Nov 23, 2024
bp and cobs should kiss /nf
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bp and cobs should kiss /nf
Heavy Hearts
Word count: 2,683
Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Takes place after two weeks of Dean becoming human again after he was a demon in season 10
included in this story: praise, handcuffs, light orgasm denial, light choking, slight degrading.
It's easy to forget sometimes, that even though he walks along the clan, learns their tongue, tries his best to fit in with the people, that beneath the body built perfect to be within them, there is another him that is so incredibly alien. Whose lungs cannot breath this air, whose legs cannot keep up with Mit'eyktan's long strides, who cannot connect with the creatures and life around him, breathing it in as one in the same. Someone disconnected from their home-mother, an outsider stranded on a distant planet.
But out here? He breathes in this world deeply, wakes to faces once unfamiliar but whom now fill his chest with a warmth that he could never have imagined, and he feels an aching sense of home. He knows, truly, that it cannot last.
But maybe, perhaps, he can pretend for a little while.
Came back, what do you have to offer?
I present to you
A fact about 06-3
Even tho he pretends to be homophobic and transphobic... He is actually one of those things :D
The Prince was born into the victorian era so obviously doesn't think being gay is correct. But also he had a crush on a knight in his castle and when his father tried to give him a woman to marry, he planned on running away the next morning with the knight.
And a fact about 06-4! :]
So basically, pirates got pretty lonely so gay relationships were not uncommon. In fact, on her ship, almost every woman was. She personally had a girlfriend. The woman had kissed her and told her she planned to marry her if that was ever allowed, but as she was saying that, sudden darkness hit the ship. As the women held onto each other, both were scared shitless because there wasn't a cave in front of them the last time they checked. But as Captain Blackbeard looked at her girlfriend, she saw a skull instead. And as she got a view of the city, instead of feeling amazement she felt true despair. Everyone she ever loved... Was long dead.
And 06-1
06-1 refers to themselves as Us or We because she has multiple personalities... Not just DID, there are three hosts in her body.
One is named ḥbwšya and the other Adhab. Representing Agony and Anguish. The true host is Ninurta herself. Tho she doesn't like taking control a lot and mostly lets them do the work... They are the reason for her scars and her pains however as the millennia passed, they have all grown very close and the pains have gotten better... Tho it's a little weird when you're trying to eat and blinking... And suddenly the table is across the room and you're eating your plate.
The two other hosts are "immortals" who somehow managed to die and after finding her to possess back in ancient times, made her and several others immortal.
I'll Give You My Life (From Now Till Forever)
Chapter 11: Even When She Made Him Angry, He Would Never Break Her Heart
It was a quiet evening in their tent, with the soft glow of lantern light casting a warm, cozy ambiance. Callum and Rayla were enjoying a rare moment of downtime, having just finished a simple dinner together. Callum was engrossed in a book, while Rayla was busy tidying up their small space.
Rayla frowned as she reached for the last of the dishes. “I still don’t understand why you insist on organizing your sketchbooks in such a haphazard way. It’s been driving me crazy,”
Callum looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. “Haphazard? I think they’re perfectly organized.”
Rayla’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Perfectly organized? You mean randomly stacked in a pile? I can’t even tell which is which!”
“Hey, they’re not just a pile. They’re categorized by the type of sketches I’ve done. I know where everything is,” Callum retorted, his tone light but defensive.
Continue on AO3
April 10: Scream
Day 10 of @hinnymicrofic TW: blood!
The scream is ripped forcefully from her lungs.
“Harry!”
She can still hear the sickening crack of the bludger against his skull, watches in horror, helpless as Harry slumps over and slips off his broom, plummeting to the earth. She can see a sickening streak of red, and his head doesn’t look quite right.
It isn’t until Peakes and Coote catch him that it occurs to Ginny she could have dived, could have tried to do something other than swallow the bile in her mouth.
Ginny has always fancied herself brave, but when she flies closer she has to look away. There’s so much blood, and his head is wrong, crushed or something, and he’s limp and pale. It’s horrible. Grotesque.
She goes to the hospital wing after they lose the match, and it isn’t until he asks what happened that Ginny remembers Ron is there. It’s a good excuse, that she went there to talk to her brother; it’s what she’ll tell Dean later.
She steals glances at Harry, slowly breathing in the reassurance that his chest is rising, the color is back in his cheeks, his head is wrapped in bandages but looks like it’s been put right. It’s the right shape, anyway, not the horrible bloody mess it had been.
It isn’t until she rows with Dean later about it that she realizes most people found it comical. Slapstick. But they hadn’t seen him, they hadn’t seen the crimson red pooling in his hair, they hadn’t been close enough to hear the sharp crack of his skull. They didn’t seem to care much that Harry had looked like he was dead.
Or perhaps such a thought didn’t suck the air from their lungs and carve a jagged hole in their chest, the way it had her.
and after everything, we’re still a team (and I miss you)
New York, New York
United States of America
So, this was it. The city Natasha was talking so fondly of.
Home.
Her tone had been unrecognizable, her English polished to perfection. Yelena had stared, clutching the bottle of cheap gas station beer, picking the words apart and stitching them back up like a tapestry. The tapestry of Natasha Romanoff’s life.
Her head was still fuzzy with the math, surely it can’t have been more than thirty years. Though, judging by Natasha’s eyes, it may well have been centuries. That was the life of a widow after all, slave to timeless, all-encompassing pain, one which warped reality. But the spark was there still. Somehow, after all this time, Natasha’s playful spark still gleamed. The same one that got them in trouble with the Ohio ice-cream man and challenged little Lena to bike races.
She often wandered what had become of her Natasha, constructing in her mind with utmost care what she could look like, whether she’d be able to recognize her or fail miserably and pass her by on a foreign street in a foreign city like there never was history between them. But there was. And for bad or worse, Natasha had imprinted on Yelena with remarkable potency.
That’s how she’d clocked her in in Budapest. Part instinct, part wishful thinking. The red braid, Melina’s finest weave, screamed at her from across the train platform. Not here, too loud, too crowded, too impersonal. So, she’d waited, pacing in the kitchen on 18 Zoltan Street, picking up her gun, then dropping it right back on the table. Her heart slamming inside her chest with anger, worry, agony, all fighting for her attention.
It was then that Natasha had walked in and that the air had shifted. A primal urge had taken over Yelena, to blame and to condemn, and she had lunged. Sister versus sister.
WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? WHY DIDN’T YOU COME BACK FOR ME? AM I WORTH ANYTHING TO YOU ANYMORE? WHY, NATASHA, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY?
She’d wanted to scream. She should’ve screamed. But that would’ve compromised her. She simply couldn’t show her sister she was weak, the same pathetic crying baby with the scraped knee. But she already knew, she knew, and she immediately let go of the curtain.
There hadn’t been enough time. Yelena had needed more, always. To check whether Natasha still liked peanut butter and fairytales, whether she hummed during her shower and tucked the laces of her shoes inside them. For the few days they had gotten she kept looking at this woman, this beautiful accomplished goddess of a woman, grinding her teeth and biting at her cheek. Because they’d missed a lifetime, a lifetime of Lena and Tasha.
‘You should come visit.’
Visit her in her new home, a home full of hope and love, a home suspiciously similar to the one they shared once upon a Red Room. Yelena would’ve liked that, hell, she would’ve tolerated the boyfriend, too.
But time kept slipping through her fingers. She stood before the plaque now, eyes tracing the engraving, everything inside her numb.
“Here I am, Natasha. Where are you?”
Once again, Yelena Belova was a lifetime too late.
Her fingers rolled in fists when she turned around and walked away, cursing all the smoke and noise and all the tainted memories she never got to be a part of.
(Read on Ao3)
4. One falling asleep with their head on the others lap/shoulder.
(Ship Prompts) RNJesus sez... Asra-Jinana!
---
Two years ago...
Asra staggers backward into the shop's worn armchair, pulling Jinana into his lap as he does so. At least he was able to catch hir as s/he collapsed, and swiftly use his magic to modify hir memory, to erase the troublesome fragment that nearly sent hir spiraling into another crisis.
He hates having to do this to hir, he hates it so much. But the alternative does not bear thinking about - days spent in feverish delirium, never knowing if s/he will come out of it this time, or if s/he will be lost to him once again.
Hir weight is too small against him; hir recovery has not been easy. Asra adjusts them both so that hir head rests comfortably against his shoulder. He does not want hir to awaken from this disoriented and alone; s/he will do much better if s/he finds hirself secure in his arms instead.
Feeling hir relax into a more natural sort of sleep, Asra rests his own head against the back of the chair. He is so, so tired; each day, it seems, brings a new challenge. But he cannot bring himself to regret what he has done, not for an instant.
His own eyes are so heavy. Asra closes them, just for a moment, just long enough to rest them a little...
He, too, falls asleep in the oversized chair.