filled-with-wine

anonymous asked:

karlie walks in taylor rooms only to find her friend taylor touching herself and shouting karlies name

Sleepovers had become a ritual of theirs; they happened so often that Karlie had her own room in Taylor’s house. Pairs of pajamas and clothes filled the drawers of a bedside table and Karlie even had her guilty snacks stocked at Taylor’s place. Sometimes, Karlie wondered how many days in a week she had to sleep over for it to simply be considered living together.

It had been another back-to-back sleepover event and Karlie found herself on the morning of their second day. A rigid schedule prevented Karlie from staying over any longer, although she would in a heartbeat. Their last night had been wine-filled with sad movies that they decided to watch simply for the need to cry, and now Karlie had awoken with a headache as a result. She hadn’t gotten wasted but there was definitely missing spots in her memories from the night before, and she most definitely remembered the undeniable heated tension between Taylor and herself.

It had been building up over time; touches lingered on skin longer, glances that were held for a second too long. It was due to overboil very soon.

Karlie’s sure she’s hallucinating when she hears it the first time. It’s faint, muffled by multiple layers of walls between her and where she had last seen Taylor. It sounds like someone calling out her name but the younger girl is sure she’s just hearing things.

Her arm is looping through the sleeve of her sweater when she hears it again. Karlie. There’s no doubt now. It sounds like a desperate call from someone, and the only person in the house was Taylor. Her heart begins to seize; what if Taylor was hurt and too weak to call for her?

Karlie’s pace quickens and she begins a path to Taylor’s room with urgency. Steps away from the slightly ajar door, she hears Taylor breathlessly call her name once more. Her intuition screams for Karlie to turn back around, but her heart, in great concern, urges her forward. Her hand gently pushes the door open, cringing at the hinges hissing.

Taylor’s head shoots up at the noise from its position on the pillow. She stares at Karlie with wide eyes, unmoving, her chest heaving with labored breaths.
Karlie’s mouth opens in shock. The singer is laid out on top of the covers. Taylor’s shirt is pushed lazily halfway up her chest, exposing half of her breasts. Her pajama shorts are clinging to the low skin of her thighs, not completely off, but removed enough for Karlie to see things. Taylor’s hand was frozen between her thighs and after a long moment it darts over to the hem of the comforter.

“Karlie! Fuck, I -” Taylor’s words fail her as she scrambles to cover her body with the other end of the comforter. The model stands in the doorway, unmoving in disbelief at Taylor. It didn’t take a genius to piece together what had been going on prior to her entering the room.

Karlie’s brows furrow and she frowns. “…Taylor?” she questions. The blonde’s eyes screw shut, wishing to be away from this situation. “What was just…”

“Nothing! Nothing, Karlie.” Taylor’s words tumble out over one another and she winces at her eager answer. The younger girl stands there in the doorway for another moment, staring at Taylor with an unreadable expression, and then she takes a step forward.

“Was it really nothing?” she asks, taking more strides forward. Taylor slides backwards up the bed, curling the sheets even further around her, surprised that Karlie hadn’t turned and sprinted away. She gulps.

“I…”

“Why were you moaning my name?” Karlie says with a smirk, pressing her knee down onto the edge of the mattress. Taylor sinks forward.

“I was just…”

Karlie’s brow raises. “So you were moaning my name?” The girl had no definite idea if that was in fact what Taylor was doing, but now that she is closer, she can see the sweat on Taylor’s face and how red she has gotten at Karlie’s question.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I -”

“Don’t apologize. I was doing the same in my room last night,” Karlie confesses with a confidence that Taylor could never muster. She moves forward while speaking. “Maybe not as loud, though.” Taylor turns even darker at this and her breathing becomes erratic as Karlie looms close enough for Taylor to be able to reach out and kiss her if she wanted to. No more words are exchanged, and Karlie answers Taylor’s thoughts for her when she hunches forward and kisses Taylor carefully on the lips.

They’re both unmoving, processing the steps that were about to be taken, until Taylor closes the distance between them once again and kisses Karlie. Their kisses are urgent and precise, figuring out the bends and curves of each others’ lips, appreciating the fact that this is a first for both of them.

Taylor leans back on her pillow and hopes that Karlie understands the signal to follow suit. The younger girl stretches a leg over the other side of Taylor’s body and settles herself down to be stradding Taylor’s hips. She bends forward to reconnect their mouths, jumping in shock when Taylor’s hand snakes upwards to palm her breast. Karlie’s hand pats around blindly for a moment until it presses itself over Taylor’s hand, urging it into her own flesh.

Their frantic, unsure movements continue for a while until Karlie pops off of Taylor’s lips reluctantly. Her fingers sway back and forth between Taylor and herself.

“Are we going to do… this?” Karlie wonders aloud, her face full of worry. Taylor sits upwards until her face is inches away from Karlie’s.

“We can figure that out later. For now, let’s just,” she pauses, kissing Karlie’s jaw slowly. “do this.”

Karlie thinks it to be out of character for Taylor not to plan out, but if the throbbing feeling between her own legs was any similar for Taylor’s, she understands the urgency behind hashing this out first.

They fall intertwined together into the pillows.

youtube

“This is my body
And I live in it.
It’s twenty-nine and twelve months old.
It’s changed a lot since it was new.
It’s done stuff it wasn’t built to do.
I often try to fill it up with wine.
And the weirdest thing about it is
I spend so much time hating it
But it never says a bad word about me.
This is my body and it’s fine.
It’s where I spend the vast majority of my time.
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine.
It’s not perfect…”

Sleep Song 62 [Middle Kingdom]

I. Sheut
Middle Kingdom, stones piled on the bones of megafauna, your Heliopolitan panoply of magic: with Ra behind there is nothing to fear. We wear

his amulet, his wedding band. Every sunrise a metamorphosis, a scarab’s shell worn over the skull; a scarab borrowed, a scarab saved. Tucking you in at night,

shushing the susurrus of your sobs as the sun god settles to his sarcophagus shut-eye. As the tarsus, foot that bears the claw, bristles across your cheek.


II. Ib
Middle Kingdom, I come to you in some measure mummified, cerebrum having been drawn through the nose by ritual awls, my body a tuning fork between Atum’s legs. Reach into the aperture

of my hollowed chest, note the stillness of the heart’s absence. Rinse the cage with palm wine, fill with cassia and natron, lock in the earth for 3,000 years.

This weathered body is a husk for my heart, wide and heavy beneath a clay lid, ignored. In the end, to be weighed, priced and put on a shelf by Anubis himself.


III. Ka
Middle Kingdom: sanctified, castrated and relieved of insanity by Seth, I am become bearer of the jet black fleece, become shamanic mouthpiece.

It calms storms in me, the touchless satin of my eunuch’s scar, quiets the voice in the bones - Darwin himself sleep talking in the jewel surf of the Galapagos.

Fallow lay the once-fertile crescent of me, but that does not mean I cannot wield my body like a benevolent weapon, drenched in pearlescent moonlight.


IV. Ren
Middle Kingdom, I am pancaked between the Over and Under worlds, tied to a fence and burned at the stake for my cauldron’s bubble, bearded lady’s stubble.

We are the magnifying locus for ancient light forgotten; sharpened teeth of Bast, neon black Obelisk of a man, blood-drunk on wine, puking poetic hieroglyphs.

We are the entire burned libraries Caesarian-sectioned by the brain drain of Rome. And still the womb aches with geologic thunder, phantom menstrual pain.


V. Ba
Middle Kingdom souls were not part of the person, but the person themselves. This means that after death, we escape our false bodies and go on eating, drinking, copulating.

This means our human heads fly out of tombs wearing the dresses of gorgeous birds. Ra, warden of the knowing dawn, with you behind there is nothing to feel,

so I turn and stare into sun. I drape gauze over a valley of queens, can finally be myself: 3rd binary, standing in corners of burial chambers where I learned to walk like a straight boy.

I’ve been attending novelist events all weekend and I wish more writers would mention just how much privilege it takes to be able to sustain oneself as a writer as we see them at these events, i.e. dressing well, talking about traveling to new countries for fun and inspiration, going on brunches and wine-filled dinners with interviewers and business partners and other people in the industry.

One of the authors today mentioned that it was out of sheer luck that he managed to write a novel and be there talking about it and everything. But the way he described that luck gave the impression that he doesn’t know what he’s lucky for, how he was afforded success while others aren’t even allowed to try and have the same lifestyle.

There are national prize winners who are writing legitimately mediocre books compared to lesser known and lesser funded writers. It costs a lot of money to network to make sure that important people know your work, and that’s only a fraction of what it takes financially to be a successful writer.

Lóng yì (One-Shot Preview)

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The pounding in Azula’s head was the first thing she became aware of.

Each throb of her temple made her feel as if a herd of buffalo-yak had decided to stampede through her skull. Not that she hadn’t any experience with such things before, of course. She could dimly recall a similar feeling that had come over her the morning after she, Ty Lee, and Mai – she and the traitors, Azula corrected herself – had captured Ba Sing Se. They had found a cellar deep beneath the royal palace filled to the ceiling with wine, some of which was older than the War. Normally, Azula was a teetotaler; she had little use for the brief buzz alcohol gave and even less for its awful aftermath. But that had been a time for celebration. No one, not even Uncle, had managed to set foot inside its inner walls – and she had managed to become its mistress without a standing army. Now…

Now she wished she could remember what had been so important as to warrant her current splitting headache.

Azula had become aware of another fact whose reason eluded her at the moment. There was a heaviness bound tightly to her wrists. She was shackled. ‘Whatever happened must have made Zuzu truly mad,’ she thought to herself. It wasn’t ‘moral,’ he’d said, to use force against someone who was drugged with spirits knew how many medicines every day. Of course, it was something he always threatened Azula with, as if he could do anything worse than locking her away to rot while he warmed his behind on the throne that was rightfully hers. He never did manage to say it with the slightest hint of conviction either. Much like everything else he attempted in life, Zuzu was awful at playing the jailer. No matter how much he begged and pleaded, never shutting up about his desire to be a family (the thought made Azula want to wretch), she had stood firm. Sometimes she would simply stare out the small window that was afforded to her, other times she would tear into his daily failures in court mercilessly. Whether he left in anger or sadness made no difference to Azula. He hadn’t managed to break her.

Not like Mother could.

That was the one weapon she had not found a solution to. Whenever Zuzu finished his daily ritual of visiting Azula in her prison, Mother always followed soon afterwards. Azula hated those moments. Hated that she still looked just as she had the night she’d left with the same stupid dress, the same stupid way in which she put up her hair, said the same stupid platitudes, wore the same stupid expression of disappointment mixed with pity. But no matter how much she tried, Azula could not make Mother leave. She was always back and always ready to offer the same speech.

‘Make yourself whole, Azula, and embrace your brother. Drop your claim to the throne; let it weigh on Zuko’s shoulders and his alone. You believe that taking it all would give you happiness, but how can that be true when all it has gotten you are these four walls? Come home and be with us. I…’

No.

She would not repeat the Lie.

Azula protested, Azula screamed, but Mother was always unfazed. Again and again she would alternate between never uttering a word and those damnable attempts at pulling her away from her destiny. She wouldn’t understand – couldn’t. What would the daughter of an herbalist from some backwater know of the glory of ruling a nation? Of being blessed by the Spirit World’s mandate to rule? No matter the arguments Azula put forth or the logic she employed, Mother never bent to her will. She would feel as if she were a child again in the gardens burning Mother’s flowers. As if they had never missed a beat in all the years she’d been gone, Azula was the obstacle to be overcome and tamed. Mother never watched her training. She had never watched her bend flames – blue because she was such a special girl, Father had said – to her will. Except when it could be used to punish her. Azula could not credit Mother with teaching her many things, but she had learned one lesson.

When given a mask and expected to play a part, one learns to do so because the stage is the only way to act out a role.



This is a very small sample of the Dragonborn!Azula one-shot I promised a bit ago. As with all of my writing efforts, I’m looking for critique and feedback. If there’s something you guys feel I could do better, please let me know. I’d like to become a better writer and using an interactive medium like Tumblr is a pretty good way to do that, I feel. Mostly I’m concerned with having Azula’s thoughts seem in character at this point.

Note: please pardon the grammatical hack job that might be the title (it’s supposed to be ‘Dragonborn’ in Mandarin). I’m not familiar at all with Chinese and so had to rely on a English-to-Chinese dictionary and Google Translate to get it.

Scandal drinking game | S04E20 on

[spoiler alert! ] [also, I googled some ideas & thought about others]

Material needed: a wine glass filled with red wine; a bottle of wine


Take a sip every time

- Olivia says she’s Olivia Pope

- a hashtag appears on screen

- you hear the word gladiators or derivatives

- Abby is called red

- Olivia says it’s handled / I’m handling it

- Olivia wears white


Take a gulp every time

- Olitz say hi

- there’s a fhashback 

- Cyrus freaks out

- Cyrus lies

- there’s a #mellizzie scene

- Mellie slays

- Olivia drinks wine and/or eats popcorn

- David mentions white hats or him being the attorney general of the United States

- anyone mentions Vermont or standing in the sun

- Huck appears for no reason

- Fitz drinks scotch

- Abby makes a sassy remark 

- Quinn and Charlie make out

- Huck acts weird

- Fitz puts on a sad/doggy face


Finish your glasse every time

-  Papa Pope lectures or threatens Olivia

- there’s an Olitz scene

- Olivia cries

- a shirtless man appears

- someone is tortured

- someone dies

- there’s a plot twist

Vintage fashion takes flight

Street style met vintage chic on Saturday afternoon, when Tonys Houz and vintage fashion brand 1042 came together to create a platform of expression like none Stellenbosch has seen before.

The LLL village courtyard was abuzz with students neatly clad in black and white. Some sported suspenders and fedoras, and others had elegant patterns painted on their foreheads, contrasting, and complementing the nostalgic glamour. It was an explosion of cross-cultural creativity; then again, one would expect nothing less from a collaboration between the three projects that coordinated it.

Wine glasses glistened in the fading sunlight, filled with flavours of Incredible Wines, a brand started by former student Solomon Monyamane, and students were addressed by the smartly dressed Namibian vintage guru, Lourens Loux Gebhardt (you should google both) .Models strutted down a red carpet, flaunting bold outfit combinations, some of which were for sale at the event. All the while, Tony Mac was capturing the action.

Students from all denominations assembled to express themselves through fashion, and appreciate and learn from that of others. This was the first vintage fashion show to be held at the university, and it not only served as a platform for networking, but also as a promotional event for student-created entrepreneurial ventures.

aeternam-penumbra asked:

Whoops!

Send me a “Whoops!” and my character will accidentally… injure your muse

Chrysanthe glanced at the male standing next to her and picked up her glass filled with wine. This man… She immediately felt some sort of suspicion for him. Yet, she pushed her thoughts away, deciding to just enjoy the party she was in. 

The female started talking with another noble, twisting the walking cane in one of his hands while sipping the wine. The man she was talking to started leading her over the table and she followed him with a polite smile, not really caring what he said at all.

“Careful!” The male said as Chryssa bumped into some stranger, her cane falling down on the man’s feet and the glass of wine crashing against his shoulder, the small shards getting stuck in his coat and the skin under it, and her own palm. Her eyes widened when she realized that this person was the same male she was staring at a few minutes ago.

I’m getting a house on queen west now that I’m making good money. Scarlett and I are gonna fill it with wine and bondage contraptions and stolen paintings and dumb animals and give a queer/trans kid the extra bedroom for dirt cheap bc we can.

asimplylucia asked:

Happy Birthday! I just saw it was today and I wish you a wonderful day, filled with good food, wine and surprises. Enjoy!

Oh thanks, darling! That was a lovely bit of writing you posted today - looking forward to the second part :)