Pairings: Jughead x reader, Sabrina x reader (platonic)
Summary: The reader comes to the end of a long day dealing with the effects of Sabrina’s spell. She is determined to guard her secret, but the truth cannot remain hidden forever, especially when it can’t be buried with lies.
Do you know how difficult it is to write a book report when
you can’t lie? Especially when the book is Catcher
in the Rye and you hate Holden Caulfield with a burning passion. On top of
that, my phone has been ringing off the hook. I’m really regretting setting
Sabrina’s ringtone on my phone to I Put a
Spell On You by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins; after today, that song will never
leave my subconscious. I’m about to snap my pen in half when the doorbell
I’m coming home, I’m coming home. Tell the world I’m coming home.
Let the rain wash away All the pain of yesterday.
I know my Kingdom awaits, And they’ve forgiven my mistakes.
I’m coming home, I’m coming home. Tell the world I’m coming…
Newt holds the picture in the place where Percival used to bury his head, but it is not enough. He sits in the window sill they used to share, his body small and fragile amongst all the cushions and space that once seemed too small for two - now so barren for one. He remembers the sun through the window and the scratch of the overgrown garden against the window panes. The smell of Percival’s soap, fresh from a shower. The way their legs used to tangle. The weight of his lover’s head against his belly and the tickle of his breath against his hand. The feel of carding his hands through Percival’s hair and the rumble of his grateful noises in his sleep. The way holding his books one handed would make his arm ache, but too reluctant to remove his hand from his love to do anything about it.
He sits there now, in the spot they once loved to share together, and watches storm clouds blow the leaves from their garden. Dead and wilting, like everything in his life lately.
He’s cold, but he can’t find it in himself to grab a blanket. Instead, he holds his crinkled picture against his belly and tries to find it in himself to do anything other than sit there and stare at nothing.
He doesn’t manage it. He falls asleep instead.
And sleep is always worse, he thinks, because Percival is there. In dreams, he’s as alive as they day he left for war. The train comes into the station and people unboard. For a moment, Newt fears he won’t be there. That as in life, he will be dead in dreams, too.
But he isn’t. He never is.
He’s the last person off the train, and it hurts worse for it. Newt runs across the station. He pushes people aside. His voice is a bird’s call, swallowed by the joy of the people around him - welcoming loved ones home.
Percival is looking for him. His smile slowly fading, until finally, Newt is close enough for him to see.
And then his face lights up like the dawn they used to get up early for, if only to share it together, and Newt feels another petal fall from his wilting heart. He runs to him anyways. Clutches at the soft wool of his military jacket, ignoring the sharp jab of the medals that took Percival away from him.
His back is whole beneath his palm, his jacket dry and soft and perfect.
It collects his tears until Percival draws him to arm’s length and wipes them away with the calloused pad of his thumb. Newt is hiccuping, he’s crying so hard, because he knows the dream is almost over.
He knows that he is dead.
“Why the tears, sweetheart?” Graves asks, and Newt only sobs louder when he says, “I’m home.”
“Please don’t go,” Newt whimpers and clutches him tighter. Buries his face in the jacket the man died in and wishes he wouldn’t wake.
But he does, he always does.
He wakes alone in the window sill they used to share, and the only weight on his stomach is a picture and grief for the man it features.
Later, when he’s taking the folded flag from the soldiers at Graves’ funeral, he wonders what is heavier - the symbol in his hands or the picture in his pocket.
Summary: You and Minghao perform on stage together, and the both of you put on a breathtaking performance for the audience.
Requested by: A shy cloud! ^_^
You closed your eyes as the lights dimmed, and stepped out onto the stage, one foot at a time. The audience’s cheers rang in your ears, pounding against your skull in a raucous thrum. You put a hand up to your chest to feel your heart throbbing against your ribcage, raised your chin, and took in a deep breath - this was it. This was finally it. You tugged your knee-length butterfly dress slightly at the sides, adjusting it, and relaxed your tense shoulders. The performance with Minghao, your one and only long-time idol crush. Huffing out a puff of breath, you opened your eyes and made your way to the centre of the stage, sighing inwardly. All the time spent choreographing, practicing, and rehearsing, days and nights cooped up in a studio, would come to an end today - but you were determined to make this the best he will have ever performed. You looked around, scanning the now sky-blue-lit stage.
A/N: I’m posting this to make up for the lack of updates on Brawling Love. I feel really bad for not posting I just don’t have access to a working computer at the moment, I’m posting this from my phone. With that being said, I hope ya like this :)
When the doors of the elevator opened to your floor, you zoomed out, locking yourself in your room. The others looked at each other, Natasha and Wanda getting out because that was their floor as well and they wanted to comfort you.
“Let’s just go in the kitchen.” Steve suggests as he steps out of the elevator as well.
Everyone follows him, sitting down on the chairs or leaning against the counter as they waited for any news on Y/N.
“Please just open the door, lets talk.” Wanda knocks loudly on your door.
Tony looks around, his eyebrows knitting as he doesn’t see the person he was looking for.
“Where’s Sam?” he questioned.
“Clint took him to the infirmary when we got here. The bleeding wouldn’t stop.” Steve answered.
“Come on Y/N it wasn’t your fault!” Natasha said.
“Yeah! If anything, it was Tony’s fault. He told you to change positions.” Wanda added.
“I can hear you!” Tony shouts from the kitchen.
“Well it’s true!” Natasha yelled back.
You were on a mission with the rest of the team. You have the power to control plants and you were making some vines grow to be used as a shield for Sam while he took out some people but Tony had you switch your position, stating Sam would be fine, causing you to stop working on the vines.
Well when you stopped, the vines went to their normal length and one of the men shot Sam twice. He was bleeding out fast so you helped him to the quinjet.
You blamed yourself. Here Sam was, bleeding, possibly on the brink of death and it was all your fault. You shouldn’t have listened to Tony. Now someone is hurt because of you.
Natasha and Wanda join the others in the kitchen and Nat gave them a defeated sigh.
“She won’t let us in.” she says.
Bucky frowns. Now, it’s no secret that Bucky likes Y/N or that Y/N feels the same way. Everyone knows they have feelings for each other, Bucky and Y/N know they have feelings for each other but they chose not to do anything about it for now.
“She’s crying her eyes out.” Wanda added and that about does it for Bucky.
He stands up, alerting everyone but brushes their looks aside and walks down the hallway until he reached Y/N’s room.
He knocks twice before pressing his ear to the door. “Y/N? It’s me Bucky.”
“Leave me alone.” her voice comes out muffled.
“Please open the door.” he says.
“Just go.” she calls out. Her voice sounded strained. “I fucked up so now I have to deal with it.”
“But that’s the thing.” he says as he closed his eyes while resting his head on her door. “You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m right here.”
It’s quiet one Y/N’s side. He figured she cried herself to sleep. Before he could lift his head from the door though, she pulled it open, causing him to stumble in.
She doesn’t make eye contact as she turns away and sits down on her bed, looking down at her lap. Bucky shuts the door behind him and walks over to her bed. He sits next to her, looking around.
He’s been in your room before, mostly because his nightmares and also because you need someone to cuddle with during the winter.
Then his eyes fall on the vase that held flowers. Wilted, dead flowers. His heart broke, knowing they were wilted because of your current state. He then looks at you, seeing you silently crying into your hands.
“Hey..” he mumbled, pulling you into his arms. “It’s okay. Sam’s gonna be okay, he’s fine. Calm down, Doll.” he rocked you back and forth in his arms as he ran his fingers through your hair.
“How do you know that?” she muttered against his chest.
“Want to go see him?” he questioned and you nod. “Come on.” he stands up, pulling you with him.
You wipe away your tears so that you can see and Bucky stares at you with a small smile.
“What?” you question.
“Nothing.” he shakes his head. “You’re just so stunning.”
“How? I’ve been crying.” you chuckle, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your shirt.
“You’re stunning all the time.” he shrugged, leaving a blush evident on your cheeks.
His smile grows at the sight of you and without thinking he dips down, catching your lips in a kiss. His hands cup your face gently while you reach up, tangling your fingers in his hair. It was a much needed kiss. And while the kiss went on, the flowers on your nightstand began to come alive again, beautiful and full of color.
You pulled away breathlessly, resting your forehead on his as a smile made it’s way to your lips.
“About time you grew a pair and kissed me.” you joke and Bucky laughs.
“I’ll kiss you all the time if it means I get to take you out.” he says and you look at him.
“You asking me out, Barnes?” you smirk and he nods. “I’d love to go out with you.”
Bucky smiles even more if possible and kisses you again. “Come on, let’s go see Sam.”
He pulls you out of your room, leaving behind the flowers that may possible never wilt again, and you have no problem with that at all.
A/N: I’ll fix this up when I can get my computer to work buuuut I hope you liked this and I’ll TRY to post Brawling Love soon.
Loving a memory means always putting hands in the
wrong places. I don’t always need a body standing in
front of me, sometimes I need it next to me. I am
unlearning our language in slow motion. Words don’t
mean the same thing anymore. The dead fish are belly
up, no more safety pinning metaphors to my tongue.
Fumbling for words doesn’t mean nervousness, it
means neither of us care enough to correct the mistakes.
Loving a memory often leaves gaps. Like leaving a side
of the bed empty even though the sheets have been crisp
and cold for months now. Existing as both empty and half
full, depending on the phase of the moon. I cover my hands
in super glue. In duct tape. Try and staple the edges back
together, but I’ve always been better at tearing things apart.
Loving a memory means my heart can’t tell the difference
between something solid and something deteriorating.
My heart doesn’t like to forget names any more than I like
to forget voices. My hair still carries the scent of honeysuckle
and cherries long after spring wilts. I wring my heart out,
lose your name somewhere among all the breaking tendons.
Who helped with the ritual? Well, Keyleth, obviously. She tore Orthax from his soul. He saw that. And Pike. Who else would be skilled enough to bring him back, really now. It’s so clear to everyone who was responsible. And then there’s Vex, who has nothing to offer but her wilted little heart, the one that Saundor wanted so terribly. And what good was that to give Percy? He already had that.
The main thing is, is that Percy is alive. What does it matter if her confession wasn’t heard by him? It didn’t matter, not really, not to anyone aside from Vex. She’s selfish, like he is. She’s private, like he is. She’s stubborn, and he is, too, given he’s alive now. Vex is glad that he’s alive, and he that he is safe, and that he is happy. Vex couldn’t hope for more than that.
Vex is even glad he was spared her pathetic display, because what good did that do him?
“Do you…” Tsukishima pauses, shifting next to Yamaguchi on his bed, “like anyone?” Yamaguchi fiddles with Tsukishima’s uniform, the second button, with one hand, tugging at it and winding up the back thread. It’s a little quiet for a while before Tsukishima is ready to accept that maybe Yamaguchi doesn’t want to talk but then the boy answers.
“I do,” he says quietly. Tsukishima aches in his chest, just below the second button Yamaguchi is toying with. It sounds an awful lot like a marriage proposal answer, Tsukishima thinks, with how the boy whispers with a smile on his lips and it comes out slightly breathless.
All they hear in the silence is the buzzing of his desk fan and the rustle of the trees outside. “What are they like?” Tsukishima asks as he signs away his soul to this devil with a halo. Yamaguchi is unperturbed and hums thoughtfully.
“Well,” he draws out the ‘L’. “They’re a boy,” he whispers conspiratorially and part of Tsukishima’s black hole of a heart, wilts. I’m a boy, he thinks with indignation.
“He’s tall.” Yamaguchi murmurs and his fingernail picks at the seam of the jacket. I’m tall, Tsukishima’s mind blurts out. Tsukishima grimaces.
“He’s snarky and mean,” he snickers. Tsukishima’s frown deepens because when has Yamaguchi associated with someone like that?
“He sounds kinda uncouth,” Tsukishima mutters. Yamaguchi seems delighted with the response and giggles.
“I dunno, it’s part of his charm.” Yamaguchi looks up at him with a gleam in his eyes and a grin on his face.
Tsukishima closes his eyes and grunts. He doesn’t really want to hear any of this anymore but Yamaguchi keeps talking. “He’s also blond, plays volleyball, middle blocker,” the boy lists and Yamaguchi’s hand slithers up his chest, abandoning the button for rest on the nape of the his neck, stroking the short blond hair. “He’s also a little dense.”
Golden eyes open and peer Yamaguchi suspiciously. “Really,” Tsukishima asks flatly. His heart however, betrays him and is fast as a rabbit’s. The hand on his neck is warm.
“Mm yeah. He could really work on his communication skills.”
Tsukishima flushes. “I do not,” he says hotly and then mentally berates himself because there goes subtext and now it’s all or nothing.
“You do.” Yamaguchi smiles slyly and arches up towards the other. “Now you gonna kiss me or what.”
maybe its because no one loved me so i grew up with a calcified heart and built wall upon wall because i believed love was toxic and i didn’t deserve it and now that im breaking the walls and chipping off the calcification im realizing that i was making my own heart wilt from lack of love and i wish someone had loved me as a kid so i wouldn’t have all this ugly scar tissue all over my heart and i wouldn’t have been scared to love but im just a prodigy child that was paraded around like a dog at dinner parties and now ive outgrown my usefulness
Looking after Magnus wasn’t always bad - the kid didn’t exactly get into that much trouble, so keeping him alive wasn’t as much of a challenge as he thought it’d be at first. However, as easy as it was to keep him from danger, what really sucked was the weather he had to bear (not even mentioning the clothes he had to wear). Blitzen considered himself to be fairly accustomed to cold but some days it felt like he was hanging around in Niflheim.
He felt really bad for Hearth who was far more used to warm, sunny weather. Half of the time he looked like he was on the verge of curling up in a ball and not moving. That’s why Blitz decided to at least help him out a little bit.
Summary: Spoilers for breakdown. Virgil’s come home to an empty lounge - apart from M.A.X., of course. And then someone else shows up.
For @lenleg. I couldn’t find any fluff fic recs so I wrote you a new one instead, based on an idea that popped into my head when listening to a song.
So they had all gone to bed. Well, nearly everyone. Virgil gave M.A.X. a lopsided smile.
“At least you stayed up to see me,” he said, giving the little robot a pat on the head. “And you even saved me some cake. M.A.X. vibrated in delight and spun around on the spot. Virgil set the now-empty cake plate aside and glanced around at the remains of what should have been a great party.
“I really thought they had forgotten about me,” he said, plucking up one of the wilting balloons. “But now I know they did remember, but they ended up going to bed…” He pulled the knotted end of the balloon so it shot across the room, landing forlornly a few meters away. “I think that might even be worse than forgetting. Couldn’t they have stayed up for a few more hours?”
You were my momentary everything who slipped through my fingers like a droplet which couldn’t help but fall and slowly lose itself upon escaping my skin– the perks you say, of getting an overture in my castle is a chance to think twice before coming back again It pricked the rose out of me– of how i turned the fire beating loudly in your lips into a madness running in cold I remember how it used to be, I still do…
Yet the sadder tale is, if you are to ask me again, I would still say “no”.