martini olive

silk | chapter one

Originally posted by bangtanboysbutterfly

chapter song | masterpost | next chapter

ceo au - jimin x reader - angst | smut

word count : 3.4k

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4

Thank you Tumblr for allowing me to upload images all at the same time.

Latest Bullwhip background complete. A POV shot from the restaurant earlier. Looks like you can get a good variety to eat here. The food is good too.

Deeper

A story about hook ups, drunk conversations and sex in a car (or over it)

Honestly, the best part of a martini is the olive. Sure, it makes you wince a little when you bite into it and the gin soaked bitterness floods in your mouth, but still, it is the best damn part, and it makes you feel fancy. That’s always a plus.

A sigh left your lips after you finished the last drop of your drink and you looked at your friends, who were in the middle of a pretty heated conversation. You didn’t need to actually hear their words to know what they were talking about, their sour faces and the over fanning of their hands said it all. You knew the words by heart, God knows you had said it yourself a couple of times before and you were probably going to say it a few more times. Boys were dumb, boys were useless, who needs boys? You literally didn’t need to keep track of the conversation to know how it went.

A glance to your right, and all you could see was the broad span of Harry’s back. Beyond that, there was not much you could actually see, or were interested in. He wasn’t paying attention to you, not at all, his eyes were fixed on the TV where the Packer’s game was in the middle of…something, you weren’t quite sure, you weren’t really interested. You couldn’t see his face, but it was a safe guess to say it was pretty much the same of the other 5 boys around him, their jaws a little slacked and their eyes somewhere between vacant and excited, the maniac glint they got when they ere watching sports. All of them looked like brainless zombies to you, while they sipped on their beers and waited for…again, something. Goals and touchdowns and shit and stuff.

Him being a Packer’s fan was another question you needed to your endless list of questions to be asked.

“H?” You whispered softly, and your fingers snuck down the fabric of the white shirt he was wearing, where you allowed your nails to scrap on the small of his back and to the meaty, soft skin of the love handles you liked so much. But an annoyed huff came out of your lips when you realized that had barely stirred him up, just enough to make him turn around and press a quick kiss to your lips, soft and unaware, before he went back to the game.

First rule of hooking up: Don’t hook up with friends. Nothing good can come out of it. Status: Broken.

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sports car week … burning rubber

start of the 1971 1000km di Monza, ‘Trofeo Filippo Caracciolo’

the brand new Ferrari 312PB of Jacky Ickx (n°15) taking the lead at the start while the pole sitter, the Martini Porsche 917K of Vic Elford & Gérard Larrouse (n°3) had a lesser start & got away as 3rd, edged in between are the Scuderia Filipinetti Ferrari 512M of Mike Parkes & Jo Bonnier (n°8) & the Autodelta Alfa Romeo T33/3 of Rolf Stommelen & Toine Hezemans (n°19)
it would be the Gulf Porsche 917K’s of JW Automotive that would be victorious, with Pedro Rodriguez & Jackie Oliver as winner & Jo Siffert & Derek Bell as runners up
the Alfa Romeo T33/3 of Andrea de Adamich & Henri Pescarolo would make the podium complete

things i need in my life: grimmjow being forced to look after a lost child that happened to walk into his bar or some shit

[Sakura and Ino are having a girls night out. Sakura, nursing a cup of sake, is listening as Ino, on her third martini, describes her plans for the holidays]

Ino: So Gaara’s going to be my respectable boyfriend for Mom’s birthday, and I’ll be his non-slutty girlfriend for Christmas.

Sakura(Choking on her drink): Gaara the Kazekage?? THAT Gaara?

Ino(Examining her empty glass): Yeah, we really hit it off, actually. Weird, right? Anyway, we got it all worked out.

Sakura:…Right. So, respectable boyfriend, non-slutty girlfriend, and then…?

Ino(Eating her martini olive): The Suna council mistakenly assumes Gaara’ll give them some heirs and gets off his back, he stays my asexual friend, and my mom thinks I’m not a slut.

The signs and their alcoholic beverage of choice

Aries: Screwdriver

Taurus: Virgin wine… So grape juice…

Gemini: Mouse pads.

Cancer: Absinthe. Tone it down there Cancer.

Leo: Moonshine

Virgo: A martini, with thousands of olives. The entire bar is just covered in olives at this point.

Libra: Sex on the beach, while drinking a grasshopper.

Scorpio: TEQUILAAAAAAAAA

Sagittarius: Mike’s hard lemonade. Wow you’re so hardcore *rolls eyes*

Aquarius: 17 shots of vodka.

Capricorn: A turtle’s blood.

Pisces: Magenta Sangria

Supercat Week - Day 6 - Truth Serum / Trapped Together


It was another of those charity get togethers. A lot of people with a lot of money, chatting, eating, drinking, dancing. Usually Kara enjoyed getting out of the office and standing at Cat’s side - or behind her, slightly to her right, depending on Cat’s mood - but tonight Cat was at the other side of the room, while Kara entertained the board of some minor company.

Small talk, laughing at the jokes of the important people, smile and nod, Kara knew how to do this, but her attention was split tonight. Her super hearing didn’t help keeping her mind on the table she sat at.

“Here’s your next Martini, dry, two olives.”

“Thank you, Maxwell. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are trying to get me drunk.”

“And what if I am?”

Kara’s hands clenched into fists on her thighs, staring down onto the half finished salad in front of her. It wasn’t her business if her boss wanted to hook up with Maxwell Lord. Still, Kara couldn’t stop the way her stomach tightened unpleasantly when she saw Maxwell invade Cat’s personal space.

“Then I’d say you’re even more desperate to get me into your bed, than last time.” Cat finished her drink before popping an olive into her mouth. “Desperation isn’t very attractive.”

Kara suppressed a smile and tried to concentrate on the conversation around her. It worked for almost ten minutes, before she heard Cat gasp, and a glass shatter on the floor.

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Do not fall in love while you’re drunk.
Whether it’s off martini’s, or the olives at the bottom; whether it’s off summertime, or the bottom of the ocean.
Do not fall in love while you’re drunk.
You will be fast hands and sloppy kisses and they will love it. Drunk You will tell Drunk Them that you want to get married and have three kids and name them after your favourite presidents, and they will say that’s the best idea anybody has ever had. It’s not. You will tell them that they are the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and they will make some offhand cocky comment, and you will laugh, but secretly you’ll be upset that they didn’t say it back.
Drunk You will have a few more drinks and watch (slightly less) Drunk Them take deliberately slow sips. You will pretend you don’t notice the haze leaving their eyes. You will pretend you don’t know what happens at the end of the night.
Do not fall in love while you’re drunk.
You will be fast hands and sloppy kisses and they will love it. Until they don’t. They will love you. Until they don’t.
Drunk You will make Drunk Them feel more loved than ever. Drunk Them will learn to drink less, terrified of the hangover. You will not.
Drunk You will be drunk for three months after they get sober. You will spend weeks trying to find the perfect replacement drink. You will spend hours heaving over your kitchen sink, trying to get rid of things you didn’t know could make homes in your rib cage. You will never be drunk the same way you were when you first saw them.
So don’t fall in love when you’re drunk.
Whether it be off whiskey or love.
Just don’t do it when you’re drunk.
—  Drunk in Love

50th Anniversary of The Sound Of Music

Andrews and Plummer sat next to each other at the center of the long table, their backs to the room. He ordered wine—his serious drinking days are over, he’d told me earlier. Andrews ordered her usual, a Ketel One martini, straight up, with olives.

When Plummer and Andrews spoke, they leaned close to each other, their heads almost touching. Gradually, people at other tables started noticing them, shifting forward to see if they could believe their eyes. After all, the last time most of us saw the two of them together, they were climbing over that mountain to freedom.

And 50 years later, damn if they weren’t right here. Safe. And still a family.