silk moments

Things I want to hear on the Breakfast Show tomorrow:

  • Fond Premier outfit dragging. I’m counting on another silk pantaloons moment and a delightfully ruffled shirt, don’t let me down H
  • Something about how H looks even more moderately attractive on the big screen and how Nick once called on science to prove that H is, in fact, extremely fit
  • Details of the text conversation between Nick and H when Nick went to watch the film by himself and cried
  • What H thinks Nick’s favourite film is and if he says The Notebook  because of how they watch it together with Nick as Ryan Gosling and H as Rachel McAdams

- [The injury] would’ve been consistent with the deceased trying to get the bottle away from the accused.
- Or with Fatima trying to defend herself from him?
- Or him trying to defend himself from her attack on him.

Dear Marvel

Maybe instead of just teasing that OMD will be undone and Peter will be with MJ again, how about this: ACTUALLY UNDO ONE MORE DAY!

The sales would be huge and you’d get back the fanbase that refused to buy spider-man books after that. If you keep teasing it just to not undo it and pissing off fans, you’ll never get that fanbase back.

Spider-man sales dropped after OMD and only got back up when superior spider-man happened? Wanna know why? Because Peter Parker was no longer the main character(that and shock value of Peter dying but that’s beside the point). After OMD, many fans still see Peter as the whiney man-child that threw his wife and unborn child under the bus just to ease his guilty conscience. It doesn’t help that Aunt May was completely alright with dying and being with her husband again, making Peter look even more selfish. One More Day did more than just undo the marriage, it destroyed Peter’s character.

Dan Slott’s portrayal of Peter Parker after OMD is the most unlikable version of him. He doesn’t learn or develop. For an entire year, he had his body taken over by a madman. He was technically raped and molested, his body used to tortured and killed people and all he can say about the man who did that to him is that he’s a “jerk”. Undoing the marriage didn’t help the character, it hurt the character.

Don’t get me started on what it did to MJ fans and how frustrating it is to see her character being mistreated over the years. Just admit that you don’t like the character. We all know it.

If you really wanted Peter to be single, then you wouldn’t be constantly pushing new love interests at him right after breaking him and MJ up. Like Carlie Cooper right after OMD and Silk after MJ was character assassinated in superior and she broke up with him there(over a really stupid reason that’s been done several times already).

This hurts me especially because spider-man helped me through depression. The Peter Parker who did good, even if he got no reward. The Peter Parker that loves his family and would never guilt trip his wife into making a deal with the devil with him. I got into reading the older spider-man comics, like the classic Stan Lee and John Romita Sr. runs and parts of the JMS run when I was in a bad place in my life and it helped me through the hard times.

In other words, I just want Peter Parker to be my hero again.

anonymous asked:

Omg pleasse write the Versace fic

For you anon, ANYTHING. (And also for garnetquyen, of course!!!)


There are some things in life that, once seen, cannot be forgotten. That are etched indelibly into the mind like a burning brand. They change everything. There are some things that fundamentally and irrevocably shift your world view, that make you wonder what life was like before you were burdened with this knowledge, this undeniable truth.

For Charles, that undeniable truth is the exact size and shape of Erik “Versace” Lehnsherr’s cock.

Keep reading

Do you think Harry Styles has a whole colony of silk worms working for him? Living in one of his cupboards? And he opens the doors each day and sings to them and they are so happy to hear his angelic voice that they glow? And he knows all of them by name? And he thanks them with stars in his eyes each time he gets a new silken garment to drape upon his majestic form?

The Strange Migardian Wash Basin

TITLE: The Strange Migardian Wash Basin


AUTHOR: Katerationopia

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki getting a haircut for the summer. 

RATING: PG-13  (It’s pretty tame) ; )

NOTES/WARNINGS: This is an excerpt from a full story I was working on. I added this scene just because I loved the Imagine Loki prompt I saw, and thought it was too adorable to not try writing.

“Lean back,” she murmured gently, attempting to lean him back over the edge of the basin, but his spine stiffened in resistance, his hands flying out to brace himself on the arms of his chair, as his green eyes flickered to her face in panic. “It’s just a haircut, silly.” She tried not to laugh but the amusement was clear in her voice. “It’s not going to hurt,” she assured him, before pinning him with a perplexed look. “Don’t they give you haircuts here on Asgard?”

“Not like this,” he frowned, his face darkening distrustfully.

“How do they do it then? They just dump a bowl of water over your head and chop off your hair?” She giggled and his eyes narrowed, though playfully this time, the sound of her laughter softening his dark mood.

Keep reading

A/N: I’m going to take a moment to apologize for this mess of a drabble. I don’t know, I don’t think I did this prompt justice because that scene was actually really powerful and I’m very much delirious so… I hope I didn’t disappoint? And that I know I said ‘smut’ but like, I feel that had Finn actually been there, and had they actually gone through with it, it wouldn’t be smut. They’d make love. So. Yeah. Enjoy :)

Her skin is so soft, like running his hands along the finest silk. Finn has to calm himself down in fear of peaking too soon, before he’s done anything. He stands behind her, the view of them in her full length mirror is like looking at something sacred. He doesn’t look away from her. The scent of her shampoo causes his head to swirl in a way that makes him think that he’s drunk, his arms feel like they could carry them off into the infinite night. She makes him feel like he can fly.

Finn goes to kiss her neck and she inhales, like this great intake of air, sudden and surprised. He looks at Rae’s reflection and finds that her eyes have slipped closed, her head tilted slightly to the side. He leans forward and drinks her in, presses his lips to the crook of her neck and tastes the sweetness of her skin. Berries ripened by the fading sun of the summer.

It’s slow, something he’s not really used to. (Stacey never liked intimate, he remembers. He’s suddenly reminded of how utterly mismatched they were, how much he and Rae are so right for each other.) He moves her hair away and starts to pepper kisses along her shoulder, traveling to her collarbones. He keeps trying to get more and more until he’s filled with only the taste of her on his tongue, until he’s sucking deep purple marks on her throat without actually meaning to.

Finn traces his tongue along one of the blooming bruises and a moan escapes from between Rae’s lips, her bottom one swollen from having bit it too hard. 

“Alright?” Finn asks, teasing. Rae nods, her hands coming up to hook her fingers through his belt loops, pulling him flush to her. 

The feel of her against him is enough to make him see stars, to make him curse under his breath. In a rush of god, oh god  please, he crushes their lips together. Finn feels her mouth open under him, the warmth of her breath ghosting along his tongue and he wants everything and anything Rae is willing to give him. Her lips were like a blessing Finn didn’t know he needed until this moment.

They make their way to the bed, pushing and pulling at each other with this passion that feels like a new dawn. Pushing down on her shoulders until she’s on her back, Finn presses his body against hers and slots his leg between her two; it’s all he can do not to grind down until he’s undone. 

“Rae,” he says, his voice coming out rugged and breathless. “This is- are you sure?”

“More than." 

"We don’t have to if you’re not feeling comfor-”

“Finn, I’m sure.”

And he searches her eyes for a sign that she’s not telling the truth but there’s an edge there, daring him to object. 

He doesn’t.

There’s more pushing and pulling, Finn tossing his shirt off and onto the floor, Rae shyly taking her jeans off and throwing it across the room. It’s clumsy at first, little nervous laughs but by the time they’re both naked, she starts to slowly stroke him, all the words he was about to say have been cut off, stuck in the back of his throat. 

His hips buck and everything becomes electrified. He’d been holding himself up with his arms on both sides of her head but they grow weaker and weaker after each flick of her wrist. It is like nothing he’s ever known. 

“Finn, I want you t-”

He nods, trying hard not to let any noise slip past his lips. Finn watches as her breathing speeds up, can feel the rise and fall of her chest pressing against him and he thinks once again of silk. 

There’s this moment where she’s guiding him into her and it feels like he can eat all the stars and the sun and the moon and not feel as good as he does in this moment. Rae lets out a small gasp. It’s high pitched and her mouth is open and everything Finn could ever want is breathing heavily under him, whispering things of encouragement. Yes, Finn, please don’t stop.

He starts to build a rhythm that has both of them trembling into each other, that has Rae either scratching at his back or has her cussing into his neck. He doesn’t rush it, because he can tell Rae is coming close, as is he. Finn slows down, this painful thing that has him bunching up the sheets in his hands. No time has passed, save for the inhales and exhales shared between them. He can feel his own high on the verge of tearing through him. All it takes is Rae arching her back, her teeth biting into his collarbone, and Finn becomes undone, pouring himself into her with one last thrust. He trembles as he comes down, tremor after earth shaking tremor. He places his forehead on top of Rae’s.

She kisses him, then, licking into his mouth lazily. Finn’s pretty sure he’s said it a dozen times already, but he says it again because he wants her to know.

“You’re beautiful, Rae.” and then after placing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you.”

They’re panting and out of breath and Finn wants to write poems about her across her skin. Rae smooths his hair back from his face and cups his cheek in her hand, her eyes like honey. 

“I love you, Finn.”

(Later, when he wakes up and Rae is still there, he’ll smile and rub his thumb along her cheek. He’ll realize that what he had with Stacey Stringfellow was a mere pond and everything he has with Rae can not be contained by seven oceans.)

Ma Aureum: Confessions of a magister

Another inspired thing from Ryuichifoxe. I gotta say, I came on tumblr to be inspired and you’re one of the ones who’ve inspired me to write and get back into art… and I seriously ship RoriexDorian like fedex so I hope you(and y'all) enjoy.

They’re still covered in sweat, a thin sheen of light reflecting the silver blades of moonlight that slips past the heavy verdant curtains.

There are dying embers in the hearth, the occasional crackle of settling wood and hiss of an extinguished flame. And of course, the gentle exhale that flutters past Dorian’s lips, perfectly bowed and bruised from their—ahem—previous activities.

The moonlight pours across his magister’s skin, dipping down his cheekbones and pooling into the crook of his neck, languidly lying across him, almost making Rorie jealous of how easy it settles on his lover; taunting and beautiful at the same time.

It caresses Dorian, leaving whispered silver breaths on his sun-kissed skin; it is as if the Tevinter is a lover of both sun and moon, and each day and night the two fight to reclaim him from the other… leaving Rorie in the shadows of the passion of divine things.

He couldn’t possibly compare to the sun or moon, and maybe come morning he’ll realize it silly to equate oneself to such heavenly bodies, but it is easier when a heavenly body like Dorian makes his acquaintance with your bed each night.

“I don’t like where you’re going.”

He starts when the warm tumble of a lazy voice shocks his ears. Rorie instantly looks up to see Dorian’s eyes crack open, those gorgeous golds giving him an appraising glance.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Keep reading

He wraps his arms around me,
he burros his face into the crook of my neck.
He smells like beer,
I pretend he smells like flowers.
In this moment he loves me.

He grabs my hand,
he whispers sweet nothings into my ear,
I follow him into the darkness of his bedroom.
He tastes like cheap booze and cigarettes.
I pretend he tastes like red wine.
In this moment he loves me

He peels off my jeans,
and then he peels back the sheets of his bed,
and as I sink into his white cotton sheets,
I pretend they are silk.
In this moment he loves me.

His body is hard and muscular,
his skin tastes like salt,
and his eyes look almost apologetic,
maybe because he doesn’t know how to love me.
I pretend his eyes hold forever,
and in this moment he loves me.

I slip out of his bedroom,
I slip out of my skin.
I do not pretend.
He does not love me.

—  ahn
[Fic] Invicta, Invictus [1/21]

Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Fenris/Hawke, Leandra/Malcolm, Bethany, Carver, OCs
Word Count: 5300 this chapter, approx. 90,000 total
Summary: Magister AU. The Fifth Blight strikes Ferelden, and Malcolm’s old Tevinter citizenship chases the Hawke family north instead of south—straight into seats of power in the magisterium. Few in Minrathous welcome such foreigners, but when an unfriendly duel lands Danarius’s prized slave squarely in Hawke’s possession, not even a magister can predict the upheaval that follows.

“But what are we going to do with him?” the matrona asks, less plaintive than he would have expected.

Her husband—his new mistress’s father, he surmises, strong-eyed despite the lines of age along his mouth—cups a hand to her cheek and then her shoulder. His travel-stained clothes show poorly against his wife’s silk; his fingers leave fresh mud along the cream. Neither of them appears to care. “I don’t know. We’ll think of something. Give him to Orana for the moment; I’ve got to go to the healers.”

The woman closes her eyes as her husband pulls away; the door closes behind him without a backwards glance, and she lets out a long slow breath before bending to lift the man’s carry-bag, still unopened, from where he’d dropped it at her feet. Her eyes are foreign when at last she looks at him again, faded blue framed by greying hair. “Well. You have a name, I suppose?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but a scream ripples through the air before he can speak. The woman pales, her hand flattening on the gilded harpsichord at her side; he hesitates, unsure if he is meant to aid the mother of his mistress or keep his slave’s hand from her silk, and in the moment of his indecision she sets her jaw and pushes away from the instrument. He knows that look.

“Fenris, domina,” he says, and presses his palms tightly together at his waist. “If it pleases you.”

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