because it was like silk

sherlock is kind and silly and sweet and sometimes he wears slippers around the flat and he has silk bathrobes because he likes how they feel and he spends a very long time doing his hair in the morning and he sips his tea when its too hot because he cant wait to drink it and he framed a picture of the periodic table to decorate his room and he has a closet full of costumes and he just wants to help people and be a force of good in the world and i love him and the point of this post is that he is very soft and pure

“sexting with a writer”

I choose my words carefully because I want them to wrap around and drape over her gently like the silk sheets I wan to get lost in with her later.
I want your voice to be the last thing I hear before I fall asleep every night, I want to listen to your song on repeat, your moans, you crying out for me, I want to imagine it as beautiful as he way your voice makes it sound.
I want to thank you everyday for coming into my life
i think I’d thank you even more with your hand around my neck.
I want to cuff you to this bed until you’re shaking and breathing heavy so that I can show you the happiness and pleasure you give me everyday beyond my control.
don’t tell me you want it harder
tell me you want all of me and to feel everything I have and I won’t hold back.
I want to trace my fingers around every inch of your body.. creating a map and
x marks the time in your life that you thought you weren’t beautiful enough.
let me taste you so I can taste every lie you’ve ever told when you said “I’m fine”
I promise ill use my hands, my body, my mouth, my words, everything and anything I have until I can prove to you that that you’re the most incredible creature this world has ever seen.

No, I don’t think you get it. I’ve read a million poems that say “he was a melted sunset” or “he reminded me of the ocean on a windy day” or “I’ve never met a boy that could hold the stars like the sky before.” You say these things because the boy you love is beautiful to you, the way you think about them is beautiful, and so you try to use the beautiful sky as a way to describe him to the rest of us. You use the sunrise, the ocean, the starry sky because they are so obviously awe-inspiring that anyone listening will get the picture. We get it. He’s beautiful.

But what you don’t understand is that someday, you’re going to meet a boy that is not “like” any of those things at all. He will BE those things. He is not a sunrise, because thick watercolor sunrises run through his veins like silk. He is not the blue-green waves crashing onto sand, or the flowers he gave you before your first kiss- his bones are made of old feather quills, his eyes will knock the air out of you better than any wave from a murky ocean ever will. He is not a starry skyline, oh honey, he can breathe in galaxies and exhale what makes your toes curl. Someday, there will be a boy who makes you realize how invaluable and precious your skin is just because it’s the only way you can feel the creases in his palms. He will fill your lungs with sweeter air than oxygen can ever muster, will charge your soul so powerfully that it will take no effort to make your heart beat. There will be things he makes you feel that you didn’t even know were possible. There will be a boy who will make you realize that you’ve never been in love before.

And when he breaks your heart- though God I hope he doesn’t- it’s going to make parts of your scars squeeze in ways you didn’t know existed. But it won’t hurt the way you think. Cause get this: you will give him the consent to break your heart. You will know that you are not what makes him happy, and you’ll be okay with that. Trust me, it’ll hurt… No piano ballad will make you dance, and your mouth will taste of tingy steel. Nothing will seem truly wonderful anymore. You will claw for it and beg to see something that moves you, but nothing will ever compare to him. You will feel like your chest is a void for a while, but your heart will keep beating within it. Trust me, your heart will not forget to live: because he is worth living through a broken heart.

That’s because that boy will be more than just beautiful. He will be the type of living poetry you didn’t know existed- the kind you can reach your hands into and hold onto. The kind with lips and warm whispers and terribly bad habits. The kind with callused hands to hold and cologned hoodies to be used as pillows, with dreams you are intoxicated with and a laugh that warms your soul. The kind that sticks with you years after you first read it, as if it were a tattoo on your heart. The kind that changes the way you read other poetry.

No, you just don’t get it yet. Someday there will be a boy who will prove to you why. He will be the one that will show you that sunsets and oceans and starry skylines are beautiful, but nothing on this earth can come close to making you feel the way he does. He is not just beautiful, dear. He is so much more.

—  “There Will Be A Boy Who Changes The Way You Read Poetry”
A.E.R.  (this blog is now finding-aer.tumblr.com)

thx-for-the-memeries  asked:

omg what do the 2p's hair feel like holy sHIT I BET LUTZ'S IS SOFT AS FUCK

((tbh i notice you a lot and your URL and icon are epic i hope you know…., also you seem like an adorable person so omg hi)) ≧◡≦


What the 2Ps’ hair feels like

2P!America: a little bit rough due to the occasional gel or hairspray… he isn’t teasingly called a greaser for nothin’

2P!China: kinda messy due to the military hat he’s always wearing but the ponytail is totally soft and wavy

2P!England: sort of average and shaggy, feels a lot more like straw rather than silk because of the pink hair dye tbh

2P!France: feels tangled and a tiny bit floofy

2P!Russia: feels super thick, he’s a ginger what did u expect

2P!Italy: looks reaaaaaally soft and shiny like omg lemme touch

2P!Germany: sorry friend but it’s not too soft; it’s usually tousled and in need of a haircut, sometimes feels like hat-hair due to the field cap or beanie, but he still looks attractive in a rough-and-roguish way

2P!Japan: sUPER SOFT AND SHINY RAVEN HAIR, LIKE THE SOFTEST OUT OF THE 2Ps, IT’S SMOOTH AS SILK AND THIN AND SHINES WITH RED TINTS (too bad he won’t let anyone touch it without glaring at them)

2P!Canada: disheveled, kinda knotted, he always looks lazily put-together in general, but he can sport even a bedhead and still look mysterious and intimidating

2P!Romano: psssst you didn’t hear it from me but it feels like hair products and too much blonde dye

2P!Austria: feels wavy and well-kept

2P!Prussia: very soft and fine, almost baby-thin hair

(( @legolasgoogles starting a new thread so we don’t invade Aragorn and Haldir’s))

THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED?! I thought I’d been riding behind you, looking at your hair so long I was subconsciously putting elf braids in my hair instead of dwarf ones….

*blush* I… I woudn’t be against you braiding my beard….

No, I don’t think you get it. I’ve read a million poems that say “he was a melted sunset” or “he reminded me of the ocean on a windy day” or “I’ve never met a boy that could hold the stars like the sky before.” You say these things because the boy you love is beautiful to you, the way you think about them is beautiful, and so you try to use the beautiful sky as a way to describe him to the rest of us. You use the sunrise, the ocean, the starry sky because they are so obviously awe-inspiring that anyone listening will get the picture. We get it. He’s beautiful.
But what you don’t understand is that someday, you’re going to meet a boy that is not “like” any of those things at all. He will BE those things. He is not a sunrise, because thick watercolor sunrises run through his veins like silk. He is not the blue-green waves crashing onto sand, or the flowers he gave you before your first kiss- his bones are made of old feather quills, his eyes will knock the air out of you better than any wave from a murky ocean ever will. He is not a starry skyline, oh honey, he can breathe in galaxies and exhale what makes your toes curl. Someday, there will be a boy who makes you realize how invaluable and precious your skin is just because it’s the only way you can feel the creases in his palms. He will fill your lungs with sweeter air than oxygen can ever muster, will charge your soul so powerfully that it will take no effort to make your heart beat. There will be things he makes you feel that you didn’t even know were possible. There will be a boy who will make you realize that you’ve never been in love before.
And when he breaks your heart- though God I hope he doesn’t- it’s going to make parts of your scars squeeze in ways you didn’t know existed. But it won’t hurt the way you think. Cause get this: you will give him the consent to break your heart. You will know that you are not what makes him happy, and you’ll be okay with that. Trust me, it’ll hurt… No piano ballad will make you dance, and your mouth will taste of tingy steel. Nothing will seem truly wonderful anymore. You will claw for it and beg to see something that moves you, but nothing will ever compare to him. You will feel like your chest is a void for a while, but your heart will keep beating within it. Trust me, your heart will not forget to live: because he is worth living through a broken heart.
That’s because that boy will be more than just beautiful. He will be the type of living poetry you didn’t know existed- the kind you can reach your hands into and hold onto. The kind with lips and warm whispers and terribly bad habits. The kind with callused hands to hold and cologned hoodies to be used as pillows, with dreams you are intoxicated with and a laugh that warms your soul. The kind that sticks with you years after you first read it, as if it were a tattoo on your heart. The kind that changes the way you read other poetry.
No, you just don’t get it yet. Someday there will be a boy who will prove to you why. He will be the one that will show you that sunsets and oceans and starry skylines are beautiful, but nothing on this earth can come close to making you feel the way he does. He is not just beautiful, dear. He is so much more.
—  there will be a boy who changes the way you read poetry /// daydreams-and-scribbles

Derek and Braeden relaxing in bed and getting ready to go to sleep, and Derek wants to run his fingers through Braden’s hair all calming like but he can’t because Braeden has her silk scarf on for the night and once it’s on she takes it off for no one, not even supernatural bullshit (just ask the ogre she had to put down at 3AM that one time) and she loves Derek but not enough to spend and hour getting her sew-in back on point in the morning.

Braeden is probably natural under her weave, and she wears it as a protective style. When she wants to give her hair a break, she rocks two-strand twists. Derek sees her twisting her hair one day, and he’s fascinated. So, she shows him how to do it, and before either of them know it, he’s helping her twist her hair. It’s a grooming behavior that settles his wolf and strengthens the bond between them. His twists don’t look half bad, and Braeden teases him about it, asking where the hell was he all her life. He says he was waiting for her, and that’s enough to start some hot sexy times right there on the floor.

But not before she puts her silk scarf back on. Derek might be good at twists, but she doesn’t trust him with detangling yet.

3

“Can I tell you something? I don’t look good in a silk shirt unless I’m wearing a silk shirt for Stella Gibson. I swear to god! It’s the weirdest thing. I never buy them because I look nothing like she does in silk shirts! There’s something about the mixture of the whole get-up and her hair and make-up but I’m really sloppy and it just never works for me. So I too would like to be able to wear a silk shirt like Stella Gibson, but it’s impossible basically.

- Gillian Anderson talking about Stella’s silk shirts. (x)

Headcanon : What Gray loves the most in Lucy is her hair because it’s as soft as silk. He likes playing with it or just brushing his fingers through her hair.

Dammit it was so hard to draw. And color… I’m glad I’ve been able to finish it ;_;

ps: If I’m going on twitter, is there anyone who will follow me ? There’s a lot of people who want me to go there but I still hesitate…

I knew she was cold when she kissed me while she was holding her drunk girlfriends hand.
Cold like 20 degrees in the summer.
She was black-haired and skin and bones. Sometimes I wondered if she looked in the mirror after she got dressed. She was beautiful.
I knew she was cold when she fucked me for hours, and then asked me what my last name was.
We were associating for months at this time.
I felt warm liquid rushing from my eyes, I was unable to contain the emotion that she lacked.
“It’s the drugs, babygirl. They’ll make you forget the prettiest girl in the world.”
She was weird, and she was picky. She smoked cigarettes, but her breath always tastes like mint gum or heaven, maybe.
I knew she was cold when we drove around for hours, she said she was on Molly,
But I didn’t know who that was. I listened because her voice sounded like silk.
She talked about music, she talked about her father and wondered aloud where he was.
Cold like three winters in Alaska combined.
I sat on the edge of her bed, while she read. I watched her and kept tracing her freckles,
While she traced my veins. This made so much sense to me,
She was cold and she ran through my veins like icicles.
Frozen.
I caught a glimpse of a blonde haired girl on her bedside table, and she was ordinary. Until she followed my eyes,
And the way she looked at that picture made the plain blonde haired girl so god damned beautiful.
She told me she was her past and I asked if I was her future.
I knew she was cold when she replied that she didn’t have one.
Cold like the month of November.
She liked train tracks, and she’d take pictures of the trains that came every once in a while,
I knew she was cold when she jumped in front of one last minute, until I was crying,
She rolled away and said “stop caring about me so much,
Stop wasting away into me.”
I knew she was cold when she kissed me like I held all of the galaxies in the whole universe inside of my mouth.
Cold like the tips of my fingers from tracing her veins.
She liked drugs, said they made me feel something other than nothing. Cocaine was her favorite. She said that made her feel everything.
She said it made her waste away into nothing, but she was skin and bones and I still thought she was everything.
I knew she was cold when she tapped on my window at 3 am and crawled into my bed.
She made me feel things that I’d never tell my mother.
She made me feel things I’d never talk to God about.
Cold like the drip drip drip of the faucet, while she’s sniffing white lines on my bathroom counter.
I was religious, she was not. She made fun of the five bibles I had lined up on my bookshelf.
“You believe in the unproven. You believe in God and you believe in me.”
I knew she had turned me cold when I took all of my bibles off of my shelf.
I knew she had turned me cold when it was Sunday, and I was sitting in a pew next to my mother, thinking of the way she fucked me.
I knew she had turned me cold when I leaned over to sniff her white lines, I wondered if she thought I was as beautiful as I did her while she watched me.
I knew she had turned me cold when I felt for her veins, instead of her freckles, I felt for her hands, but they were wrapped around my throat instead.
—  cold like my heart

Regina Harris
6

Young Mikoto in Touma/Valla

A headcanon for when Mikoto used to live in Touma because I haven’t seen anything on it? And I think about it a lot because I like the idea that Touma was based on China/Silk Road/South Asia so I headcanon that Mikoto dressed or looked differently compared to her Hoshidan outfit. She was playful and carefree and spent a lot of her time in the fields and mountains where she would use her magic to help flowers flourish. When Anankos took over and she escaped the invisible kingdom with her sister, the flowers withered away.

do you ever think about how some people see this tiny precious petal of a man, this one inch tall dewdrop of a detective, who cries because his omelette became scrambled eggs, who wears silk pajamas and dressing gowns because he likes to feel the soft texture against his skin, who drinks juice out of tiny kid sized cartons, who loves all dogs and bats and bees – and then they pair him off with women. or with scary abusive stalkers. or with syringes full of cocaine and heroin.

and you just want to grab him and hug him and protect him from all this because he does not deserve this. he deserves soft warm smiles and strong small hands holding him and a high pitched giggle when he says something funny and itchy jumpers that make his hair stand out with static electricty and a gentle voice lined with curiosity at his experiments and a gun in a steady fist aimed at whoever decides to cause him harm.

sherlock holmes deserves john watson, nothing less than that will ever be right

This sewing group on fb I’m a member of does my head in. The most recent thing is a thread of people who are upset when fabric shop staff rip their fabric down the weft rather than cut it.

First, let me explain weft and warp. The warp is the long fibres and the weft is the fibres weaving over and under the long warp fibres from selvedge to selvedge. (the short side)

Ripping is best practice for plain weaves because it cuts straight down the weft rather than a pair of scissors snipping all over the warp, exposing fibres that will fray like anything. It’s especially good for slippery fabrics like silk and chiffon, because they fray a lot and if you cut it, the fabric shifts all over the place. Sometimes the selvedge pulls and causes the fabric to pucker, however this is easily fixed by smoothing down the warp.

Ripping also cuts down on wastage for fabric stores because they aren’t cutting wonky. I also like ripping because I have RSI and the heavy shears can really hurt my hand, but that’s just me.

I try not to come off as a know-it-all but some days I get so exasperated.