they keep startling us so bad

there's a devil in your smile (that's chasing me)

♡♡♡ for bruna @suprcorp ♡♡♡

the high school au i took too long to write and it ended up being longer than i thought it would be.

basically: the one where kara is very much in love with lena just as lena is very much in love with kara & everything goes sort of wrong before it ends up right.

also on ao3

Kara wasn’t supposed to be in detention. It isn’t even her fault that she is here, no matter what the voice inside her head - which sounds suspiciously like Alex’s - is telling her.

She was just trying to help the poor kitten down from that tree. Everything was going okay and according to plan.

She climbed the tree, calmed the poor animal down and was opening her backpack so she could put him inside, that way she could climb down safely and as a normal human would, using both hands and decidedly not flying.

Naturally, everything started going downhill from there.

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Imagine late nights with Remus Lupin

Originally posted by nellaey

you could hear the faint beat of his heart beneath your chest are you nuzzled your way deeper into his steady arms. It was late, and like most nights you had dozed off wrapped in the safe and cozy arms of your boyfriend. You could hear the faint whispering of conversations around you, but your mind didn’t zero in on any particular sounds. 

“Padfoot keep your voice down or so help me” Remus hissed across at his friend, doing his best not to move or startle you awake.

“Moony she’s passed out she can’t hear us” Sirius protested. You rolled your head over wanting to protest you weren’t asleep, but no words came out, just a small grumble came out.

“She hasn’t been sleeping well lately and I just want her to get some rest” you hears him mutter to his friends. Rem was always so sweet and kind to you. You were almost certain he didn’t have a single bad bone in his body. You could feel his arms tighten around you as his fingers lazily ran up and down your back. These little incentives were enough to coax you into a deep sleep.

Flood my (Christmas) Mornings

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment:  Sweet Souls (Jamie tells Bree a story to get her to sleep) 

Here’s a link to another Christmas-themed scene written for Christmas 2016, along with a Brian and Ellen ficlet from @gotham-ruaidh!


December 25, 1950

‘Children laughing, people passing’

Laughing. That’s what one expects to hear from children on Christmas morning. 

Not a BLOODCURDLING SCREAM.  

Jamie and I went from dead-sleep to complete and utter panic in a single heartbeat, and staggered blindly to her room to find it empty. After a frantic ten seconds, we found her in the doorway to the living room, shrieking in delight at the Christmas tree by the fire.

I groaned in relief and clutched my belly, panting, but Jamie was faster to action. “Brianna Ellen Fraser!” His whole body electric with adrenaline, he snatched her up off the ground and made her look him in the eye.“You’re NOT to prowl around the house wi’out your mother or me, d’ye hear me? Ye stay in your room until we fetch ye.” He gave her a harmless but firm shake for emphasis. “D’ye hear?”

“But—but—Daddy, LOOK!” She contorted in his arms to loll her head back at the tinsel-clad tree. “CHRINSMINS!!!”

Jamie exhaled hugely and closed his eyes for a moment, as if forcing the fear and anger to exit his body. I rubbed his arm encouragingly and he made a small sound of acknowledgment before kissing Bree’s cheek. “Aye, Christmas, it is.” He set her back down on the floor and put his arm around my waist, the both of us looking down ruefully at our grey-hair-inducing progeny. “Ye like the tree, cub?”

“AYE!” Bree squealed emphatically, bouncing twice on the spot for joy before running over to examine it more closely.

Jamie and I had brought in the tree last night after she had gone to bed, making a happy, pajama-clad, fireside evening of getting the thing decorated as the snow gathered outside. We’d happily gorged ourselves on Mrs. Byrd’s iced gingerbread and guzzled apple cider as we festooned the branches with baubles and tinsel. Jamie, though he’d never before the 20th century heard of such a daft thing as bringing a live tree indoors and gaudying it up, seemed absolutely delighted by the overall effect—though in all honesty, it may have been the dollops of whisky he added to his cider. He kept on stepping back and proclaiming passionately, “’s’BEAUTiful!” 

A good portion of the tinsel ended up in our hair and clothing, for decorating inevitably turned into throwing and fits of helpless giggles; and, of course, icing was attack-smeared over faces as we laughed ourselves hoarse; and *naturally,* one thing led to another, AND we ended up on the ground, naked, covered in sticky sugar, and making sweet, sweet Christmas Eve love on the rug (an activity that doesn’t often make the carols and poems, that)(but pretty bloody festive, in my book). 

Jamie’s squeezing my arse into oblivion (as though also remembering our celebrations last night) was more than a little distracting as we fondly watched Bree, swaying as she stared in rapture up at the tree. “S’all—” she made a vague, sweeping gesture with both arms, and hopped up and down, “—all—HAPPY!”

I gave Jamie a squeeze back, laughing. “The tree makes you feel happy, lovey?”

Bree glared at me, ever the toddler-pedant. “It IS happy, Mama, see? See it?”

“You’re so right, baby. It’s a very happy tree.”

A quarter of an hour later, with mugs of tea and plates of toast with cinnamon butter, Bing Cosby crooned out Christmas tunes from the record player while the rest of us sat on the floor by the fire to open gifts.

Bree went first, of course, and her gasp of delight was nearly as alarming as the one that had awoken us in terror. “Issa TRAINNN!!” she squealed, pulling the wrapping paper loose with startling voracity. 

All in all, I would wager Jamie had just as much fun setting the wooden train set up as Bree, and she was having a jolly good time. Seeing the pair of them laying on their stomachs, choo-choo-ing along and causing disastrous (and apparently hilarious) collisions was a special kind of joy.

I wrapped my hands around my mug and leaned back against the face of the sofa, feeling—something in my belly. Not movement—it was far too early for quickening, but that bit of foreign pressure…yes, that was there.

 I can’t wait to meet you, little one, I said silently to my child. Hurry up and join us, alright? And I could have sworn the pressure responded. 

“Happy Christmas, Sassenach.” Jamie was handing me a lumpy parcel wrapped in brown paper.  

“Oh, darling!” I cried in delight a moment later, wrapping what turned out to be a sumptuous plum-colored wool scarf around my neck, “this is gorgeous! Wherever did you get it?”

“Made it.”

“…You MADE it??”

“Oh, aye,” he shrugged, oh-so-casually.  

I just bloody stared at him. “You….KNIT???”

“Aye…is it bad?” He was startled by the intensity of my shock and he looked both bewildered and slightly nervous. 

“NO—not at ALL, but—” I ran my fingers over the fine, neat rows of stitches. “I just—don’t think I’ve ever known a man that knits!”

“No? All highland boys do. Something to keep the hands useful while tending sheep or the like. Or, when there’s down moments at the barn not occupied by the lassies,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He grinned shyly. “Ye really like it?”

“I LOVE it,” I said, with complete sincerity. “Just you wait, all the girls at the hospital will be after you to make THEM one!” 

“Well, I’ll do what I can,” he said amiably, and I could tell he was gratified. 

“Lord, I feel foolish over your present now.” It was definitely NOT homemade.

He grinned. “I’m sure I’ll love it, mo nighean donn.” 

He did love it, in fact. The look of glee in his eye as he thumbed through the full-color special edition of Motor Trend (along with an indefinite subscription) made it clear just how much of a monster we’d created in letting Jamie get his hands on a car— Sorry, get his hands on BONNIE (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ). See? A monster.  He was vociferating passionately about one of the articles on new headlight trends for 1951, when both of our Parent Radar Senses pricked up. “Bree, what are ye doing, there, lass?” 

Bree was walking purposefully toward the foyer, and said only, “Somethin’” 

Jamie snorted with a laugh. “Ye dinna say!” 

“Loveyyyyy…. Tell Mum and Da what you’re doing, over there.” 

She didn’t answer, intent on reaching under the buffet cabinet by the door to grab for something, something that turned out to be a mailing envelope.  

“Why, you clever girl, spotting that!” I peered in vain to ascertain if it was a piece of incoming mail or outgoing. Regardless, it must have gotten pushed off the back of the cabinet by accident, and sat unseen for God knew how long. Hopefully it wasn’t an overdue bill or something urgent. 

“Aye, good work, cub. Can ye bring it here?” 

Pleased with her successful rescue mission, Bree skipped back to us and gave the letter to Jamie. He glanced at it for a minute, then grinned. “That’s a Christmas present for your Mama, a leannan.” 

“Oh? Another one?”

“No’ one that was planned, but I think it’ll be a welcome one, all the same.” 

“Heer’go, Mama,” Bree said, flinging it unceremoniously into my lap. Harvard University, the return address said. 

“Could be very much NOT a present, you know,” I said, seizing up and feeling like I wanted to vomit from anxiety. “In admissions, small envelopes are usually bad news, not good.” 

Jamie’s expression wavered a bit at that, but he gave a game sort of shrug. “Open it?” 

I slit open the envelope with a fingernail. God, these old fuddy-duddy bastards surely rejected me for being a married woman. Thank God, I hadn’t known I was pregnant at the time, for that surely would have been an automatic, No thank you. This rejection would be—

Accepted


It must have shown on my face, for Jamie was beaming from ear to ear as he crawled over to kiss me. “Well done, Sassenach!!” 

“It does say accepted, right?” I handed him the letter. “My brain isn’t making it up?” 

“Aye, there it is, right in black and white. ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been ACCEPTED.’ Bree, lass, your mother’s going to be a doctor! That’s exciting, aye?” 

“Yeah!!!” Bree said, though she was mostly focused on her trains. 

“More like I’m going to be a part-time organic chemistry and biology student,” I said, but practically bubbling over with relief. I’d been expecting that goddamn letter WEEKS ago! “Just the two prerequisites, but…” BUT STILL! 

“I’m so proud of ye, lass,” he said, beaming. “Happy, happy Christmas, mo ghraidh.”  

Truth Is Necessary

Characters: Reader (You), Dick Grayson (Nightwing), Wally West (Kid Flash), Kaldur (Aqualad), Other YJ characters.

Requested by: @umbreonxespeon

Synopsis: Reader fell in love with kaldur before he went “bad”.

Warnings: Spoilers for Young Justice (?)

A/N: Y/N = Your Name.
So much for “goodnight”, haha!
And why is ice powers so consistent with me?
Hope you like it!
REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!

Tags: @lastbeliever
———————-

“Y/N, snap out of it!” Nightwing clicked his fingers in front of my face.
I startled awake from my thoughts. “I’m here.”
“You may be physically, but mentally?” He raised an eyebrow, fully understanding where my mind was.
I shrugged.
“He’s,” Nightwing paused, “He’s not one of us.”
“I know. You keep telling me that. It’s just hard to believe he is a traitor. I thought he loved me.”
Nightwing said nothing. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me in the “living room” of Mount Justice. I leant into his warm embrace, taking joy in the comfort.

I refused to believe Kaldur didn’t love me anymore, that he would do any of this. It’s just not him.

“How long has this been happening?” Beast Boy interrupted.
“What!” Nightwing and I both exclaimed and shot away from each other. “It’s nothing.”, “nothing is happening between us.” We rambled.
“Mhmm. Sure.” He rolled his eyes.
“She still loves Aqualad, Gar.” Nightwing stated.
Beast Boy’s shoulders slumped. “Right. I forgot. Sorry.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “How you holdin’ up there, mama?”
I laughed. “Fine, Gar. Just fine.” I quickly wiped away the tears I’d been unaware of.
“That’s-”
“All team members to main area.” Wonder Girl shouted, running out of the room as quickly as she had entered.
Beast Boy and I looked at Nightwing, expecting an explanation.
“I don’t know what it is!” He threw his hands in the air and got up, off the couch and walked towards the main area.

“-be receiving a shipment in a port in Gotham City. Your job is to stop the trade and stop Kaldur.”
I caught the end of Batman’s speech and my stomach flipped, and not in a good way.
Sensing my discomfort, Nightwing asked “All hands on deck?”
“Yes. We don’t know how many of them there will be. Better to be sure.” Batman stated.
Nightwing gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Nightwing. You’re in charge.” Batman said, before heading off.
“Alright!” He yelled. “Robin, Wonder Girl, Batgirl-”

I tuned him out. I might see Kaldur again and the idea both thrilled and terrified me. I would see him, but I would have to hurt. I don’t have to hurt him, but the team will be dissapointed in me. I won’t be able to stop him with words. Won’t I?

“Y/N, you’re with Miss M and I.”
“What?”
“Come on, Y/N. It’ll be fine.” Miss Martian smiled at me, but I could see she was also broken about this. She knew Kaldur long before I did.
“You’re right.” I forced a nod and put on my mask.

“Megan!” Nightwing cried out as she was shot down from the sky and blasted into some shipping containers which she barely managed to phase through.
She launched back out, ravaged by fury and launched away at a group of Black Manta’s army.
Nightwing attacked some more, escrima sticks swinging.
I was ready to shoot an ice blast at them to assist my team members, but something ran by in the corner of my eye. Something familiar.

Whipping my head around, I saw Kaldur, sneaking around, out of sight.
I couldn’t fight it, I strolled over to him, trying to appear threatening. Like I could actually take his life. Ha.
“Aqualad?” I built a wall in front of his next destination.
He froze in place, almost debating whether or not to turn to around and face me.
“Kaldur? Don’t make me hurt you.” I readied my hand, without the hope of using it.
He slowly moved to look at me and I could swear he looked pained.
“Just come nicely. You’re making a mistake working for Black Manta. Come back. Make up for your wrongs and join the team again.” I fought the urge to cry.
He stood, silently.
“If you can prove it, I’m sure you’ll be welcomed back with open arms.”
He took a step forward and I flinched.
“Please, Kaldur,” I pleaded, “I love you.”
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” I missed his hand moving to his weapon and I was pushed away by a wave of water, gently drifting me away, like I was just floating down a stream.
Kaldur sprinted past but I grabbed his ankle, struggling to stand as there was still a strong current at my ankle.
“I love you!” I declared one last time.
His eyes betrayed him. I could see them begin to twitch and chin trembling.
I released my grip on him. “Stay and come back. Or go and never return. I need closure.”
He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. Sparing one last look, he ran, back towards the sea.
My eyes burned and a lump formed in my throat.
Where did his heart even lie?

“What was that?” Nightwing screamed as he stormed towards me. “You didn’t even try!”
“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I squeaked.
The whole team started to surround me.
“You were the only one to even get close to him tonight!”
“He’s a traitor!”
“You should’ve taken him down when you had the chance!”
“He’s not one of us anymore!”
They all repeated.
I just leant against a container and slid down, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them tight.
“I’m sorry.” I muttered.

My eyes were red and face puffy from crying.
I lay on my side in my bed at Mount Justice.
I let my team down. I was rejected by who I thought was the love of my life. I just wanted my bed to swallow me up.
“How’s it going?” A voice I hadn’t heard in ages interrupted the silence in my room.
“Wally?”
“Hey.” He zoomed to my bedside and knelt beside me, a sad smile on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I questioned as I sat up and he stood.
“There is something we need to tell you.” Nightwing chimed in. “But you need to promise not to tell anyone.” The door to my bedroom closed.
“Sure.” I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
The two looked at each other and nodded.
They stood opposite me, a serious look on their faces.
“It’s about Kaldur.” Nightwing started.
My stomach tightened.
“He’s not a traitor.” Wally continued.
“What?”
“He’s undercover. Only Nightwing, Artemis and I know. Not even the league knows.” Wally placed a hand on my shoulder.
“What!”
“Ssh. You can’t tell anyone. It will ruin everything.”
“But how? Why?”
“We’re going to organize a meeting with Aqualad.” Nightwing explained. “You’re coming with. He does miss you too, you know?”

Lunatic: Part X

BTS Mythical! AU

Rated: M Blood, Violence, Mind Manipulation, Slight Smut

Word Count: 5164

Part IX | Part XI

A/N: Once again I don’t know the boys siblings names.  I’m convinced that the Yoongi/Hoseok ship call each other Sope because Yoongi’s hyung maybe Yoonseok?  idk it’s a weird theory.  Don’t judge me.

Yoongi waits fifteen minutes with his phone in hand just in case you do text back.  There’s no reply so he puts his phone away.  His headache has changed from a heavy darkening migraine to the tight throb of over thinking.  The poison is worked out of his system and it frees his mind.  

Yoongi is no stranger to sleep evading him because his thought simply can’t be quiet.  This time it’s unbearable with two voices speaking out conflicting things.  His brain runs in a loop.  His wolf is still yearning to mate and agitated by the suppressants.  His human is piecing together how he’s going to fix this mess.  

The constant chant of the wolf expressing his need gets too demanding.  In a last ditch attempt to quiet his raging hormones he grabs the tissues and lotion from the bedside table.  He tosses off his blanket and bottoms. The cold room air then the warmth of his hand on his cock give equal hisses.  

He works himself quick just wanting so sort of release.  He’s been hard for nearly two days and he’s had enough.  Selfishly he lets himself imagine you there with him.  It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming.  His body shaking with the long awaited release that’s so strong he nearly passes out.  

Two minutes later he’s cleaned up and redressed, back into his bed.  The difference is that his wolf is quiet and he’s not hard anymore.  If he’d known it was that easy he would’ve jerked off a long time ago.  Finally getting some peace he falls asleep.

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Klaine one-shot - “Organized Chaos” (Rated PG13)

Kurt comes home one night to find his husband in desperate need of his help … but will Blaine let Kurt help him? (2292 words)

So, I re-wrote this, playing off the idea that Blaine may also have suffered from OCD, kind of the way Kurt did, but as an extension of PTSD (seeing as the meta exists that Dalton!Blaine was actually the facade, and the Blaine we see at McKinley was the person he actually was). I based this off of my own personal experiences with OCD and PTSD. The cleaning, the disposable pens, the paper towels, and the obsession with vents, those are personal to me, as is the way Blaine’s grandmother passes away.

Read on AO3.

“Sorry I’m late, sweetie,” Kurt calls, juggling his messenger bag on his shoulder, a narrow paper bag with a bottle of Riesling in the crook of his arm, and two way-too-thin plastic bags, both trying, with little success, to contain the multiple cardboard containers of Thai food inside, “but when I went to get our food, they messed up our order … again!” Kurt shuffles in, the door refusing to open more than a few inches because of something lodged on the opposite side. “I mean, I know you love Pok Pok, and I know it’s our Thursday night tradition, but I really think that … whoa …”

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Sometimes a Memory is not Enough

Entry for round 8 of the ‘Choices Creates Carnival’

Prompt: Friendship

Relationships: Diego and MC (Endless Summer)

Hosts: @hollyashton @firefly-hwufanficwriter

A/N: I read the deadline for the Round 8 entry wrong, so this is late. It’s also long. I wanted to brush off the rust and start writing again, so I wrote this thing because Diego is awesome.

Set just after the group skip into the future and find Rourke in that hybernation pod.

***

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So I heard it was @presumenothing‘s birthday? Happy Birthday! It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy!


There’s something to be said about balance, Ai thinks as she leans against a tree, about finding it and keeping it.

It’s funny how it took growing young to learn how to live again. Wisdom comes with age, as it is usually said. Not so much the reverse, but well. She’s hardly a typical case.

To return to what was before. To have a chance to start over from the very beginning. To remake herself. An impossible wish for most, and yet. It’s something she didn’t think she’d ever have.

A second chance.

The children are playing, kicking a battered ball around and chasing one another, Kudou-kun among them. Not that he deserves any sort of qualifier. He’s just as much of a child as they are, in some ways. He still retains a sort of naiveté Ai doesn’t think she’s ever had. And while he grumbles and complains, it doesn’t take much to see how he enjoys it, once he gets past the veneer of adulthood, free in a way she can never be.  Perhaps there is something to be said about living. About starting anew.

Not so terrible a fate.

For all that Haibara Ai is made from the broken pieces of Miyano Shiho, perhaps that’s how it should be. She’s never felt better, more sure of what she wants. Perhaps long ago with Akemi by her side, learning and discovering new things. Before she realized how easily the wrong hands could pervert and twist intention. She had been aware, yes, but she hadn’t understood. Not with the kind of cold clarity that came after everything.

If there’s any good to have come of her life, it is this: the sun filtering down through the trees, the rustle of the wind through the boughs. The sound of wild laughter echoing through the air of the park, the rough bark against the thin fabric of her top, the solid earth underneath her feet. If she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine Akemi at her side, watching with her.

She lets out a sigh. Though a scientific mind does not preclude such fanciful thoughts, they are ones she can ill-afford. It does not do to linger. There is no returning from such a fate, and to dwell invites nothing but heartbreak. 

Maybe one day, that will be her fate. Black wings still soar, searching, always searching. But they haven’t found her, not just yet. They haven’t found the children. These little lights remain untouched, innocent even after everything they’ve seen.

So she puts it out of her mind for now. Let today be a happy one. For now, there are no dark shadows hanging over their head, no threats around the corner.

Just the five of them and a sunny park on a breezy spring day.

“C'mon Ai-chan!” Ayumi says, grabbing her hand. “We need your help!”

“What?” she near squeaks, startled and still half in her thoughts.

“Don’t just stand there and watch, Haibara!” Genta says. “Come and play with us!”

Ayumi’s eyes are watering. “Please, Ai-chan! Conan-kun and Mitsuhiko-kun keep beating us! It isn’t fair!”

“But three against two isn’t fair,” Ai points out.

“Nuh uh. Mitsuhiko has Conan on his side, and that’s not fair either. So you gotta make it even!” Genta says.

Ai can’t help it; she smiles, though it’s a small thing.

No, she thinks. This fate isn’t so bad at all.

There are worse things.

I think the reason why it’s so fricken hard to get over someone you were with for a long time, that left you for someone else, is because you never stop feeling cheated on.

You see a picture of her kissing his cheek, and you think no, that’s what I do. Did. You hear they’re getting married and you flashback to the conversations when you talked about getting married. You practiced your kiss for at the alter. You rehearsed how you’d tell your parents. It makes you feel like you’re choking whenever you remember, he’s doing that with someone else.

You hear people talking about them together, and it stops you in your tracks every time. “Her?” It never stops startling you. Because you got so used to hearing your name next to his. It’s like finding out the definition to your favorite word, changed to a whole new meaning. You keep forgetting. You keep having to re-learn. Every time it hurts just as bad as the first.

—  i don’t know if this will end.

so i says to myself, i says, “what if instead of working on any of my wips i just made myself sad for no reason”

“I’m sorry that we can’t explain,” Clark said, “but you’re just going to have to trust us.”

Martha Wayne had not lowered her pearl-handled Derringer. Lamplight glinted off the filigree. Outside the door, the party continued on as if nothing was amiss. Her finger was not on the trigger, discipline immaculate, leaning backward against the desk with her other hand braced against it. “That might present a problem, Mr. Party Crasher.” She seemed to take a particular relish in the word crasher, said it like the sound of an apple cracking in half. “I really must insist on knowing how you got past my security,” and she threw a pout into her insistence that gave her voice a hint of petulance. “My security is very good, isn’t it, Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Always flawless, Mrs. Wayne,” he said from where he guarded the door, spine stock-straight. He was nothing but sharp edges, a Doberman watching the room.

“That, we also cannot explain,” Diana said.

Martha arched one perfect eyebrow as she took in the sight of Diana’s arms, left bare as they were by the Grecian cut. They were a study in opposites; Martha was pale, slender, looked like she’d been poured into her dress or had it poured over her. Tall, but Diana was taller. And while Diana might look like she could snap a man’s neck with her hands, she also looked like she’d feel bad about it.

Martha looked like she was calculating the cost of cleaning the rug.

“I also don’t trust people with accents I don’t recognize,” she warned.

“Don’t trust us, then,” Bruce said, startling Clark. He’d been keeping his distance, and the other two had fallen into guarding him, a wall between Martha and Bruce. Bruce stepped between Clark and Diana, and immediately Martha had trained her pistol on him. Scanning him, looking for whatever it was they’d been trying to protect. “Trust your instincts.”

“My instincts say you’re dangerous,” she pointed out, though obviously intrigued.

“So are you,” Bruce said. His eyes never left hers.

“Flatterer,” she accused.

Bruce held out his hands, palms up, an offering. “I would never hurt you,” and his voice almost broke over never, rasped like sandpaper in his throat. “Look and see, if you don’t believe me.”

She watched his hands warily for a moment. His spine was straight as steel, his posture perfect. “Alfred,” she said finally, lowering her pistol. “If they try anything, you have my permission to kill the pretty one.” She winked at Clark, red lipstick an impish curl.

“With pleasure, Mrs. Wayne,” Alfred said between his teeth. He was already taking off his tie to wrap it around his hands. Clark’s sheepish blush was an apology no one was willing to accept.

Martha set her pistol down on the desk and came closer to take Bruce’s hands in hers. For a second — half a second, maybe — he shut his eyes, grit his teeth. After that, he never wavered.

She frowned as she looked at his palms. She flipped his hands over a moment to look at his knuckles, then back again. She ran her thumbnail along a deep scar carved through the lines of his hand, curled his fingers to see his nails. Then she looked at his face, and her frown turned to something else.

Goodness.” She reached up to take his face in her hands, and he swallowed hard but didn’t recoil. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so sad.” His hands balled to fists at his sides, white-knuckled. “Not while looking at me, anyway,” she added flippantly as she let him go to give him breathing room. “I am a delight.”

She looked like she was about to say something else, but then she froze. She held up a hand to gesture for silence, didn’t even breathe so that she could listen, her gaze lost to the middle distance. Clark and Diana cocked their heads to the side to listen; Bruce already knew what it must have been. A heartbeat in the walls where it didn’t belong, unsteady breathing kept carefully quiet, rustling as it crept closer.

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, but Bruce only shook his head.

“Alfred, heel,” Martha ordered, grabbing her pistol to put it away in a desk drawer. Alfred did not seem put out by the indignity of the order, moving quickly to put his tie back on where it belonged.

“Quickly, now,” Martha said, gesturing to Bruce. “Tell me what we’re doing, and tell me quietly.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, leaned closer for a low whisper.

“There’s another party crasher here,” Bruce explained, “and he’s here to kill your son.”

Martha’s eyes widened, her jaw stiff. She nearly reached back for the pistol again. Then she collected herself, lifted her chin to accept the challenge that had been presented to her.

Bruce stood straight again, and turned to leave her side, to stand behind the others again. Not quite hiding. Diana reached out to touch his arm, but stopped before he could pull away from her. Bruce didn’t like to be touched, not when he was this raw and aching Bruce, one of a hundred different Bruce Waynes that shared his heart and skin and scars.

Diana refused to call this the real Bruce. There were others just as real she’d seen, real smiles and real warmth. Just not here, not now.

“Brucie,” Martha called, surprising both Clark and Diana. Bruce pretended to look over a bookshelf, and shut his eyes. “What have I told you about eavesdropping on Mommy, dear?”

After a moment’s delay, a panel in the wall above a shelf opened up. A pale face peered out of it, large dark eyes and a mop of black hair. Eyes far darker than those Clark knew. “Not until I’m fourteen?” the boy asked.

“And yet here you are,” Martha scolded. “You may as well come down, you’re far too young yet for me to be craning my neck to talk to you.”

Brucie twisted and contorted himself to get out of a space that shouldn’t have fit him, even as small and as delicate as he was. A porcelain doll of a boy, and when he dropped he landed silent on the balls of his feet. His pajamas were black silk, embroidered with birds in red thread. Martha gave him a golf clap over his landing, and so he doubled over in a showy bow with both arms outstretched.

“Have you been watching the party, dear?” Martha asked. Brucie said nothing, clasping his hands behind his back in much the manner of his older self. Brucie had much less practice at pretending he’d been doing nothing wrong, so his eyes wandered everywhere in the office but his mother, rocking on his heels. “Have you figured out who the murderer is?”

Clark and Diana both looked to Bruce. Bruce bowed his head, hiding behind his own shoulders.

“Yes!” Brucie said immediately, perking up. His rocking had turned to a bouncing of his heels, only his toes remaining on the floor at all times. Bruce remained still as a statue, still as he always was, grounded as a tree. “I knew the second I saw him, this time. I mean, at first I thought it was Ryers, because at first I always think it’s Ryers, but he’s just a red herring.”

“Do you know why you’re so sure?” Martha asked, which stopped Brucie short. Bruce shook his head, knuckles resting against his mouth.

“It’s just — he’s just — I know who it is, though,” Brucie said, clearly believing this ought to count for something.

Martha put her hands on her hips, raised an imperious eyebrow, and Brucie slumped under the force of maternal censure. “What do we say about Who?” she asked.

Bruce tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, fingers draped over his mouth only barely hiding it as he mouthed the words. “Who’s no good without a Why and a How,” Brucie said sullenly. Bruce shut his eyes again, shut them hard, and took a long slow breath that didn’t help.

this whole life’s a hallucination

Captain Isabel Lovelace has a chat with the dead, shortly after she’s left that land for the third time.

Plus, Aperture Futuristics, everyone murdering everyone else, magical girl transformation sequences on LSD, communal blood, and the embarrassing thing that happened at your junior prom.


[Big-ass spoilers for basically everything through Episode 46: Boléro. I fudged the end of the episode a little because you’re not my real dad.

This fic is brought to you by Variations on a Theme, my personal philosophy on identity/reality, and me being super gay. Please consider supporting these sponsors on Patreon

Only two months til it gets jossed! *pops champagne*]

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Jungkook Scenario: Mr. Righteous

The Costume Party Series 

Genre: Fluff


Jungkook looked around, a red plastic glass was on his hand and a sigh left his lips. His free hand was playing with the cudgel hanging from the thick belt on his hips. His eyes strolled over the people on the party without stopping on a particular someone. Everyone was busy with something. His body was moving slightly to the strong beat of the music, he was waiting for Jimin who said he was on his way there. He had already texted Namjoon and said he was there but got no answer, so he supposed he was just busy with his girlfriend. The glass was pressed against his lips and he drank the content in one go.

-Guess I would have to entertain myself meanwhile- He walked around the stage. moving between the crowd of dancing people, he could dance too but he wasn’t feeling like it, so instead he found himself going backstage.

He bumped into a couple kissing and instantly turned the opposite way, smiling in embarrassment. His hand started to play with the cudgel, rolling it in the air while his lips followed the rap blaring through the speakers.

He strolled around the old dressing rooms, the place was really big and being as curious as he was, he couldn’t help to take a look. If the boys didn’t answer him soon, he was leaving for good. While he thought about that something caught his attention.

Passing through one of the half opened dressing rooms he saw a girl, he walked closer to the door and observed her on the sly.The room was used to keep some of the party’s stuff, and among that were some of the snacks and beverages. The girl was giving her back to the door and moving fastly, Jungkook assessed her costume and saw that she was dressed as a witch, the long dark hair had some green highlights on the tips, a big pointy hat was adorning her head, the black dress arrived at the middle of her upper legs which were covered by thighs with black and purple lines.

But what truly caught Jungkook’s attention was the black bag hanging from one of her shoulders, she was stealing some cookies and other sweets from the pile and stuffing her bag with them.

He smiled and thought about paying a prank to her. Jungkook walked slowly towards her spot, she didn’t even notice him, busy as she was with her task. Just now he thought of how useful his costume was and that indeed, he took a good decision with it.

-I’m going to arrest you if you keep stealing those cookies- Jungkook said so while taking out the handcuffs from his belt and waving them at the girl now in front of him.

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Prompt: Kenshin divine route swap, MC goes blind instead (c/o morganthetiger ♡)
Length: 692 words

A/N: I’m so sorry if this was underwhelming, considering the prompt and all. OTL OTL And I’m sorry if it was OOC. (I edited this so many times because I don’t like the flow haha I’m not cut out for angst ; u ;) Thank you to those who will read this! 

*MC’s name is Kumiko~


“Lord Kenshin!” Kanetsugu screamed out his name as his body fell to the ground. He felt Kanetsugu’s arms around his back, supporting him as he held him close. He opened his eyes, but it was Kumiko whom he saw. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her cheeks wet with tears. No, he thought. Do not cry for me, he wanted to say, but his voice could not form the words.

He closed his eyes to blink. Once he reopened them, another image appeared. Kumiko was now standing in front of him with blood all over her kimono. He blinked again and again, hoping to get rid of the horrifying scene. It was no use. She remained bleeding before him, her face contorted in pain.

His eyes shot open. Kumiko was snoozing peacefully beside him. He caressed her face as gently as his trembling hands would permit. “Mm, Lord Kenshin…” Kumiko slowly opened her eyes. “Good morning,” she smiled sweetly. Nothing about her beautiful expression had changed, not even if her eyes could no longer see as they used to.

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opposites attract // newt scamander

Chapter/One shot: One shot

Author: Kiera

Words: Around 700 words

Warnings: None

Request: By Anonymous

OK OK OK HOW ABOUT A HOGWARTS!NEWT AU WHERE THEYRE IN DIFFERENT HOUSES AND THEYRE PRETTY MUCH OPPOSITES OF EACH OTHER DO EVERYONES TOTALLY SHOCKED WHEN THEY DATE

Notes: HELL YEAH. 

And also, I kinda wrote the reader into a Luna Lovegood inspired character

Thank you for existing, JK Rowling.

Originally posted by mozarlin

(y/n) (y/l/n).

Newt Scamander watched her stride into the potions dungeon confidently, head held high as she made direct eye contact with the Potions Professor, nodding respectfully. Professor Eccleston smiled at her in acknowledgement. The Slytherin girl looked around the classroom while the students flowed through the door, trying to decide where to seat.

He watched her. She was scanning the room carefully, her eyes falling onto Newt, who sat at the very last row of the classroom, where Professor Eccleston never looked to see what he was doing. Her piercing gaze bored into his pale eyes, and he tilted his head, wondering what she would do.

The students themselves were mesmerised by the new girl. A boy with raven-black hair waved enthusiastically to catch her attention, and her eyes shifted to look at him. He and his friends snickered when she cast them a soft smile.

Newt rolled his eyes inwardly. Those arrogant gangsters.

When the class settled down, Professor Eccleston cleared her throat. “As you know, we happen to have a new student joining us today, which has never happened in the middle of a term before. As the Headmaster announced, her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N,” she turned to the girl. “Choose a seat. Anywhere is fine.”

Y/N exuded boldness as she stepped towards the Slytherin boy’s seat. The boy straightened up and smiled charmingly, even scooting aside to make space for her, but she simply blinked at him and continued down the aisle, her determined stare sweeping to where Newt sat, alone.

Newt and the entire class watched her in disbelief, as she pulled out a chair, setting her ink bottle, expensive-looking quill and parchments down before sitting daintily herself. Strands of her hair which contrasted Newt’s tousled curls danced in front of her face, causing her to brush them away impatiently. She held her hand out, either oblivious or simply choosing to ignore the entire class’ gaping. “Y/N Y/L/N. And you are?”

Her voice was light and interesting, which Newt took in in surprise. Her cold expression seemed to have faded away.

“Newt - Newton Scamander. But Newt is fine,” he found himself stuttering.

She smiled at him for the first time. “Nice name.”

“Yours too.”

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@mercuryshot

     They hadn’t been in the town long. She’d opted to staying in the hotel room with Blixt, the kitten beyond ecstatic to bounce around on the bed and curl up amongst the blankets that were such a luxury. Lestallum…She’d lost the boys to the city. She knew they would each do their own thing, of that she had no worry. Prompto had assured her it would be alright.

     It was why the appearance of a Fayte hadn’t startled her - strained as it was for Kei to make an appearance and come to her - but his leaving had left a haunted look upon the princess’ face, skin losing its color in her fear. It had been so long she almost forgot how consuming it was. The Fayte - a god as most would call them - had been nothing but bad news, ill tidings and a heavy decision. 

     Sure, Prompto had given her a phone to use, to keep track of them, but oh how she didn’t have the heart to tell him she couldn’t read - what kind of royal was she? Couldn’t even do a simple task - and that she’d only use it to call and even then she wasn’t sure how. Sure, she’d been shown, but…still.

     It was why she was curled up on the window sill, knees drawn up to her chest - the skirt folded down over her legs much like a tent, thank whoever for such long fabric - and she wasn’t even paying attention. It was how the coeurl cub had snuck out, scampering into the market.

     He could tell something was up, and Blixt, while he couldn’t talk, he knew who to go find. Neova was only known by a few in the realm thankfully, and sure a few were crying out at seeing him, scared, but most were confused. It’s why he was following his nose, making a beeline for the gunner, trying to find the familiar face. And when he did find familiar boots and the scent matched, he threw himself at Prompto, crying up at him and waving whiskers to get his attention.

     If all else failed, he could always start climbing the poor man, but he didn’t think his ‘mother’ would approve too much if Prompto was covered in claw marks from a tiny coeurl.

do not follow my footsteps

because i’ve been ignoring most of season two, except for the finale–clarke, baby, you are not going to survive just wandering on your own.

  • aka. that fic where clarke has to leave, so her friends decide to follow.

There’s not muchleft to destroy in the east, so she heads west. Pinpoints the sun and memorizesthe stars—she’ll walk until she finds what she’s looking for, or until she outruns the blood on her heels.

Well, that’s the plan at least. It’s a good one, she thinks, solid—counts for contingencies and all that. Well, most of them.

She lasts two days before anyone catches up with her.

“Seriously?”

Octavia grins, unrepentant. “’Seriously’,” she mocks, “still in snarky lone wolf mode I see.”

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socpuppet  asked:

Toy Story AU

(I feel like I should warn for toy injury and (past) abuse in this one, since they are sentient beings.)

The new Ken doll is kind of an asshole.

The second Cosette runs downstairs, her father calling her for dinner, the first words out of his mouth when everyone else starts swarming around to greet him are “I can’t believe I have to be owned by a child.”

“You want to be a collector’s item?” Jehan asks, utterly puzzled, shaking out his hair, which Cosette was carefully brushing while she made up stories for the new Ken doll. She always likes to have a few stories ready before she properly plays with them.

“I don’t want to be owned,” says the Ken doll, with great disdain.

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exerciseindisguise  asked:

"sweetie, bear wants his bed back."

Shaw startled awake at the sound of Root’s voice, neck stiff and arm asleep. “I was just…”

“Resting your eyes?“ Root guessed.

“Petting Bear.” She looked over to where the dog was settled obediently at Root’s feet. “Traitor.”

Bear offered her his best innocent face, but didn’t move from his position.

“I was waiting up for you.” Shaw clarified. “How was Prague?” 

“Not bad, but I missed you too much. Come keep me company so Bear can get some rest.”

Shaw takes the offered hand and uses it to leverage herself off the floor, brushing a few stray dog hairs off her clothes once she’s standing.

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble while I was gone.” Root said, crawling under the covers and sidling up next to Shaw in bed.

“Not with my number one source of trouble on the other side of the world.” With a firm yank around her Root’s waist Shaw has her pressed firmly against her own body. It feels nice to have Root with her again, to know that she’s safely withing Shaw’s grasp and out of danger. Still she waits for Root’s muscles to relax and breathing to even out before speaking again. “I missed you too, troublemaker.”

Felt up and stalked by vocaloid weeb

Hello! this is my first entry here and I’m not quite used to writing things like this so do forgive me for any punctuation errors! <3

I am going to tell you about a girl, she is not the first weeb I have come across but damn.

Weeb - WB

Myself - Me, Myself and I

Friends - A,B

Okay so this story takes place in 2012 during the weekend of my second local convention, it’s a relatively small location in Flordia at the university’s students union (basically where students hang out and can buy their essentials, there is also a bar and concert stage in the building).

I was staying with two of my friends; friendA and friendB as it would be easier for us to arrive together, anyway that’s unimportant. We all arrived pretty early to collect our passes and priority bags, I noticed a girl that had been following us from we first got out of the taxi outside the building. She was cosplaying Hatsune Miku, I myself was cosplaying Len Kagamine which was my third ever cosplay! FriendA and FriendB were cosplaying also, FriendA was dressed as Konata from lucky star and FriendB had put together a very amazing Ben Drowned cosplay from the well known creepypasta. At first we assumed she wanted a photo so we turned, bad mistake. “Len-kunnn!” she screeched at the top of her lungs and threw herself at me, hugging me tightly (enough to hurt) and picked me up, keep in mind I was only thirteen at the time and had never met this girl before in my life so this was terrifying for me!

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