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your-nanas-house · 9 months

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A hiss as a promise

◇ Pairing: Older!Ominis Gaunt X wife!Reader

◇ Warnings: mention of breeding, kisses, crotch, Gaunts

◇ Summary: During an event in the house of the Gaunt Ominis is dragged by her wife to another room because she has to tell him something.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. I'm pretty lost lately so I'm struggling so much with writing or anything..sorry if it's bad.

The evening was not like an ordinary, quiet one, the type of evening that the now-married couple liked to spend together behind the walls of their shared home.

It was way far from that given the many voices in the room that filled the room along with the various noises of glasses and cutlery touching porcelain plates belonging to the most prestigious pureblood family, the same family that Ominis Gaunt was a part of and the same family that had organized that anniversary celebration event for some festivity that Y/n still didn't understand, despite being part of that family for several years now.

The halls of the Gaunt house were elegantly decorated in the colors belonging to their family and their Hogwarts house, everything was in its place and everything looked as perfect as Ominis Gaunt's body in that lovely suit his mother had forced him to wear. He was simply divine, with his blond hair arranged, his clothes hugging and showing off his slim and fit body, bringing out his pale skin decorated with tiny moles. It really made Y/n's mouth water, even though they had been married for about five years, she was still surprised by her husband's beauty and the effect it had on her whole body and mind.

She too was dressed for the occasion, a dress her mother-in-law had chosen for her, a dress that hugged her body deliciously and with a soft fabric that was pleasant to the touch, something she knew Mrs Gaunt had chosen just to please Ominis and to show off the family addition as best as she could.

Ominis hated the whole thing but feeling so good his wife's curves when he had the chance to walk past her exalted him, turning something animalistic inside him that he kept hiding all night too focused to not meet or chat with anyone except her.

Now that the young wizard thought about it, he hadn't felt or even sensed her for more than half an hour, which worried him enough to make him move from the hidden corner, he had conquered, to visit his wife with the precious help of his wand, which was glowing red sending the necessary information for him to be able to navigate without collide with guests or his family.

A few minutes passed and Y/n became the one who surprised Ominis, finding him before he could find her, dragging him with a blank expression towards the corridor that led to the guest rooms and bathrooms.

The poor Gaunt couldn't understand what was going on but despite his concern he followed his wife without question, ignoring the voice of his brother Marvolo calling him to tell him or ask him something for which the pale man had no interest.

Main reason because he didn't answer but let Y/n speak and apologize before continuing to drag him by the sleeve of his neatly fitted shirt, towards a path that would have been unknown to Ominis if they had not been at his family house.

As soon as they reached a door, the wizard's body was pushed into the chamber and the door closed with a thud, leaving all noise and guests outside.

Several seconds passed before Ominis was slammed against the door, an action that caused him to let out a small groan that continued as soon as his wife's lips reached the soft spot on his neck.

His large, pale hands moved to Y/n's covered hips, gripping the fabric of her dress in an attempt to hold her closer to him as he asked amused "what's all this need, my dear?" he whispered breathlessly with curiosity,stiffening slightly at the answer.

"The period has come, I was bored and I checked the calendar" Y/n revealed as she continued to leave wet kisses and small bites on her husband's skin "breed me, Ominis, fill me with your babies" she pleaded, grabbing his crotch which was still covered by his trousers combined with his shirt for the event.

A guttural groan coming from Ominis' throat escaped his rosy lips, it took a lot of control of him to not come immediately in his trousers at the mere thought of marking his wife's tight walls, perhaps leaving an heir who would surely take her surname instead of his.

Ominis' eyes darkened and his pupils dilated before a command-like hiss came out of his mouth followed by the sudden movement of his hands, which were previously holding the fabric of the dress urgently but gently. They now grabbed her hips harshly, pushing Y/n onto the first surface he hit, noticing it that way, as he moved from his trapped position against the door.

Another hiss came out of his mouth, this time it sounded almost like a promise and Y/n hoped it was just what she thought and hoped.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @huntress-valkyrie , @bewitchedbymadness

#shitty writing #ominis gaunt x y/n #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt smut #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis smut #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #marvolo gaunt

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sp1rit-realm · 1 year

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༻¨*:· 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ James doesn't realize he's doing anything wrong.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 james potter being james potter 𖦹 hurt/comfort (i think this is normal hurt/comfort. idk tho) 𖦹 shitty writing. like genuinely shitty writing. do not expect much. 𖦹 a sprinkle of remus lupin being hot bc im me 𖦹 hurt/comfort 𖦹 shitty ending 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 1.1k

In every sense of the word, James Potter was mesmerized by you.

He loved how your eyes would brighten when you talked about your passions and how your bows would furrow when you took notes. And your smile. Your smile was his favorite.

You were his favorite.

You, of course, knew of James Potter—the whole school did. That didn't mean people knew him. You were one of those people. You weren't even sure he knew your name until he said it. You melted.

He had come sauntering up to you., holding himself high as he silently sat next to you.

"I'm James," He smiled—that toothy grin you adored.

As you began saying your name, he cut you off.

"I know," He smirked, "How could I not know who you are? A pretty face like yours," He tapped his forehead, "Sticks in the noggins of people like me."

Your face got hot at his words, and you looked down with a smile. James fucking Potter knew who you were.

"People like you?" You tried to sound like your heart wasn't pounding so hard that you felt it in your head.

"Lovesick fools," He offered. His words were casual, like he hadn't just said he was lovesick because of you.

The rest of the class went by fast. You giggled at everything James said—which he immensely enjoyed. He would pass you stupid notes with bad drawings of him. He would always label himself in the picture to show that, under his clothes, he had a six-pack. You easily believed that part. What you didn't believe were the "facts" he would write himself saying.

For example, he talked about possums being allergic to citrus fruit.

This went on for weeks, but only in Transfiguration. In your other shared classes, he pretended you didn't exist. Your friends warned you, saying, "He'll break your heart."

You should have listened.

One day he walked into Transfiguration, strode right past you, and sat next to another girl.

Your heart plummeted with your smile, and you felt sick. Your mind was clouded with the sight of it. Her touching his arm, him smiling that stupid smile of his—it was all too much.

And he did this day after day, and you felt your heart deteriorate.

"Y/n! Wait up!" You heard someone call from behind you. It was James, of course.

Your body, against your own volition, halted.

You turned to look at him.

"Hi," His white teeth beamed at you while his eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

And as much as you wanted to hate him—to curse him out—you couldn't bring yourself to do it, "Hi, James."

"So," James hooked his arm around your shoulders, "How've you been?"

"I've been—" You hesitated, "I'm good."

"Great!" He beamed.

You made light conversation until you reached Potions. He sat next to someone else, and your heart broke.

Soon holiday break rolled around. You loved your family, but you didn't love your mother trying to cram eighty activities into one day, so you stayed at Hogwarts.

You were doodling the snowflakes falling from the Great Hall's ceiling when you heard laughter.

You, of course, knew this laugh. It was hearty and deep. It was warm, just like he was.

You tensed as you felt him sit beside you, and two boys quickly sat across from you. They were eager.

"James," You greeted, looking up from your paper.

He was looking at you with those pretty eyes and that lopsided grin.

Your heart smiled.

"Whatcha drawing?" He drawled, peering at the paper.

"Snowflakes," You gave. He took the pad of paper and held his hand out. "Pencil?"

You handed him your pencil, smiling as you did it.

Sirius shot a look to Remus, then mouthed: "idiots in love."

Remus kicked him, "Look who's talking," He muttered. Sirius pouted.

"James, what are you drawing?" You whined, leaning over in an attempt to see.

"No looking yet," He swatted you away, then huddled around the pad, hiding the drawing.

You waited in silence.

You watched as he concentrated, "Done!"

He had drawn a smiley face. Underneath, he wrote: 'Go to Hogsmeade with me?' With two boxes beneath, both marked with a yes.

Your eyes went wide as you read it. You swiftly stood up, grabbed your pencil, and left.

James was feeling particularly discouraged.

"Maybe she's going to her dorm? To... get ready?" Remus said with a sheepish smile, trying to make James feel better.

"Thanks, Remus," James slouched, "I highly doubt that."

He sighed, "What did I do wrong? I've been flirting with her for months."

"I'm not sure, mate," Sirius shrugged, "Just go talk to her."

"No," He frowned as his heart did.

You were eating breakfast, lamenting. Yes, you would have loved to go on a date with James, but then again—

"Excuse me!" Your thoughts were interrupted by a rather loud Sirius, "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here!"

You stared at him, "You mean at my school? Where I'm staying for the holidays?"

"Yeah!" Sirius nodded.

"And why is that?"

"James is heartbroken in our dorm right now!"

"Why?"

Sirius scoffs, "Why? Why she asks!" He threw his arms up, "Because you rejected him! Honestly, woman!"

"I never rejected him!" You shot back, "I'm just confused!"

Sirius halted, "Why are you confused?"

"'Cos James is constantly flirting with other girls. Like, all the time," You pouted, "How am I supposed to know if he actually likes me?"

"Well, I'm sorry for yelling at you," Sirius crossed his arms, "I'm going to go yell at him now."

You giggled as Sirius stormed off; Remus sat across from you.

He took a bite of his eggs before speaking, "You know, he probably didn't even realize he was flirting. James is quite dense."

You laughed a little "You're funny, you know?"

He held his fork up in agreement, "Hm, I guess I am quite funny."

"Don't let it get to your head."

"Oh, but darling, it already has," He took another bite of eggs.

Soon, Sirius returned; James was dragging his feet behind the boy.

"James," You greeted.

“Sorry, y/n,” He mumbled

It made you smile a bit, his head was hung, and he was staring at his feet, glasses sliding down his nose.

"Did Sirius yell at you?"

He solemnly nodded his head.

"Okay," You started, hiding a smile, "well, I forgive you." You smiled, "As long as you don't continue to do it."

He nodded again.

"So, my answer to your question is yes."

His head shot up, and his big goofy grin was slapped on his face, "Really?!"

"Yes, really."

here's a gold star for putting up with my shitty writing🌟

Mutuals ଘ(੭ ˊᵕˋ)੭*༺ ♡‧₊˚ @sw34terw34ther @forourmoons @evergreenlover @nyxxxxxxxx @ell0ra-br3kk3r @puppy-coded @innerloverpainter @cremexcoffee @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @maddipoof @mad-elia @lgwifey @youre-so-lovely @masivechaos @lucasnclair @woahlifehitsyahuh

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #marauders #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff #james potter hurt/comfort #₊˚.༄ hannah writes #shitty writing

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lolotheparagon · 1 year

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Helluva Boss is Hella Sexist to Both Men and Women - Part 1

Just saw a video about Helluva Boss and whether its sexist or not with portraying its female characters and that got me thinking:

Are Helluva Boss' writers misogynists?

No. No one INTENTIONALLY writes misogynistic material unless you're Bruce Timm or Blizzard but what they're writing DEFINITELY COMES ACROSS AS SEXIST because the writers are so busy juggling every plot thread and character arc at once, they forget to write the main fucking characters apart from Blitzo. ESPECIALLY its female characters like Millie, Loona, Stella and Octavia.

You can use good faith arguments until you're blue in the face, but the truth of the matter is treating ALL of their main female characters as vehicles for the male characters' development with little characterisation beyond that IS misogynistic.

Lets start with Millie.

Millie is the most egregious case since she's one of the main employees at IMP yet we barely see Millie do anything other than be Moxxie's wife or a killing machine. And the fact her only s1 episode "where we see her family " plot getting sidelined for a Moxxie plot is unbelievable. Millie is by far the show's most promising character you can write mountains of stories about. But instead the show makes her a crazy lovable girlboss TM without any goals or aspirations and only exists as Moxxie's support system. Shes fine if shes meant to be a side character but shes in a main ensemble cast and you CANT have one of your main 4 characters be just the cool badass wife who can benchpress a tractor. That's fine for a tumblr art post, not for a character in a professional episodic animated tv show

Loona is supposed to be 21 or something yet she acts like every surly teenager who abuses her adoptive father Blitz, who's done nothing but love and cherish her. Yet she always beats him up whenever Blitz is merely in her vicinity. And so far we havent got an episode or even A SCENE where Loona and Blitz just sit down and unpack everything. That one flashback of Loona being from a hellhound orphanage/pound wouldve been so interesting to explore as a full episode, but it was only set up so Blitz can have a panic attack. So, much like Millie, Loona's character arcs and plotlines get shifted aside for more dumb scenes and Brandon Rogers references. Loona doesn't even change her attitude towards others throughout the series so far and remains as sardonic and bitchy as ever, cos heaven forbid we have our characters develop. Fans wont buy our overpriced merch of our furry waifu otherwise.

Octavia only exists in the story to make Stolas look like the most wholesome dada so the fans will completely forget hes in an unhealthy power-imbalanced relationship with Blitz, a lower class imp, purely for sex but then grows romantically attached to which Blitz adamantly refuses to see it that way. (Stolas also has imps as servants which he treats with apathy or contempt so already sets a bad precedent) but circling back to Octavia, Stolas claims to love his daughter very much but we've never shown that often BUT STOLAS DOESNT EVEN CARE ABOUT OCTAVIA UNLESS SHES IN ACTUAL DANGER COS HE GETS DISTRACTED BY HORNY BLITZY OR IS TOO IMCOMPETENT TO DO ANYTHING PROACTIVE

In Loo Loo Land, he learns to be more considerate of her feelings and comforts her after ignoring her throughout the whole episode. What happens in the next Stolas and Octavia episode? Octavia gets dismissed by Stolas AGAIN, this time by his ex-wife, when she asks about a star event THEY PLANNED TO GO TO, so she runs away to the human world to see it for herself. And yet who consoles her at the observatory scene? FUCKING LOONA OF ALL PEOPLE! WHY CANT STOLAS GO UP THERE, FINALLY FINDING HER AT LAST AND TALK TO HER? YKNOW THE WHOLE FUCKING POINT WHY STOLAS IS IN THE HUMAN REALM TO BEGIN WITH??! HE'S WAITING AROUND IN A SITCOM AUDIENCE WHILE BLITZO DOES HIS FAILING ATTEMPTS AT COMEDY

Octavia's own feelings about her relationship with her dad, how her parents divorce has affected her, her relationship with her mother Stella, ITS ALL SIDELINED for more self-indulgent Stolitz shipping. I feel so sorry for Octavia, she deserves better. She should be adopted by Blitz, he's more an actual father figure than Stolas.

And finally, Stella. Stella is an interesting case cos I have no qualms with having a bitchy abusive wife villain for Stolas to fight back against. Im totally fine with Stolas standing up to Stella and finally divorcing that bitch. But I really wish Stella had more presence throughout the first season, constantly bringing up tension and stress to piss off Stolas, since she likes tormenting him so much. Cos piling all of her insults and cartoonishly over the top bitchiness in one episode (The Circus) was too much and with how that episode woobified Stolas already, it only added to the problem. Nothing inherently wrong character-wise with Stella, shes established as a unrepentant bitch and stays that way. She is ultimately a vehicle for Stolas' character development but shes not a main character so its fine. The story is not about her.

But I find it pretty rich that the show treats being Loona being abusive to her father figure for no good reason like a joke, whereas Stella's abuse of Stolas about to slap him is portrayed as a serious, shocking moment.

So in conclusion, Helluva Boss DOES push several negative stereotypes of women. The one-note girlboss wife who's plotlines always get shafted in support of the male characters (Millie), the teenager who's desperate for paternal love from her father, leaving her bored and neglectful but the father in question does some bare minimum effort and that's suddenly okay in her eyes (Octavia) and the double standard that abuse is funny when a woman is hitting a man (Loona and Blitzo). Except when it isnt (Stella and Stolas)

This show is a fucking mess: part 1

(I will elaborate on the male characters treatment in another post. If I forgot anything or made a mistake, let me know, im always open for feedback!

And yes, I'm aware I omitted Verosika Mayday from this list because she's ultimately harmless as a character and only exists as a rival to Blitz. Also she only appeared in two episodes so I dont have much to say about her.)

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss #hb loona #hb millie #hb octavia #hb stolas #hb stella #hb blitzo #hb moxxie #vivziepop #vivziepop critical #cw abuse mention #cw misogyny #shitty writing

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seraphic-elysian · 3 months

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@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died. He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen.

It cannot.

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him.

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears.

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe.

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels.

“D-”

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees.

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!”

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!”

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through.

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means.

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?”

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-”

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well.

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?”

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.”

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft.

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?”

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?”

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #fanfic #spn #ficlet #sam winchester #jack kline #angst #major character death #major character injury #tw blood #Castiel's Wings #shitty writing #I really need more than three hours of sleep #I wrote this after having an urge to go fist fight god #though I'm ready to fist fight tumblr too since it keeps messing with my posts

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sweet-heart-jack · 1 month

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I'm writing a supernatural fix it fic in my notes app and when i get done would anyone be interested in me posting it on here?

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v1model · 4 months

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[!] SPOILERS FOR LAYER 7 UNDER CUT

[ short and shitty writing blurb about how (i hc) v1 feels when it really enters violence / 7-2. based on one of the doodles i posted earlier, inspired by @/hmmbo ]

"DON'T YOU FEEL RIGHT AT HOME?"

The gunshots ringing in the distance and what could be discerned as a cacophony of muffled screaming was drowned out by the cheerful, lazy jazz playing from the terminal. Though air strikes left improvisional percussion parts to the track from afar, the same chipper tune was the same. Carefree.

The machine had always found it to be a little unnerving, but... how could the terminal be so. Happy?

Was that even the word for it? Was it happy?

In the face of carnage and mindless massacre, the terminal stood sentry at its post waiting for it to come around again. For its wares. Advice. Chatter. There was no time for chatter, it could not begin to hear itself think over the whistling wind as warheads flew into the sky. Lightning, and then thunder. Impact, and then explosion.

...'Right at home'?

It looked ahead from the text of the terminal, the skyline. The machines by the horizon standing proudly, heads just barely scraping the inky black clouds, and the thing itself could not help but wonder.

This particular machine had been cancelled before it could ever near mass production, the people having no need for a weapon in times of (new) peace. But if it hadn’t, if it had been sent out there for its intended purpose, was this the same sky it would have seen? These hulking beasts trudging along slowly, leaving nothing in their wake but destruction; they were not all that different, the thing finds.

War was what they were made for, or so it could gather from its old directives. But this? If this was war, as bleak and grotesque as it was, why can it not help but be almost… Happy?

Was that even the word for it? Was it happy?

The scenery sets off every signal in its frame for danger, blaring like the sirens in the distance, but it cannot help but feel that it must plunge itself into the front lines, stick its fist into the rotting flesh of its new adversaries. The machine was finally in its element, a place where it was capable of doing everything it was meant to, and yet it finds itself paralyzed at the terminal’s station.

It had never known that it would be like this. It had never known that this was what it had missed.

#v1model #ultrakill spoilers #ultrakill violence spoilers #v1 ultrakill #ultrakill v1 #ultrakill violence #shitty writing

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ubehalayas-blog · 10 months

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(I apologize in advance)

agedup!Kyle n s/o that overworks themself :(

they’re probably... 17-18

“Babe– you know I’m only worried about you” Kyle started, trying to make you understand his side but you only shook your head at his statement, “Stop. I know but I have to do this” you murmured, letting your fingers run through your hair to ease yourself from the stress and annoyance Kyle was passing onto you. “Love.. I am not going to let you overwork yourself again, I’ve learned my lesson–” He grumbled, feeling frustrated from your response.

His hand took a hold of yours, he let out a sigh and brough them to his lips, pressing a kiss on your open palm. You couldn’t help but to melt from his touch, although you shook your head side to side, trying hard to not let yourself be intoxicated by his warmth, “Sorry– Kyle” your gaze averted as you pulled away from his touch, “It’s just–” you sighed. Your mind is failing to think of some excuse to back yourself up from the wall you pushed yourself to, “just what.. Babe?” he let out a sigh too, feeling tired from convincing you to stop overworking yourself.

He tried to hear you out but your loss for words just made it completely clear that you had no reason to overwork yourself, “Listen to me.. Y/n” He brought his hand to your cheeks, cupping them as his thumb caressed your cheeks, “you have to stop studying, you’re going to burn yourself out.. I know that– that, it’s your time of the month” He let out a short chuckle, making your lips frown from his amusement, “and–” He started again, “and it should be the time where you rest and just laze around like other girls do, just why are you stubborn and overwork yourself to death huh?” his lips formed a smile as he pressed a chaste kiss onto your forehead.

You are defeated, you knew that, you let out a soft sigh as you felt his soft lips pressed onto you. “Alright.. Sorry” you managed to croak out, you 're already defeated the moment he held your hand earlier. You let out a short giggle from the thought, “why?” his eyes locked onto yours as he tilted his head to the side. “Nothing” you smiled, sighing as you placed a quick kiss onto his lips.

#south park x y/n #south park x you #south park #south park x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #i dont fucking know #shitty writing #i have problems #i dont like this #i hate writing #i dont trust myself

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bromeothehomeo · 9 months

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“Hitoshi?” You walked downstairs to greet your boyfriend from his late patrol.

He was in the middle of taking off his scarf as he looked at you with a look of disgust.

“How was work?” You asked, hugging him tightly.

He stood still, worried he would be sleeping on the couch.

“Hitoshi? What’s wrong?” You poke at him to get him to speak.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked, more to himself then you.

“You didn’t, don’t worry.” You hug him some more.

“Then why’d you call me Hitoshi? It’s Toshi to you.” He said, finally hugging you back.

“It’s the same thing.” You say.

“No. No it’s not.” He shook his head, arms crossed and pouting slightly.

“Toshi.” You say, hand resting on his arm.

“That’s better.” His said, kissing my forehead.

#shitty writing #bnha x reader #hitoshi shinso x y/n #my hero academia #hitoshi shinsou #Shinso fluff

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ninjassawthroughmyassasination · 9 months

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Fragments of eternity

Tw:angst, death, implied suicide

It had been a year since you first met Zhongli, and your life had taken a surreal turn. From a simple wanderer, you found yourself entangled in the mysteries of Liyue and the ancient history surrounding the Geo Archon. In Zhongli, you discovered a serene and wise companion, someone who had witnessed countless eras come and go, yet remained as enigmatic as the stars above.

Your bond with Zhongli grew stronger with every passing day, but there was a persistent ache in your heart. You knew his true identity, the Rex Lapis of old, and the heavy burden he bore as the Geo Archon. Despite his calm demeanor, you sensed a profound sorrow hidden behind those amber eyes. He would often withdraw into his thoughts, leaving you feeling like an outsider gazing into a world you could never truly understand.

One night, under the shimmering moonlight, you found Zhongli standing alone on the Jade Chamber's balcony. The sight of him, an immortal figure surveying a world he could never truly be a part of, tugged at your heartstrings. You approached him cautiously, as if afraid to shatter the fragile silence enveloping him.

"Zhongli," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rustling of the wind.

He turned to face you, his features composed but distant. "Is something troubling you, my dear?"

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your emotions threatening to overflow. "It's... it's you, Zhongli. You seem so distant sometimes, as if there's a part of you that you keep locked away from me."

He sighed softly, his eyes shifting towards the horizon. "I cannot escape my past, nor the responsibilities that come with it. I have lived for thousands of years, witnessing the rise and fall of nations, only to watch them fade like sand in the wind. It is a burden I must carry, for I am the Geo Archon, and my duty lies with Liyue."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you clenched your fists to steady yourself. "But what about us? What about me?" you choked out, the pain of your heartache consuming you.

Zhongli's expression softened, and he stepped closer, reaching out to wipe away a tear that escaped your eye. "You are dear to me, more than you can imagine," he murmured, his voice filled with melancholy. "But my life is a tapestry of fragments, woven through time. The threads of eternity are beyond mortal comprehension, and it is not something I can easily share."

You felt the gulf between your mortal existence and his timeless being widening, and the ache in your heart intensified. "I don't want to lose you," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. "And you won't," he reassured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you must understand that my path is not an easy one. I have seen countless companions pass through my life, and each one leaves a mark on my heart."

You clung to him, your tears staining his robes as you tried to hold onto the fleeting moments. "Then promise me you won't forget me," you pleaded, afraid that your memories would become mere echoes in the vastness of time.

"I could never forget you," Zhongli replied, his voice gentle and sincere. "You are a treasured fragment in the mosaic of my existence, and I will cherish every moment we share."

But as the days passed, the distance between you and Zhongli only seemed to grow. The weight of his eternity and the responsibility he bore became more apparent, and you found yourself feeling increasingly lost in a world where you were merely a transient presence.

In the end, you realized that loving an immortal being was a bittersweet curse, for while you cherished the moments you spent together, you could not help but wonder if your love was destined to be just another fragment in his endless tapestry of memories.

And so, you held onto the memories of him, like stars shining in the night sky, a reminder of the love you once shared, even if it felt like he was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

In your quest to understand Zhongli better, you turned to the history books, the ancient texts, and the legends of Liyue. You searched for clues about his past, hoping to find a way to bridge the gap between your mortal life and his immortal existence. But the more you delved into the past, the more you realized that some things were meant to remain shrouded in mystery.

Despite your love for Zhongli, the pain of feeling like an outsider in his world was too much to bear. There were days when he would be distant, lost in the weight of his memories, leaving you feeling like an afterthought in the grand tapestry of his existence.

One particularly difficult evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself wandering aimlessly through the streets of Liyue Harbor. Your heart was heavy with unspoken words, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were slowly losing him.

As you reached the harbor's edge, you looked out at the vast sea, its waves crashing against the rocks below. The world around you seemed to blur, mirroring the tumultuous emotions within. And then, without warning, a strong gust of wind tugged at your clothes, pulling you towards the water's edge.

For a moment, you entertained the thought of letting go, of surrendering to the unyielding sea, as if hoping that such an act would make Zhongli realize how much you were hurting. But just as you were about to take that fateful step, a pair of warm, steady hands grasped your own, pulling you back from the precipice.

Zhongli stood there, his eyes filled with worry and a pain you had not seen before. "Do not leave me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I cannot bear to see you hurt, but my nature is not one that can be easily changed. My existence spans millennia, and I cannot escape the burden it brings."

You looked at him, tears streaming down your cheeks, your heart torn between love and the ache of feeling like a mere fragment in his life. "I love you, Zhongli," you confessed, your voice trembling. "But I don't know if I can continue like this, feeling like I'm always on the periphery of your world."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I never wanted to cause you pain," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "But I cannot give up my eternity, just as you cannot give up your mortality."

In that moment, you realized the truth in his words. Your paths were destined to be intertwined, but not fully merged. You were two souls, bound by a love that transcended time, but ultimately confined by the limitations of your existence.

With a heavy heart, you made a difficult decision. "I need time, Zhongli," you said softly, pulling away from his embrace. "Time to figure out what I want, and time to heal."

He nodded, understanding the weight of your words. "I will give you all the time you need."

And you were given time, but it was in vain. The wounds were already deep, and it seems with time the world allowed you to let go. And so you did.

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli #angst #shitty writing

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tatortotqueen · 2 years

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𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐟𝐭. 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝 "𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐡" 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬:

ʜᴇɴʀʏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ, ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ

ᴀꜱ ᴀ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇɴʀʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ. ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʀᴇꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛᴀʙꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴᴇᴀꜱʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇɴʀʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴇꜱɪᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ʜᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴇᴀʀ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏɢ'ꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴇᴄᴛ.... ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɢᴇ ᴛʀᴇᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋʏᴀʀᴅ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴏᴏᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜʀɪɴᴇ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜᴇᴅ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ʟᴀʀɢᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ, ᴄʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴇᴄᴛ... ʜᴇ'ʟʟ, ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀᴘꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜʀɪɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴜᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʀ. ꜱᴜʀᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ʜɪᴍ.

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫:

ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ꜱᴀᴅɪꜱᴛɪᴄ, ɪᴍᴘᴜʟꜱɪᴠᴇ

ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀꜰᴀʀ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴɢᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ʀᴜɴ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʏᴏᴜ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀᴛ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍɪᴛᴛᴇɴꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀʀᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ. ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴜɴᴘʀᴇᴅɪᴄᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ɢʀᴀꜱᴘ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅᴇꜱᴛ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋᴇʀ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ɴᴏ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇ. ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴀꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ ʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴜʀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴀɴᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴄᴄᴀꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴘᴀɪɴ.

𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬:

ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ, ꜱᴜʙᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ

ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ ɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴛɪᴍɪᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱᴛᴇᴘ ᴛʜᴇɴ ʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀʙᴇʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪᴅᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʟᴜꜱʜ ᴄᴏᴀᴛꜱ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ. ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜꜱʜᴇꜱ. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ɪᴛ ᴅɪꜰꜰɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ɢᴇᴛ. ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɪᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜱ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀᴇᴇᴅᴏᴍ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ.

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐡:

ʙᴇʟᴄʜ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ᴏᴠᴇʀᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ, ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ

ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ. ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀꜰᴇᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ-ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴜᴛᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ʜᴇ ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇʟʏ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛᴇɴꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀꜰᴇᴛʏ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ. ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ. ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴏʀ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ. ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ʙʏ ʜɪᴍ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ. ꜱᴏ ʜɪᴍ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀꜱ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴇ ɪꜱ, ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱᴇᴅ. ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴇ ɪꜱ. ᴀɴʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ɪɴʜᴇʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀɪʟᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ ꜱᴏ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴀꜱ ʜᴇ ꜱᴀʏꜱ.

974 notes · View notes