stack wine

yoonmin in december includes:

  • 🎄 setting up decors on the 1st of december c/o jimin who’s excited
  • ⛄ making snowmen and snow angels
  • 🍷 stacking up on wine because ‘it’s the holidays, babe. wine is a must!’ c/o yoongi
  • 🎁 buying gifts for their friends together and buying each other’s gifts separately
  • 🛍 shopping for new items!
  • 🎂 jimin learning how to bake because it’s never december without pastries!
  • 🌃 longer nights meaning more time to cuddle
  • 🎉 parties and celebrations everywhere
  • 🎹 yoongi teaching jimin to play the piano as they warm up by the fireplace
  • 📀 watching old dvds and home alone
  • 🎙 yoongi putting on frank sinatra vinlys and them slow dancing in their living room with only their fairy lights on
  • 🎤 december is nonstop karaoke
  • 📆 couting down the days before another year together
  • 🍾 romantic dinners

ONESHOT: September Request - Sequel to ‘Progress Report’ After a string of cancelled sessions, The Joker breaks out of Arkham Asylum to find his Doctor, Harleen Quinzel. 


Requested by @royal-flush-gang

It had been 2 weeks since the Harleen had been late for her session with the Joker. A fortnight since he touched her, kissed her and controlled all of her senses.

He still thought back to that day with a mixture between lust and anger. He never wanted it to get that far, sure he flirted with her a little and relished in the blush that covered her cheeks every time he complimented her, but he had no intention on touching her the way he did. He thought back to that day laying in his cell after she’d cancelled another session with him, the Joker hadn’t seen her since that day and every time she postponed her sessions with him, he was growing more and more impatient.

He’d heard rumors rattling around the asylum that she was unwell, too sick to come in, but there were other stories going around too, saying that she’d had enough, that she couldn’t handle the job and that her resignation was expected any day now. The Joker would never allow that to happen, besides, she didn’t have the guts to cut and run now, not after her heavy breath had traced his skin with words of forbidden pleasure, and especially not after he’d caused her to cry out in ecstasy as his hands caressed her most sacred part, making her crumble and weaken against him.

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plummet (pt.2)  ||  jaehyun

the gala is in full swing, but all you can think about is Jung Jaehyun.

word count: 1,752


The minute the Kim family arrives, your mother practically shoves you into Doyoung’s arms to try and get you to converse.

As the two of you exchange pleasantries over a plate of fancy cheeses, an elegant classical melody floats through the air. Despite your efforts to appear as polite as possible, after listening to Doyoung explain the logistics of running a multi-million dollar pharmaceutical company for a while, you find the conversation getting dull. He seems to pick up on your lack of interest, changing the subject.

“It looks good on you,” He lifts his chin at the charm around your neck, bringing back memories of events from earlier that day.

“Thank you,” you murmur, touching your fingertips to the cold pendant. As if the heavy significance the Kim family’s gift didn’t already weigh on you enough, it now served a constant reminder of a certain handsome but impossibly aloof security guard. Suddenly in no mood for small talk, you excuse yourself on the premise of seeking more cocktail shrimp.

You weave through the crowd aimlessly, mind straying elsewhere. It’s not until you hear your heels click against the smooth tile of the veranda that you realize you’ve wandered outside. The chilly evening air stings your bare shoulders, and the party din has regressed into muffled background noise. Remembering that Jaehyun had mentioned his station by the pool, you look for the blonde-haired boy among a handful of guests who had gathered outside to chat. To your dismay, there is another guard on duty, and Jaehyun is nowhere to be found.

As moonlight skims the listless surface of the pool, a memory plays over and over in your head like a movie: the glint of the necklace flying through the air, the quick motions of peeling off clothes and diving into the water, and the final mysterious expression. That had happened hours ago, and yet the image of his stoic face is still branded into your mind. He was angry, but for what reason? It wasn’t like you had commanded him to retrieve the necklace for you. He had decided to do that on his own. You sigh, kicking a stray pebble and sending it skidding across the patio tiles. Jung Jaehyun was so dumb.

Were you two even friends at this point? Perhaps you had been wrong to consider Jaehyun a friend in the first place; perhaps in his eyes you were always just the pesky, spoiled-rich daughter of his father’s boss.

An evening breeze interrupts your reverie, lifting you back to reality with a shiver. Rubbing your arms to shield them from the chill, you decide to head back inside.

As you step back under the lights of the ballroom chandelier, you wish you could erase Jaehyun from your thoughts for good. Grabbing two glasses of champagne from a tray, you tilt your head back and down them one after another. You’re about to empty a third when, out of nowhere, someone snatches the glass from your fingertips. To your surprise and mild irritation, you open your eyes and find Jaehyun standing in front of you, setting the champagne down on a table beside him.

“You’re going to get drunk,” he says in response to the glare you give him.

“That’s kind of the point.”

Jaehyun shoots you a disapproving glance. His suit is dry now, and his hair hangs over his forehead instead of styled up like it had been earlier. You want to ask him where he got the dry clothes but you’re still too ashamed about the incident to bring it up.

“I want to get away from here,” you grumble instead. He puts his hands in his pockets, biting his lip as if deep in thought.

“I know a place. I can take you there, if you want.”

Your eyebrows fly up in surprise and your mind raises a million questions, yet you find yourself giving him a nod. Jaehyun takes a quick peek around the ballroom, but, as expected, everyone else is too absorbed in the festivities to notice the two of you. He takes your hand, whisking you down a maze of hallways and a descending flight of stairs before holding a door open for you and flicking on the lights. 

Amber glow floods into the room, illuminating rows and rows of rustic cabinets stacked with wine bottles.  

“This is the cellar,” you say dumbly.

“It was the first place I could think of.” He shuts the heavy door behind him before turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Is it okay?”

As your eyes sweep over the scene, there’s something comforting about the sweet aroma in the air and the tall, stately shelves. 

“It’s perfect,” you decide in a whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly would somehow disturb the arrays of wine laid out so nice and neat. You run your fingertips along the wood of the shelves and wander around, exploring the room.

“It’s nice,” you confirm, “Way better than that stiff gala upstairs.”

Jaehyun nods. He stands with his shoulders squared, eyes roaming lazily over the label of a chardonnay bottle. “How’s the Pharmacy Prince?”

You crinkle your nose at the nickname. “Doyoung’s nice, but he’s got the personality of wet cardboard. Mother is hoping that an engagement will be arranged with the next business deal.”

“And your father?”

“He doesn’t think it’s necessary. For now.”

“That’s good. At least you don’t have to worry about marrying cardboard yet.”

You acknowledge his comment with a hum, not sure how else to reply. Normally you would have laughed at a simple, stupid joke like that, but after everything that’s happened as of late, you’re unsure of how to act around him anymore. You watch as Jaehyun grabs a bottle of pinot noir from the shelf, a mysterious glint in his eye.

“There’s so much wine here. Think they’ll notice if one goes missing?”

You raise a brow. 

“Jung Jaehyun, what’s gotten into you?”

He just laughs at your question, dismissing it with a playful shrug. Using a corkscrew that had been abandoned on the shelf, he pops the bottle open and takes a swig before holding it out to you. He looks at you warmly as you press the bottle to your lips and take a sip of the tart liquor.

“You look nice tonight. I forgot to tell you earlier.”

Your cheeks heat up at his flattery, yet at the same time, your mind is running circles trying to decipher this enigma of a boy for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. At this point, you’re exhausted and desperate for explanations.

“I don’t get you,” you mutter softly, putting down the liquor. “First you tell me to marry Doyoung, and then you say it’s a good thing that I’m not. You scold me for drinking upstairs, and then you suggest opening a bottle of wine. For weeks, you’ve hardly spared a glance at me, but then you have the nerve to turn around, bring me here, and tell me I look nice tonight?” You stare straight at him and shake your head. “I just don’t get it.”

He sighs and approaches, closing the gap between you. “I can explain—”

The metallic squeak of a turning door handle cuts him off. Before you can react, Jaehyun springs forward and grabs you by the arm, momentum sending you spinning out of view just as a member of the waitstaff opens the cellar door.

Your head is reeling from the all the sudden motion, and once you come to your senses you find yourself in Jaehyun’s arms, back pressed against his chest, and only a few cases of wine obscuring you from the server. Trying to quell your rapid heartbeat, you silently scoff at Jaehyun’s dramaticism. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if someone had seen you and Jaehyun just hanging out in the cellar, but if you were caught pressed up against him in a compromising position like this? Now that would look bad. 

As the two of you stand cramped between the the last shelf and the wall, you’re not sure what’s more nerve-wracking: the footsteps echoing from the far corner of the room, or the fact that you can feel Jaehyun’s breath fanning across your cheek and his arm tightening around your waist.

The door finally swings shut, signaling that the server has left, leaving you alone with Jaehyun once again.

There’s a moment of stillness, neither of you moving a muscle. It’s suffocatingly silent, and you hate how secure you feel in Jaehyun’s arms, how much you enjoy breathing in his heavenly cologne.

You turn around finally and find his eyes already fixed on yours, hands lingering around your waist, as if reluctant to let go. His face is inches away from yours, close enough for you to count his eyelashes even in the dim cellar lighting. As if under a spell, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away. He puts his hands on your cheeks, and you’re feeling all warm and soft inside—partly because of the alcohol, and partly because he’s kissing you now, gently and sweetly.

The way his lips mold to yours can only be described as perfect, and he squeezes your waist gently as if you were the center of the universe, or at least his universe. Your fingers curl around the silky lapels of his suit, desperately pulling him closer, and you realize that unknowingly, you’ve been waiting on this for a long time. When he pulls away finally, you groan and bury your face against the crook of his neck, unwilling to part from him. You feel his chest and shoulders shake as he chuckles in response.

“You want to know why I acted so weirdly around you?” His breath tickles the shell of your ear. “Because all I could ever think about was how much I wanted to kiss you. And when I heard rumors about you and Doyoung, I thought if I distanced myself, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But it still did.”

“Jaehyun.” His name falls from your lips, and you hesitate, trying to figure out what to say. “I wanted to kiss you too. And no one else.”

“I’m glad.”

And then it’s silent. Just you and Jaehyun holding each other, subtly swaying to some rhythm that only the two of you can hear. 

You feel warm. And safe. And in that moment, your only wish is to stop time so you can hold onto him forever.

The bitter victory, ch2: lepers

Content: A week after the bitter victory in Denerim, Lea Surana goes looking for Zevran who is being suspiciously kept from him.
Content warning: mature, gore
Author’s notes: there was something, some background info I wanted to give here but I forgot what it was so :/. Rushed, as always, I am a very impatient self-editor.
Thank you so much @monaramis for the header pic, I know I pretty much sprung it upon you at a super inconvenient time!
Link: AO3 , previous chapter

Lea Surana had been up a mere two days after he and Zevran had been found huddled up in the middle of the ashes of Denerim. Aches left his body one by one as new life poured into him, stolen from others by magic. But when he’d inquired about Zevran, all he ever got from the tired, tight-lipped healers was a strange glance, and with each passing day the knot in his stomach grew tighter.

He’d asked Wynne who was coordinating the healers in the field hospital set up within the walls of the surprisingly intact Guerrin estate, but all Wynne said was you shouldn’t go. Lie down and rest.

That’s when cold sweat covered him. I shouldn’t go? Why? And he wrapped his arms tightly around his chest as scenarios one worse than the other conjured in his head before they surrendered under their dreamer’s iron will and slithered back to where they came from.

He heard the healers talk about the elf in one of the more secluded rooms of the estate. Quarantine of some sort, the healer girls said when Lea pressed them for information. Neither looked him in the eye - walls, floor, their own shoes, but not his eyes. Lea could smell it on them, the desire to be anywhere but here, cornered in the dead end of a hallway like prey.

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leotheawesometurtle  asked:

Where did you get your desk at? Or from whom?

“I got it from myself, of course.”

Dark’s palm gave a quick one-two swipe across the surface of the desk, particles of floating mess being brushed away from the wood.

“The Void does not really have any shopping malls or any antique store in the premises. How unfortunate too, because I would love to really spruce up the place with a nice decorative aura. But no, we do not claim such things. Everything that is in ownership of a Figment has been produced by their own energy. The Void has no true physical limitations after all, and everything born and destroyed within it is nothing but a mirage of the mind. That’s not to say, however, that our creations are limited.”

Dark gently moved an arm to gesture to his positions. The antique lamp that had been offered to him as a gift. An empty plate, a wine bottle, a wine glass, stacks of paper and a pen, and Naga to the side in her coiled slumber.

“The more items we create, the more energy we metastasize and use up. The more energy we use, obviously the weaker we become. Keeping the Persuasion Room in existence already drains a significant amount of my energy. If I were to let it go and destroy it, I would most likely have enough surge of energy to break to the surface again. However, I hold too much within that Persuasion Room to simply let it die.”

Strangers In My Town | Jon Snow

- 1.02 of Seeking Serendipity (a Jon Snow Fanfiction) -

Previous Chapter

A/N: Thanks a ton to whoever read my first 2 entries of this fanfic! I love you guys! I still can’t believe so many of you would read my work :’)

Warnings: Some use of swear words and innuendos. 

Word Count: 1928 words.

Summary: When King Robert reaches Winterfell, Ireyne Lannister is intrigued by the mysteries of the North; Jon’s eye catches someone.

Chapter 2: Strangers In My Town


It had become suddenly chillier in the past two days, compared to last week. Winter is certainly coming, Jon thought to himself as he took long strides in the dimly lit stone hallways of Winterfell. The past few days had been extremely strange and chaotic. What with the news of the King and his entourage heading for Winterfell, and the arrival of six untrained direwolf pups in the household, the Starks had had their hands full, not a minute to breathe. 

They seemed to be taking out all stops in their preparation for the King. Jon is certain he’s never seen this much meat and wine in the Winterfell kitchens. Ever. When he’d strolled in there with Robb earlier in the day, looking for Jory to tell him Maester Luwin wished to speak to him, Jon hadn’t expected the place to be stacked with barrels of wine, wheels of cheese, and meat being cut on three different tables; cheese lined one whole table, stacked to the point where they could just roll off should he poke one wheel. 

He found out eventually that that wasn’t the case really, considering that while he distracted a boy who worked in the kitchens, Robb managed to nick a small wheel of cheese, which he hid under his cloak, and the rest of it didn’t crash to the floor. The two boys had sneaked out then, a jug of ale in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other; Robb had suggested that they both go and break their fasts by the water banks today - since the King was due to arrive in the next two days, most of the chores had been completed, finally leaving plenty of time for relaxation. Knowing that once the guests were here, he wouldn’t be able to see Jon much, Robb thought it best to spend some time with his brother, hoping to cheer his mood up a smidgen. 

Later that afternoon, all the Stark children - and Jon - had also been warned on how to behave properly once the King and his family were here. His father, Ned Stark, had gone on talking for nearly an hour - reminding his sons to not spar with one another at any given time; telling the girls to not speak too much, only answering if spoken to; do not roam the halls at night; all of you stay away from the West Halls, no need to disturb the Royal family; do not let the direwolves roam around; no drinking; no swearing, boys. I’ll have your heads if I hear you cursing around them. After he was through lecturing them all, he dismissed them, saying he’d see them at dinner that night. That was nearly a week ago. Lord Eddard Stark, for all the years Jon had seen his father, had never looked so tense and stressed. Jon wondered why, the King was his father’s friend, so why be so anxious over him visiting? Of course Jon didn’t get the opportunity to linger on the thought for too long, for there was always work to be done, things to be carried around, orders to be obeyed.  

“Jon?”, a voice sounded from behind the boy, who stumbled a bit, not expecting anyone to be awake at this ungodly hour. 


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Like Real People Do

For Jane. Happy Birthday, my buddy, my pal. You wonderful human bean, thank you for existing.

This is a continuation of the florist!Annabeth rockstar!percy verse which a few people had requested

Annabeth smoothed down the front of her striped dress, analysing herself in the dusty mirror in the back of the shop. It was too late to change now, as she’d agreed for Percy to pick her up from here and not her apartment, but she couldn’t help fretting over the details of her outfit.

She couldn’t help remembering that Percy was a famous rockstar and she was the owner of a small and insignificant flower shop. Couldn’t help remembering that he had toured the world and she had never gone outside of Long Island.

The bell out front chimed and Annabeth stole one last critical look in the warped mirror, sighing, before ducking out of the back room. Percy was gently closing the front door when she emerged. He looked far tidier than the last time she had seen him, three days ago in this very shop. He wore a white shirt (sleeves stuffed up over his elbows) with a stick slim cobalt tie (fastened in a way which looked both hasty and careless at once), skinny black jeans (holes leaving his scarred knees on show) and converses (blue laces on the left, pink on the right).

He looked hot.

Stupidly so.

“Hi,” she said, breathier than she would have liked.

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•14 year old me, wooden tables, hot chocolate, cold feet + smell of trees
•15 year old me, wet stone, art shops, grey buildings/grey sky + smell of coffee
•16 year old me, bottles of red wine, stacked vinyls, being excited about receiving texts from boys + the smell of tobacco

Clause One

It’s in the moment that you scent the aroma of divine food while you enter the house that you realise your day has just been made. You merrily waltz down the lengthy hallway, eager to see the picture perfect resemblance of Harry cooking away in the kitchen. “Hello, smells great.” You gleefully announce, sliding your coat off and throwing it over the dining room chair before flicking your eyes towards Harry. He stands faultlessly in the kitchen, his hands moving hurriedly as they delicately slice potatoes. “‘ello darlin’ how was work?” Harry politely examines, throwing the potatoes into the oven. “It was long, but good. I’m surprised to have seen you home so early, and cooking.” You smile over at him, walking closer to him and taking the moment to place a kiss on his cheek. “I got off early. Thought I’d give you the night off.” He graciously grins, his eyes soft and gleaming as he stares at you, “you look lovey.” He keeps on saying, working his charisma as you slightly blush,
“Thank you, you’re very kind.” You nod, stopping yourself from attacking his luscious plump lips with sweet devouring kisses. “Do you want to pick out a wine?” He proposes, gesturing towards the wine cooler stacked with multiple wines. “Uh, which one?” You examine, your eyes looking with an absent-minded gaze down at the several bottles of wine. Harry chuckles before shortly replying, “I asked you to pick.”
“Red or white?” You smile up at him, watching as he furrows his eyebrows for a moment before coming to a conclusion of which colour he’d prefer. “Red.” He responds, moving around the kitchen to grab the plates. You open the wine cooler and pull out different bottles to read the label. “Darlin’ it shouldn’t be this hard to pick.” Harry giggles as he takes notice of your decisiveness. “Cabernet Sauvignon… or… Chateau Latour Pauillac?” You question, holding up both bottles for him to pick. “Chareau Latour” he replies and you place the other wine back into the cooler. Harry places two glasses beside you and you waste no time popping the cork and pouring two glasses of the red wine. “Uh ready,” Harry exclaims proudly to himself, taking the hearty roast out of the oven and allowing it to cool on the counter top. “Lets clink our glasses so I can drink it.” You encourage, beckoning him closer to you, handing him the glass. “You’re demanding.” He jokes, giving you a slight smirk. “To us.” You hold up your glass, “to us.” He nods and you both clink the glasses together before taking a sip. “Now, I’m starving.” Harry diverts his attention back to the food, beginning to plate it up while you continue to happily drink the expensive wine.

You and Harry sit at the dinner table, eating, and discussing all-too-many topics. Politics, global news, work, gossiping headlines, and many other important and not so important things that couples discuss when sitting at dinner. Harry pours yet another glass of wine for you and you give him a crooked smirk, “whatcha thinking?” He calls in question, placing the bottle on the table as your hand clasps the stem of the glass. “That I love you and that this wine is quite satisfying.” You respond cheerfully, taking another drink, allowing the wine to run down your throat and hypnotise you further. “I’m pretty sure that translates to the fact you love wine.” Harry stifled laughs, “but, can we have a serious discussion for a minute?” He gently probes, taking your full attention. You give him a nod, slightly nervous as you take note of his facial expression; Harry’s completely serious, eyes dark, and his lips as pursed as he awaits his turn to speak. “I spoke with my lawyer and management team today.” He begins, his voice dry and worrying. Oh no. You nod, informing him to continue what he needs to say. He gets up and grabs a large envelope off the kitchen counter before sitting back down and handing it to you. You put the wine down and with shaky hands you open the envelope, pulling out papers.

1. “Prospective Husband and Prospective Wife contemplate marriage in the near future and wish to establish their respective rights and responsibilities regarding each other’s income and property and the income and property that may be acquired, either separately or together, during the marriage.”

The first part of the paper is more than enough to explain what exactly Harry has given you. You look at Harry and he bites his lip awaiting your response. “Are you serious?” You softly question rubbing your temple as you take in the fact he’s drawn up prenuptial agreement papers. “Yes, this is just a draft as to say, if there’s anything you want changed, we can.” He informs you and you can’t help but just stare at him. You grow quiet and take the moment to process things further. “Y/N?” He composedly questions, his voice dry and deep. “You want me to sign these?” You clear your throat, watching as he nods his head. You take a breath and gulp before throwing the papers in his lap, “no!”
Your answer takes him by surprise and you find yourself standing to your feet and walking away from him. “Y/N” he calls after you, the sound of the chair scraping across the flooring as he promptly stumbles to his feet to follow you. “Y/N, let’s talk.” Harry calls after you as you both walk to the bedroom, you of course pacing quicker than him. “Y/N.” Harry breathes and you turn on your heel to face him. You fingers find the engagement ring on your finger and you sit on the bed, dolefulness taking over you. The man you fell in love with now doesn’t trust that you won’t take him for everything that he has and divorce him, leaving him with nothing at all. It’s not like you’re a gold digger, you work hard for your money and you expect no free rides through life. When you met Harry four years ago you were in the middle of final exams of your third year of college, you had a part time job, and split the rent of an apartment with your best friend. When Harry proposed to you six months ago you had, (and still have), a well paying full time job, you’ve both been paying the rent together up until now when he’s finally convinced you to let him handle it. You’ve given him no reason for him to feel the need for a prenup. You don’t want his money, hell, you’d marry him if he was dirt poor and didn’t have a penny to his name. “You want me to sign a paper that says I won’t take your money. I don’t give a damn about your money.” You matter gloomily, refusing to make eye contact with him. “I’ve never once given a fuck about the money and you’re well aware of this. I pay my fair share, why would you spring this on me?” You calls in question ill-fatedly, displeased by his actions. He takes a moment to muster up the correct words to answer your question, his hands intertwine as he nervously begins to pace, a clear indication this mustn’t have been his full idea. “Y/N, it’s just better if we both have our assets.” He clears his throat,
“I won’t touch your precious houses I promise.” You roll your eyes, “who gets this house then hm?” You cross your arms, now finally allowing your eyes to meet his.
“I think you should read the prenup, and maybe then you won’t be so mad.” He comments and you shake your head,
“I didn’t give a flying fuck about it, you’re basically setting our future marriage up for failure.” You bring to his attention. A prenup generally defended divorce matters and splitting marital assets. “Y/N-” he sighs heavily, “you get the house and everything you came into the marriage with, you get any other properties we buy as a couple.” He enlightens you but he does absolutely no justice.
“Do you not trust me?” You softly question and he shakes his head, “no, it isn’t that…. love, this wasn’t my idea.” He reveals,
“Ah, your lovely management team.” You roll your eyes,
“Yes.” He nods, continuing to look at you as you lower your eyes. “Y/N, if anything happens and we were to divorce, you get the house, I want things split equally and fairly on your behalf. If we have kids they’ll be well looked after. My estates go to them.” He continues and you grow tranquil.
“I don’t want to sign this, it’s setting us up for failure in our marriage. It’ll always be hanging over our heads.” You whisper as he sits beside you on the bed.
“Y/N we won’t divorce but it’s to keep my management team quiet, everything kind of gets handed to you in the agreement.” He informs you,
“I don’t want everything handed to me. I want a happy relationship.” You respond, not giving a damn about any property, money, or even the bloody cars in the garage. It’s all materialistic items. “So, no matter what I say, you won’t sigh it?” He delicately requests,
“I’ll sign it, but I don’t want another damn word about it or a word from your damn management team. Got it?” You firmly respond, eyeballing him as he nods yes. You both grow quiet for a moment and you sit in the silence, your mind racing as it begins to think about every tiny detail. What if Harry is already planning divorce and you’re not even married yet? What if there’s a clause that has to do with pre marital items that just gets messy when distinguishing what was brought before and after marriage? So many what If questions?
“Y/N, let’s not do it.” Harry states, turning his head to look at you.
“What? Get married?” You gulp, unsure of what he’s referring too, tonight seems like the night he wants to spring things on you. “No, sign the agreement, I’ll call the lawyer and terminate it.” He lets out, taking you by surprise.
“Are you sure?” You question, feeling as though his management will be on his ass if he doesn’t get one signed. If you both divorce there’s probably a chance you can ruin their clients reputation and drag them through the dirt as well, of course, his management want no such thing, they need to cover their asses at all costs- after all, they’re one of the biggest label companies. “You’re right. There’s no need for one, we’re not divorcing, we’re not setting ourselves up for failure so we don’t need an agreement of if we divorce.” Harry explains, seeming relatively calm and more satisfied with his own idea. “I don’t want your money.” You whisper, not wanting him to ever think that you’re with him for the money or fame. “I know, I’m sorry, I just heard about Louis getting one and then management kept hinting at it.” He reveals, sounding vulnerable as his voice sounds soft and his shoulder slump, bitter disappointment slowly being shown all over his lips. You give him a small smile before leaning over and kissing his warm cheek. “It’s just us, me and you, nobody else is involved. It’s our decision.” You kindly remind him, “I love you, even if you were dirt poor living in a box, I’d love you.” You remind him, placing another kiss to his cheek, wanting nothing more than to forget about the dimwitted papers in the kitchen. “I love you, even when you throw legal documents at me.” Harry lightens the mood, his sparkling eyes meeting yours, “at least I did not pour the wine on you.” You shrug, watching a smirk appear on his face before his lips attach to yours, the soft feel of his entangling kisses continues to calm you and fall deeper for him, making you forget you were even mad in the first place.


(none of this is organized, just random things I remember)

  • (*I’d like someone to confirm that first one since I didn’t write any of this down immediately and that’s the one I hadn’t heard before)
  • He talked a lot about filming the bunker sequence in 3x01 (they just shot lots and lots of footage for 15 hours that ended up being edited down to a few minutes – at one point they did a time-lapse where he was stacking empty wine bottles on top of each other and eventually crashed through and broke them). But the main thing that got to me is that Murphy choosing not to kill himself before the door opened was HIS IDEA – they could’ve done it so the door buzzed open while he was about to, but it was important to him that he couldn’t pull the trigger. Even if he knew he was going to die the next day, Murphy would hang on until the very end. In the best take, the one they ended up using, he just dropped the gun and let it fall.
  • He originally hated the “in a non-criminal way” line that ended up becoming one of people’s favorite Murphy quotes. (IT’S MY ACTUAL FAVORITE, NOOOOO.) He didn’t get it and thought it sounded stupid. But he later realized it was because of an earlier scene where Jaha said something to him about being more than a criminal, so it was really directed at him, and then it made sense.
  • Someone asked about the parallel of him saving Abby from the noose in 3x15. He pointed out that nobody told Murphy what to do – there was a lot going on in the room, but he saw her hanging and ran straight to her. *sob*
  • Murphy and Jaha are Not Okay after season 3, and he made it clear to Jason/the writers that he can’t just be in the same room with him without comment. They interact early in S4 and Murphy ‘restrains himself pretty well’ but he really hates him.
  • I got up the nerve to ask him about Ontari and he had quite a bit to say about it that I added to this post.
  • He couldn’t spoil if he has any scenes with his sister (who plays Niylah, and who he kept hilariously insulting) in the future, but he teased that it would be odd if they never did… He definitely won’t be on iZombie with her, because he can’t be on other shows that film at the same time due to his contract.
  • He’s still really entertained that his dad was named Alex Murphy, who is also the main character in Robocop. (He’s the only one who cares about this lol.) Before he found out what Murphy was arrested for, he used to joke it was public urination. He thought the arson thing was fitting for him – someone at the table brought up the little moment in S1 where he was holding the girl over the fire. My internal monologue was like don’t bring up your tumblr name. :p
  • These are not Murphy things, but he volunteered to show us ALL his tattoos (6 of them) which include two werewolf-themed ones, a matching tattoo with Sachin that says mamaji (uncle) in Hindi, and another three-dots one I believe he said he shares with Sachin & Jarod. His favorite cuisine is Indian and his favorite color is black knows it’s a shade not a color. He talked about his family’s love of Notre Dame football, his former dog who died while he was filming If I Had Wings, and his kakarot stuffed animal. In the end he had a break in his schedule and stayed longer than his allotted time to allow everyone to ask more questions, and then took a group pic with all of us:
Day 6 - Secret

Laurent found him in between corridors, drawing him away from the guards flanking him.  

“Damianos,” he said, when he had Damen pressed against a shadowed corner, hands on Damen’s bare shoulders.  

He trailed his palms until he was framing Damen’s face, a thumb caressing the stubble on his cheek.  

He went on his tiptoes and rested his mouth on Damen’s, soft, slow. It was the kind of kiss they exchanged when entering or leaving a room the other was in - a greeting or a farewell, no less instinctual than a verbal one.  

When he pulled back, Laurent’s lips remained glistening and parted. He seemed surprise by himself. Damen smiled helplessly.  

“Did you need me for anything, dear?” Damen asked, wounding his arms around Laurent’s back. “Or were you just overwhelmed by -”  

“Hush,” said Laurent, his mouth against Damen’s jaw, deliberate now. Then, in his ear, “Can you fake a Patran accent?”  

“You know I can,” said Damen.  

Laurent stepped back, still in Damen’s arms but far enough to look him in the eyes. He had that diabolic look he employed when he tried to be approving.  

“Good,” he said. “Don’t shave today. We leave at dusk.”  

He gently moved one of Damen’s curls away from his forehead, in his eyes a dangerous glint. Then he was gone, a flurry of blond hair and blue clothes, before the curl had time to fall down again.  

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part ithe hidden club: les amis de l'abc visit a house of libertine pursuits

part ii, secret admirers: enjolras meets the man he’s matched with

Enjolras gets the impression that his companion is grinning. “Since I cannot call you by your name,” says the man, “I should call you Psyche, dangerous with a lantern.”

In the dark, Enjolras smiles back, his heartbeat audible to his ear. “And you, Eros?”

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Czech Industrial Loft Redesign

Loft spaces can be tricky to transform. The challenge of sufficient natural lighting, space maximization and creating a comfortable yet functional space all come into play. Barbara Bencova, principal of B2 Architecture, aced all of those visions with her design and reconstruction of the Cornloft Triplex in Karlin,Czech Republic.

Housed in a refurbished industrial building, this thoroughly modern 2,476 square-foot dream home is a beautiful balance of contemporary luxury meshed with urban flavor. Each floor possesses unique features and characteristics, and the intended restraint of color maintains a fresh feel throughout this three-story masterpiece.

The main goal of the loft´s redesign was to bring back the original industrial look balanced with the modern design and materials.

One floor below, the kitchen’s recessed glass-ceiling allows for an airy feel in what would typically been a low-ceiling space. The well-designed crisp white counter space is geometric and features a stainless-steel sink mimicking those lines, almost taking on the look of an origami work. Exposed brick opposes a clever blackboard wall which elegantly plays host to the stacked ovens and wine refrigerator. This area opens to the dining and living space which is inundated with natural light thanks to the adjacent windowed office overlooking the open roof space. The contemporary yet cozy living room is outfitted with custom-made furniture and pixelated artwork.

The most significant standout of inventive design is the third floor’s glass plate floor panel. Situated in the entertaining room, this stunning “window” directly overlooks the second-story kitchen, allowing organic light to dance between these adjoining areas.

The master bedroom also shares the third floor, with rustic brick, medium-toned wood flooring, cement-grey walls and raw bulb-and-wire pendant lighting which adds to the industrial-chic ambiance. A bathroom featuring walls of both petite white glass tiles and sophisticated wood completes the elegance of this modern space.

anonymous asked:

How do I keep my pussy wet?

the cells in your vagina that make it wet are long and thin. they align with one another so that all their tips are facing the same direction, like stacked bottles of wine. deep inside the cells, their nuclei unspool the region of your DNA that encodes the recipe for vaginal lubricant. the nucleus exposes this region of DNA as a long noose, which is found by a transcription enzyme. this enzyme makes a copy of your DNA and other enzymes shuttle it out of small holes in the nucleus. once outside of it, one end of the transcribed recipe is fed into the open jaw of a ribosome. the ribosome snaps shut and begins to read the recipe. the strand is pulled through the the mouth of the ribosome and a mechanism in the ribosome’s body reads the series of thee genetic bases that each correspond to a command like ‘GET THIS AMINO ACID’ or ‘GET THAT AMINO ACID’ or ‘STOP READING THIS RECIPE IT IS FINISHED.’ 

at the other end of the ribosome, a protein strand is assembled from amino acids in a long chain, the sequence of which was encoded in the recipe. the protein strand is attracted to itself in several strategic places, and as it is squirted out of the ribosome, it begins to fold into a shape unique to that sequence of amino acids. 

at the same time, blood begins to engorge the walls of your vagina. so much blood flows into the vessels near the interior surface of your vagina that the vessels start to leak. serum, the watery component of your blood that is centrifuged off when you donate, starts to pour into your vagina. 

back in the lubricating cells, the proteins that your DNA caused to be manufactured are piling up. the proteins have been designed to cover themselves in water molecules and expand into enormous, criss-crossing networks of protein mesh. this loose meshwork of protein and trapped water slides over and through itself very easily and dries out much less quickly than ordinary water. this is how it lubricates. the thin cells collect the proteins in large, spherical balloons called vesicles. the vesicles migrate towards the other end of the cells and, one by one, they burst through the cell wall and spray their lubricating protein into your vagina. the proteins unfurl and trap the serum that has leaked from your vagina’s engorged blood vessels, creating the well-known lubricant. 

all this production is very hard on the thin cells, and after around four days their machinery starts to break down. they begin to produce incorrect sequences of protein, which in turn curl into the wrong shape for lubrication. the cell detects these errors and sets into motion a chain of events that eventually causes the DNA in its nucleus to unspool a noose containing the recipe for killing the cell it inhabits. the cell commits suicide and a new cell takes its place. 

to make your pussy wet you are relying on the deaths of millions of cells who gave their lives to keep it that way. who lived and died so that when the walls of your pussy become engorged, the bloodless blood that leaks from them will become slippery and stick around.

the lesson to take from your cells killing themselves so that you can remain comfortably lubricated is to (like ezra pound) MAKE IT NEW. remember also that you’re shedding blood to stay wet. 

[one-shot, prompt fill] get up

Title: get up

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: bad words!!1! mentions of homophobia :(

Genre:  slice of life??? idk man crack??? slight romance bc implications of thirsty phil???

Pairing/s: 2009!phan! which means phil still lives with his parents and dan looks like a fetus

Characters: amazingphil, danisnotonfire, 

Summary: prompt fill for this – ‘i’m an ikea employee and every day for the last week i’ve had to ask you to leave the store bc you keep coming in and sleeping in the beds seriously are you homeless or something i can call a shelter’ au

A/N: im sorry i was gone for so long i was having exams and panic attacks and was hijacked by another fandom and i almost threw up while typing my pbb fic on a road trip so theres that but i am here

A/N 2: i never really have original ideas for phan anymore all i ever write are prompts that make me laugh

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