Spacey is a man of SharpVision and Maxim Fashion; a major Player who is a jet setting TravelWizard, the stage is his passion. When In New York, Kevin gets no kick from champagne but it’s no joke he gets a Buzz off that sweet, silky Smoke.
“I fell asleep on your couch after a party but you didn’t complain and made breakfast for the both of us” AU (DEFINITELY college AU Sheith <3)
I’m crying this is so ridiculous and Keith is just a Human Disaster™ who swears in his head too much
Keith wakes up with a dry mouth and a headache.
Last night is a string of loud music, dim lighting, and laughter. Lance had a friend who had a friend, which is how they ended up on the Row, the strip of apartments set aside for upperclassman housing. It was one of the better parties Keith had been to, though eventually he’d fulfilled his social interaction quota for the night and had opted to retreat to the nearest couch. He remembers texting both Hunk and Lance to come find him when they were ready to leave. He does not, however, remember falling asleep.
In a gesture of kindness, someone had thrown a blanket over him. Keith lets it fall down around his waist as he pushes himself up higher on the couch, trying to reorient himself. The room has been tidied up since last night; a black trash bag sits in the corner, tied off neatly.
Keith pauses, sniffing the air. Is that… bacon?
He reaches for his phone, tucked safely in the back pocket of his jeans. 7:55.
Fuck, Keith thinks. It’s too early for this. He needs to get back to his dorm and pass out for another two hours, and then he’s going to find Hunk and Lance and chew them out because what the fuck happened to solidarity and all that other party-going protocol?
“How many nipples does she have?” I asked as I saw her loping around on bad legs. “2, just like us Lob,” replied our guide. With every question I had, our guide Petch’s Thai smile grew wider and correspondingly, my curiosity grew more unhinged. I felt I had many questions about elephants and so ignored the sharp elbow to the side from my wife and asked away. “You ask many questions, Lob.”
About an hour north of Chiang Mai is The Elephant Nature Park. You can almost hear the Jurassic Park theme play as you enter the leafy jungle road. Tall, green and lush trees trap the humidity at a low level, and even though I’m in an air-conditioned van, I sweat. For a city boy like myself, it’s rare to see an animal that is not a dog or cat. So when I first saw elephants on the road the on my way to the park I was floored. Big, hulking yet effective in their strides, I saw about half a dozen elephants saddled with wooden boxes carrying two people on their backs and a guide. I was amazed as to how animals of such power, and from what I’ve heard intelligence, can be trusted with three souls on their backs.
Hello! You are incredible and beautiful, and extraordinarily talented. I have a prompt that I think you would do justice: after the cow crashed Mulder’s room in Kansas, and they have to spend the night together, they end up spooning in scully’s bed, and scully wakes up with Mulder’s erection against her ass, and instead of freaking out she enjoys it, and fantasizes about him fucking her in that position. 💖
Well this took quite the angsty turn.
“The Harshness of Morning”
It’s the stillness that speaks the loudest, the silence that pounds in her ears, echoing off the paper-thin walls of their motel room. *Her* motel room. His breathing is soft behind her, gentle puffs of breath escape his nose in soft hisses. A strange comfort settles deep inside of her, just listening to him breathe as he slumbers peacefully in the grey dawn of morning.
There’s an intimacy in sleeping beside someone, in seeing the way their eyes flutter behind their lashes or the soft noises they make as they dream. She revels in the stillness of it, allowing herself the indulgence of feeling the weight of his arm draped around her waist before the inevitability of morning rips her from the sweetest of moments.
It surprised her the first time, startling her from a restless slumber with a muffled groan as his arm fell heavily across her chest. Huffing in annoyance, she’d simply moved the offending limb off her body, and rolled to her side, searching for the restorative slumber that continued to elude her with every twitch of his body beside her in the tiny motel bed.
But at some point in the night he’d done it again, finding her in the pitch-black of the room as he closed the space between them. Even in sleep he can find her in the darkest of places…
Feeling her chest tighten with an emotion far too dangerous for an early-morning reverie, she sighs into the cotton pillow, willing the sudden tears that burn to return from whence they came, an ache of loneliness squeezing her heart in a vice grip as she battles the blossoming fantasy with the crushing blow of reality.
Long-resigned to having fallen in love with her partner, the feeling of him holding her as he sleeps is an indulgence only allowed in the solitude of her own bed, behind the safety of closed lids and locked doors. But resigning herself to the feelings she’d repressed for so long does little to assuage the inner torment as his hips shift closer, pressing the evidence of his own desire into her backside.
Perfectly natural and completely normal, the rational side of her mind supplies, she tells herself he’s no more able to control his body’s reactions in sleep than she can control the deepening ache between her legs at the proof of his masculinity burning through her satin bottoms…
For a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe it more than simple nocturnal physiology, that his body is responding to her for reasons more than biology - something more than divide in their partnership that seemed to haunt them as of late, more than her own jealous ramblings about the woman from his past. He’d shared his files with her. He’d shared his bed with her and with a sinking sensation deep in her gut she suddenly wonders if his body believes hers to be that of the woman who’d come between them.
How many nights has she woken to the feeling of his erection pressing into her, the feel of his breath hot against the back of her neck? How many nights has she allowed him to slip his hands under her nightgown as he slipped his heated length between her legs? Just how many nights….
But the jolt of her travel alarm buzzing beside her jerks him away, and her skin sizzles in the shock of his absence, abandoned as he rolls to his back and wipes the sleep from his eyes. She feigns sleep as he places a gentle hand atop her hip, clueless to the torment that swirls inside of her as a single tear drips to the pillow, lonely as ever as her fantasy dissolves into the harshness of morning.
Amita Thai Cooking Class: Satay with Spicy Peanut Sauce
Before this course, neither of us were huge satay fans. We hadn’t exactly had great ones back home: they’re usually served as hors d'oeurves at parties – the chicken ends up a little dry, and sauce is a little, too sweet. It’s one of those instances where we’ve been doing it all wrong.
First off, Tam explained that satay doesn’t have to be chicken (99% of our past satay experiences were, though). The satay we made in class was pork loin, which tasted much juicier and more flavorful.
Secondly, the meat shouldn’t be so spread out on the stick – the only reason it’s done that way is to make it look like there’s more meat. Bunching the meat toward the top of the stick also helps keep it from drying out.
Lastly, the secret is, again, in the sauce. Tam has a few added ingredients in her peanut sauce that really turn it up to eleven.
As far as the ease of making this recipe, it’s definitely a bit more involved than the Khao Mun Som Tum. The key to this recipe is definitely in the preparation, and luckily most of it can be done up to a day or so in advance. After hard smashing a variety of ingredients for the marinade, you’ll need to give the meat at least 3 hours to soak up all those flavors. After marinating and then skewering the meats, it’s simply a matter of grilling satays thoroughly, while regularly brushing them with the left over marinade (mixed with coconut milk).
the west coast of Africa grunts its grievances and heated frustrations out over the Atlantic in traveling swells and buzz-saw circulations, a rude eye for vengeance stares onward in the calm collection of destruction, breath of death at my back wherever I hide and a surge of sea that tastes nothing like life, this energy of fear this massive wreck of nature, perversion of once a summer breeze and lightest rains upon my face
You and I are examples of how synonyms are not always interchangeable
You and I are soft. You are soft like a favorite pair of jeans, worn threadbare over the years. The vague threat of a tear is present at the knees, but they’re intact for now; perfect. I am soft like rot, the flesh of a fruit giving way under the lightest touch. The evidence of things forgotten, stems of dead flowers left too long in murky water.
You and I are proof of how what is said is less important than how it is said
You and I are tragedies. You are a tragedy in that you are exposed to this world, innocence and purity so much like the throat of a rabbit exposed to the wolves. It is tragic that you will someday die and leave the world that much darker for your absence. I am a tragedy of the traditional sort, a walking disaster barely fit to bear the title of human. Something to pity, something to loathe, something to consider an example - the embodiment of a cautionary tale.
You and I are the difference between doing what is right and doing what needs to be done
We are like liquor, you and I. You go down soft and smooth, vintage wine in crystal glasses. The pleasant buzz that travels along your nerves and sets everything afloat, brain foggy but filled with nothing but satisfaction. I’m more like cheap vodka, bottom-shelf poison useful for nothing more than forgetting the day, hangover starting the moment it touches your lips. There is no god at the bottom of this bottle. There never will be.
TWO PLUS TWO EQUALS FIVE FOR EXTREMELY LARGE VALUES OF TWO//0097
Ruri sat in her shop,
holding the small monitor in hand. The machine in her home was
extremely insistent that Ruri take it with her. Ruri had customers
coming soon, and this gave Iris a chance to look over things. Ruri
turned the device over in her hands, brushing her fingers over the
glass surface. The device sprang to life, beeping and whistling as
she nearly dropped it.
Eta… online… connecting…” spoke the device. A few moments
later, an image of Iris appeared on screen with her wearing white
jacket with black corset dress underneath.
squeed out in wonderment. “Is this the clothing feature!? Iris
said it might have something like that.” Ruri tapped on the
image of Iris, giggling as she spun and rotated the image on screen.
“This is fun! But I need to focus on work! Jade is coming over,
so this should show a miqo'te, not a lalafell…” Ruri spoke
aloud to herself. She tapped on the button labelled race and selected
‘Miqo'te.’ She nodded in approval as the image on-screen morphed into
that of a miqo'te, looking similar to Iris from many months before.
Iris carefully opened
the cracked and damaged display, doing her best to properly balance
herself as to not drop anything. She softly hummed to herself,
happily going about repairing the machine.
“How in the world
did Ruri manage to shatter this?” Iris laughed to herself. “Just
another reminder to not make her mad…” As she looked to find a
place to set the display, a buzz travelled through her body, causing
her eyes to flash blue as a digital static covered her body. White
voxels floated out from her body, causing her whole body to glow and
reconstruct itself into her former miqo'te self. Iris blinked a few
times, falling off balance as her tail twitched, causing her to
notice her clothes having vanished in the change. “Wh-what
the… I’m miqo'te again!?” she shouted, the display toppling
out from her hands and shattering upon the floor. “N-noo! Why am
I like this!?”
Ruri squished her lips
as she started cycling through a few outfits, tapping away as the
image on-screen faded through several outifts and robes. In haze, no
longer trying outfits to see what would look good for Jade, Ruri
tapped on the race option again. She flicked through the list,
stopping as her eyes settled upon the 'Moogle’ option. She hesitated
for a moment as a giant grin crossed her face.
Iris stumbled as the
rapid succession of her form altering to display new clothes had
taken a toll upon her. Her legs fumbled weakly under her as she fell
to the floor, an elctronic pang echoing out as the white polygonal
light covering her legs faded.
happening to me?” Iris asked as she watched light sparkle from
her fingers and in an instant, she was tiny… and felt oddly fluffy.
A loud squeak escaped her mouth as she floated into the air, her
round moogle body jiggling from the sudden movement. “K-kupo…?”