

I really love the balls that the Lantsov family has always arranged. It was one of the great advantages of friendship with Nikolai, when you can freely have fun and have a good time during noisy holidays; walk the golden halls and dance with the lords or other Grisha.

And tonight was great. Nikolai returned, he was no longer called Sturmhond, he brought with him the Sun Summoner and now we could not sit out in observatory, hiding from Vasily's tyranny.

I grabbed a glass of champagne from one table, looking at my reflection in the cloche, admiring how beautiful my blue and blue caftan looks in this gold madness. The drink was sweet in taste, with small bubbles and a fruity aroma. I greeted and nodded to the Grisha, chatted with Nadia, even got to know Alina better, who turned out to be a very nice girl; I even managed to exchange a few words with Nikolai and scold him for disappearing somewhere for so long and not even sending a message.

I was glad, calm and a little drunk on good champagne. But who cares, right?

I walked around the hall until some lady blocked my way with her huge, pink dress, the train of which trailed behind her like a peacock's tail. I tried to make a clever maneuver so as not to run into this (wonderful) woman, but my legs had already decided everything for me: the heel treacherously slid on the pink fabric of the hem, and I barely had time to squeak something and mentally prepare for the fall as ...

Nothing happened? The only thing I heard was a splash: the champagne from my glass was on the floor.

I could hardly exhale: someone held me by the arms so easily, as if I were a feather. When I opened my eyes, I saw no one in front of me, but the voice of my savior came from behind.

-Is everything all right, tidemaker? - they asked me with a sneer, returning to a vertical position. I awkwardly turned to look at my savior and realized that I was feeling bad and good at the same time.

Tolya Yul-Bataar.

Oh no. Oh no. OH NO NO NO. My heart skipped a beat and then pounded like a drum.

Of course I knew who it was. I saw him and his sister next to Nikolai when they arrived. But close he was... Saints...

-Yes, thank you,- I said, not knowing where to put my hands and an empty glass. He silently looked at me for a moment, and then his smile turned a little sad.

-You got scared? Your heart ... - he put his hand to his chest, on the side of his heart. I blinked incomprehensibly. - Beats harder, faster than before. Are you sure you're alright, torrential? -he said, looking at me worriedly. I wanted to answer him, but his words made me think for a moment, and then my lips stretched into a sly smile.

-Sounds like you've been following my heart all evening,- I teased. Tolya's face fell for a moment, and then he laughed, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

-Y/N. - I said, holding out my free hand to him.

-Tolya,- he answered, shaking my hand. He had strong, but surprisingly soft and light hands. -Very glad to meet you, Y/N.

- Mutually. - I smiled. Why are my cheeks and ears burning so insanely?! - How do you like the evening?

Tolya shrugged.

-Now she has become much more charming Y/N. Even the appetizers are not so terrible. And the champagne is quite good.

I giggled at his words.

- Champagne is excellent. - I answered, twirling an empty glass in my hand. - It's a pity that now the floor will enjoy it, and not me. Thanks to that beautiful lady in the wonderful pink dress. I nodded my head at the culprit of our acquaintance, who now flickered at the other end of the hall.

Tolya laughed heartily.

Saints, are all heartrenders so adorable?

-I think the champagne problem is easy to fix. Unless, of course, the lady will allow me? - He bowed theatrically to me, winking playfully.

-ABOUT! Please! - I waved away embarrassedly. - I'm not a lady at all. Not at all. I doubt that Grisha can even be called a lady. - I justified myself, which undoubtedly amused Tolya again.

-Still, will you allow me to supply you with champagne again?

- How much help in one evening, Tolya.

-I like to help people. Especially so charming. Lady tidemaker.

[lamaisongaga]

FASHION CREDITS: JAZZ & PIANO SHOW 4.0 PART I

Lady Gaga made a triumphant return to Las Vegas where she'll be staying until July to complete another round of her highly sought-after Jazz & Piano residency shows! And of course, she brought a whole new batch of costumes styled by Sandra Amador and Tom Eerebout along with her.

First, we‘re hopping onto our virtual plane where I‘ll be taking you to Marbella, Spain to once again meet with young fashion designer Adrián Manceras who‘s kind enough to let us take a look in his atelier where he crafted Gaga‘s opening number: a fabulous cocktail dress showered in champagne sequins, finest crystals and delicate fringe trimmings!

I can‘t help but notice how Gaga sticks to the same designer when it comes to the opening number‘s look. From headpiece down to the shoes. Yet, she changes the design every time she comes back to Vegas.

Here, she‘s donning yet another insane showgirl-inspired headdress with turkey feathers and Swarovski crystals by the ever-so talented Arturo Rios who sent me this image JUST for your eyes!

The Italian-American entertainer topped her look off with a new custom pair of Laruicci crystal statement earrings

Her favorite Jimmy Choo metallic silver Anouk stiletto pumps provided the finishing touches.

The choice of purple was as unexpected as the combination of sequins, feathers (provided by Mother Plucker Feather Company), and PVC. Yet, this look struck me the most, standing out in a sea of bold fashion statements!

Delving into La Maison Gaga reveals an intriguing history behind her glamorous wardrobe. LA-based designer Michael Costello has been crafting stunning caftans for Gaga for a decade. His journey with her began in 2014 when he designed a sequined piece similar to this one for her "Cheek to Cheek! Live" performance . This collaboration marked the start of a creative partnership that has since produced numerous iconic looks, each more dazzling than the last.

Michael also collaborated with Gladys Tamez Millinery on the halo-like black feather pillbox headpiece!

New York City-based heritage jewelry brand A.JAFFE created some of the earrings, including these teardrop stunners!

Gaga surprised her audience last night with a special rendition of "Americano". It‘s been 12 years since she performed that song!

For this act of the show, Perry Meek whipped out a stunning dress even Jessica Rabbit wouldn't pass upon.

Crafted from red crystal mesh, this dress features an off-the-shoulder hourglass silhouette, trimmed with red ostrich feathers. And it comes with a matching coat!

Her Harriet wired red feather fascinator is a hand-made piece by Carrie Jenkinson Millinery ($331.79), one of the UK's leading fashion milliners.

This white-gold crescent earring set surrounded by differently cut diamonds is another A.JAFFE design.

And I hope I’m not the only one who‘s drooling over these Jimmy Choo Romy crystal-encrusted red pumps.

Then, Gaga stuns on stage in a total Giorgio Armani look which comprises this plush black velvet strapless bustier column dress with crystal band embellishment ($4,777) and the Fall/Winter 2018 Privé Haute Couture pink ostrich feather coat she previously wore for her V Magazine 2019 cover!

Gaga's MUA Sarah Tanno-Stewart collaborated with Face Lace on all the differently designed crystal eye stickers for the residency!

LG debuted a bunch of new looks on her second night and the uber-talented Michael Costello had another wonder up his sleeve when he revealed this stunner to me yesterday morning - a custom sparkly black and gold sequin silk chiffon caftan with incorporated metal belt, shoulder pads, plunging neck and daring open sides, based on Michael's upcoming "DNA" collection!

He also created her matching custom ruched faux leather gloves and feather boa in collaboration with Mother Plucker Feather Company.

What's a good jazz stage look without a fun plummeted hat to top it off? British milliner Carrie Jenkinson Millinery made sure to exceed stagewear standards with her Spring/Summer 2024 Selina feather hat (£520).

Her go-to performance shoes: the timeless Jimmy Choo Anouk black patent leather pumps ($675).

Malaysian couture design house Rizman Ruzaini joined the game by crafting a show-stopping red chiffon cape dress showered in Swarovski crystals. Thanks so much for these exclusive behind-the-seams photos!

She also brought back her Larisa Barrera vintage 1993 crystal necklace.

Gaga gave us an epic performance of "La Vie En Rose", dressed in rose silk satin caftan-style layered dress with stripped coque feathers, custom-made for her by Ukrainian fashion label Santa Brands.

This look was completed with a bunch of stellar accessories, including the Carrie Jenkinson Millinery Spring/Summer 2024 Valencia exploding feather fascinator (£579)...

...the Swarovski Millenia octagon-cut crystal bib necklace...

... and the Cornelia James Melissa opera-length black velvet gloves (£160).

If the dress from the third night's opening seems familiar to you, it's because she's worn this custom Natali Germanotta x Debra Cooper blue sequin fringed cocktail number back in 2019 before!

This look got a black version of the aforementioned Arturo Rios turkey feather and Swarovski crystal headpiece.

It‘s Michael Costello‘s world and we‘re just living in it! His third custom dress for our girl's third night is this uuuuuultra sexy black satin number with one-shoulder caftan silhouette, trimmed with luxurious ostrich feathers by Mother Plucker Feather Company and featuring beaded appliqués on the shoulder and waist.

It was finished off with this vintage Philip Treacy 1996 black feather firework headpiece which has already been previously worn by Gaga back in London in 2015!

For the fourth show (June 29), LG brought out another Michael Costello x Mother Plucker Feather Company confection — a black-as-the-night satin caftan, showered in small jet crystals and trimmed with feathers.

It was only a matter of time before she brought out a fairytale headpiece by milliner Piers Atkinson.

From his archives, she opted for the Fall/Winter 2021 "Triptych" collection elevated black ostrich feather pompom fascinator with beaded tassels.

[whatisflorencewearing]

July 6, 2023 - BBK Live

Florence is wearing a custom @thevampireswife The Florentine metallic green lamé caftan-style midi dress that features a detachable high-neck ruffle collar with an adjustable rouleau drawstring, a V-neckline framed by ruffles and a tiered hemline finished with a metallic lace trim.

As previously worn in the metallic pink version at Lido Sounds and in the oxblood version at Mad Cool Festival.

Photography: @joshuamellin (photo 1) & @sergioalbert_ (photo 2) Styling: @aldenejohnson

[dryndelicate]

Next combo: Caftans & Pink Paisleys

[outfitsinspiration]

Who: Blair Eadie

What:  Supernormal Ambitious Sunglasses in Pink Frame + Pink Lenses (Sold Out) Where: Instagram - June 20, 2024

Worn with: Yuliya Magdych caftan, Mango sandals and bag, Rebecca De Ravenel earrings

[bitter69uk]

Born on this day 84 years ago (19 September 1940): effervescent and eccentric fuchsia-haired doyenne of British fashion, Dame Zandra Rhodes. She is of course the undisputed queen of the elaborately bejeweled float-y chiffon caftan, but I prefer Rhodes’ response to the rise of punk in 1977. To the revulsion of punk purists, Rhodes launched her own deluxe haute couture interpretation of punk fashion, with artful jagged rips and tears, embellished with glittering safety pins and chains! Some have claimed this made her “the high priestess of punk”, although I suspect the late Vivienne Westwood disagreed. Anyway, over the decades her clientele has numbered international jet set superstar names like Elizabeth Taylor, Jacqueline Kennedy, Cher, Bianca Jagger, Barbra Streisand and Princesses Margaret and Diana. But as far as I’m concerned, no one looked better in Rhodes’ signature caftans than drag mega-star Divine! (Rhodes and Divine were friends in the 1980s and in fact the only times I’ve ever spotted Rhodes socially, it’s been backstage at John Waters’ events in London, accompanied by Helena Kennedy QC and the late transgender trailblazer April Ashley). Pictured: portrait of Rhodes by Simon Emmett, 2018.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 33

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters

-------

Chapter 33

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Breakfast the next morning was far more easy-going than the first breakfast they'd all shared when Tony and Sharon had come to visit. Peter and Tony were the first two awake, as Peter was used to waking up early to cook breakfast and Tony just seemed to be able to run on less sleep than most humans.

"You don't have to cook, you know," Tony said, when Peter asked about where the kitchen was. "I have a staff that will be happy to do everything."

"I don't want to inconvenience them," Peter said.

"Peter, it is quite literally what they are paid to do. They've been briefed on your dietary needs and it turns out that one of them is actually Jewish herself and she's thrilled to be able to cook for someone who also keeps kosher."

"Oh." He supposed that was fine, then. "Then I guess all I'd like at the moment is coffee?"

"That I can help with."

They made their way to the morning room. It was painted a light teal and the woodwork was oak stained a rich golden brown. One wall was simply floor to ceiling windows with goldenrod curtains that were pulled back to either side. An oak sideboard was off to the side and Peter imagined that was where the staff would set the food once it was prepared.

Tony got Peter settled with a cup of coffee and a muffin before he said he was going to check on Sharon and help her get ready. "I'm sure the Doc will be along shortly," he said. "That man loves the waterbed."

Peter blushed, remembering just how they'd made use of the waterbed the night before.

Tony noticed his pink cheeks and chuckled. "Don't stress about it," he said. "We're all friends here and no one is going to say anything about two spouses enjoying each others' company."

When he returned about twenty minutes later, Sharon was with him, dressed in another caftan, this one a lovely spring green. She looked somewhat tired but was still in good spirits as Tony helped her sit.

"I'll be so glad when this part is over," she muttered to Peter, one hand resting over the bump of her stomach. "This little demon decided two in the morning was the perfect time to practice kicking, using my bladder as a dummy."

"Baby Starter is an insomniac just like their dad, then?" Came Stephen's voice as he strode in. He looked at Sharon, taking the cup of coffee Tony handed him. "You have my deepest sympathies."

"The results of my insomnia pay for this mansion and everything else," Tony defended. "Three-time TIMES Person of the Year award winner here, remember?"

"And he's so humble," Peter said with a smirk, sipping his coffee.

"I suppose since you'll be up, you'll have no problem seeing to Baby Starter when I'm trying to sleep," Sharon said easily. She scowled when she realized the drink Tony handed her wasn't coffee, but decaffeinated tea. "What happened to one cup a day?"

"It's only for a bit longer," Tony hedged, not meeting her gaze.

"I'm never doing this again," she said, taking a sip of what she muttered to be "damned hot leaf water."

"In Tony's defense the last thing you need is for your blood pressure to spike when you're so far along," Stephen said. And then, because he felt like being an ass, he took a long drink of his coffee and closed his eyes in appreciation. "Not Arabica?" he asked Tony.

"Liberica," Tony said. "Not too bad, right?"

"It's great," Peter enthused, drinking his own with great relish.

"I hate you all," Sharon said flatly. "My vengeance, when it comes, will be without mercy."

Standing on the perfect tan sand of Malibu Beach, Peter stared out at the ocean in awe.

Around him there were children running around screaming and chasing each other in their play while parents watched indulgently. Teenagers tossed beach balls back and forth. Older folks relaxed in beach chairs, some reading books. A few dogs dug, fetched, and napped alongside their owners.

"What do you think?"

He looked up at Stephen who stood beside him. "It's beautiful," he said. "I've seen pictures, of course, but in person? Beautiful."

"Would you like to swim?" Stephen frowned. "Can you swim?"

Peter nodded. "We used to take field trips to the local natatorium for physical education. I can front crawl, back crawl, breast stroke, and butterfly. I'm really good at the back crawl and butterfly." He studied the beach with its persistent waves. It was incredible to see the start of them out at a distance, then how they’d grow, crash, recede. "But I'm not sure how useful those strokes would be against the ocean."

"They wouldn't be, except maybe a side stroke," Stephen said. "So long as you don't swim out too far and avoid getting caught in the undertow, it should be alright."

"Maybe another day," Peter said finally. "I think just walking along the beach will be enough for me."

That seemed to be just fine with Stephen.

They spent a little over an hour at the beach. Peter collected a couple of shells, much to Stephen's amusement.

"I've always wanted to do this," Peter said, pocketing the yellow cockle shell after brushing the sand off. He studied Stephen and noticed his tense posture. "Am I making you uncomfortable? We can leave," he said.

"I'm fine," Stephen said. "It's not so much being at the beach as..." He shrugged. "I know how quickly everything can go wrong and it is hard to turn that perspective off sometimes. I've made my peace with what happened to my sister. And yet..."

"You still worry."

"I still worry."

"What else is there to do?" Peter asked.

"We could visit The Getty Villa or we could even venture to New Angeles."

"Let's do the Villa. I don't want to be too far away in case Baby Starter decides to make it's appearance."

"They do have their own schedule," Stephen said wisely.

"Have you delivered many?" Peter asked as they walked back up to where they had been dropped off by the taxi.

"Twelve," Stephen said. "Most were when I was a medical student and a few were emergency room deliveries."

"Will you be with Sharon at the hospital?"

"I'm not actually her attending doctor, Peter," Stephen said. "They've asked me to be here but she has a perfectly capable team behind her."

"But-"

"I'll help out however in whatever way I'm needed, even if it's to be here as moral support for Tony," Stephen assured him. "There's no reason for you to worry."

"But the meeting you have on Thursday is-"

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with," Stephen said firmly. "I'm not going to explain myself on this, understand?"

Peter didn't, not really, but he nodded and let the matter drop. Maybe in another life he'd be entitled to an explanation, but there was no point in ruining the day for them both and earning a trip over Stephen's lap with his pants pulled down.

The Getty Villa was incredible to visit and well worth the need to purchase tickets in advance, which Stephen did after they ate lunch at a small cafe.

Peter was enthralled at such a large collection of antiquities though he blushed furiously when seeing Victorious Youth, much to Stephen's amusement. He admired the replica villa, reading up on the history of its construction and where materials were imported and how the collection was ultimately built. (And if he indulged in a well-hidden smirk when reading about foreign governments suing to reclaim some of the looted pieces, well, that was his business, wasn't it?) The Inner and Outer Peristyles were neat to see and he felt somewhat cultured when he could differentiate between the Ionic and Corinthian style columns.

There was no hurry as they walked around and Peter wished he had a camera so he could snap pictures of the fountain in the East Garden. He said as much to Stephen.

"We'll buy some postcards from the gift shop," Stephen said. "Maybe you can start a collection."

Peter liked that idea and was happy with the postcards and the book Stephen bought so he could organize them to show off later.

They returned to the mansion to spend time with Sharon.

Stephen and Sharon had decided to spend the rest of the afternoon reading and were stretched out on loungers around the crystal-clear pool. For his part, Peter was floating on a raft enjoying the delicious warmth of the sun.

He'd been somewhat embarrassed by how thoroughly Stephen had applied sunscreen to his body, as if Peter himself was incapable. But he once again decided it wasn't a battle worth fighting and he had no desire to end up with a sunburn. (Stephen had been much more clinical about helping Sharon with her sunscreen and she hadn't appeared to be embarrassed at all.)

They contented themselves with their books while Peter enjoyed the novelty of a private pool.

He'd never imagined anything like this when he'd been desperate to avoid ending up homeless and made the choice to sign his life over to the BCSS. He'd disliked his time at the BCSS facility and he'd spent the first few weeks of his marriage off-balance. And then...

It was a broken record, even in his head, but he liked his life with Stephen. He was happy and that wasn't something he'd ever expected to truly feel again when his life had come crashing down on him after his Aunt May died and Beck had swooped in as if he'd simply been waiting for-

Had he? Had Beck somehow known?

Peter flicked the water in frustration. There was no way Beck could have really known, clearly. The man had been lucky, was all. And Peter, per usual, had been spectacularly unlucky.

Had been.

Now he a nice home, friends who cared about him and were eager to spend time with him, and he had Stephen. Stephen, who might not love him, but did care for and provided for him. Stephen who was as smart and funny as he was stern and fastidious. Stephen, who made Peter feel safe.

"Peter? Out of the pool; it's been an hour."

He smiled to himself. Who else but Stephen would actually make sure he followed the directions for reapplying sunscreen?

He rolled off of the raft and powered through the chill being submerged brought. Then he surfaced and swam to the steps of the pool. Stephen stood waiting with a towel.

"Are you sure you don't want to swim with me?" Peter asked as Stephen applied more sunscreen to his back.

"I'm not really one for the water," Stephen said quietly. "Even in a controlled setting like this."

Peter briefly turned to face him but Stephen playfully poked him to get him to resume his position.

"I'm sorry this is uncomfortable for you," Peter said. "I don't have to sw-"

"I'm not uncomfortable," Stephen insisted as he rubbed more sunscreen on him. "And you're fine. Just because I don't care to swim doesn't mean that you can't."

Something in Peter warmed. The Stephen he'd married would never have been so patient about it. He'd... not quite softened, but had relaxed, perhaps?

"Ah, my two favorite people. And also, Stephen," interrupted Tony.

Peter snorted and turned to see the scowl on Stephen's face.

"You're hilarious."

Tony grinned and walked over to lean down and kiss Sharon. "I know."

"Did you take over the world today?" Sharon asked.

"Just a few small countries," Tony teased.

"That's nice." Her attention was already back on her book.

Tony smirked and shook his head, properly dismissed.

“How was the beach? Did you do any swimming or surfing?” He asked Peter.

“Have you met my husband?” Peter asked in response.

“Fair point. People might have seen you shirtless!” Tony teased. “The last thing we need is for Stephen to worry about the Beachside Betties.”

Peter snorted.

Stephen sighed and narrowed his eyes at them both before starting on reapplying sunscreen to one of Peter’s arms. “You’re both hilarious.”

“The beach was nice,” Peter said. “And I collected some shells, which I’ve always wanted to do.”

“That’s adorable.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon around the pool, with Tony taking over “applying Sharon’s sunscreen” duties despite her protests that “you rubbing me is what got me here in the first place.”

(Tony did not look remorseful in the slightest.)

“Do you think your chef will tell me how to make this?” Peter asked Tony after taking another bite of the flaky white fish topped with ginger and scallions. “This is so good.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to,” Tony said.

“She can make sushi too,” Sharon said wistfully.

“Just a little longer,” Tony said. “And then you can have some again.”

“After Baby Starter is out, the first thing I’m eating is a greasy burger.”

“I will get you the greasiest burger imaginable,” Tony promised. “And a cup of fully caffeinated coffee.”

Peter laughed at how Stephen winced.

“How was the Villa?” Sharon asked after dessert. They retreated to the gaming room from the previous evening and went to work on the largest jigsaw puzzle Peter had ever seen.

“It was nice,” Stephen said, connecting a few border pieces together.

Across from Peter, Tony worked on piecing together some of the flower field section.

“It’s amazing at how old all of the stuff there is and the condition!” Peter added. “Stephen bought me a collection of postcards, I can show them to you, if you want.”

Sharon looked up from the cottage roof section she was working on. “I’d like that.”

“How was Victorious Youth?” Tony asked with a smirk.

“Tony,” Sharon warned. “Don’t.”

“Naked and appendage-wise, not that impressive,” Peter said absently. “Is it like looking in the mirror for you?”

Stephen and Sharon burst out laughing and Tony took the joke in good humor. “Very funny.”

Peter focused on the lake pieces he’d gathered, both content and amazed that he was spending the week with Tony Stark and his wife in their Malibu Mansion! How was this his life now?

“Any plans tomorrow?” Stephen asked Tony.

“I have to go into the office for a few hours in the morning but I’ll be home by lunch,” he said. “Then I’ll be doing whatever the lady of the manor requires of me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes.

“What will you two get up to?” Tony asked.

"I thought we'd take the train to Long Beach and visit the Pacifica Aquarium," Stephen said.

Peter perked up at that. "Really?"

"There are some nice exhibits," Sharon said. "Otters, penguins, jellyfish... you'll have a great time."

"What about you?" Peter asked. "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone. What if you need us?"

She smiled. "Peter, I'm pregnant, not dying. Just like today, I'll be fine." She glanced over at Tony. "And I'd quite like a few hours to myself because they're about to be in very short supply."

"Tony has contingency plans for his contingency plans if Sharon goes into labor," Stephen said, still focused on the puzzle.

Sharon nodded. "For example, if I happen to be on the yacht and a thunderstorm pops up-"

Peter snorted and Tony looked affronted. "There's nothing wrong with being prepared!"

"Tony, I adore you," Sharon assured him.

Wednesday passed and the aquarium was stunning. He loved everything about it, especially the penguins. Stephen bought him a set of postcards that Peter couldn't wait to tuck into his album.

When they returned back to the mansion that afternoon, Stephen pulled him to their guest suite. There was something different about it, about the way that Stephen urged him to undress as he did the same. His hands were as commanding and reassuring as always, but the way Stephen touched him was as if he thought Peter might disappear.

There wasn't much Peter could say as Stephen overwhelmed his senses and he lost himself in the insistent rocking of Stephen's body into his own. When Stephen removed the cage around Peter's cock his head spun with how fast he grew hard and it wasn't long before he was spilling onto the sheets and Stephen spilled into him.

They didn't join Tony and Sharon for dinner; dinner was delivered to their suite and they ate at the small table.

"Is everything okay?" Peter asked.

"Hmm?"

"Is there a reason we're not eating with Tony and Sharon?"

Stephen smiled. "They're not going to have many more evenings left when it's just the two of them for dinner. I thought we'd give them some privacy."

It was a sweet thought.

Still, as he drifted off to sleep after another round in bed, Peter wondered just why Stephen seemed off.

[donnahinkleystaceytroy]

LOT #229 ELIZABETH TAYLOR: "THESE OLD BROADS" CAFTAN COSTUME (WITH DVD) A hot pink and gold flecked silk caftan with a green and blue geometric print, V neck and back, long slit in front center, and back zip closure worn by Elizabeth Taylor in her last film role as "Beryl Mason" in These Old Broads (ABC Television, 2001). The garment was co-designed by Nolan Miller and Mark Zunino and was worn by Taylor during a scene in which she and Debbie Reynolds as "Piper Grayson" make up (in a thinly veiled account of the famous 1950s scandal involving Eddie Fisher). Label reads " Nolan Miller." No size present. Includes a DVD of the film PROVENANCE Lot 336, "Property from the Lifestyle of Elizabeth Taylor," Julien's Auctions, Beverly Hills, CA, 12/6/2019.

https://rb.gy/a4ifj

[humasahsultanimsworld]

Hürrem Sultan's white caftan and light pink, patterned jacket

[mariacallous]

For Moroccan Jews, marzipan is central to celebratory occasions and Jewish holidays. Made from ground almonds and sugar, this sweet, sophisticated confection has a long and storied past. 

From their origins and domestic cultivation in Western China, almonds traversed the Silk Road to the Middle East. Almonds thrived in the temperate climate of the Levant, and soon enough they were crushed and mixed with honey. Marzipan even appears in the romantic folk tales of “One Thousand and One Nights;” in one instance, it’s described as an aphrodisiac.

The recipe traveled to Andalusia, the Muslim-ruled area of the Iberian Peninsula, where it acquired the name marzipan from the Latin term Martius Panis which literally means “March bread.” During the Golden Age of Spain, the cities of Toledo, Granada and Seville enjoyed a period of convivencia, a time of Christian, Muslim and Jewish coexistence and cultural exchanges of literature, philosophy and cuisine. With the expulsion of 1492, the Jews carried the recipe for marzipan to their new homes in North Africa and the Ottoman Empire. (Over the centuries, their Christian neighbors continued making marzipan and in Toledo, this treat is still made in the old Jewish areas and is protected by a designation of origin status.)

Almost simultaneous to its introduction in the Iberian Peninsula, the Turks introduced marzipan to Eastern Europe. It became a beloved specialty in Hungary and Italy, from where it traveled to become a festive treat that is enjoyed all over Europe. 

Marzipan comes in all shapes and sizes. In Northern Europe, it’s shaped into little pigs for Christmas and eggs for Easter. Sweden boasts the prettiest prinsesstårta (“princess cakes”), iced with pastel pink and pale green marzipan. In Italy, Greece and Malta, marzipan is artfully shaped into brightly colored, perfectly detailed miniature fruits and vegetables. 

Tiny marzipan fruits are also a traditional Passover treat for Iranian Jews. Syrian cuisine features “marcaben,” marzipan flavored with orange blossom water and shaped into delicate roses.

For Moroccan Jews, no celebration is complete without marzipan-stuffed dates, walnuts and prunes. They are always served at engagements, weddings and bris ceremonies, as well as on Jewish holidays (the gluten-free recipe lends itself perfectly to Passover).

These delectable treats are also served at Mimouna, the joyful celebration that marks the end of the Passover holiday. The doors of Moroccan Jewish homes are thrown wide open, and everyone is welcome to partake in the festivities. There are greetings of “tir’bah u’tissad,” a Judeo Arabic blessing that means “may you prosper and succeed.” The women are dressed in brightly colored caftans and the men wear white djellaba gowns and the red tarboosh hat. 

The tables are adorned with talismans of luck, fertility and prosperity: five coins in a bowl of flour, five fava beans laid out on flour, a fresh fish on a platter, a green tree branch or sheaf of wheat or barley, white milk in a pitcher, and five white eggs in a bowl of flour to symbolize purity.

At the center of the celebration is piping-hot mufleta, a pancake served straight out of the skillet with honey or homemade fruit preserves. But with their beautiful pastel colors and their pleasing, sugar-dusted symmetry, the marzipan-stuffed dried fruit and nuts symbolize sweetness and an abundance of overflowing blessings. 

In the past, making marzipan was a very time-consuming task. The almonds had to be prepared with boiling, removing the skins and grinding. Nowadays, almond flour is readily available. We hope you try your hand at making this delectable sweet.

Note: Store the stuffed dates in an airtight container for up to two months. You can replace the dates with prunes or walnuts.