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.

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.

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.
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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opposites attract // newt scamander

Chapter/One shot: One shot

Author: Kiera

Words: Around 700 words

Warnings: None

Request: By Anonymous


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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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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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.”