with ribbon down the sides

Cat Got Your Tongue Pt. 1 (M)

Word Count: 5,463

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: catboy!tae, comedy, fluff, eventual smut

Summary: When your boyfriend cheats on you you’re left heartbroken and lost all hope in relationships. Santa says you’ll find love soon, but what do you do when you’re beloved cat turns into a beautiful grown man?

Keep reading


Just practicing drawing expressions.  

This is what I imagine Marinette and Adrien might look like as young adults in college.  Reminiscent of her two pigtails, Marinette wears her hair mostly down with a ribbon on either side. 

Adrien’s hair is a bit longer and shaggier, and wears it more pushed back, the way it would naturally fall if he were to run his hand down the length of his hair. 

anonymous asked:

hi alice!!!! i heard that u are looking for some inspiration :P how about a scenario featuring someone who holds a grudge against Jumin and wanna get revenge on him by attempting to kill off every single person important to him one after one, from least to most? :3c

Title: The Pierrot’s last Joker

Fandom: Mystic Messenger
Genre: Angst/Romance/Mystery

Pairing: Jumin Han x Reader/MC/You

a/n it’s funny how i was listening to synchronicity while writing this. it actually added more to the mood i wanted to achieve. lololol anyway here you go!! let me know what you think, yeah? oh anon-chan you are so evil for requesting this lolol i like how your mind works

Every story has a beginning. For example, how did the universe begin?
Who created it? Was everything part of a greater plan?

When you were given birth, were you planned? Were your first cries as a sign of life immediately welcomed? Who planned to give you to your current family? Were you born to be a part of someone’s story?

Stories. Stories can equal life. And in every story there will be choices. You move and decide according to what you believe in, what your emotions tell you or even according to what you desire. The strength of a human will can go lengths just to prove that they can and they will.

And the moment you try to take that will away, death will become the only last resort.

It all began one rainy night. This story that could have qualified to become a tale. A storm was to pass over Seoul and the streets were empty enough that only the pouring rain can be heard.

There was a victim.
And a culprit.

The Victim. A group of men in black wearing black masks over their faces were dragging a poor soul across the wet asphalt, not caring enough if he gets wounded or might break his limbs. The man seemed to be already dead anyway and no movements of protests were made by him.

Keep reading

Noir Nocturne Part 1 Chapter 9 Hullooooo Rhea B.

Dougal was the first to awaken when the guard returned a few hours later. He felt disorientated but not anxious. It still felt more like a dream than anything else. He was a practical man however and understood this was his new reality. Whatever it took to survive this well, he would do. Perhaps he would get back to Scotland sooner rather than later but it wasn’t uppermost on his mind. Claire was.

He was highly curious about the time and place they found themselves in. How did the people here make do? He decided to put off his questions of the past for another day. She would know what had happened. He wanted her help with the present now though. He’d have to wake her, whether Jamie liked it or no.

He noted when the guard went back up the steps that it was still dark outside but dawning. Time to be about it then. He quietly made his way to her side and shook her shoulder. “Claire, time to wake lass. Will ye help wi the dressing? The Nun didna tell us anything ye ken? She just picked it and handed it over.”

Dougal was not happy to see her cozied up to Jamie’s side. He tried not to think about the fact that he had arranged this marriage or that they seemed to be drawing closer because of it. He knew, now, and probably even then, she was too good for the likes of this boy. She deserved a man such as himself. He would just have to arrange for her to see it as well. He could make himself the more needed man, of that he was sure.

“Dougal for heaven’s sake, it’s just a pair of breeks, a shirt and a jacket, with a belt and a tie. Oh, alright maybe you might need help with the tie and the purpose of the undergarments, but did you have to wake me up for it?” Claire groused as she sat up.

Dougal noted her shift as the blanket fell away and smiled at her as he took in her tousled appearance. “Well now, and how long does it take ye to tame those curls of a morning? I dinna think I e’re noticed just how much hair ye have lass. Tis bonny.”

“Dougal just what in the hell do ye think yer doin man?” Jamie, who had taken his dirk from beneath his head,when he heard the guard come down the stairs, said as he sat up next to Claire. “If my wife is sleeping it’s no yer place to be waking her with compliments.” He frowned, pointing his dirk at Dougal’s face whilst covering Claire up to her nose in blanket with his other hand.

Claire laughed and pushed the dirk back down, along with the cover and stood up slowly. “Dougal head to the sink and wash up with this and then I will see to your attire and everyone else’s” she said, collecting a towel and the soap from the kit bag. “We can’t be walking the streets looking like dirty ragamuffins you fool. Get the worst of the dirt off your face, neck and hands and I’ll be right there.”

He gave her a long look in the lightening room, appreciating her unembarrassed form. “Well, just so then.” He said, turning on his heel and calling to the other men. “Wake up lads, Claire wants us presentable.” He deliberately did not say “Mrs. Fraser”. He wouldn’t give Jamie the satisfaction. Presumptuous pup. Thinking he needed reminding, did he?

He spent a moment flipping the light switch before he got down to the business at hand. Amazing really. He didn’t care about privacy, so he didn’t shut the door behind him. Thinking himself a fine figure of a man who hadn’t lost his own form, he had no issues with letting anyone see what he was about. He took his time cleaning up and then selected the attire she said from his own pile and waited for her.

“You don’t tuck the breeks into your boots. There should be an undershirt there to use before the shirt. These are underwear, called boxers, put them on before the pants. Stop looking at me like that Angus! They are necessary. This is the jacket to match and this tie will do.” Claire said, heading to Murtagh’s pile next and selecting his garments then Angus’s before heading back to Jamie’s. “We will need to get you all shoes as well as haircuts today. Men only wear their boots for working now and hair is kept short. Most men won’t have beards either. We shouldn’t draw too much notice. Let me use the washroom next please, so I can help with the ties after I get dressed. Also, there is food in this pack from the Priest, be sure to eat something before we head out. I don’t know if the guard has a vehicle and we may have another long walk ahead.”

Claire was back to her healer tone Dougal noted. He admired that as well. He would never tell her that though. Wouldn’t want her thinking he liked or wanted a woman telling him what to do. With much harrumphing and grumbling, the men dressed and took their turns after Claire in the washroom. He watched as she had Jamie hold up a blanket so she could dress behind it.

“Jesus Claire! You aren’a wearing that!” he heard Jamie say furiously after a few minutes. The he let out a string of profanity in the Ghalidgh that she couldn’t possibly understand. Curious to see her and what the fuss was about, Dougal made his way back to them. Claire had on what looked to be a belted, flowered shift and she was showing her fine legs! They seemed to shine and her shoes were heeled and red, not the slipper kind he was used to seeing. She was pushing her hair up into a hat that looked to be made of straw and flopped down on one side. It had a large red ribbon behind the brim.

Dougal laughed loudly. “Tis a bit like the shift Murtagh found you in, I like it.” Jamie dropped all pretense at sense after hearing this and shoved him. He shoved him back, twice as hard. “If you do that again, I’ll put you on your arse you idiot.” He said while holding a hand out to Claire.  “Let’s head up and see what this day is bringing…”

He didn’t see the punch coming because he was too focused on her. It took him square in the jaw and swung his head to the far right. He tasted blood and spun back to Jamie, reaching for his throat. He felt Angus and Murtagh rushing in from behind to join what promised to be a fine brawl.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt CHRIST! That will be just about enough of that! You didn’t clean up just to roll around in the dirt. Scotsmen! Hard headed, ridiculous, childlike, overgrown boys!  I am not going to referee while you all beat the snot out of each other. I won’t. I will leave and take the maps and money with me, just watch me.” Claire, clearly losing her own temper, said before she picked up her bag and a smaller leather looking one and crossed to the steps.

“I will give you five minutes to collect your things and come upstairs before I wash my hands of the lot of you and find my own way without you.”

The men all watched as she stomped up the stairs, still muttering under her breath.

“Nah, never happen. I know she wilna leave us. Try not to look so crestfallen Jamie. She’s just talking, like women do, ya ken?” Murtagh said while heading to his items and bundling them all back up.

Angus spit in Jamie’s general direction and winked at Dougal. “You reckon they all dress like that now?”

“I hope so lad, I most assuredly hope so.” Dougal went back to his own items and found the hat. Placing it on his head, he picked up his bundle and followed Claire. He had no doubt she would gladly leave them all behind.


Murtagh did not mind the clothes so much but was distinctly unhappy when Claire told them to hide all their weapons. “I willna.”

“You will unless you want to be arrested for menacing. Now come here and let me tie your tie.” She frowned at him and rearranged the collar and tiny buttons at the top of his shirt. “I’ll teach you how to do this yourself later. The guard should be back any moment. Tuck your hair up into your hat. Yes, like that.”

The sun was high enough for them to get a good look at their surroundings while they waited. It wasn’t long though before they saw him coming back to fetch them. Murtagh noticed Jamie rolling his sword into one of the bundles and handed his over, but he put his dirk back behind on his belt, under his jacket. “Just in case eh lad?”

“Right. I moved my dagger to my sock, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her or us.” Jamie said grinning at him.

Murtagh thought he still looked a bit sour, but knew that he would collect himself shortly into his normal demeanor. Jamie could be counted on in any number of ways, but what he admired most about his godson was his ability to hide what was going on in his mind and just get on with it. It took skill, that. It made him proud that he was so competent, so young, a fine braw lad.

“it will be a bit of a squeeze getting you all into the car, but I’ll think we’ll manage it.” The guard said pleasantly. “Mrs. Barnett’s BH is it? Father McDaniel sure knows how to pick ‘em, I’ll give him that.” He shook his head and started up the risers. “Come on, days a wasting and I have to get home to the Mrs. before she sends out a search party.”

Murtagh looked to Claire and raised a brow “Car?” he mouthed.

“I’m Claire Fraser. Thank you so much for helping us out Mr.?” she said while walking just behind the guard. She looked back at the men and placed a finger to her lips while shaking her head no.

“Oh, Tommy Flanigan, at your service, Ma’am. I’d do anything for the Priest, he’s that good a man.” He said as he tipped his hat to her. Murtagh liked that touch. He’d have to remember it.

They reached the top of the bowl and were walking back to the road when Claire said “what a lovely automobile Mr. Flanigan. What model is it?”

“It’s a Ford Model A. I’m right proud of it. You climb in the back with two of the fellas and I’ll make shift to get the other two up front with me. Plenty of room in the well for your bundles.”

Murtagh climbed in beside her while Jamie took the other side. Angus sat next to Tommy with Dougal half sideways trying to figure out how to shut the door again.  He wondered if the others felt as queasy as he did. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for protection, before studying Claire again to see what her reaction was to this car thing.

She was unfazed, of course. He had to admit to himself a growing attachment to her ever since the wedding. She had seemed strange to him more often than not, but now she seemed solid enough. He had made her Fae Folk in his own mind, or a Gypsy enchantress come to ensorcell them all. He knew she wasn’t, but some of that lingered. Now, Jamie was completely captured by her. With disgust, Murtagh realized the lad’s adoration was bleeding into his own veins. Only time would tell if they were all fools about who and what she was.

He would just have to wait it out. His job, as he saw it, was to protect Jamie. If she were to prove untrue or dangerous to his godson, he would do what needed to be done. There was no grey moral area for him about it. He didn’t think like that.


Claire was happy to have the time in the car to collect her thoughts and watch all their reactions as they took in the sights and sounds of this new world. She thought they were doing well, all things considered. They were maintaining their quiet, calm demeanors, even though they must be near to bursting with questions.

“Mr. Flanigan, we aren’t from here, as you have likely surmised. We are newly arrived from Scotland and don’t know much about this town, other than what we have seen in films and newsreels, could you tell us a bit about it as you drive us to the boarding house?” she asked from the back seat, while shifting her backside onto Jamie’s lap. Five minutes into the ride she knew she was going to be squashed half to death. Much more pleasant to feel his arms around her and rest back into his chest.

She had been surprised by her own reaction to seeing him in modern clothing. She would have thought she preferred him in Highlander garb. Not so. His long, lean, but well-muscled, frame was beautifully displayed in the navy-blue suit. It made him look older and somehow even more dangerous. The hat, a black felt fedora, was resting low on his forehead and his stunning blue eyes took on another hue because of it.

It shook her a bit. She had been attracted to him and his boyish charm, long before she married him, but even after she became familiar with the pleasures his nearness and flesh could bring, she had still thought him too young. Too unsettled. Too disposable if she had to be honest with herself. The only thing he seemed to have in common with Frank was an underlying note of well-hidden menace. Now, he did not seem immature, reckless or worth setting aside. How and when had that happened?

Was it possible that she was going to have to forget about Frank? Just let him go entirely? He was here, in this world, albeit younger, but why had she lost her ring in the transition this time? Did it mean she had somehow altered time? If she were to contact him, what could she possibly say? “Oh, sorry darling, been doing a bit of time traveling, you haven’t met me yet, but further down the road we will marry? Then I will leave you mysteriously?” It was ridiculous. Better to make a life here and now surely.

“Well, Hollywood is basically a company town Ma’am, part of greater Los Angeles of course. We have a little bit of everything here and we are proud of it. Just look at these buildings…” Tommy had been talking the whole time she had been thinking about her situation with Jamie and Frank. He was pointing to things outside the window and rambling on. The men seemed fascinated with everything he was saying and they were seeing. Her woolgathering hadn’t made a difference.

“Here we are, Mrs. Bartlett’s, you folks let Father McDaniel know I brought you right to the door mind.” He said as he pulled into the curb moments later, in front of a very large house. Victorian, painted a light blue with green and white trim, three stories tall above ground, with many architectural oddities, including a turret and a porthole window overlooking a small balcony. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, designed by the Brothers Grimm.

Jamie gave Claire a tight squeeze before he let her climb off and out of the car. “That certainly was an interesting ride and sensation Sassenach” he whispered in her ear as he let her go. She saw him give her a small lopsided grin and that slow blink of his that was supposed to mimic a wink before she turned to the driver and held out her hand to shake his. “Thank you ever so much. Do let us know if there is anything we can do for you to repay your kindness.”

“Ah, well, convince Mrs. Bartlett to have me over for supper one of these days. That will do the trick!” He waited as they collected their belongings and made their way up the front steps and across the large wraparound porch. “Be seeing ya!” he shouted and honked the horn twice before taking off in what she assumed was a hurry to get back to the wife.

The door opened almost immediately and a stout short woman, who reminded Claire of Mrs. Fitz oddly enough, came out. She was wearing a garishly flowered cotton house dress covered with a massive apron and curlers in her hair. She also had black socks on rolled down to her what appeared to be house slippers two sizes too big.

“Rhea Bartlett, pleased to meet you all. Follow me, but stomp the dust off your feet first! Just swept the rugs. Father McDaniel said you would be needing three rooms, and luckily, I have them. You two are married yes? Well you’ll have to push two singles together; the double isn’t available.  Two of you men are in the attic room and a single is next to the couple’s room. You’ll be responsible for keeping your own rooms clean and doing your own laundry. I only feed you at suppertime, 5:30 pm and I will not tolerate lateness. Nor will there be any special food orders. You’ll eat what I provide and like it. You may only smoke in the den or outside. I will also not tolerate drunken foolishness or late comings and goings at all hours of the night. You will pay your rent on time, or you will leave, posthaste. The bathroom you will all share is on the third floor as well and don’t be overflowing the tub. If Father McDaniel hadn’t vouched for you, you wouldn’t be here. I rarely take in strangers or actors. Don’t make me regret it.”

“No, Mrs. Bartlett, we wouldn’t think of it, I assure you.” Claire said giving her a most generous smile and nodding her head in agreement. She was having trouble not laughing at that torrent, and felt a bad case of the giggles coming on. Have mercy on us poor strangers in a strange land and Saints preserve us she thought as they arrived at her and Jamie’s room, controlling herself, but only just.


Heart Like Yours

On her first day of U.A. Momo receives a strange letter from herself ten years in the future. She doesn’t think this letter could be real until the predictions are so accurate she can’t overlook them. Her 25-year-old self is asking her to help shape a better future and it starts with saving a hostile classmate from himself. 

 Based very loosely on the series Orange. 

Series: Boku No Hero Academia 

Chapter 01: Letter 01: The beginning of everything

Pairing: Bakumomo, Bakugou x Yaoyorozu. Slight Todomomo.

Rating: M (canon-divergent)

Word Count: 3,778  

AO3: x

A/N: I hope you like this! Thank you so much to @emeraldwaves for always encouraging me and pushing me to write this fic! I dedicate this first chapter to her. You can also find me at @creatiwrites  

Keep reading

Keeper of Words, Keeper of Worlds

Pairing: Solangelo

Summary:  Nico has a divine gift and uses it to search feverishly for a sister whose death is his fault. Will might be his answer.

Word Count: 2,265

Warnings: it’s ?? 

A journal made of paper scraps and scrambled words.

It is a heavy leather thing, nearly bursting with all of the fragments that have been pasted in. Sticky notes and odd corners erupting from the edges. A bookmark made from a red ribbon that is much too long; spilling from the center pages, trailing across the table, pooling against the floor like blood. A rubber band holding it all together, stretched nearly to the point of snapping.

Nico’s fingers tremble– quake– falter– twitch, twitch, twitch against the cover. Snag against the rubber band. It finally gives, biting angrily against his skin. Nico hisses between his teeth as its covers thud against the table, pages spilling open.

Mouth trembling, eyes flicking, searching, diving across the arrows and symbols and diagrams and pictures. A twisting, hideous road map with no end in sight. He snarls angrily at the sight of it.

Surely, by now, it should all make sense.

“A god? A monster? A fable? Ley lines cross here… too much iron. No, no no… I can’t go there. I do not want to be a man of war. Not again. Ares does not favor one man twice. That is why… after all…” Images flash across his vision, he shakes his head to rid himself of them.

Teeth chattering together, scarred hands painted with swaths of color flicking through pages. Fists slamming against the table again and again and again.

His palms skid across the wooden surface, eyes clenched shut in agony. “Athena, have mercy. I seek revelation. A spear of divine epiphany. Just a bit of hope… I seek…”

Stacks and stacks of tombs scattered around the room, spilling open, pages marked by anything that happened to be nearby–spoons, pencils, smaller books. Gutted pages are tacked onto the walls haphazardly, random sentences highlighted in glaring color. On the far wall, a mural born of divine inspiration is being overtaken by it.

“Mercy, Hades. Thanatos. I pray, I ask… Oh, gods. You have been so quiet. I don’t…” His breathing is coming in rough and ragged gasps. “Why now? When I was so close? So… So…”

Slowly, he crumples down as if being pressed by an invisible hand, fingers clawing across the table, struggling helplessly to keep him up. His knees find the ground and his whole body tips forward, fingers still seized against the ledge, the only thing keeping his forehead from meeting the tile.

“Who are you?” It’s hardly a breath, a broken, helpless breath. Tears press against the back of his eyelids, building gradually. His fortification will not be enough to fend them off, not this time. (He supposes, not every battle can be won.)

Dandelion fluff brushes against his cheeks and falls onto his shirt. No doors or windows are open.

Several minutes pass and then, like a blessing, a flower blooming, his trembling lips slowly part. “Ah. I see… I see.”

Head nodding, body flowing to the tides of unheard music. Fingers lurching from the table and palms cracking down against the cold floor. His arm lurches upward as if pulled by the wrist by a string and his hand clasps the ribbon dangling down in front of him, glinting.

“A chain, yes. To reality. I won’t let go. I won’t. You can trust me… Yes.”

All of the air rushes from his lungs at once and then slams back against him, leaving him reeling.

“Thank you,” he gasps, and unfolds himself, body stretching upward and head tipping back, tears slipping through his defenses. “Thank you.”


He clutches the journal tight against his chest, rushing wind from the trains blowing past, buffeting his clothes and stinging his cheeks. The red ribbon is snapping and thrashing, tied so tight around his wrist it’s almost suffocating. His hair flails wildly around him.

“Just breathe deeply,” he chokes, his words snatched away just as quickly as they’re uttered.

“Just one last time,” the voice agrees, so quiet he hardly hears it.

Standing there between two tracks, the freights wailing past in opposite directions, it’s like being the eye of a storm.

When they finally come to an end, the wind cuts away so sharply that he gasps and almost folds downward. The same hand that had forced him down now holds him ups. Barely, by the collar of his shirt.

It lets go and he stumbles forward, eyes wild.


White fluff brushes his nose, dances in the air in front of him, carried by the wind, taunting him. It floats ahead of him, bobbing up and down.

His nails bite into the cover of his journal. “Yes.”

Nico presses on until his bones are aching. And finally, finally, he is here. Among the hollowed-out and lifeless forms of metal monsters put to sleep. In the dead of night, it truly feels like a grave yard.

Spray paint clouds the frames of metal queues, slowly wrapping around him with its fumes. He coughs and hacks and shakes up another can until it’s finished. Just as promised: a door.

But not for him. There is another. He is thanked, and he trudges on. Follows the dandelion seed sprinkled on the wind.

Exhaustion makes his vision swim and dwindle, his eyelids feel like heavy drop curtains whose ropes are failing. Still, one foot in front of the other, even if it is only inches at a time.

Driven by an unseen force, he scratches symbols into the dirt with a stray stick, his breath shaking and his mindless murmuring coming in irregular spurts, filling the air with their presence.

He drops forward in the middle of nowhere, his mind has finally given in where his body had hours ago.


Light stabs in against his eyes. He’s lying on his back now and the sun is bright up above him, an unforgiving assailant.

It’s as if sand has been poured down his throat and soaked up all of the moisture. He is now filled with it, weighed down against the dirt and grass. Unused to the load, his muscles cannot lift him.

“Spirit.” His voice rasps roughly against his tongue. “Why have you brought me here?”

A dandelion sways in the wind and, impossibly, the corner of his lip lifts in a smile.

“Ah. I see…” His eyes drift closed. “I see.”

The wind sighs against his skin.

“Until nightfall, then.”

Somehow, he manages to haul himself to his feet as the moon climbs the steep ridge of the sky. Knees wobbling underneath him, hands shaking at his sides, jaw quivering helplessly. The ribbon snakes down from his wrist through the grass, pools against the journal.

He plucks the dandelion and holds it out in front of him, twisting it back and forth in his fingers. Tilts his head to the side like a quietly interested cat.

“O, genus spiritus. Ostende te quaeso ad me.”

His life is made of fervent, hopeful prayers as he blows away the seeds and watches them float off in the breeze.

For a long moment, it’s completely silent, and Nico wants to collapse into the dirt, his last hope snatched away that easily.

All of this.

For nothing.

But then the wind picks up. At first, a change so slight it’s hardly noticeable. Over time, the force behind it shifts until it’s plowing into him from behind, until he feels as if he’s trapped between the two trains again; the eye of a storm.

Every dandelion seed for miles is snatched away, thrown into the wind. They come together in a swirling, massive cloud ten feet in front of him.

Slowly, slowly, the air stills again and the seeds start clearing away, revealing a man who is so achingly beautiful he may very well be a god.

Nico drops to his knees.

The man’s head slowly circles to the side and then tips back up at the sky, welcoming the cool moonlight upon his features.

His hair is spun gold and his skin is a map of the sky, charted with freckles like stars. His Adam’s apple bobs and his ribs lift and retract, his lips parting, drawing in the crisp air.

“It has been so long,” he breathes, and this is not the voice that has been speaking to him. Not the ugly, confounded grate of a long-dead thing, but as gentle and sweet as birdsong.

Nico stares at him in shock, his wrist is throbbing where the ribbon is cinched around it. “You are not the thing I have been talking to.”

The man smiles and lets his chin dip downward, his eyes flutter open. Looking into them, Nico feels as if he’s gazing upon the entire universe. He feels like he’s sinking further and further into the ocean and when he reaches the bottom, he’ll fall through into the crushing vastness of space.

“You wouldn’t think so, would you?” he muses, lips twitching. “I was imprisoned. You have set me free. Come, allow me to show you my gratitude.” He holds out his hand and Nico drags himself to his feet and stumbles toward him.

As soon as he touches him, the strength rushes back into his limbs, his thoughts feel more clear than they have in decades. The man lets out a soft noise, “You… have a beautiful mind.”

“I’ve been told that it’s a bit chaotic.” Nico’s voice is clenched and dry, his eyes blown open wide in wonder. “I’ve never met a god before.”

The man throws his head back and laughs, his grip tightening fractionally on Nico’s hand. Something inside Nico’s chest is unraveling.

“I am no god.” He lifts his other hand and slides his fingers across Nico’s wrist, over the ribbon. It falls away and coils into the grass, a sleeping snake; Nico feels like he can breathe again. “Though people have worshiped me as one.” His head tilts, his expression is so open, so guileless. It makes Nico’s heart ache. “Why is that? That humans flock to power?”

“We are broken creatures. All we want is for someone to repair us.”

The man nods. “My name is Will. I know that yours is Nico.”

Will holds out a thick scroll to Nico and he wonders where it came from. He didn’t see it appear, it feels as if it was always there and he just could not see it.

Nico takes it from him gingerly and starts unrolling it, eyes flicking across its inscription. “What is this?”

“A list of things human beings are afraid of. Which would you be saved from?”

Really, his asking: which do you fear the most? that you would have me take that blight away from you?

Nico’s fingers skip down the endless scrawl. Youth seeping through fingers. They falter. He sees his sister’s head lolling against his arm, blood pooling around her like a ribbon. Finding loneliness buried deep inside. They tremble sideways against the letters.

“This, here. I cannot be by myself any longer.”

Will smiles and touches his chin. “And you won’t be. I shall stay.”

Nico’s heart plummets. “No. No… I need my sister. Bianca. You must have known that… that’s…”

Shaking his head, strands of sunlight spilling down his forehead. “Death is the one thing I will not tamper with. It is definite, final, and reversing it only causes grief and pain and chaos. You do not want to see your sister reborn.” The way he says it makes a sick chill go down Nico’s spine.

He stares sightlessly at Will’s chest, his expression hollow. Dreams seen through eyes clouded with grief, slipping past his fingers. His chest feels like it’s caving in. “My sister. My baby sister. I thought that I could make it up to her, that I could bring her back.”

“She would not thank you.” His words are soft, meant to be an assurance, but they slice through Nico’s skin. “She is at peace. The dead do not want to be awoken… Pain… is such a human thing.”

Tears flee down Nico’s cheeks. “I’ve wasted so many years of my life.”

Distantly, he feels Will’s rough fingertips wiping them away. “I can give them back. Nico, come with me. I can give you purpose.”

How did he know? How could he have known what I need so desperately?

He nods, feeling numb, and feels wind swirling wildly around them, sweeping them away.


Hundreds of thousands of years pass in a whorl.

Years of Will by his side, Will holding his hand, Will spinning him in dances, Will asking him for help, Will teaching him how to heal.

Letting go of his sister was not easy, but Will made the task possible. Gave him something to hold onto, to hope for, to focus on instead of his unhealthy obsession.

They rule together, fair and just. Nico is his voice of reason, his mediator.

They lay side-by-side in a large bed made of branches that have been wound together. Flowering vines hang down over their heads and sunlight streams in from the glass ceiling, casting them in patterned shadows.

Nico stares at the man in front of him; his husband, his stronghold, his foundation. Will’s hair fans out around his head and his chest rises and falls just the slightest bit, his arm is thrown above his head.

Nico leans forward and kisses the soft skin of his wrist and smiles against it when he feels the tendons there twitch along with Will’s fingers; his hand pulls downward and cups Nico’s cheek, so he leans into it, a sigh breaking free from his lips.

And Will was right; he has found purpose.

Baked Goods

Warnings: None
Pairing: None
Prompt: Virgil decides he wants to bake something to show he cares for the others, and manages to use the power of worrying about every little detail to make the perfect baked goods every time.
Prompt by @a-blog-just-for-sanders

Virgil envied Patton and Roman for their abilities to bake.

Patton always made the absolute best cookies. He made them all from scratch; never used store-bought cookie dough. He made the absolute best chocolate chip cookies in particular, and sometimes he made them minty, too. Usually for Christmas. Those were his favorite.

He made sugar cookies that tasted like heaven, and he made home-made frosting, always decorating said sugar cookies to be the cutest he could possibly make them (usually, it was hearts or dogs).

One time he made cookies based on all of them, making a heart for himself, glasses for Logan, a crown for Roman, and a hoodie for Virgil. They were all really reluctant to eat them, since they looked absolutely amazing, but they tasted even more so.

Roman was amazing at making pies.

Roman always made the best pie. Roman refused to use store-bought fruit, so in his room (Yes, he has a garden in his bedroom), he grew fruit to use to make pie.

His cherry pies were heavenly; he put glaze frosting over the crust of the pie and he decorated it nicely with canned whip cream, usually making roses and flowers in the center of the pie.

He made nicely decorated, delicious fruit pies, and nobody could even come close to matching it.

Virgil was envious of their skill.

He knew he’d never be able to bake like them, even though he’d never tried. It seemed so difficult to him.

But, as Patton, Roman, and Logan were with Thomas, leaving Virgil alone in the mind palace..

He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to try.

Virgil walked into the kitchen, pleased that he was still alone, and pulled out one of Patton’s cookbooks.

He flipped through for a recipe for cake. He decided on a chocolate cake, and got to work, feeling a flare of determination.

Go big or go home.

Virgil’s anxiety helped him do well in the decoration process, and he made ribbons of red frosting, hanging down the sides of the cake, the top of the cake coated in white frosting, and putting some of Roman’s cherries in the white frosting. He grinned, satisfied with what he’d made, actually happy with himself for the first time.

He cleaned up the kitchen, putting the cake on the center of the table.

He sunk back into his room before the Sides could appear and criticise his baking.

It was only half an hour later when he was suddenly summoned to the commons, blinking in surprise as he sat on the couch with his headphones on, looking up at Patton, Roman, and Logan.

He pulled his headphones off, eyebrow quirking. “What?”

“Did you make the cake on the table?” Patton asked suddenly.

“Uh.. yeah?” Virgil flushed in embarrassment, averting his eyes from Patton’s.

“It was delicious!” Roman declared, “It was the best cake I’d ever had in my life! You have such amazing talent, Virgil!” He complimented, grinning at the emo.

“I agree. It was surprising, but you did amazingly well, Virgil.” Logan gave a small smile to the other, gaining a tiny grin in response. “Have you ever done that before?”

“No..” Virgil replied, “That.. was my first time trying to make anything other than a bowl of cereal or sandwich.”

“I’m so proud of you!” Patton crooned, hugging Virgil suddenly and tightly.

Virgil groaned, pretending he disliked being held, but he visibly relaxed in Patton’s arms.

Logan sat next to Virgil, taking the other’s hand and squeezing it, sharing a grin with Virgil. “You did good.”

“Thanks, Lo.” Virgil flushed happily.

Roman ‘aww'ed softly at the adorable friendship between the Logical and Anxious traits. “You two are cute. But yes, Virgil, that was so amazing! You did so well!” He smiled wide.

And Virgil relaxed, because he knew he did good. He felt happy.

A Hard Lesson in Vanity: Chapter 1

Authors’ Note: Happy Friday, fabulous readers!!! We were so excited to see so many of you digging our latest trailer, and without further ado we are proud to present the next part of Rafael and Natalia’s story!!! Looking forward to your feedback!!! @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you enjoy!!!

          “Papi! You moving around too much!”

           Point of fact, Rafael’s mind had drifted off to parts unknown. It was a rarity to have a second to simply sit and think in a home suddenly teeming with four girls who each demanded different things. In some ways, Hazel and Holly were the easiest. Yes, they ate like it was going out of style, and Hazel in particular had a habit of wailing when anything pink caught her eye. Holly was by far the calmer of the pair, but once awake, she liked to be in constant motion. That meant bouncing her on his hip, rolling her carriage through parks or around the townhouse when foul weather gave him no other card to play. In between the crying and the constitutionals, the tiniest Barbas simply slept.


           The same could not be said for Violetta. If she wasn’t nipping at Rafael or Natalia’s heels, giving advice as to better ways to rock the babies or sweeter songs to sing, his muñequita had developed an interest in his hair that extended far beyond barrettes looking like lady bugs with little ribbons streaming down the sides of his face. Maybe he would remind Dodds of the long-ago makeover some day in the near—

           “Muñequita, I think that my hair is too short,” Rafael reasoned.

           “Ash say anybody can be beautiful!”

Keep reading

Witch Wreath How To

Just so that I can keep track and in case any of you want to make your own!

Step 1: Get a wire hanger and make a circle

2: Gather your sticks/limbs - they need to be green so that they’re still pliable. I used willow branches and forsythia 

3: Wind your branches around the wire 

You’re gonna need A LOT of branches

4: Use floral wire to keep down any unruly patches

5: Take ribbon and hot glue one side down then wind around wreath until in the shape you want and hot glue last end down 

6: Make bow and hot glue onto one of the pentacle’s points


Ash’s 2k Writing Challenge - Negan’s Birthday Prompt 

Summary: It’s Negan’s birthday and you’ve worked hard to make it the most memorable night of his life.
Word Count: 2,267
Pairing: Negan/Female Reader
Warning: High detailed description of sex and swearing
Rating: Explicit
Chapters: One-shot
Tags: @negans-dirty-girl | @negans-network | @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash | @lucifers-trash-stash | @flissworld 
Archive of Our Own: A Gift Fit for a King
Authors Note: This is a one-shot for Ash’s 2k Writing Challange. First ever one-shot full of hot, hotness. Hope you enjoy, feedback is as always appreciated. Thank you to my lovely beta reader @lucifers-trash-stash for being just awesome and being tremendious help with my writing. 

Keep reading

[Guest Writer] When you’re the dance teacher for the precocious Prince Sungyeol

Scenario: You are assigned to teach the Prince to dance before an important ball, but he seems to be distracted.
Rating: hot stuff
Word Count: 2497
Guest Writer: Skye

You’ve never found yourself so frustrated with someone, that is until you ended up meeting Lee Sungyeol. To be more specific, Prince Lee Sungyeol.

Being a professional dancer by trade, you’d been called into the palace to proctor a class on ballroom dancing for an upcoming gala that the royal family would be holding. Your students were of many different high class backgrounds. There was skillful Lee Howon, the son of an immensely rich banker. Slightly lazy and perpetually grumpy Kim Sunggyu, an upcoming singer whose father was a general in the royal guard. And then of course there was Lee Sungyeol, Prince Lee Sungyeol, the next inheritor to the throne.

Although no one was perfect when you first started teaching the course, the boys caught on quick, after all you were just teaching them the simple steps to the waltz - there was nothing more easy.

The only person who kept fumbling and tripping over their feet, laughing languidly as you muttered under your breath about how clumsy they were, was Lee Sungyeol.

His long limbs were attractive, even regel, but he had no clue how to use them correctly. His posture was a mess, coordination didn’t seem to exist in his vocabulary, and worst of all is that he found the whole thing funny.

Laughing into the palm of his hand, he’d simply stare down at you with clear eyes when he messed up and ask;

“Am I still getting it wrong instructor?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

"I guess it wouldn't be too much a' surprise if I told you I'd like to hike that robe a' yours and see if we can't award you a blue ribbon for being most rideable?" [lightlaughterbullets]

Anton slaps a hand down across the side of his leg. “I actually wears pants. My gear is more a robe-seafarer bastardization, with a pinch of gilneas duelist thrown in. But ah, that is beside the point. It not being a surprise doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be enjoyable~…And I do like winning ribbons.”

dirtierwork  asked:

I'm hella late but ereri and "are you flirting with me?" pretty please?? <3

The only one that’s hella late is me, alright?

Stupid tumblr. Distracting me from writing… (as usual)

But here you go!!

(Note: Levi is eighteen years old)

Pairing: ErenxLevi

“I swear to God Eren, if you dare to step foot outside the den or your room, I will murder you,” Isabel hissed to her older brother, who was overlooking the room of senior high school students.

    The twenty year old man rolled his eyes at Isabel. “Listen, Sparky, mom and dad said you could have a party on the condition of I do the chaperoning. There’s no way I’m going to excuse myself while all of you trolls from Hell fuck the house up.”

    Isabel’s fists balled up at her sides in frustration. “Eren just his once do me a favor.”

    “Sorry,” he sang. He pushed off the wall he leaned against and started in the direction of the kitchen, ruffling Izzy’s hair in passing. The girl’s nose scrunched up, keeping a small string of curses carefully locked in her voice box. Her cheeks puffed out for a split second before it changed to an evil grin. She whirled around and sprinted out of the room and up the stairs.

    “Levi!” she called over the music someone just decided to put on the stereo. She skid into her room where she knew the boy would be. “Levi.” She found him crouched by the shelf she kept her movies on.

    “What?” he grunted. His finger glided over the selection, looking for a suitable movie for the night.

    “I need your help with something,” she told him, coming further into the room. He made a sound of acknowledgement, so she continued. “Eren plans on sticking around for the entire night.”

    “So?” Levi asked, glancing over his shoulder to the redhead.

    “So he’s going to be playing the chaperone who’s not going to let the girls get within seven feet of the guys!” she exclaimed. “I need him gone.”

    “So what am I going to do about it?” the short teen asked as he pulled a movie off the shelf and stood up, brushing himself off with one hand.

    “Keep him occupied! I don’t care if you tie him up and shove him in the kitchen cupboard!” with that final order, she turned on her heel, her hair flicking out as she spun to leave the room. Levi’s eyes rolled almost of their own accord and he followed after her.

    They went back down stairs and to the living room to find it deathly quiet. The teens (a collection of ten. Five girls and five boys from various classes Isabel had) sat silently under the gaze of the man leaning on the doorjamb. Eren’s eyes narrowed before he switched to look at Isabel and Levi. “Great, you got the movie,” he smiled. “Give it here, I’ll put it on.” He started forward, hand raised. Isabel shot Levi a look and the boy sighed silently. He glared at Izzy as he moved towards Eren, taking his outstretched hand and dragging him backwards into the kitchen.

    “Hey,” Eren huffed as he was dragged into the kitchen “What are you doing?”

    “Cookies.” Was Levi’s only reply. He let go of Eren’s hand when they were in the kitchen area and went for the cabinets.

    “We don’t have any.” Eren informed him.

    “Then we’ll make them.”

    If Isabel wanted Eren distracted, she’ll get it, by God.

    “Add the flour,” Levi instructed Eren sometime later from where he sat on the counter, scrolling through the baking directions on his phone. Levi snorted at the little side note on the recipe. A little ribbon ran down the side of the screen, showing off a cheesy food related pick up line. “Are you a fruit?” he read aloud.

    “Huh?” Eren shot him a confused look over his shoulder.

    Levi smirked, near laughing at the awful line. “Because honeydew you know how fine you look right now?”

    Eren cocked his eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Levi?”

    “As if,” he scoffed. “It’s a pick up line from this website. Too stupid not to share.” Eren nodded, going back to the dough. Levi quietly laughed at the next line that popped up. “Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Because your ass is the sweetest I’ve ever seen.” Eren laughed along.

    “Boy, I’ve just got what my mama gave,” the college student replied, popping his hip while he picked up the dough bowl, still stirring. Levi’s eyes watched the small movement with interest. He switched to read the next line. Eren turned and hopped up on the counter opposite of Levi, the bowl in his arms. He took the spatula and tossed it into the sink and dipped his finger into the chocolate chip dotted dough.

    “Baby, if you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple,” Levi said. He glanced up in time to see Eren stick the finger in his mouth. His eyes widened as Eren slowly sucked the sugary treat off his finger. His head shook at Levi.

    “If I were a fruit, it’d be a passion fruit.” He said around the finger.

    Levi’s eyes darted back down to his phone. “Uh, back to baking the cookies.” He said, slightly stammering on the first part of the sentence. “We’re supposed to,” he looked up to Eren at the sound of the bowl getting placed on the counter and found Eren standing. “Scoop the dough out, and–“

    “Hey Levi,” Eren interrupted. He crossed the kitchen in quick strides until he was standing right in front of where Levi was perched. He leaned in closely to the boy until their faces were but inches apart.

    “What?” Levi asked in a shakier voice than he would have liked.

    “Why are we really baking cookies?” Eren asked, his head cocking. “You couldn’t make decent cookies for the life of you and I know you’d probably much rather be in there with the rest of the kids… so why are you in here?’

    The words caught in Levi’s throat. “I wanted-“ the words stopped when Eren closed a bit of the space between them.

    “Don’t lie, Levi. Tell me the truth.” He breathed.

    Levi silently cursed at their mingling breathes.

    Honestly, how long had he wanted to be this close to the lips that belonged to Eren Jaeger? How long had he wanted to claim those lips for his own and run his fingers through that untamable hair?

    Jeez. He had a purpose here. He couldn’t be thinking back to those desires still fresh in his mind.

    Keep Eren occupied. That was the mission.

    But his mission already failed if Levi couldn’t keep his head straight.

    Besides; he’d rather be forced into watching an awful movie, crammed in a room with a bunch of teens than be trapped in the kitchen with Eren any longer, with the man so close, yet so fucking far out of his reach.

    “Isabel wanted me to distract you from your chaperone duties,” Levi finally answered. Eren pulled back a bit with a smirk on his face.

    “I knew it.” He chuckled. “There was no way you would willing volunteer to baking.” Levi grunted, trying to scoot back on the counter away from the older male. His butt didn’t get far before his head smacked into the bottom of a cabinet. With hissed profanity, his hand shot up to hold the spot he hurt. He glared at the same small gap between his knees and Eren’s legs that didn’t grow or shrink.

    Would he move off already?!

    Eren’s hand came into his field of vision suddenly. It moved at a moderate pace until it caught Levi’s chin and tipped it up a bit so the younger male would have to look up at the man.

    “Surely you could do better at distracting someone than merely reading them shitty pick-up lines,” he taunted. A playful twinkle on his eye. Levi’s frown lasted all of six milliseconds before the corner of his lips turned up in a smirk.

    He threw his arm around Eren’s shoulders and pulled him down the short distance to Levi’s awaiting lips. After a few seconds of the simple lip lock, Levi pulled back.

     “Of fucking course I can.”

The Scent of New Beginnings, a Kristanna fic for Bri

This is for bri-ecrit! based on this prompt. I hope that your week gets better, Bri <3 I meant to write a drabble for you and post it much sooner, but it’s…not a drabble, and it’s late. 

I’m sorry in advance about all the errors and typos that I’m sure abound, I’m kind of anxious to post this and go to bed so I only skimmed over it :P I’m also sorry that it’s not very good

Note: Okay, so there’s no staircase in the ballroom in the film, I’m pretty sure, BUT let’s all pretend that maybe when Elsa used her powers in the ballroom she accidentally did some structural damage, and it had to be remodeled, and they put in an upper gallery with a staircase while they were at it because what good is a ballroom without a sweeping staircase

The Scent of New Beginnings

The engagement had only been announced a week ago, and already Kristoff was wishing that he could disappear into the mountains until the wedding. Better yet, he wished he could sweep Anna off to the mountains with him, elope with a troll wedding, and then spend their honeymoon all alone, far, far away from people. Far away from people who wanted to shake his hand, people who wanted to give him marital advice, people who wanted him to exert some kind of influence on his fiancée and future sister-in-law, people who just wouldn’t stop talking. Far away from all people who weren’t Anna, that was where Kristoff wanted to be. But he hadn’t even suggested it—it was winter, which was not the best time to camp out (although the challenge of keeping each other warm sounded so very appealing), and he wasn’t sure how legal a troll ceremony would be considered by the kingdom. Besides, she was so happy

Keep reading

If other shinigami became visored...

As requested by anon. :) And also anon. ;)

Let’s say that some of the other shinigami in Bleach became visored. What would their mask look like?

1. Gin

Gin’s mask is circular and white, blank except for two narrow slits for the eyes. Oh, and a big, empty grin.


2. Kira

Kira has a birdlike iron executioner’s mask, just like landofshame says.



Kira: I hate my life.

3. Matsumoto

Matsumoto’s mask has heavily outlined, catlike eyes and a snarling mouth with some very sharp teeth.

Matsumoto: Captain, I need to go shopping!

Matsumoto: I have nothing that matches this!

4. Byakuya

Byakuya’s mask is vaguely petal shaped, with a full half circle over his forehead, narrowing down to a gentle point at his chin. When he first masks, it is pure white, but as he gets stronger, pink petal-designs start to appear.

Ichigo: Oooh, an evolving mask just like mine??

Ichigo: I’m gonna make us T-shirts!

Byakuya: Not that again.

5. Komamura

Komamura’s mask is bucket-shaped.

Komamura: So that must be why my bucket helmet felt so right.

6. Rukia

Rukia’s mask is pure white, with a single ribbon tied to the top which comes down along the side of her face. It shimmers slightly, as though it is made of ice.

Rukia: It has been declared the most beautiful mask in Soul Society!

Rukia: I assume.

7. Hisagi

Hisagi has a demon mask, of course.

Hisagi: Maaan, why are my powers always scary?

8. Renji

Renji’s mask is reminiscent of a baboon, with close set eyes and a ferocious looking snout.

Renji: Zabimaru’s gonna be mad that my inner hollow is ripping off his design.

9. Ukitake

Ukitake’s mask is a mirrored oval. Just, mirrored. It is unclear how he sees.

Ukitake: Answer: with great difficulty!

10. Kyoraku

Kyoraku’s mask is pure, inky black, except for the eyes, which are outlined in red. Let’s just say you don’t want him coming out of the shadows at you.

Kyoraku: Wow.

Kyoraku: Totally not showing this to Nanao-chan!

Twelve White Balloons

just a bunch of cute fluff


The second she stepped outside her hotel room, Selena instantly became tangled in a web of gold.

“Oh!” she gasped in surprise, glancing up at the culprit. A dozen white balloons with long, golden ribbons attached floated to the ceiling. She glanced down both sides of the hallway but there were no people in sight. Confused, she took the intertwined ribbons and pulled the balloons inside.

She noticed a small card attached to the end and liberated it from the tangled mess tied around it. Inside on one side was an address written in what she could only identify as Justin’s chicken scratch. The blue ink was slightly smudged, but she could still make out the writing. On the other side, a shining, brand new silver key was secured into place by a thin sliver of tape.

Her heart leaped out of her chest. Justin was known for his extravagant gifts, despite the fact that he knew how much Selena hated being spoiled. She bit her lip, pocketing the key as she picked up the card. She looked over the address once more, not recognizing the location. She sighed and shook her head. Leave it to Justin to send her on a crazy quest.

She grabbed a jacket to shield herself from the chilly Canada air and slipped on a pair of shoes before heading outside. A light drizzle fell from the murky gray sky, making her hope a storm wouldn’t come.

She typed the address into the GPS and was on her way, maneuvering through the bustling city.

Half an hour outside the city, crowded streets gradually gave way to a more quiet, empty street surrounded by tall pines. The shimmering blue waters of Lake Ontario reflected the sun’s rays through the trees, giving the appearance of driving through a golden forest.

Selena stopped and turned when she saw the mailbox poking through an overgrowth of vines, with the address number printed on the side. The gravel crunched under the tires as a red structure came into view. It was a nice little log cabin nestled between a grove of pines–it was modest in comparison to the luxurious mansions and even the hotels she’d become accustomed to. Morning glories took over the railing on the porch and snaked their way up a trellis on the side, hiding the wood beneath years of overgrowth.

Selena cautiously stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut as she approached the front door. She walked in trepidation, wondering if this was a good idea. Justin was always one to buy the most expensive and flashy items, and this was nowhere near either category.

The front step creaked as she put pressure onto it and for a second she held her breath, fearing she would fall through the crooked step. She let out a sigh of relief when it held and stomped up the top two steps, standing in front of the door coated in chipped paint.

Before she could knock, there was the distinct sound of footsteps coming from her left. She spun around and was immediately met with the familiar sensation of Justin’s lips pressing against hers. His palms pressed against her cheeks, pulling her face closer to his.

Justin groaned, pulling away from the kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that since you came to Toronto,” he confessed, leaning his forehead against hers.

“I’ve missed you,” Selena whispered, softly kissing him once more. She felt Justin’s hands drop from her face and she realized where they were again. “This place,” she gestured towards the cabin, “why did you bring me here?”

Justin didn’t reply, but instead walked over to the door and took out a key, unlocking the door in one swift movement. He pushed it open and a bouquet of twelve more white balloons floated just inside the entryway. He tugged on their golden ribbons, bringing them outside. “It’s ours,” he handed the balloons to Selena, “I bought it. The lake is a five minute walk from here.” He grinned, scratching at the back of his neck.

It took a moment to register for Selena as she gripped onto the balloons, making sure they didn’t float away. “It’s nice, Justin, it really is, but I don’t… I’m not moving countries just to be with you,” she stammered, trying to put it as lightly as possible.

Justin laughed lightly. “No! It’s not.. I got it so we can have our own private place that nobody else knows about. It’s our own little escape. You can come here whenever you need to, baby. Did you get the key I sent?”

“Yeah,” Selena nodded, patting her pocket. A light breeze blew by and she instantly shivered.

“Come inside,” Justin opened the door wider, allowing her to walk inside, along with the balloons.

She let the balloons float to the ceiling and looked around. The place was sparsely furnished, with only a blue couch and a coffee table resting in front of the fire place. She glanced up towards the half-log shaped stairs and saw.. more balloons. Balloons of every color filled the cabin, their tangled ribbons dangling down like some kind of rainbow waterfall.

“You have a thing for balloons.”

Justin merely nodded, and a mischievous smile broke out on his face. “I think there’s just one more thing we need to do before this feels more homey,” he said carefully, moving to stand behind Selena. His lips placed soft, feathery kisses down her neck.

“Get more furniture? I bet there’s not even a bed,” she murmured, tilting her head back to expose more of her neck.

“I wanted you to help pick out the furniture,” he slipped her jacket off, kissing her shoulder blade. “And who needs a bed when we have a perfectly fine couch right here?”

Selena shook her head and smiled, turning around to hook her arms around his neck. “You really are something, Justin.” She pressed her lips to his, backing up until she fell against the couch, pulling Justin onto herself.


“Mm, don’t get up yet,” Justin groaned, tightening his hold on Selena. “Up for round 4?” he teasingly asked, pushing some of her hair from her face.

“Justin!” she hit his chest, wiggling free of his grip to stand up. “We just spent three hours christening the damn house, I think that’s enough for today. I’m worn out,” she reached for her panties, pulling them on quickly.

“At least keep the clothes off,” he pouted, getting up to retrieve his own underwear.

“Join a nudist colony!” she shouted from the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. To say there was nothing would be an understatement.. the only things Justin had even bothered to bring were a pack of strawberries and a bag of Tim Horton’s. She chuckled at that and grabbed the strawberries walking back to find him poking at the fireplace.

“We’re going to stave to death if you’re the one in charge of buying groceries,” she sat down on the couch, popping a strawberry in her mouth.

Justin sat next to her, pulling her close to his bare chest. “We could be starving, we could be homeless..” he softly sang into her ear, running his hands down her sides. “I love it when you go topless,” he remarked, stealing a strawberry from her hand.

“Pig,” she rolled her eyes, looking up at the ceiling.

“Did you expect any different? I’m a horny teenage boy,” he pressed his lips to her temple before moving towards her cheek, kissing it repeatedly. He smiled at the sound of her soft giggles and complaints that it tickled. “Is the fire warm enough? You seem.. cold,” he glanced at her chest and laughed.

Selena blushed and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, stretching it around her body and holding it under her arms. “I hate you.” She leaned against his shoulder, looking up to the colorful display above. “By the way,” her eyes trailed across the entirety of the ceiling; not a single spot was left without a balloon to cover it. “What’s with all the balloons?”

“The flower shop was closed this morning.”