dark velvet, jasmines on your hair, grapes & cherries, bittersweet summers, a room filled with rose petals, golden hoops & long silk dresses, slow dancing in the dark with a lover, summers in Italy, dark red lips
All I ever did to that apartment was hang fifty yards of yellow theatrical silk across the bedroom windows, because I had some idea that the gold light would make me feel better, but I did not bother to weight the curtains correctly and all that summer the long panels of transparent golden silk would blow out the windows and get tangled and drenched in the afternoon thunderstorms. That was the year, my twenty-eighth, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it.
Joan Didion, “Goodbye to All That,” Slouching Towards Bethlehem
Your duties as maid of honour were fairly simple: maximise alcohol and minimise stress, keep an eye on the bride-to-be, and above all else, have things under control. You’ve promised yourself to keep this wedding a fuckup-free zone, anticipating smooth sailing from the moment you land in Antigua. When danger emerges on the horizon in the form of a denim-clad devil dressed in Gucci and gold, things take a turn—nothing in the MOH handbook has prepared you for what to do in the event that you unwittingly sleep with the best man.
* Yuri’s hair looks like golden silk, a golden waterfall
* Ever since they met in Barcelona for the the first time, Otabek wanted to just run his hand through that blonde hair
* Because it looks soft as hell
* It took Otabek two years to get himself to ask Yuri if he could play with his hair
* They were semi cuddling while watching a movie and the only thing Otabek could concentrate on was the Russian’s blonde locks
* “Ca…can, can I play with your ha…hair?”
* After a few seconds of silence, which were hell to the Kazakh, Yuri’s answer was “Do as you please.”
* For the first time Otabek ran his hand through the soft silk like hair and it felt even softer than it looks like
* For the rest of the movie Otabek kept his hand running through Yuri’s hair, letting it slip through his fingers, admiring how soft it was
* Causing Yuri to fall asleep though
* Not noticing that both of them were red af
* Otabek was born with thick dark curls
* Not just waves, actual curls
* Ever since he got bullied in middle school for it, he started to straighten them
* From this bad bully experience also came his hate for his fabulous curls
* The curls really are a big insecurity of the Kazakh
* No one knows how his natural hair looks like, only his family and old school members of course
* Otabek decided to visit his best friend of 3 years in Russia, who also was his crush, Yuri Plisetsky
* They decided to practice together and they came back late in the evening, both sweaty and tired
* They decided to take turns and shower
* Otabek went first, standing under the warm running water cleared his mind and made him finally realize something
* He forgot his straightener in his suitcase, which was in Yuri’s room, where the Russian was chilling and waiting for his friend to return
* He had no other choice than revealing his big insecurity to his friend
* Shyly and slowly Otabek walked back, in only sweatpants and the towel around his shoulder, into Yuri’s room to get his straightener
* He prayed that Yuri wouldn’t look up, but he did and it was like the time froze
* They were just staring at each other
* Before Yuri got up and slowly walked up to him, he reached up to grasp a curl, lightly pulling and unrolling it
* Both of them had a deep red blush on their faces
* Yuri let go of the strand of soft thick hair, it rolled back into a spiral
* “Never straighten your hair ever again. That’s an order not a request.”
(Cuddle headcanon’s next? Sorry this is bad, I suck)
a/n: I’m honestly so nervous because it’s been literally millennia since I last posted something like this…. I hope you guys like it ;) this is heavily based off snapchat…. and…. I’m sorry if it’s too messy jfc I had to stop multiple times
I wish you'd write a fic where Daenerys and Viserys were swapped in the birth order.
“I am three and ten,” he says, her little brother with beaten-silver hair and beaten-bruised face - boys in the street, unamused by the Lysene looking brat claiming dominion. “I am a man grown, or near as makes no difference - we will wed as soon as we can find a septon, so that our marriage will be unquestionably valid when we reclaim Westeros.”
Daenerys, eight years Viserys’ senior, too young to have been of use to one brother and too weary for the other, sighs.
“We will not find a septon here, little brother,” she points out evenly, not looking away from the special performance Illyrio has ordered for them. The dancers are lithe, beautiful, pale and fair-haired to a one, and Daenerys has seen both the bed slaves Illyrio favours and the statue he claims is himself in his youth, and wonders just how safe Viserys is in the cheesemonger’s manse. “The furthest east any septon will wander is to the Sept-Beyond-The-Sea, in Braavos. You know that, Viserys.”
His face, as beautiful and pale as any of the dancers, goes violently scarlet at the quiet reprimand. Her brother thinks himself a true dragon, and is therefore ready to breathe fire in any moment of temper.
“Do not shame us,” she warns him, smiling and raising her cup to far-away Illyrio, resplendent in golden silks, laid on blue velvet pillows. “The magister has been generous, and need not be any longer if we seem ungrateful - your ill temper has cost us much already, little brother.”
Well that wasn’t quite correct, Sidon mused. They just looked boring. Hylians were an entire race composed of brown and beige. Their skin, eyes, and hair were all so muted in such a way that they entire race just seemed unappealing. Not to say they were ugly– quite the opposite actually. In fact some could be rather appealing.
It was simply that no Hylian stood out to Sidon. They all blended into one so seamlessly that if not for the vast changes in personality, Sidon would not be able to tell one from another.
His own people were comprised of an array of different colors: ruby reds, sky blues and the darkest ebonys covered his people’s scales in a show of diversity beyond most. The Rito, way out east, had brilliant feathers for each of their kind with no two patterns being the same. Gerudo had vibrant hair and warm skin. Gorons had… A quality to their appearance that made them immediately recognizable.
The Hylians were– well boring. They were boring to look at. His father said they weren’t always like that, and that before The Great Calamity, Hylians would change their hair colors as they pleased just as they would dye their clothes, but Sidon had yet to see it.
Sounded interesting to him, though.
When Sidon had set out to find the Hylian that would save his people he was worried he would miss them with pale skin and brown hair and brown eyes and a flat face, but he digressed.
When he finally found a Hylian brave enough (or dumb enough depending on how you looked at it) to accompany him to the domain, he was absolutely floored by his beauty. Link had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen in his life. They were so impossibly deep that Sidon felt he could physically swim in the crystal cerulean of them. And they were so full of emotions that words couldn’t convey that Sidon quite nearly lost himself starring in them.
It didn’t stop at his eyes however. His skin wasn’t pale like most others of his race either. It was kissed so perfectly by a sun Sidon hadn’t seen I’m ages. His hair looked like golden waves of silk hand woven by the Goddess herself.
He was beautiful, and as time would tell, Sidon would find him just as radiant on the inside. He loved watching those beautiful eyes flutter open first thing in the morning, and the way his sweet smile would pull across his face. He loved running his hands through that hair to his heart’s content, but most of all he loved the way Link’s skin flushed and his eyes engulfed him when Sidon would tell him how much he loved him.
I waited and waited for the fruit to reach maturity. Few things maintain a proper season around here.
There are two reasonably intimidating, well-known banana spiders. Lucky for me, both are native to other countries. We do have golden silk orb-weavers. Kind of pretty like the name, too. Unfortunately, I only saw webs, no occupants.