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theliterarygnat · 11 days

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Reading Summary: 28. April, 2024 (The Hunger of the Gods, Chapters 12-28)

CHAPTER 12 | GUÐVARR Dreading this chapter hard. Hated the character so much in The Shadow of the Gods that I expect this to be as tiring as Elvar's chapters, if not worse. pg. 102 Okay, so this isn't all that bad, actually. I like how he is self-aware, for the most part. Would have loved for this to continue with Mord's death; he should've reminded himself that he killed Mord dishonorably. Mord was immobilized and vulnerable, trussed up by someone else. That was a coward's kill, an easy kill, and it would be nice to see Guðvarr have the balls to admit that to himself as well.

pg. 103 Was "and crotch" really necessary here? Really? I hope this is supposed to be foreshadowing something fucked up going on between Guðvarr and his aunt, because otherwise this just seems to be another instance of Gwynne's obsession with testicles.

Also, since the audience is used to italics being used to signify a character's unspoken inner thoughts, I don't think adding dialogue tags there is necessary, especially since it had been explained how and why Guðvarr does this. A better use of dialogue tags here would be giving an impression of what Guðvarr himself thinks about the habit and how it manifests. Like "he added bitterly" could help gain an insight into how he's feeling, or "his thought-cage supplied" implies that the insult was thought automatically and without Guðvarr's conscious input. Granted, my examples are shit, but I'm also not a published novelist or a writer. But if we are to use dialogue tags here, they should either add tone or add context; otherwise, 'he thought' is a waste of words. A reviewer on Goodreads did point out that Gwynne tends to overuse dialogue tags and I do agree. It is rather choppy and not really insightful when it comes to the tone or how the characters act, giving the dialogue a flat affect.

Worst thing is, Gwynne does drop the 'thought' dialogue tag further down this page, so I don't understand why he'd keep it here.

pg. 104 Ah, another instance where Gwynne reuses the same/very similar phrase very close together. This time it's "bound wrists and ankles". In the same paragraph no less…. divided by a whole one line…

How did Vol speak with such clarity if there was a gag in her mouth? Sólín gets "aksentéd dialogue" because she lost some front teeth but Vol just speaks perfectly well through either a rag or something else stuffed into her mouth? Nuh-uh.

pg. 105 They have the concept of hell? I mean, we didn't really hear about the afterlife these people believed in besides the Soul Road, but I find it strange that Gwynne didn't say 'Hel' or use a variation of any of the other underworlds that can be found in Norse mythos. It does feel like an oversight frankly. Also, "she-bitch" is redundant, since 'bitch' is already female by default, on account on being a female dog. "She-bitch" makes no sense; a 'she-devil' would have worked fine in this sentence, which makes me wonder if the original sentence was 'A she-devil from hell' that got clocked as too modern or unfitting for the setting, so someone during editing changed 'devil' to 'bitch', without taking the stupidity of 'she-bitch' into account.

Is Guðvarr a good man? No. Is he even all that complex? No. But somehow, he is more enjoyable to read than Elvar. Wow. I dreaded this chapter for nothing.

CHAPTER 13 | VARG So much leaping and howling. Are there really no other words you could have used?? Like 'Varg scrambled to his feet' or 'his blood boiled, a deep, beastly hiss in his ears' (which isn't even all that good) or 'Varg's blood gurgled in his veins, as though shaken by a wolf's growl'. Is that a little cheesy? Sure. But so's all the howling.

I don't know why exactly, but this chapter has been rather meh to me. Not necessarily bad, but lacking the charm that Varg's chapters are usually imbued with. It might be because of the action scene that took up most of it; though I did like the detail with the helmet strap being messed up again. It wasn't all that funny, but it did put a smile on my face.

CHAPTER 14 | BIÓRR pg. 120 Inconsistent hyphenation strikes again…

Also, again, because of who Elvar is as a character, I simply do not see why Biórr would fall in love with her, or care. Like he says, she was happy to live a slaver's life, and while he doesn't know what Elvar is doing now, there wasn't anything really worth liking about her before she became a typical conservative slave-owner. Biórr feeling regret or any emotional attachment to her honestly cheapens his character for me; I was in Elvar's head and there is fuckall going on there. What does he see in her? I feel like Gwynne wrote himself into a corner here a little. It's distracting that Biórr is longing after a cardboard-cutout of a slaver, but Gwynne also cannot really have Biórr thinking about what he likes about Elvar. It would give context to why he likes her, sure, but it also would distract even more from the story, and make Biórr seem weaker-willed than he already appears to me. Writing Biórr this way is a lose-lose situation in my eyes; Gwynne could have written a significantly more compelling character if Biórr truly was removed from the Battle-Grim on an emotional level. Gwynne already is competently writing Guðvarr (somehow???) so I think it would have maybe worked with Biórr.

I have to admit to a fault of mine in understanding the last chapter from Biórr's perspective, I think? I have thought that, at the beginning of Chapter 9, we have already crossed the Isbrún Bridge and left that region of Vigrið, mostly because of how time supposedly had passed. And I thought at the end of Chapter 9 that we were returning in direction of Oskutreð to kill Ulfrir immediately. But apparently not? I'm somewhat tempted to blame the text for being written awkwardly enough to lead me to that conclusion, but I think in this case I'm the idiot who just didn't understand. I'm taking the L on this one.

CHAPTER 15 | ORKA pg. 131 I do rather like the bit with Lif and Vesli. Lif has a solid characterization that goes really well with his background. Solid guy.

Although the prose with "a soft, sucking sound" was a rather awkward. The more I pay attention to Gwynne's writing the more I notice just how weak it sometimes can be. It's not the best to read, and it's not really imaginative. For example, in Varg's chapter, when they go into the meadow and there's sheep running, I would have loved for the environment to be better described. There isn't any atmosphere, any mood, any sense of the world or what it looks like; just character x and y doing things and events happening around them. Combined with the writing style, it doesn't paint the picture of a living world, nor is it particularly immersive. This book is already chunky and honestly maybe even clunky, and I do not believe the story necessitates the length.

CHAPTER 16 | GUÐVARR pg. 138 Ah, would yoou look at that? This ties perfectly into my point on the prose not being the best. We didn't need to be told that Guðvarr thought the italicized phrase and refrained from speaking it; one would imply the other. A better-flowing sentence would be "Guðvarr thought to himself, knowing better than to anger the hard-looking man with cold eyes and scarred hands."

pg. 140 The dialogue tags strike again. Too much 'said', too many tags in general. Also, instead of doing the stupid "'With my life,' Guðvarr said. Never with my life, he thought." why not just have it be "'With my life,' Guðvarr lied easily." If the dialogue tags weren't used so abundantly and awkwardly, then the original version would have worked; but because the dialogue tags already feel cluttered and clunky, this type of 'he said, he thought' combo is a little grating.

pg. 141 I. Don't know how I feel about the people of color in this world apparently being Slavic? Like I thought that they were described as 'darker-skinned' because they were tanned, their climate warmer, since there is much sun in the Balkans and Central Europe. But. 'Crow-black'? Not to mention the way their hairstyles to seem to me to be inspired by Manchurian queue (since the Cossack oseledets isn't braided like described in this book). This hodge-podge does make me rather uncomfortable. Like, if you are including people of color and want to give them "ethnic" names different from the "ethnic" names of Vigrið's people, then use the languages of the people that you based the aesthetics of the culture from, instead of pasting another ethnic group's culture on top?

pg. 143 Hmmm… I think that's a little redundant. There is already a clear implication that Guðvarr does not care what happens to the others as long as he's safe, considering he is "relieved that it wasn't him" who was to follow the Galdurfolk into the tower. I think that thought could have been shortened to "Or perhaps it won't, but truth be told I don't really care" without losing anything. In fact I think it would be clearer/less repetitive.

pg. 144 Damn. Did Guðvarr and Vafri fuck??? Poor girl.

Also, why write that sentence like that? Just ssay "The female Úlfhéðnar stepped closer to Skalk" instead of dividing it so awkwardly. It's such stilted prose.

pg. 145 Honestly, with how much attention Gwynne tends to pay to the every-day disgusts of medieval life, I'd have expected him to actually talk, or at least mention, the air being hard to breathe in Queen Helka's chamber, since the smoke from the torches cannot escape on account of the room being windowless. I'm actually a little hung up on that detail now. How are people there breathing?

CHAPTER 17 | ELVAR Elvar, how are you more frustrating and disgusting than Guðvarr?

I really don't want Elvar to take Agnar's place as the leader of the Battle-Grim. Without Grend her ass would be grass many times over; her achievements hardly feel hers when she'd been dead without an oathsworn protector to save her.

Also, the gods don't really have the presence of gods. It's part of them constantly transforming, for one, plus with how easy they are to resurrect and tame. Why is resurrection so easy, anyway? Why isn't there a bigger struggle, a greater sacrifice necessary? Why is magic just so easy?

pg. 159 Well, Elvar is not really proving Huld wrong with that petty ass attitude. I can see Gwynne trying to add depth to Elvar's character but that is in many ways too little too late. This growth, this depth, should have been present and explored in the first book, especially when the Battle-Grim were in Snakavik, where Elvar and her father could have talked, where Elvar could have proved better than Thorun, where Elvar should have been brimming with emotion and anger and rage and be constantly reminded of her past. But she wasn't. She was swaying and weak and considering returning until somebody else had to tell her that her father, whom she knew was a conniving and manipulative ass, was probably not being genuine in his offer. She also should have seen him handing her a warband just like that as an insult! He had not seen her in action, he knew nothing of her reputation; he just saw her with the Battle-Grim and leveraged her past and current desires against her. She should have been livid. She wasn't. She was tempted. And nothing happened between then and now to make her grow and suddenly gain this depth. This is an inept handling of her character. It reads more like a reaction to the poor reception Elvar's character got.

Frankly, if the first book had been a meal, Elvar would have been a medium-cooked, unseasoned chicken. Her portrayal in THOTG is the equivalent of being given a spoonful of salt and pepper after one already had been forcibly fed said chicken.

CHAPTER 18 | ORKA The banter is fine. Not the best, but fine, not as comedic to me as to the characters, which is alright. But god, the length of that sentence as Orka and Ingmar fought on pg. 168… no thank you. I did toy around with adding periods into it and frankly, it got better. Some 'ands' and -ing verbs can be removed or swapped out, keeping the speed of the action but making the passage less exhausting to read.

CHAPTER 19 | VARG Well, Varg, I hope you get to live up to that promise, and fuck Elvar the hell up if y'all ever meet.

CHAPTER 20 | ORKA Why are the brynjas always splitting and falling apart. No matter how well made they supposedly are, they literally never seem to offer any protection. Also, since most if not all Raven-Feeders proper are Tainted, why the fuck is it so easy for Vesli and Lif to kill one? We keep being told that the Raven-Feeders are a great danger, but on-page they are weak, constantly dying in greater numbers to lesser combatants. They feel like a joke; not like anything actually scary. It's difficult to take them seriously, and as such I don't really care when they appear on page. I feel no fear, no sympathy, don't see the stakes in the fights against them.

Also, the word 'land' exists. The word 'crash' exists. There is enough modern language that there is no need to use 'alighted' every single goddamn time Vesli or Spert land somewhere. It's repetitive and distracting with its frequency. It also lacks any mood or gesture. Do they land softly? Do they crash into bodies in a battle? Do they drop on the ground gracelessly? Everything is written so flatly, including much of the dialogue, which isn't even punctuated correctly. I feel like this book needed one more round of edits at least to make sure the grammar and punctuation were decent, the language more varied and captivating.

CHAPTER 21 | GUÐVARR pg. 186 Yeah, this really needed another editor just to check over the formatting and punctuation. There is a misplaced comma outside of the quotation marks during a dialogue. The flat affect is also at its highest hear. Everyone's bellowing and yelling and shouting, but there are no explanation points, creating a dissonance between the tone and mood of the dialogue and the dialogue tags themselves. It's rather unfortunate that the prose--surrounding the dialogue especially--is so weak here.

pg. 193 "palpable, like a physical thing" ah, yes, what wonderful prose; definitely not at all redundant and repetitive. Why is the writing so unimaginative ToT I'm fucking weeping. What is this??

CHAPTER 22 | ORKA Literally what is the reason for Vesli/Spert's dialogue being italicized only sometimes. Why is that not consistent.

pg. 200 If Myrk is smirking as she speaks, then there is no need to end that paragraph with "Another smile." since she is presumably smiling throughout the dialogue. It's so unnecessary. Likewise, there was no need to specify that Myrk was the one speaking. If Gwynne had used any other dialogue tag besides 'said', then perhaps that choice would have been justifiable. Maybe he wanted to add mood, establish tone… but no. 'said' is used, which is unnecessary and redundant here. As am I, with how often I repeat that something is redundant, but that is a testament to the lack of technical skill displayed in this prose.

CHAPTER 23 | GUÐVARR pg. 206 Too much 'follow'. I get what Gwynne wanted to achieve on some level, but it doesn't sound as good on the page as one might have hoped. It'd have been more fitting with a description of distance, giving us a mood and visual.

"Guðvarr followed, Yrsa close at his heels." this feels oppressive, like Yrsa is hounding Guðvarr, cutting off any escape with her body, not giving him a chance; an intimidation tactic.

"Guðvarr followed, Yrsa marching three steps behind." professional, at a distance, a cold disregard and hatred towards Guðvarr; or hinting at some different duty, perhaps there to stop Guðvarr from running away. I just think these two options would have been much evocative than "Guðvarr followed, and Yrsa followed him." Like, I get it, but getting it isn't good enough to excuse that flatness.

pg. 207 "Skálds" are capitalized, for some reason. That wasn't the case in the previous book at all, nor really in this book before now. The more I read the more does this book feel like an unpolished product. It really needed an outsider's eyes to catch on the formatting issues and the weird inconsistency going on.

pg. 208 "He felt Yrsa's presence behind him." "Guðvarr gulped, tried to take a step back, but Yrsa's solid presence was a wall behind him." "Guðvarr followed, a little reluctantly, but Yrsa's presence behind him felt like an unseen hand, pushing him on." In case you didn't get it, Yrsa's presence was behind him. Behind him was Yrsa's presence. Yrsa's presence behind him was. Yrsa's pres-

I stand corrected. My initial impression that Guðvarr was capable of self-reflection and had any cunning about him was entirely unfounded.

CHAPTER 24 | VARG See, because of how minimally the book is written, I cannot tell if the confusing description at the end is supposed to be this way for storytelling and mood purposes or if that's just how Gwynne would have written it regardless.

CHAPTER 25 | GUÐVARR The first fight scene I enjoyed! The writing really flowed well and didn't feel as repetitive as in other battles. There was this sense of swiftness and brutality, without anything being confusing. There was such clarity to the prose that I really could picture Taras the Bull on fire, the hole in the wall, the warriors piling in, Skalk's apprentices falling, and so on. I enjoyed the eagle's presence and the payoff to the focus on it the previous chapter. It was actually decently well masked what with the other monsters and critters around, but it was given enough special attention that I knew to expect something. Overall, this was truly a great moment and a fun segment to read.

It was fun to see the Iskidan people get proactive. They certainly have a lot of skill. I don't really care for the way Gwynne is portraying and focusing on Guðvarr's bodily fluids and reactions, but eh, mileage may vary. The way we saw Jökul's death from Guðvarr's point of view though… I actually really love this choice. Love to see how easy it was to recognize the characters, more by their weapons than appearance, but at least I knew who was getting their brains burst open with their own weapon. I cannot wait until Guðvarr finally dies…

CHAPTER 26 | VARG pg. 238 Not gonna lie, I did not actually remember or read who's descendant Æsa was, but I did remember that Fjalla the Mountain Goat was a god, so that… was not hard to understand. On one hand, the simile makes sense. Mountain goats are good at scaling mountains and cliffs. On the other… I dunno. I think I'm just not enjoying myself to the point where even fun prose and hints like this don't land well. I'm not saying this is bad, by the way; that's actually a fun way to work Æsa's divine ancestry into the descriptions! It's fitting and all. I just didn't care for it. Which sucks so much when I know it's actually competently done.

pg. 240 Another misnamed character moment. Instead of Svik and Æsa coming to Varg after he called them, it is apparently Varg that comes to himself with Æsa.

pg. 245 Oh, I absolutely love Einar getting bit in the leg! The fact two Úlfhéðnar tried to sink their teeth into him and only Varg succeeded is just chef's kiss. Love the reference/callback. I also think that if Varg's sister was alive (and who knows, mayhaps she is…) this would be a wonderful way of introducing her. The italicization of Úlfhéðnar is grating when the word is used so many times on the page though.

pg. 246 Damn. I really love the way Gwynne writes Varg figuring out and seeing that his ear was bitten off. I can't articulate why exactly, but there is a comedic timing to it; the slow realization of something being off, the snap to the Úlfhéðnar, the one-liner… I love it. It's so fun.

CHAPTER 27 | GUÐVARR Why is Guðvarr so important to Gwynne. A couple of chapters here and there, like with Biórr would have been fine, but the more I see this man, the more page time he consumes, the more I despise reading from his point of view. I enjoyed the first few chapters, was even pleasantly surprised; but Gwynne's presentation of Guðvarr is getting tired. I have the unfortunate feeling that Guðvarr is never really going to get resolved satisfactorily. There's just something about him that makes me think Gwynne will focus on Guðvarr long after the niðing drengr has overstayed his welcome, to such a degree where whatever is coming for him will feel like it's come too late narratively to feel cathartic in any way.

pg. 250 I am begging Gwynne to stop mentioning Guðvarr pissing and/or shitting himself every single godsdamned chapter. It's not even adding to Guðvarr's sorry, pitiful, pathetic characterization at this point. It's just another one of Gwynne's weird fixations, like testicles in the first book. It is not making any meaningful impact when it's used with such frequency; it grows annoying, borderline childish and immature. Much like Guðvarr's POV chapters turning into something grating, some of the "jokes" and "running gags", especially those related to Guðvarr, are being overused.

CHAPTER 28 | ELVAR Damn. Am I counting right it has been 11 chapters since we last saw her?

Also, the opening to this chapter is a little confusing but did not really have to be that way. We could have played catch-up with what had been going on with the Battle-Grim first, describing the camp, and then have Elvar go to Uspa; it would have flowed better and made more sense. Like, it's so weird that Elvar wakes Uspa up just to say "my thanks". Thanks for what? I'd be great to see the thought process there, see why it's being said. This isn't a strong start, to be honest.

pg. 259 Again, where was this characterization last book? Elvar has not done any deep thinking or reflection upon herself, her father, or anything from what the audience has been shown, nor was any of this part of her motivation last book. Where did this sudden spark of complexity come from? Elvar didn't even reject her father's offering because it had been an insult; she had refused it because Hrung told her "a wolf cannot become a lamb" and she realized her father was likely being facetious and trying to manipulate her! It wasn't about her reputation and earning her fame back then!

pg. 260 That prose would have been better if it was like this instead: "Elvar nodded, and as she listened, her hand wrapped around her sword hilt. She drew it a short way, checked that the blade was not sticking, and let it slide back down."

"Elvar nodded, as she listened her hand wrapping around her sword hilt, drawing it a short way, checking the blade was not sticking, then let it slide back down."

pg. 263 That. Actually pissed me off. On pg.259 we have the text saying "her injured shoulder". If that hadn't been there, then this would have made sense, and justified the strange opening of the chapter. I still don't think it had to start the way it did; Elvar could have, in her narration, be vague about the interaction, only putting "my thanks" into proper dialogue. Regardless, the fact that Elvar herself (since, while this is 3rd person POV, it is limited and thus the world is viewed through Elvar) refers to her shoulder as "injured" is deceptive. Did I pick up on the lack of pain? Yes. Did I assume it was done for brevity's and clarity's sake because of the line on pg.259? Also yes.

Worse yet, because of all the mistakes and awkward phrasing in this book I cannot even tell if Gwynne meant for that to be there, or if the "injured shoulder" was included in the text by accident. If it was purposeful, then it was deceptive, and frankly I hate the fact Gwynne resorted to outright lying to the audience here. I also personally do not find this particular scene to be interesting beyond the frustration it caused. I had hoped Huld would win when the holmganga was officially happening, but knew at once there were no stakes in this situation because it was "to the death".

I'd have preferred if Elvar didn't kill Huld; instead maybe forced her out of the holmganga spear-square, make her feel like a true leader. It had been noted that every good warrior counts. It should have been Elvar's priority to ensure that. But noooo. There is nothing cunning about her; not even the shallowest puzzle. At least Guðvarr is trying to manipulate people and get out of the shite he gets himself into, which shows at least some conniving, if not intelligence. Elvar doesn't even have that. It's hard to appreciate her healing her shoulder and creating an advantage out of it when the reader is lied to this way.

Okay, I am being facetious and purposefully exaggerating. Elvar's trick with the shoulder is smart though strangely conveniently timed. However, there is nothing about Elvar to like, nothing to be enjoyed about her. Even with the newer depth of her motivation with her father, she does not have any appeal for me and continues to be a weak character. If Elvar was smart and skilled enough to both win the holmganga and ensure Huld survives it, showing that she is serious about the quest to save Bjarn and cares for the Battle-Grim, I could have at least appreciated her as a leader. But Elvar doesn't show any true regard for the Battle-Grim around her, doesn't think about the future, their future, does not have the makings of a leader, which could have been her thing. It could have been her appeal. She is a shit person, a slaver, but she loves her fellow battle-brothers and battle-sisters, and she will keep them alive with brains and brawn at any cost, even when feuding with them. But this holmganga squanders that possibility, that complexity and appeal; and for what? Elvar could still have pulled the shoulder-trick to force Huld out of bounds and win.

Besides, why the hell did Elvar wait so fucking long before getting it healed? Uspa didn't seem tired or tuckered out by reviving a dead god at all; why wouldn't Elvar get herself up to fighting speed earlier, especially since she knew there would be difficult encounters ahead (such as the tennúr)? It feels like Gwynne just came up with this oh-so-very-cool idea for a scene and stuck with it even when it doesn't make much sense on this level.

I also think it's both funny and depressing that my first thought when reading this chapter was "oh god, another shit order of events" rather than "hmm, mysterious". Gwynne has failed to make logical progressions and sensible prose before (see: Orka's first chapter) so if something is worded vaguely I just assume it's another case of inept writing rather than a meaningful choice.

pg. 264 Misplaced quotation mark in Sighvat's dialogue.

I also don't really like the fact Ulfrir smiles at Elvar here. There is too much congeniality between Elvar and Ulfrir; I would have much rather the god not make any expression. After all, Elvar has enslaved him. This honestly adds to the lack of grandeur the gods possess. Skuld, Ulfrir, and Lik-Rifa both just… don't feel like much. The reader can see right through Lik-Rifa, and her threats are ultimately banal, lacking the 'deep-cunning' necessary to make her feel like a grand villain. The Raven-Feeders come off as pathetic and I cannot see them as ever having posed any legitimate threat. I would have loved if Gwynne actually made Lik-Rifa a loving, genuinely caring individual with extremist views, who would be kind to her followers, show understanding and sympathy, make her promises full of conviction. It would have been such a beautiful thing to witness a loving corpse-eating, starving, malnourished dragon god who, for all her flaws, truly loves her children, who have slaved over her freedom for centuries. It would have been so painful for Biórr and maybe others to realize that Lik-Rifa, as much as she loves them, is flawed and will not make the world better.

I can imagine a heartfelt, emotional, gut-wrenching scene of the Raven-Feeders, or perhaps just Biórr, taking part in the last stand against Lik-Rifa, crying because they truly love her: I want Lik-Rifa to be unwilling to fight and hurt her children, begging them to stop, asking why they've turned on her, and maybe have her kill Ilska and Drekr or someone, any dragonborn, and I want her to stop and take in that she killed her own child, and I want her to howl in despair and stop fighting back, letting herself be killed by her children; because now she is no better than Snaka.

Epicness of violence can only get this story so far when I don't like the characters. When there's no emotion to be felt or had. I'm quite pessimistic about the fact that, with the story as-written, Gwynne will not be able to top my emotional investment in a half-baked scene that doesn't exist in any tangible or meaningful way.

#john gwynne #the gnat doth read #the hunger of the gods #the length of this is embarrassing (it's 4.8k words...)#nobody read this #i despise elvar and chapter 28 can you tell #gudvarr is a strong contestant for the most despicable character #to be honest if he was more scarce then his chapters could be a fun romp through his horrid little head #but he is. way too much. everywhere #varg my beloved as always #there was so little orka i think!!! elvar i can do without but orka...

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deadcactuswalking · 1 year

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My favourite hit song of 2022

I did not make a list of the best or worst hit songs of the year. If I did, you would have read it already but alas, I did not write down my thoughts on my favourite or least favourite hits that 2022 is produced. For what it’s worth, I did draft a list of what those would be, but the worst list is full of boring songs from last year. Why I didn’t do this is largely because I was focused on non-charting new releases in 2022, because they were a Hell of a lot more refreshing, but also because these lists end up slightly redundant when half of them I have probably already covered on REVIEWING THE CHARTS – where I end up reviewing UK hits, broadening my horizons to an extent not really seen in those year-end lists. Also, it felt a bit dishonest. I was listening to, let’s see here, 1990s queercore punk, twee pop, plunderphonics and depressive conscious hip hop the whole year, who am I if I go on tirades about good Justin Bieber was, even if it was a good year quality-wise for pop music? Regardless, it felt weird ending the year on just any other old episode of the chart show, so... what were my favourite hit songs of the year?

Well, going off on the Billboard Year-End Hot 100 and then removing songs that made the 2021 year-end also as I probably would have done, this is what my list, without the #1, looks like.

#10 – “Después de la Playa” – Bad Bunny #9 – “PUFFIN ON ZOOTIEZ” – Future #8 – “Never Say Never” – Cole Swindell and Lainey Wilson #7 – “’Til You Can’t” – Cody Johnson #6 – “All Too Well” (Taylor’s Version) – Taylor Swift #5 – “Something in the Orange” – Zach Bryan #4 – “Ghost” – Justin Bieber #3 – “I Hate U” – SZA #2 – “Running up that Hill (A Deal with God)” – Kate Bush

See why I didn’t write this up now? Since I knew I wasn’t going to, I was able to be more truthful with myself and not my capabilities – half of the list I’d already praised heavily on the weekly series, and let’s be real, I could not do “All Too Well” or Kate Bush justice if I tried. I can talk about my #1 though, surely. That #1 represents the year, right? It’s the song you think defines the year of pop music and gives you a lot to talk about... right? Well, actually, not really. The song that most defined this year in pop music is probably “Big Energy” by Latto, which goes to show how genuinely terrible 2022 could seem in terms of its trends. And as for giving me a lot to talk about, I don’t know – I’ve never tried. I listened to it out of curiosity in the early Summer and ever since then, I never even registered it as a hit. It just... meant something more, and I’ve never tried to tap into that. However, there’s no better time than the present, so I suppose I should try. My favourite hit song of 2022 was “PROVENZA” by KAROL G, and I’m going to find out why.

#1 – “PROVENZA” – KAROL G

I’m not a KAROL G fan. I’ve heard her hits this year and one of her albums, and I found all of her music incredibly charming and oddly whimsical but I can’t say I’m a big fan because I simply haven’t heard enough. I’m not a fan of any of the artists on my list except maybe SZA and even then, I still haven’t heard SOS. So since blind fandom is out of the question, what elements of a song matter in terms of an individual opinion? Well, that’s a ridiculous question with like a morbillion answers but let’s try and find some basic answers.

We can kind of push genre to the wayside but it is relevant to one of the main reasons people like music, although interestingly not one people pointed out to me: lyrics and songwriting. It’s safe to say that I don’t speak Spanish, and I know very little music theory. I did GCSE Spanish for literally a month. I’ve listened to this song many a time in the past year – though not as much as many others, we’ll get to that – and really, the only words I could ever decipher were “baby” and what I thought was “tempo” (it’s not), as well as the song title and producer Ovy on the Drums’ tag in the outro. I never looked at the lyrics, and I almost don’t want to. I’m sure that translating the lyrics would do me a load of good in understanding the song, but I gravitated to this song without understanding the lyrics and I’ve constructed some kind of narrative in terms of my relationship with the song: it’s pure comfort for me, thanks to the production, and I kept on coming back to it to feel that comfort in a year which was not particularly willing to grant me it, even if it granted me a bit more stability than the last year. This song to me encapsulated that because of how constant it feels. I’m not sure if I’d want to translate the lyrics and threaten my relationship with the song, especially since I rarely get all that emotionally connected to media, music in particular. It seems like ruining a good thing, and considering the year before and the year ahead, at least for me personality, 2022 seems like a bubble that I don’t particularly want to pop.

Speaking of things that don’t pop, let’s talk about the production and vocals, since that is what is in the file of the song itself, not all these contrived connections that are just my transposed personal issues, I’m sure. If I didn’t care so much about this song, which is a development that took months after its release in April of this year, I still think I’d like it a lot, which is kind of unusual for reggaeton (though this is closer to dancehall, really). I love the tropical sound effects, the water splashing over the simple lead melody which occasionally gets drowned out by the percussion, feeling like pebbles washed over by the sea and snaps that may as well be crabs nipping at your feet. I’m not even a person who likes beaches particularly, or really has any wish to go to some beach in Latin America, but I’d imagine this is what it sounds like, Bad Bunny ad-libs included. I don’t know if that really is Bad Bunny but it sounds just like him, and his little echoed shouts as well as his harmonised, Auto-Tune-drenched backing vocals feel like the most “tense” elements of this song opposite KAROL’s second verse. In fact, there is an odd tension to this song. It’s a typical pop song length but in part due to those strings as well as the drums finding a way to seep in and out, it feels a lot shorter and occupies a space that is strictly temporary. Hell, it even fades out by the end, which is something I usually find cheap. This even weasels its way into the songwriting: KAROL G’s performance, whilst mostly spectacular, is still a bit slippery, emphasised even more by the Auto-Tune and the really fast-paced second verse, as well as the fact that half of the final chorus eschews the percussion entirely because it – for the only time in the song – gains some velocity and comes in for the attack.

That theme of being temporary makes it even more special: it’s trying to get the best out of everything whilst you have it all, and for 2022, that’s really what defined my year. Sure, you can press replay on the song constantly, but that’s not what I did, really: according to Spotify Wrapped, there are 54 songs I listened to much more. What I did was come back to it when I just wanted something easy. It was a breeze of comfort that I absolutely acknowledge was temporary as I’d probably get back to listening to angry lesbian punk rock soon after... but for a time, the sky is clear and blue, your feet are on the sand, and everything’s okay for now.

Here’s to a good 2023. Thank you for reading, and I’ll see you on Friday for REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

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knackeredbint · 2 years

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I’m sorry you’re getting rude anons! I like your takes and am so impressed you predicted s3 would be Polin’s. I haven’t read Polin’s book yet so I have a question about what you said regarding Polin’s story:

“It will probably stick pretty close to the book with him then compromising her and then marrying her himself in an effort to protect her using the Bridgerton name.”

Which made me think that they totally rewrote s2 not because they thought it would be too similar to s1 (which the enemies to lovers idea would have prevented) but that they wanted to keep Polin’s story the same and they thought three marriages to save face in a row would be a problem. I mean, this would mean they don’t have an issue repeating the trope, they just had to choose which couple to keep it for?

And that seems so weird to me when, as you pointed out, this friends to lovers has the potential to feel very similar to Saphne because theirs was a friends to lovers too, and here they’re likely to force them into a wedding just like s1. So why the wild changes to the book for s2 if they don’t mind the redundancy?

Thanks Anon for being kind! I have a feeling it was the same person coming at me and their last message which I didn't respond to basically got me thinking my points hit a little too close to home and the uncomfortable truth for them. But in the meantime I did learn a lesson where I went wrong, if I don't tag in a certain way, the crazies won't come for me.

I wish I could answer for you why the writers/producers made the choices they made. If I understood that level of crazy I might be a very rich woman. If they were truly worried about redundancy then they made the wrong choice of series, or genre for that matter, to adapt. Romance novels, for the most part, pretty much follow a similar formula no matter what the trope is. As a reader you know what you're getting yourself into. Its comfort reading the same way mac and cheese is a comfort meal. Perhaps it was never the brightest idea to commit to a tv series that would last years when every member of the family ends up in some kind of scandal with their marriage.

I think for this reason we haven't seen any copycat series pop up when it was assumed after season one this was the moment for romance to make a comeback. In the end, its going to be difficult to find something that isn't so similar. I would also suspect that most authors out there who write romance novels are not going to be as accommodating as JQ and hand over all the rights to the show. I doubt a lot of authors are going to be so generous to any production company if they read TVWLM and saw how it was so messed up when adapted.

If I got into specifics with this book..... I don't want to give away spoilers for you since you haven't read the book, but Colin's reasons for marriage aren't just the compromise. It wasn't witnessed so they could have gotten away with it, but he has another reason why he feels the only option to protect Penelope is marriage. It's enough to differentiate from Simon and Daphne at least.

As far as why the writers (or Shonda the puppet master) are cool with giving such a similar story, I'd guess its just playing favorites. Penelope is the favorite in that room and they simply don't care it (the book) isn't the favorite outside of there.

#bridgerton s3 #bridgerton speculation

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virginburial · 2 years

Text

.·:*¨༺ me and your mama. ♱ adrian chase ༻¨*:·.

SUMMARY: in which you hate your mom jokes or alternatively, in which you, a member of the 11th street kids, try to crack down on butterflies, but get distracted by Adrian, which pisses you off.

SHIP: fem reader!adrian chase WARNINGS: explicit content (minors stay out), p n v, mommy kink, angry/passionate sex, public? sex i think this counts, unprotected sex, explicit language, random storytelling/porn with a plot

WORD COUNT: 5K

SONG: https://open.spotify.com/track/31tf1qEai5o5f4r66Kd0pU?si=243fada4a6d3487c

A/N: i’m writing this right before i have to go to work so i was not able to proofread all of this, so i apologize for any repeated words, incorrect grammar, and redundancies! anything for my best boy Adrian. yes this is based off the childish gambino song, sue me. REBLOGS, NOTES, AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED !!

.·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

It was painfully obvious Adrian had a crush on you.

You joined the gang right around the same time he did. You weren't a vigilante or a hero, just someone stuck in a very sticky situation, like your best friend being a butterfly and also being close to Goff and the other powerful butterflies. It pains you to have to stop your best friend's plan for world domination. You once joked around that the world was yours - ours, it was ours. But the person you recognized as your 'bestie for life' wasn't there anymore. All it was, was a body with a parasite. Peacemaker and the other 11th Street members had to break it hard. Maybe it was your resilience and rebellious nature towards authority really stepped up when you decided to skip the grieving process and help Peacemaker stop the butterflies.

Peacemaker was a class act, a douche if you will, but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that the behavior he adopted was just that; adopted. It wasn't his own. You wondered how he could've turned out if he had at least one decent parent in his life. Or better yet, not raised around American propaganda. Dye-beard - sorry, Economos, was just as pathetic as Peacemaker but on the opposite side of the same spectrum. You can admit that the beard is dyed, Economos. It's not that big of a deal. Harcourt was a brick wall, but you two had your similarities, leading to you being close with her. the daddy issues can hit home for any woman as standoffish as Harcourt; she was the kind of friend you'd get drunk with a fuck, and then never talk about it again, but knowing it brought you two closer than before.

Now, Adebayo was your substitute best friend.

Your personalities seemed to clash together perfectly, and your sense of humor meshed well, despite being two different people. You'd whisper and gossip to each other. Even if Leota claims she isn't much of a gossiper, she was. something you hated her for was whispering producer tags to you while Murn was going over plans to take over the Butterfly factory. Nothing can break the ever-so heavy silence than Leota gently saying: "We got London on da track!" in your ear. this usually upsets Murn, but you, Leota, Adrian, and Chris find it hilarious. Murn hates it. But he doesn't hate you and trusts you with some of the intel that he would rather keep from Adrian and Chris.

Then, there's Adrian.

Psycho, idiot, psycho-idiot hybrid. Adrian was a lot of things, including in love with you. eugh. Apparently, he's had a crush on you longer than you had even known about his existence. It was something Chris drunkenly told you; before your best friend was a butterfly, and you were happy and not involved with government conspiracies, Adrian would watch you eat at Fennel Fields with your best friend. He would just be so captivated by you that his boss would have to get on his ass about getting back to work. At first, you were slightly flattered by how Adrian would stare you down; you weren't used to the attention. Then he would say something so obnoxious that it would turn you off, or better yet, you pushed his advances to the side because you felt like even if you had Adebayo and Harcourt and Peacemaker and Vigilante; it won't replace the giant hole your best friend and others left for you. Maybe you were doing that thing where you feel like since you don't deserve the love, you push others away - something you have done in the past - or you were doing that thing where you sabotage the chances of something ever happening because it was outside of your comfort zone - once again, something you were guilty of doing as well. Besides, Adrian might've been heads over heels, but it's not like if anything was going to sprout between you two, it would last. For crying out loud; Adrian was a psychotic vigilante whose mouth operated faster than his brain, and you were...well, you. There was no fixing that.

Regardless of Murns distaste for the sound of your laughter and Adrian's obsession with you, you liked being a part of the 11th street kids, and they liked you. Yet, the butterfly issue was the only thing occupying your mind as you skipped out on going to the bar with the gang and stayed in the office to finish up some work. Economos nearly gave you a talking to about how to look up information on the database and how to properly cite sources and what not - not like you aren't familiar with Amanda Waller and knew how to do most of this already. Harcourt and Chris did try to drag you out for a night off with them, but you knew that Harcourt just wanted you there to be a buffer between her and Chris. Meanwhile, Chris owed Adrian a favor and thought he could play wingman for him. You rather skip out on that dumpster fire knowing that Adrian would make foursome jokes.

The LED lighting showed how your makeup had worn out throughout the day, but you still managed to look fresh. You were typing away at the computer on Economos desk. There wasn't much to it besides maybe one framed photo and a mug full of pens. You were typing away, researching some lead you got from your best friend's new friend - loosely use the term 'friend.' Your best friend had recently picked up a job at a factory three towns over. You knew better from the last factory bust that these had to be butterflies - that, and your friend as a college degree in anthropology and had a stable job in your state's capital as a museum curator. The job was your friend's passion before becoming a butterfly. As you start to narrow down your search, you hear the door rattle. You look up to see Adrian: knocking on the glass and trying to peek through the tinted windows. you feel your chest tense up with severe annoyance as you got up and swung the door open. "you left something in here?"

Adrian takes a second to think. "no-"

"then what are you doing here?" you ask.

he points down the street to the bar. "Peacemaker gave me twenty bucks to fuck off so he could be alone with Harcourt. I was bummed until I remembered you were having a sleepover here." his lips curl into a goofy smile. "what makes you think I want you here?" you retort. But Adrian just leans against the frame of the entrance. He doesn't seem to care all that much whether or not you wanted him around. He was just there, and you were going to have to deal with it. "would you rather me sleep at your mom's house?" he cracks up. You sigh. Adrian recently has taken up the opportunity to make Your Mom jokes every time and any time he could. It makes him seem very middle school the same way Axe body spray does, which he wears. It burns your nose. the old you would've laughed at his jokes, but you were too preoccupied with work to do so. you reluctantly moved away from the door as he entered. "don't distract me, Adrian, this is serious."

"promise I won't sidetrack you!" he confidently spoke as he sat down in front of Economos's desk and put his feet up, like some delinquent in detention. Vigilante was a delinquent, though, you didn't expect more or less of him as you sat down at your desk and began typing at the laptop. You tried getting back into your mojo, the whole reason you joined in on this operation. But having vigilante around makes it hard for you to focus. Adrian is a distracting person, both in the sense that he can get easily distracted and in the intent that he could cause others to get distracted. You carefully watch Adrian pick up the mug with pens and mess around with the one pen capable of many colors, watching him try to press down on all of them at once. The clicking was driving you crazy as you tried to combat it by loudly typing on the keyboard.

Adrian moves on to the fidget spinner.

You told Economos that those things don't work unless you had severe ADHD, which he didn't have. Leota also told him to get rid of the fidget spinner because it wasn't "2017" anymore. Now, it was in Adrian's possession, the one thing that worried you more than him trying to talk to you. You were starting to wonder if he was trying to get your attention, like he's done in the past. You bite your lip in frustration as the endless spinning of the spinner starts to occupy the space, the noise filling the room to the brim with annoyance as you stop typing and look at Adrian, who was so engulfed by the fidget spinner as it lit up and sparkled. You stared at him for longer than ten seconds before he noticed, in between then, studying his features, the craters, and freckles on his skin and his glasses. Of course, he wore grandma's glasses, like any average eighties serial killer. You wonder if he wore those under his suit as well. You snap out of your thoughts of what Adrian looked like under his suit as he snaps his attention over to you. "shit, sorry, Y/N." he says as he places the fidget spinner down.

you just kept staring at him, deadpanned. "...why are you here, Adrian?"

"peacemaker wanted alone time with-" "-I didn't ask what peacemaker was doing, I dunno why you're so codependent on him," you called out as you began writing down notes on whatever was showing up the screen. it didn't matter what it was; you were more focused on Adrian's response. "I am not codependent on peacemaker, and he's my best friend. we fight crime together-that's the reason I'm here." he expresses. "I don't think it's a crime to want to spend time with you and get to know you, you know," he mumbles under his breath as his fingers run across the rim of the fidget spinner. You suddenly start to feel bad, considering how you see peacemaker push vigilante aside a lot of the time. You thought it was because Chris had other things he needed to worry about, but giving Adrian money so he could fuck off and try to bang Harcourt? Low blow, and not a best friend. you sigh and close the laptop. "thought you knew everything about me already? y'know, being a bit of a Joe Goldberg and all."

"what?! no, gross. I would watch you eat at fennel fields with your friend, then watch you get into your car and drive away. Just because I know your favorite thing on the menu, the model and make, your mom's number, and your license plate number, doesn't mean I'm a literal stalker. Stereotype much?" he calls you out, sliding in another your mom joke as you lean back in your chair. You hate that he has a point, and you hate it even more that he knows all that information when you can't even remember your license plate number. you sigh a little. "guess you have a point...okay, fine, doesn't match up with how you wanted no one to know your secret identity-"

"my secret identity is Adrian. My real identity is Vigilante-" "-that's concerning, don't you think it should be the other way around?" you ask, seeing the look on his face change when he realized. you stare at him. "besides, Adrian seems a lot more interesting than Vigilante."

Once he hears you say that, his cheeks turn red. he couldn't even make eye contact with you after that comment. "Okay, um...I love being Vigilante. It's fun to beat up and kill bad guys. I mean, they were going to die anyway, but I rather it be me killing them than Batman stealing my thunder. I've worked at fennel fields since I was a teenager. It's just an easy way to make money. It's better than going into debt. plus, my mom wanted me to go to Gotham for college, would rather chop my nuts off." he starts opening up a little. "oh! my favorite movie is Kickass!" he said with a goofy smile. "I like PC games, I used to play dead by daylight before deciding to become vigilante, and I always play as-or main-GhostFace. I wanted to be president of India when I was six, don't ask me how I thought it would work. I just thought it would...I like Jimi Hendrix, but I think the best song in the world is Bedrock by Young Money."

You raise an eyebrow.

he glances at you. "you know...okay, I get it. Lemme think I guess it's my turn, maybe it's time to put this pussy on your sideburns-"

"-Adrian, I knew what song you were talking about. I was just surprised that that's your favorite," you explained. "I guess it's not the most shocking thing about you, despite you suddenly going manic pixie on me..." he gives you a lazy grin. "it's your mom's favorite song, too." he cracks up a little. You don't know how to explain to Adrian that a joke as repetitive as 'your mom' can only be funny the first few times. You decide to play his game, though. "oh yeah? That's not what your mom told me last night." you smirked at him, but he stares at you; does he not get his own joke? you ponder this as he narrows his eyes at you. "wait, what did she tell you-?" "-no, Adrian, I was joking around with you. I don't know who your mom is," you clarified again.

He looks down, smiling a little at what you told him, but you can tell he had something else on his mind; you weren't entirely sure what it was, but it managed to shut him up. You figured that maybe Adrian does have a social battery and that it was running low, or perhaps he preoccupied his mind for once so you could go back to work. You open back up the laptop and began typing again as Adrian started fidgeting around with his fingers. It was back to silence until he spoke up again.

"do you think I'm codependent on peacemaker?"

There it is. You gaze down at the keyboard, unable to say anything until you finally force it out of you. "sometimes, yeah...look, man, I get it. I'm putting my life on the line for my best friend. But peacemaker has some issues of his own and treats you poorly. If you ask me, he's not really a good friend to you-" "-what, and you are?" his eyes fall to your lips. "you seem really annoyed every time I talk, you don't listen to me, you don't laugh at my jokes, you let Adebayo convince me to go kill peacemaker's dad, you told me not to use the chainsaw-" "-you're a grown-ass man, Adrian, you can make your own choices." you nearly scolded him. "besides, you say the same your mom joke at any given moment. You don't understand my sarcasm, which is my sense of humor. So of course, I'm not going to laugh. You don't try hard enough." you exposed, you thought you were being a bit harsh on him, but no one told Adrian to come and bother you. he did that on his own.

"...your mom doesn't try hard enough."

"that's it!" you grumbled in frustration, having it finally catch up to you as you slammed your hand on the desk. "you are officially getting on my fucking nerves! Do you not realize that the only person I have left in my life is my best friend? Was my best friend? this is important to me, literally. What will it take for you to shut up?!" you started to get angry. Adrian looks at you as you keep on angrily rambling. "I'm getting a weird feeling that you're stressed-" "-of course, I'm fucking stressed! Can you not follow directions or something, Adrian?!" you start to feel anger rise to your throat. "can you just stop being distracting? What do you want? My full undivided attention? My number? do you want a kiss?!" in a moment of impulse, you lean over the desk and plant a sweet kiss on his lips, feeling him hesitate before kissing you back, but you were too angry with him to enjoy the kiss, and pulled away once he started kissing you back. "there! you can leave now." you push him back to his chair, seeing his cheeks turn bright red as his eyes pleaded for you to kiss him again, having them wander down to your body as if he was mentally undressing you. the anger you had was slowly turning into sexual frustration as he finally speaks.

"your mom kisses better than you-"

at that moment, you leaned over the desk again and smashed your lips against his, shutting him up as he eagerly kisses back. the kiss was rough, teeth clashing with each other as your noses bumped. heavy breaths colliding as Adrian hungrily bites on your bottom lip, you let out a small groan at the pain before pulling away, a small a trail of saliva leaving your lips as you noticed how crooked Adrian's glasses were from the brief yet intense kiss. his cheeks were bright red as his eyes lazily fall back to your lips. "woah..." he hums out. "i knew you needed to blow off steam but i didn't think it was like that-" "-stop talking." you reprimanded as you crashed into him again. the kiss was heavier this time, your jaw unhinging as you allowed his tongue to slip inside, letting him explore your mouth as you felt your lower back get warm from all the tension. Adrian lets out a small whimper as you grab a hold of the collar of his shirt, realizing how sensitive his skin was around his neck.

you pull away from the kiss and began panting as your eyes glance down at the desk between the both of you. a huge part of you wanted to push the desk away and attack Adrian with your lips again, but Adrian had a better idea. in swift fashion, Adrian wipes everything off the desk as you climb over it, he catches you in his arms, his hands finding solitude on your hips as he attaches his lips onto your neck. you sat on the desk and wrapped your legs around his waist. you were almost glad the windows on the outside were tinted, so none of the drunk bystanders and pedestrians could peek in and see sinful ways you were letting Adrian touch you. even though you were the one on the desk, you wanted Adrian to be the one not doing all the work, you wanted to shut him up, not the other way around.

your hands found their way into his curls as he continues to kiss down your chest, taking off his glasses since they were digging into your tits and getting in his way. you look down at him as his hand slowly goes up your shirt, feeling you until his hands stopped on your tits. a small moan left your lips as he excitedly tries to pull your bra off, having a little problem with the hook before you stopped him. like previously mentioned, you know that once he sees your tits that he wont stop talking about how perfect they were. the last thing you wanted to hear was how much he loved your figure, even though you knew he had a crush on you. you pull him up to face and kissed his lips before whispering: "let me take over." you could feel his face get warm against your skin. he nods as your hand run down his chest, stopping at his belt.

you let your hands glide up his shirt, feeling scars he probably got from his vigilantism and his toned muscles. "off. now." you ordered as you lifted his shirt up, helping him take it off as you lean forward and start nipping at the skin around his neck. Adrian immediately lets out a moan. "o-oh..." he whines out in surprise as his hand grazes the inner working of your thighs. you knew his skin was sensitive there. your teeth lightly graze the sweet spot before sinking them down his skin, breaking the first barrier as you suck a bright red and purple hickey on his collarbone. "fuck, Y/N-" he mumbles out as you feel his cock hardening against your thigh. you let his hand crawl up to your clothed clit and let him rub you.

chills ran down your spine as a small amount of pleasure started to consume you. you were so busy with what was going on with the butterflies, that you haven't really had much time for yourself. you haven't been to the gym in weeks, you would sometimes skip meals, and you haven't had time to please yourself because you stay up all night researching butterflies. Adrian sees right through you, and probably knew how sexually frustrated you were. you squeeze your thighs around his hand as that small amount of pleasure starts to overwhelm you and cloud your judgement. you wanted Adrian out, and now all you could think about was letting him in. you buck your hips and gently hump his hand before he plays with the zipper of your jeans. annoying both horny and not horny.

you leave another giant hickey adjacent to the first one you made, marking your territory as he tries to get into your pants both literally and figuratively. you pull away and glance up at him as you noticed how much he was struggling to get your pants up. you hold onto his shoulders as you lift your ass up, letting him pull them down to your ankles and exposing your red lace panties. "holy fuck...would it be weird if i called you mommy?" he looks into your eyes, you could see how big his pupils got when he looked at you, almost like he wanted this to be a thing you two could do every night. you breathlessly laughed, your hand finds his hardened cock as you softly squeezed it, running your fingers along his shaft as the friction from his jeans and boxers rubbed his lip. you felt his breath hitch as you forced Adrian to look down at you. "i don't give a shit j-just fuck me~" you whined.

"o-okay but i don't have a condom-" he stutters, sounding like a car struggling to turn on. but you didn't care. "i-i don't care." you told him. now it was your turn to mess with his zipper, unzipping it and sticking your hand in his boxers, trying to find the sleeve so he could just fuck you and get on with it. "fuck, mommy-" he whines out as his lips attached themselves back onto your neck, your hand trails along his boxers, caressing his cock through his boxers before eventually finding the sleeve and sticking your hand inside, causing Adrian to let out a loud groan. he was big, and no, not big in the way peacemaker is big (don't ask how you know, you just happen to know by accident) it was big both in length and width. you could feel it twitch in your hand as you spread your legs for him like it was a reflex. Adrian knew that you wanted him now, he wanted you just as badly. he pulls away from your neck and glances down at your panties, how wet they were getting as his middle finger slides through your clothed folds. you gasped. "fucking shit Adrian just fuck me already-"

without hesitation, he moves your panties to the side and gently slides into you. moans escaped both of your lips as Adrian rests his head on your shoulder, your hand going to the back of his neck as you hold onto the bottom of the desk, your fingers curling around the wood as Adrian's wood starts sliding in and out of your slowly. he was going too slow. and it was starting to bother you. you shake your head. "no no no, pull out." he does. "did i d-do something-?" he asks, but instead of answering, you just push him back to the chair. Adrian carefully watched you as you climb onto his lap and sit down on his cock, taking it all in and hearing another desperate 'mommy' leave his lips as he stares up at you, almost like he worships you. "you're so tight..." he whines out as you squeeze your walls around his cock.

it's almost like he belongs inside of you, how perfect it all felt that he was inside of you. without caring, you start to quickly bounce on his dick, picking up the pace every time he gave you a loom that told you he couldn't take it anymore. you knew that Adrian was sensitive sensory wise, so this was going to be easy. groans escaped him as his hands quickly go to your hips, trying to steady you and slow you down when you deliberately speed up. both of your cheeks turning a deep crimson as his tip starts to hit your G-spot. you let out a loud moan. "Adrian..." you cry out for him as he watches your tits bounce with each thrust. he was completely enamored with you.

"good fuckin' boy-" you moan out as he harshly holds onto you, creating bruises on your hips as the sound of your skin hitting his jeans echoed throughout the small red room. your clit hitting the button of his jeans with each hop was driving you over the edge as you felt adrian's thighs tense up. your stomach started to feel warm as you closely approach your high, but you stop yourself; seeing Adrian finally catch his breath. he begins to grab your ass, squeezing it as he stares up at you. you cockwarmed him, squeezing your walls but not moving an inch as Adrian groans. "don't tease me like that mommy-" he begs, before you raise your hand and slap him. you don't how what came over you to slap him the way you did, and you were almost sure that Adrian wasn't okay with it. you covered your mouth, your eyes widening. "holy shit Adrian i'm sorry i dunno what overcame me-" you try to apologize.

that was, before Adrian's eyes started to grow dark, you could feel his cock twitching around inside of you; he liked that. what a fucking sleaze. your mind started racing, wondering what else to do before Adrian decides for you. before you could say anything, Adrian quickly becomes dominant and picks you up, a small gasped left your mouth before he slams you onto the desk, hurting your back a little as he holds down your hips and starts thrusting into you furiously. his eyes glazed with lust as he grabs a hold of the red laced undies, he pulls them, marking your skin before completely ripping them off.

"oh fuck!" you moan out as Adrian hits every single spot you could think of. he was magic, because you were completely enchanted by how rough and amazing he felt. you should've slapped him a long time ago. your body begins to jolt with each thrust as Adrian's hands squeeze your shaking thighs. you don't know what over came you, but you wanted more of him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it as you started to cry out. his heavy breathing started to become apparent as sweat glistened his forehead. "i'm so close-" he mumbles. you didn't want to say it out loud, but it was obvious that you were close to. you squeeze your walls around his fast cock, hoping he'd cum in you because it was hot; also, you were going to go to the drug store later anyways, now you had a definite reason to go. your back arched as you felt your rolling orgasm hit you, your wetness leaked out onto the desk and onto Adrian's jeans, staining them as you let his hand rest on your stomach.

Adrian kept sliding in and out of you for a whole minute after you came, causing you to get turned on again, but you were exhausted, you suddenly felt your hole get warm as he let out a raspy moan. he came inside you, heavy breathes and all as he slowly smiled down at you, slowly pulling out and watching as cum slid out of your hole. he doesn't hesitate to scoop up the cum around your folds and stuff it back in you, his fingers curling and hitting the spongy part of your hole, causing you to arch your back. you were already so sensitive, that when he did it one last time, you felt your inner thighs tense up as you squirted a small amount on his hand. you couldn't help but helplessly stare up at him as you were sprawled all over the desk, both of you in complete shock at how quickly you guys went from being annoyed with each other to fucking each other. maybe your pent up rage for Adrian really was sexual attraction you refused to acknowledge.

Adrian props you up on the desk as you finally came down from your high, you watched as he got dressed, staring at him as you found yourself suddenly having feelings for him. you raise an eyebrow. "leaving already?" you ask. but Adrian shakes his head. "it feels weird to have my dick out and cuming in you with my pants on." he clarifies. "you're way better at sex than your mom is." he says with a lazy smirk. the you before you fucked Adrian would've begged him to shut up, but instead, you managed to crack a smile.

"fuck off."

.·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

buy me a coffee ૮⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ ა

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing | drabble i. | m

WARNINGS. jealous jk, jk's gf is hot and he's not the only one who thinks that, jimin and tae as instigators, i swear jimin and jk love each other, fucking in public spaces aka a car in a parking lot, jk luvs his gf, appearance of perpetrator jin!

NOTE. i missed this couple 🥺oc is living her hot girl summer life and jk does nawt know how to deal with it Lol. hope u enjoy loves!!!!

WORDS. 3k+

“I’m okay,” Jungkook murmurs, eyes fluttering shut as he repeats his own personal mantra. “I’m good. I’m fine—I’m chill. Chillest person ever. I’m good—”

“He’s not okay,” Taehyung snickers.

Jungkook blocks the negativity out, purposefully and intentionally. Nothing could ruin his day—not on his watch, especially as the sun shines over bodies across the beach while the waves break into beautiful fragments that he’s yearning to dip his feet into.

Personal affirmations came first.

“I’m good, I’m fine, I’m okay,” he chants like a crazy person, definitely earning some form of side-eye from the people next to him but he can’t be bothered. Another person thinking that he was insane wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him—not when—

“You should open your eyes,” Jimin says, “How are you going to fight them if you don’t know thy enemy?”

Immediately, Jungkook’s peace is disturbed by the mouth of Park Jimin, who painfully reminds him of why he’s got into the entire personal mantra and affirmation thing. He used to think it was redundant, unnecessary. How could the universe return your wishes just as you’ve uttered them into the atmosphere? It didn’t seem logical to him.

But right now, that didn’t matter—not when he had bigger things to be worried about.

“Don’t disturb my peace,” Jungkook snaps.

“They did it first,” Jimin retorts, cocking his head towards the flock of people at a certain part of the beach, specifically towards where the water meets the shore.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. His peace is disrupted, his happiness is compromised and it’s all Park Jimin’s fault. He spent a good amount of time getting into his zone, reaffirming himself that he was in fact, fine, good—he was okay! But now, he feels all his resolve dissolve when he realises he can’t even see the main thing that was responsible for his dilemmas.

“You’d think a celebrity was on this beach,” Taehyung snorts.

“Not helping,” Jungkook says dryly.

“So isn’t your crazy person chanting,” Jimin points out, “but yet, here we are—listening to you reciting your own version of a biblical verse.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook grits for the umpteenth time, and no less is his assertions any more convincing than it was a moment ago. The flicker of his irises towards to crowd is enough to prove that fact. “I’m just enjoying my day at the beach with my friends and my girlfriend.”

“See, there are two false statements in that,” Taehyung tilts his head downwards, offering a smug smirk that Jungkook wishes he could shove into the sand beneath him. “You’re definitely not enjoying this because I can see the veins protruding out of your neck at how hard you’re clenching your jaw, and”—the older boy makes the effort to taunt Jungkook further by letting out a low whistle the moment the crowd seems to grow slightly bigger—“you’re partially right about the friend part. Your girlfriend though … where is she?”

I’m good. I’m okay. I’m cool—

“Oblivious, as usual,” Jimin sighs, plopping back onto the beach towel beneath him while shooting Jungkook a pointed stare. “It’d be sad if you only called her your girlfriend for six months when you’ve been in love with her for seven years.”

“Okay that’s it. I’m going there,” Jungkook declares, huffing as he pushes himself off the ground while Jimin makes an effort to grab at his ankle, halting the younger boy from causing any damage and potentially getting them banned from ever returning.

“Not with that temper you aren’t,” Jimin snaps, “Sit your ass down. God. Can’t you take a joke?”

“A joke?” Jungkook splutters, abhorred. “You literally just said she’s going to break up with me!”

“I said that it’d be sad if—”

“Same fucking difference,” he hisses, rubbing a hand across his face before he kicks Jimin’s petty grip off his ankle while levelling him with a menacing glare. Jungkook’s eyes slowly drift to the side where you finally enter his vision, still smiling like the soft and sweet person you were as you help Namjoon with whatever crab hunting mission he had.

See, Jungkook’s mature enough to know that you and Namjoon were good friends, great ones, even. The two of you were smart and clicked well, and if anything, Jungkook was more envious of the fact that the two of you shared such a wholesome and meaningful friendship than anything else.

The fact that Namjoon used to have feelings for you didn’t bother Jungkook anymore, not when he knew where your heart truly laid. He also trusted Namjoon with his entire life and his firstborns (not that he’d ever tell you that, and God—did he hope that day would eventually come when it came to you). But still, Jungkook was mature—he did some growing up, and he was proud of that.

But Jungkook’s human, a flawed, ever-learning and constantly improving human. A human who’s crazy in love with his pretty girlfriend that he’s longed for years—and a human who isn’t blind. A human who can’t ignore the fact that, apparently, he wasn’t the only person that was trying to keep himself in check at how stunning you were. Every day—and especially today, with how your dainty yellow bikini drapes over the curves of your body.

Jungkook nearly cries. Yellow was his favourite colour. You wore it for him.

Not for—

“Maybe you should head over,” Taehyung murmurs, snapping Jungkook out of his love-filled mind as his eyes clear, immediately catching what his friend was referring to.

Some dude. Talking to you. Smiling at you like you carried all the answers to all the world problems as you giggle a tune comparable to birds chirping. Maybe Jungkook was exaggerating but it always sounded like you were singing his favourite song even if you were just explaining economical concepts to him like a soothing e-book.

“God, why couldn’t she have been ugly,” Jungkook groans.

“You wouldn’t have dated her otherwise,” Jimin retorts.

Jungkook gawks, affronted as he gives his two friends a scandalised expression as he places his hands over his chest to indicate the offence he took to that statement.

“I’m not superficial,” he huffs, “I fell in love with her because of her—”

“Personality, yada yada,” Jimin mocks him in a lower tune that has Jungkook glaring at him. “Yeah, okay. But don’t tell me that her being pretty doesn’t help you bust a nut every once in a while.”

Jungkook flushes.

“Well, yeah, but I’m her boyfriend—”

“Thank you for reminding me that you are in fact, still a boy,” Jimin rolls his eyes, “Men. Mansplaining everything, really.”

Jungkook’s jaw slackens as his eyes briefly land on Taehyung’s figure who doesn’t look too bothered with how the conversation turned out as he shrugs in response.

“How about you do the typical manly thing of being a jealous prick and go over there and stomp over all her fan club members,” Jimin says sarcastically, resting his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

There’s a brief rustle from where the sand meets the towel, and a relatively long period of silence while the only thing that permeates the air is the sound of waves with laughter coming from a family a distance away.

“He did exactly that, didn’t he.”

“You need to stop giving him ideas,” Taehyung sighs, plopping a grape into his mouth before occupying the space next to his friend. “Should we find another beach to frequent?”

“Really?” you laugh, “That’s so cool! I’m actually planning on landing an apprenticeship there over the summer.”

“Oh?” The man is leaning way too close to you for comfort, but you’re unfazed. Jungkook doesn’t even want to know where the hell Namjoon had gone, leaving you with this broad-shouldered, terrifyingly handsome man. “I could definitely put a good word in for you if you’d like.”

You beam, appreciative rather than brazen. But Jungkook thinks the man doesn’t know that.

“I don’t think I can accept that, Seokjin.”

And of course, you knew his name.

“Why not?” Seokjin smirks, and Jungkook knows that it’s definitely done him justice in other situations. “For a beautiful—”

“____,” he interjects, smoothly (or not quite) sliding next to you as his arms wrap around your waist before his glare rests on the man before him, who looks both shocked and unbothered at his appearance. “Who’s this?”

You jump slightly at Jungkook’s arrival but relax when you realise that it was just him and not some other beach weirdo.

“Jungkook, this is Seokjin! He actually attended our university—”

“Really,” he says dryly, “That’s nice.”

“Is this your …?” Seokjin looks Jungkook up and down before settling with a rather unimpressed look. “Do seniors usually bring their shadows out for playdates?”

Your eyes widen at his patronising tone, and before can even think to correct him with a tilted frown, Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist, a precursor to his jaw that clenches while he engages in his own version of a staredown with the man before you.

“Boyfriend.”

Seokjin raises a brow.

“Me,” Jungkook blinks, unnerved and quite frankly, tired. He’s crossed this bridge enough times, and it’s always the same. Some older dude who thought that you were doing charity work by having Jungkook tag along with like some puny little brother. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Jungkook—” you start, softly reaching to grip his arm.

“Interesting,” Seokjin says offhandedly and Jungkook knows it’s anything but. “Well, my offer still stands.”

He’s directing it to you as you peer up at him with your notoriously innocent eyes. Jungkook hates that this douche is still unaffected by his blatant declaration of the fact that you were—taken.

“I—that’s fine, Seokjin,” you say softly, lips curling into a thankful smile before he nods.

The look he sends Jungkook is nothing short of unimpressed, and Jungkook’s thinking of clamming the dude into the sand and quite literally, bury the hatchet with him. Sure, he was handsome and broad, and undoubtedly ripped—but Jungkook trained to benchpress twice his weight so he could beat up assholes who tried to hit on his girlfriend.

Right before he leaves, Jungkook calls for his name—intentionally calling him Seokmin—noting the way his face drops into a scowl.

“You’re not her type.”

He scoffs.

“And you are?” he throws back, brows raised as a challenge.

“That’s why I get to hold her and you’re walking away.”

With that, Seokjin doesn’t bother responding to Jungkook, especially in the way that you gawk at your boyfriend’s blatant warning to the older man.

He titters off, and it’s effectively just you and Jungkook standing by the shore while you briefly see the way Namjoon stutters before deciding to return to where Jimin and Taehyung lays.

Jungkook’s still seething in his rage, clenching and unclenching his fists even though he got the last word. It wasn’t that he thought you’d elope with Seokjin and leave him—he trusted you wholeheartedly and vice versa. He knew you loved him and so did he.

It had more to do with the fact that Seokjin saw you, and eventually, him—and thought that Jungkook wasn’t fit to be your boyfriend. That he saw a gorgeous girl on the beach and expected her to be single, and if not—to be with a boyfriend that had his shit together and not … not Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” you say quietly, tugging at his elbow while you peer up at him with wide and apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It’s no good, the fact that you’re apologising. As if you were responsible for his insecurities when you’ve done nothing but shower him with love and support ever since the two of you started officially dating.

“Don’t apologise,” he says stiffly, though his heart isn’t angry—he can’t help the way his words get out. “It’s not your fault.”

“But—”

“If you apologise then you’re gonna piss me off, baby,” he says lightly, peering you down with a small smirk as your eyes widen.

“I—okay,” you say weakly, and before he knows it, you’re intertwining your fingers with his, eyes suddenly twinkling in a way he’s grown all too familiar with.

“You have the keys?” he murmurs softly.

You nod, blind and in love as you sigh.

“Take care of me?” you ask sweetly, and Jungkook forgets all about Seokjin when he has you right in front of him.

“O-Oh, fuck—Jungkook—ngh—”

Maybe Jungkook really was a crazy person, but he’d argue that you were equally as crazy to oblige to indulge in his lewd fantasies. He was crazy, for you and your cunt that was like nirvana, and it’s proven further when he fucks into you at a brutal pace, uncaring whether or not the car shakes with the exertion of the activities that were taking place in it.

It could be the fact that he had a decade worth of fantasies to play out, but he knows that he plays a huge part in opening your sexual nature and he couldn’t be happier about it, especially when you unabashedly throw your head onto your chest, whimpering with the dirty squelches of his thrusts that echo in the vehicle.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he growls, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to force your glassy eyes to look at him.

The look on your face is enough to get Jungkook even more riled up, your flushed cheeks and swollen lips while you nod your head manically, crazy—and his.

“Y-Yours,” you whimper, and just about then, Jungkook brings your hips down with his free hand and meets you with a sharp thrust that has your mouth dropping open and your face scrunched up in pleasure. “F-Fuck, J-Jungkook.”

“No one gets to fuck you like this,” he hisses, pressing a hot kiss to your neck as you whine, hips involuntarily swivelling to meet his fast pace. The car is shaking and it’s all too risky, Jungkook knows that—but his rationale is clouded with the antagonising face of Seokjin. “No one gets to see you like this. Only I do.”

“Y-Yes!” you sob, clutching onto him as he feels your pussy tighten viciously around him, the walls of your inner linings spasming as Jungkook hisses at the feeling. “Only you K-Kook. Only ever want you.”

Jungkook believes you, especially when you desperately hold onto him as he feels himself slowly reach the edge. He knows you are too, especially when your whines get higher in pitch, and your tugs against his shoulders get tighter. He knows because he’s learnt about your body as your boyfriend—and he’s the only person that will ever get to have you like this.

The thought, paired along with the risk of your situation only fuels his determination to get you off, his strong arms immediately wrapping around you to root you into place as he shoves his cock deeper into you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he croons as you mewl in pleasure, breathless whines turning more desperate as your eyes flutter shut. “You wanna show me how much you want me?”

You nod manically, your pussy fluttering around his length as he grunts in exertion.

“G-Gonna—pleasedon’tstop—fuck, I-I’m cumming—!” you cry, tugging your face into the crook of his neck as Jungkook bites his lips in focus, all ready to accept your hot pleasure and his own.

“Come for me,” he encourages, lips hovering over your earlobe as you obey his orders, head thrown back as he watches your mouth drop wider and your eyes roll to the back of your head, pussy tightening around his length.

Jungkook thinks you’re beautiful. On days where you don’t feel like you do, but he may be biased to say that he thinks you look absolutely stunning for him like this. When he knows that he’s the one responsible for your reddened cheeks, the way you so desperately cling onto him whenever you’d orgasm (the only person that would ever know this fact about you), and the way that you’re left breathless, satiated and with that hazed expression after his resolute efforts.

Jungkook cums shortly after, with those exact thoughts plaguing his mind. He was so whipped. He really only had to think of you and he would get hard, and having you right above him, soft and warm with your arms draped loosely over his form made his heart all mushy and soft despite the way his cock stands erect.

You mewl in oversensitivity although you don’t complain. You never do, whenever Jungkook cums after you. Even now, when Jungkook comes down from his high with pants of his own, his own mind-clearing while his cock softens in you—you remain patient. Patient like the ever-loving, wonderful girlfriend that you were—one that Jungkook wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Wow,” you giggle, forehead resting against his as you return from your own post-orgasmic bliss. “I can’t believe I let you fuck me in a parking lot.”

Jungkook flushes, reality sinking in when he realised that the two of you weren’t hidden from plain sight. While the idea of being caught was definitely arousing, Jungkook knew he wasn’t too keen on having anyone see you delirious, even if it was all for him. He was lucky enough that your bikini top remained on the entire time, but both your sweaty bodies were enough of a dead giveaway.

“I just,” Jungkook tries to explain, words slurring in embarrassment as you raise a brow at him. “You look really pretty today.”

You stare at his forlorn expression as if admitting that pained him. Jungkook feels slightly embarrassed at how he reacted, and if you notice this, you don’t point it out—yet.

“Wore this for you,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to the mole under his lip. Jungkook’s heart soars at your admission even if he knew that. “You know it’s only for you, right?”

Your question is purposeful and Jungkook shamefully looks to his lap, and even then—you’re still connected. He slowly pulls out, wincing when his cum threatens to pool out of your pussy, but before he can pretend to clean you up, you’re putting your bikini bottoms back in place and clamping your hands over his cheeks so that he’d look at you.

“Jungkook,” you say sternly.

He sighs.

“Yes,” he groans, feeling a lot like a child who’s being berated. “I just—God. He was such a prick.”

“I know,” you say gently, fingers combing through his hair while he melts into your touch. “There are a lot of pricks out there, but you know that I only love you, right?”

Your confession is the same as the one you’ve made six months ago, and just last night before the two of you fell asleep—but it’s a confession that Jungkook never grows tired of.

“I know,” he mumbles as you giggle at him. “It’s just that … he really thought he had a chance with you, and when he saw me it was like—”

You frown, finger pressed against his lips to stop his rambling as he peers up at you with doe-eyes.

“None of that,” you chide lightly, “I don’t care what people think. The only person I care about is you, and no one will change that, okay?”

Jungkook feels himself relax into your touch, especially when you lean forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss that isn’t set to lead anywhere. He remembers. He remembers the times where you were unsure and all too worried of the words of others—and here you were, with him and with your gentle and loving soul, the embodiment of comfort as you tell him the words he’s always known but needs to be reminded of.

“I love you,” he says quietly as you grin widely at him, “Sorry for—you know.”

You roll your eyes, lifting your leg to get off his lap as you wince at the cum that threatens to escape your lips.

“I mean, it was kind of hot,” you shrug with a small smirk.

“God, I’ve created a monster,” Jungkook snorts, looking over at you when you shoot him a devious grin.

“You love it,” you throw back cheekily, leaning into his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you with a sigh.

He does. And he knows that he’s the only one that you’ll love back.

#bad boy good thing #bbgt #bts #bts fics #bts series #bad boy good thing drabbles #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x oc #bts fanfiction #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

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theweasleysredhair · 3 years

Text

An Exhibition of Muggle Duelling [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 2042

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Angry George is hot. He’s even hotter when he’s fighting. Based on that scene - you know the one - in Order of the Phoenix.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @sarcasticallywitty15 @tyyyweasley @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @wonderful-writer @marauders-loving-queen @vogueweasley @marvelettesassemble @thisismynerdyself @gcdric @loony-loopy-lupinn @gloryekaterina @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whiz-bangs78 @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @vivianweasley @andineversawyoucoming @nkjktk | message or send an ask to be removed! unfortunately, my taglist is closed until further notice due to hitting the max. amount allowed on one post!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: shoutout to kaylah ( @pit-and-the-pen ) for finding the pages that the fight scene takes place and sending them to me - literal angel, thank you sm my love!! ❤️ also the ending isn’t great, i had a breakdown trying to figure out what to write, but hope you guys like it anyway 😂

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

Gryffindor had won.

It was supposed to be a happy occasion, despite the song Malfoy had gotten many of the Slytherin students to sing, but as you ran down the steps from the stand and onto the pitch, followed closely by Hermione, you realised something was wrong, Malfoy’s laughter being the most prominent sound.

You approached the Gryffindor team, wanting to make sure Harry was okay after the fall he took at the end of the game, though seeing Katie and Alicia hugging him assured you he would be fine.

“But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, see. We couldn’t fit in useless loser either - for his father, you know-“ you heard Malfoy jeer.

“You’d know all about being a useless loser, wouldn’t you Malfoy?” You spoke out, arriving by George’s side as his arm automatically moved to slide around your waist, his head turning in Malfoy’s direction, jaw clenching as he realised what he was talking about.

“Leave it,” Angelina looked towards you and the twins, particularly Fred who had taken a step in Malfoy’s direction, “Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-“

Malfoy smirked in yours and Harry’s direction, a nasty look on his face as he sneered, “But you like the Weasleys, don’t you Potter? And you, L/n.”

He spat out your surname with a grimace. You felt George trying to move and gripped his wrist, running your thumb softly over his skin. He swallowed, hands curling into fists as he glared at the blonde boy.

“Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you?” Malfoy continued, laughing with his usual sidekicks, enjoying the way he was winding you all up, “Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by muggles even the Weasley’s hovel smells okay-“

George suddenly lunged forward out of your reach, his name leaving your lips just as Harry caught his arm, pulling him back and holding onto him, trying to prevent him from pouncing on the blonde.

Angelina and Alicia were holding Fred back, helped by Katie who had a grip on his shirt and one of his shoulders, though he was still struggling to get away from them, pulling them forward as they dragged him back.

Malfoy laughed again, the sound piercing your ears and making you scowl, “Or perhaps you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it. And don’t get me started on you, L/n. The fact you’d even allow a Weasley to touch you-“

“You git-“ you yelled, moving to grab your wand. But before you could even throw a hex at him, Hermione grabbed your waist, keeping you back as you realised Harry had let go of George, and they were both now on top of the blonde boy, having shoved him down into the mud, throwing punch after punch. You stopped struggling as much as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“Harry! Harry!! George!! No!”

The Gryffindor chasers yelled out their names, but couldn’t do much more as they were still holding Fred back, who was still trying to get to Malfoy.

You held your wand loosely but couldn’t bring yourself to use it, watching as your boyfriend’s fist collided with Malfoy’s nose, his muscles straining and abs prominent as his Quidditch shirt rode up, showing off his toned back as he threw more punches, easily blocking Malfoy’s weak attempts at fighting back. He was swearing at the Slytherin boy, angry growls escaping his lips and you felt your mouth drop a little.

Swallowing, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the scene, George’s ginger locks sticking to his forehead with sweat, both from the previous game and from fighting, a snarl on his face as he continued his attack.

You’d never seen him like this, so aggressive, so in control of his actual movements yet not his emotions as he allowed his anger to fuel him, his eyebrows furrowed, clenched fists accentuating the veins in his lower arms as he landed punch after punch, before suddenly Madam Hooch was yelling out, and he was hit by a spell, one that paused his actions - or rather, slowed them down.

Harry jumped to his feet, as the Quidditch coach yelled out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Malfoy lay on the floor, curled in a ball however you could see his nose was bloody. Fred was still struggling to escape the grasp of the chasers. And George, his lip was swollen and he was breathing heavily, but otherwise he seemed okay, for which you were thankful.

He pulled his shirt back into place angrily, a string of curses being muttered under his breath. His hands were still pulled into fists, his biceps clenching under the jersey, his jaw tensing, before he and Harry headed up to the castle without another word, practically marching away angrily towards McGonagall’s office, under Madam Hooch’s orders.

Fred pulled himself away from the chasers, though he was careful not to hurt them, and they hesitantly released their grips, ready to pull him back again if he attempted to finish what his twin and Harry had started. He scowled as he turned towards the changing rooms, grabbing his broom and heading off.

Hermione let go of your waist and you stomped after Fred, who was grumbling under his breath, and though he nodded at you in reassurance he was okay, you knew the twins and anger didn’t usually end too well.

***

No one seemed to want to celebrate Gryffindor’s win after the match. In fact, you were sat in the common room completely alone, waiting for your boyfriend (and Harry) to come back from being reprimanded by McGonagall. Fred had sullenly stomped to his room a while ago without a word, simply kicking the wall beside the stairs in anger as he passed by it.

Even Angelina - who you’d expected to have been happy by her first win as a new Captain - had retired to her own dorm room with a frown, along with Alicia and Katie.

The common room felt odd, being so quiet, but you appreciated the calm. That was, until the portrait door slammed open and two familiar - angry - faces stormed in.

You didn’t have chance to acknowledge Harry before George had pulled you up off the couch and, despite his split lip, he brought you into a rough kiss, one that made your toes curl and caused your greeting to become muffled, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, before pushing into your mouth, desperately kissing you as though it were the last thing he’d ever do. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

You weren’t aware he’d started moving you until your back hit the stone wall beside the fireplace, his hand moving to grab your bum, travelling to the back of your thigh to lift it round his waist, his hips pressing against yours.

“Did you hear what he was fucking saying?” He mumbled against your lips, parting briefly to take a breath before kissing you again, “‘Bout my parents, and Harry’s Mum. And you- Merlin he’s lucky he didn’t say much more about you, he’d have had more than a broken nose, I’ll tell you that much.”

Your breathing was heavy, fanning across his lips as you replied, “Trust me, if he’d said much more, I’d have been right there with you breaking more than just his nose.”

He hummed, his mouth hovering over yours as his eyes grazed over your face, your leg still resting around his waist, your hands now gripping his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” You asked. Perhaps a redundant question, considering the events of the day, however as George briefly screwed his eyes shut before opening them again, you knew he understand what you meant - there was something else bothering him, and he knew you could tell.

“‘M fine, love,” he gave you a quick nod, before sighing at your pointed eyebrow raise, “Aside from being banned from Quidditch.”

You blinked, not expecting that answer, lips parting in surprise as his hand moved from your hip to your thigh, tracing random shapes on the skin showing, “Wait McGonagall banned you? She wouldn’t do that! She adores your team! They don’t stand a chance of winning without you!”

“Not her, the toad. Gave me, Freddie and Harry a lifelong ban. Can she even do that?” He swore aloud, his head dropping to your shoulder and you ran a hand through his ginger hair.

“Oh Georgie,” you breathed out, your heart almost breaking at the idea of him losing out on something he loved so much, “I’m sorry to say but you know as well as I do... she can pretty much do whatever she wants, sadly. She’s got the Ministry behind her. I’m so sorry.”

Your gaze moved to the back of your hand, where you knew there was light scarring from a previous detention with her, knowing that if she could get away with something like this, then she’d do it.

“‘S not your fault, is it? Should’ve controlled myself and not fought Malfoy. No matter how much the git bloody deserved it,” George curled his hands into fists as memories of the fight danced through his mind, a snarl setting across his features as he buried his face into your shoulder.

“He definitely deserved it. Least you got in a few good punches, eh? And if it wasn’t you, it would’ve been Fred. If it makes you feel any better though...” you trailed off, causing George to look up at you in anticipation of your next words, “I kinda maybe definitely thought that it was hot, the way you fought Malfoy. Just a little bit.”

He looked you up and down with a smirk, seemingly calming down at the revelation of this new information, “Me fighting is hot is it?”

“Oh Godric yes. You’re sexy when you’re angry anyway, but seeing you punching Malfoy?” You bit your lip and he let out a low groan, “Baby, that was attractive.”

George grinned cheekily, though a tad too wide causing his lip to split again, making him swear and dab at it with the collar of his shirt, reaching his other hand out to squeeze your thigh, “Well now I know that I might cause fights more often.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, watching as his tongue darted out across the cut, before leaning up to press your lips against his again. He kissed back immediately, almost as if he was waiting for you to do it, then began trailing kisses down your jaw, your eyes fluttering closed, before he pulled away suddenly, making you open them again, ready to protest.

“What is it about me fighting?” He asked, the corner of his mouth curling up, as if he was trying not to smile too smugly.

“Now you’re just begging for compliments,” you shook your head.

“Humour me. Humour me and I’ll go back to kissing you,” he countered.

You rolled your eyes, absent-mindedly moving to stroke his biceps through the Quidditch jersey he was still wearing, “Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to. Guess it’s your muscles...”

You pressed your lips together as your gaze caught his, “And how strong you are.”

“Strong?”

You hummed, fingertips dancing up his arms and towards his shoulders, “Oh yeah. You could hold my wrists above my head and I could struggle with everything I have and you’d keep me in place with ease.”

“That a hint?” His voice had dropped a few octaves as he brushed his lips against yours gently, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and pinning them against the wall above your head as you shot him a cheeky grin, gazing up at him.

“A challenge.”

His free hand was already moving under the material of your skirt, as he casually glanced over his shoulder towards the staircase to the dorm rooms, before pressing himself against you further, his lips hovering over yours once more,

“Oh yeah? Then challenge accepted, love.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines

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slipper007 · 3 years

Text

I can't imagine the pain.

Word Count: 3,262

TW: child loss, grief and grieving, discussion of death. See AO3 for complete tags.

Special thanks to @angelfishofthelord and @shirtlesscastiel who both asked for a part 2, as well as @featherasscas , who's reblogged part 1 more times than I can count

Companion to this, + also on AO3. [Masterpost]

Castiel stayed on the ground, broken, for what felt like hours, lacking the strength to look away from the devastation of his grief.

He stayed there so long that the Winchesters gave up hope. They mumbled something about Chuck and the end of all things, of the ghosts that Cas’ total grief had obliterated and how they might not have been all that was released. Castiel didn’t care. He didn’t have it in him to, and maybe the Winchesters saw that. Dean tried to touch his shoulder, maybe even offer an apology, but Castiel shot him a look that ended the conversation they had been dancing around for years. They left him in that graveyard with what was left of his son.

He almost prayed, but what could an angel do to reverse God’s will? No, he needed to do something else. He was desperate enough to try anything he thought would work.

Bargaining. Maybe he could strike up another deal. Whatever the price was, he would pay it happily. He would give his life in a heartbeat, just like before, if it would bring Jack back.

He reached out to Death directly.

He felt Billie’s presence before he saw them and slowly turned as they offered a laid back “Hey.”

“Bring him back.”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” Billie replied. They raised a brow as Castiel drew his blade. “Killing me again? That seems a little redundant.”

“If you won’t bring him back then maybe your replacement will.”

“Everything has its time, Castiel and everything dies.”

“And it wasn’t his time! His story isn’t done!”

“God said otherwise.”

“You’re going to let God do your job? Kill Jack and wreck the order?”

“God isn’t wrecking anything. Every story has different endings. This was one.”

“Then change it.”

“It’s already happened. It can’t be undone.” Billie’s voice was gentler than Castiel expected when they continued. “It’s not fair, or kind, or right, but it’s life. You need to make your peace with that.”

“No.” Billie’s brows drew together and if Castiel didn’t know better, he would think that it was from pity. Even as he spoke, he felt the tip of his angel blade drop. “I can’t accept this, he can’t be...”

“He is. And nothing you do will change that, regardless of what your time with the Winchesters has taught you.”

Castiel felt the lurching ill sensation rise up again.

“What if I go to the Empty directly?”

“Then you die. It keeps both you and Jack. But you know how the Empty works.”

“I still won’t get to see him...say anything...”

Billie touched his shoulder, a rare gesture of remorse from Death incarcerate. “He’s gone, Castiel, but he can live on in you.”

Castiel didn’t answer, and Death left him to grieve.

Even as time ticked by, Castiel was at a loss for what to do. In the dust, he drew the Enochian sigil to create a portal to Heaven, paid it enough attention that for a moment he could pretend Jack was sitting in the truck playing on his phone.

Castiel almost called his brothers and sisters down to open the portal, to take both Jack and him from the Earth, to let them rest for the first time in years. He wanted Jack to know the peace that used to exist in Heaven, the safety of the place he had once called home. More than that, he wanted to be at peace, to quell the anguish and anger writhing in his chest. It would be easier to go back to proper angelhood, forget what it was to feel.

Emotions had never brought him anything but trouble. They’d lost him his family, his home, his friends, his life…

Still, his tongue wouldn’t speak the words to bring his siblings down. He remembered how they’d treated Jack, and him. The angels had manipulated Jack just as the Winchesters had, and they would do so again if given the chance.

Even dead, Jack could still be used as a weapon. His body harbored the remains of not only nephil grace, but also that of the archangel Michael. Those were both cosmic; they would endure longer than his body.

As much as it sickened him, Castiel realized a hard truth.

Not only was Jack unable to come back, but it wasn’t enough to simply lay him to rest. His body needed to be destroyed so completely that he could never be manipulated again.

He only knew one person he could even start to trust with something like that.

“Hello, tweetie pie,” Rowena answered. “Is this a social call?”

“No, I need your help.”

“Now as much as I’d like to, I’m busy. Tell the Winchesters—”

“This isn’t for them,” he said, words coming out harsher than intended. He took a breath and added a gentler, “Please, this is important.”

“More important than—”

“Yes. Can you meet me at...” Castiel faltered. The Bunker wasn’t an option, and he certainly wasn’t going to stay where he was, surrounded by death, destruction, and his son’s wings scorched into the earth. “Uh…”

“I’ll need some time to tie things up in Nevada. Could you perhaps meet me halfway?

“Yes.” Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. “In Colorado? Grand Junction?”

“Alright,” Rowena agreed. “Now tell me what it is you need so I can prepare.”

“I need you to help me burn a body.” He risked a glance to Jack, feeling bile rise up. “So completely that he can’t come back.”

“Dearie—”

“I can’t talk more; I’ll see you tomorrow,” Castiel blurted, hanging up before what little control he had over his emotions could slip.

The drive was even harder than watching him die.

He talked and played music, anything to avoid the screaming silence, the way Jack was growing cold and stiff beside him. It didn’t work. His mind still repeated the horrified knowledge of “this was your child,” a broken record he feared would never stop.

Neither of them would recover from this.

He arrived after Rowena and nearly cried as she offered him a smile in her prim and proper way and asked if Jack would be joining them or staying in the car.

He didn’t know what gave it away. The unnatural stillness and silence of the car, one that he’d grappled with for hundreds of miles, perhaps. Maybe it was a witch’s intuition, since she’d seen enough over the last several hundred years. Maybe it was because he couldn’t answer her, or even look her in the eyes.

“Oh,” was all she said before embracing him. He couldn’t return it. He couldn’t tear his mind from the hug he had given Jack in the graveyard, how he hadn’t hugged back, how he’d kneeled rather than fight, and how he’d died even when Dean couldn’t go through with it. How it felt to hold Jack, limp and soundless in his arms.

The dam broke, and all that pain and grief and anger nearly brought him to his knees.

Rowena saw it: how broken he was, how broken he’d always been. He didn’t know who he was anymore if he wasn’t a father or an angel, yet he was neither anymore. What was he supposed to do now?

Maybe she understood that. She had suffered the loss of a loved one, too. She knew what it was to watch the world die around her, to lose herself for a time.

When Castiel was able to collect himself, pull the broken shards of his being back together, Rowena asked something that almost tore him apart again.

“Dearie, are you sure you want to…”

“I can’t bring him back. I talked to Death, and I can’t bring him back,” Castiel said softly. “I can’t have someone take advantage of what’s… left.”

“But something so permanent…”

“I would do it myself,” he offered, “but I seem to have fallen.”

Rowena gave him a strange look, the likes of which he hadn’t received in years, so he explained.

“I felt it. Something in me breaking. The emotion growing stronger. I don’t know how to describe it… It felt like when the angels fell. The same kind of desperation.”

“My dear, you’re still an angel. You still have your powers.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you once were, and you’re a smidge weaker than last we saw each other, but you’re far from powerless.”

Castiel looked away, lost.

“Maybe you can’t do it because you don’t want to,” she offered gently.

“What I want is for him to come back. But he needs to be….” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Rowena nodded, understanding.

They found somewhere private, somewhere quiet outside the city. The trees stood tall and proud and vibrantly alive. A felled one became the pyre.

Castiel placed Jack on it, still wrapped in the trenchcoat.

The flames that swallowed him were brilliantly red, orange, and gold like the ochre rocks on the horizon.

It took hours, even with the help of magic. Castiel stood by Jack’s side for all of it, even long after the embers had cooled and all that was left was a small pile of ash and smudges of soot. Rowena collected it up in a jar as the sun rose, and Castiel took it in his hands.

It never should have ended like this.

The day carried on as if Castiel’s world hadn’t ended hours ago. He was grateful to Rowena for what she had done, but even sitting in her kitchen he was too lost in grief to thank her.

Standing by a whistling teapot, she finally asked, “Would you like to talk about the wee boy?”

“It hurts too much.” Castiel bit into his lip, hard. What did it say about him, that he could hardly even say Jack’s name? Shame bubbled up, hatred of himself swift to follow.

“It hurts because of how much you loved him.”

“I still love him.”

“Yes.”

The pair fell silent for a long while and Rowena set a cup of hot tea in front of Cas before settling into her own seat.

“Rowena…”

“Yes, tweetie pie?”

“When did losing Oscar stop hurting?”

Rowena bowed her head, and Castiel knew the answer.

“It didn’t,” she finally said. “Just as losing Fergus hasn’t stopped hurting.”

Castiel’s instinct was right. This was something he would never recover from, would he?

“It’s a different kind of hurt, with time,” Rowena offered. “It stops being so keen. You survive and you try to carry on without them, because that’s what they would have wanted.” She stared deep into her tea. “You learn to talk about them, and to them, even though they’re gone.”

Castiel nodded and held his tea closer. He couldn’t see that happening, not with how much it hurt, but she was right: he would survive. With Jack gone, his deal would never come due. Happiness wouldn’t kill him because he would never feel it again.

Rowena offered him a place to stay for a few weeks, but Castiel declined. He couldn’t stay there, not where the earth was scorched and the air still smelled faintly of smoke. Instead, Castiel drove for hours, not paying much attention to where he was going until he found himself parked outside of the Bunker.

It wasn’t where he wanted to be, not by a longshot, but he had something he needed to do. The door creaked as loudly as it always had, and Castiel was halfway across the library before a voice called out to him.

“Cas.”

Dean.

“I’m here for his things. Then I’ll be on my way.”

“Cas, hey. Stop for a moment, would you?”

Castiel did.

“Look, alright.” Dean walked over until they could look each other in the eye. “I’m not proud of how everything went down. And I’ve given what you said some thought. You’re right. It is our fault, but it’s Chuck’s, too, man. You gotta see that.”

“What I see is that you’re finding any excuse you can to get the blame off yourself.”

Dean’s eyes darkened.

“Chuck has been toying with us—”

“No, you made the decision to kill him, just as I made the decision not to. You told me to get onboard or walk away, and I left you and Chuck both of my own choice. Because you taught me that people and families and love are worth fighting for, and I was going to fight for him!” Castiel tried to keep the waver out of his voice as tears brimmed in his eyes. “Chuck couldn’t have changed that even if he’d tried.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to, huh? You think of that? Maybe he wants us divided.”

“You should have thought about that before you tried to execute him in front of me.”

“Cas—”

“You had a choice and you made the wrong one.”

Castiel left him there in the library and locked himself in Jack’s room. Almost instantly, it proved to be too much, and he slumped down against the door, sobbing.

The room was holding its breath, waiting for Jack to come home. A half-read book sat on the desk, a few stray papers underneath. A pile of clothes waited patiently to be returned to a drawer. The nightstand was bare save for a pencil. One good deed….

Castiel packed it all away. He hated himself for destroying the illusion, for leaving the room as empty as his chest felt, but what he was waiting for would never happen. Jack would never walk through that door again. The decoder ring in the drawer would never be used. Everything had fallen into ruin.

He managed to get the first box into his truck with no issues, no run-ins or confrontations. The second box was smaller, and he rested it on a hip as he closed the bedroom door for the last time.

This time, he wasn’t so lucky. Dean watched him cross the room and quietly said, “You’re not the only one grieving him.”

“It’s not the same, Dean. You never felt his soul. You never took the time to know him: you spent your time trying to make up for wanting him dead. Well, you got what you wanted.”

Dean flinched at that, but Castiel didn’t care. His son was nothing but ash and a box and a half of belongings. Anger flared again.

“You think angels can’t feel.” He laughed bitterly. “Even though I’ve proven that wrong. Did you think killing him wouldn’t kill me, too? As if I haven’t given more for him than you could possibly imagine. As much as you’ve given for Sam. My life. My happiness… I signed away my future in a heartbeat so that he could come back and I would do it again. I tried to do it again.”

If only it would have worked.

“Wait, what?”

“I made a deal to save him. When I’m happy, the Empty will take me forever.”

Dean gaped at him in horror.

“Cas, what’ve you done?”

“What I had to. What any father would do. Don’t give me that look. You’ve done worse for Sam.”

“And it’s always come back to bite me in the ass.”

“Well, I haven’t been happy in years, so don’t worry about the deal.”

“You shouldn’t have made it in the first place.”

“Oh, so now only you get to make deals to save the people you love? Only you get to cheat death time and time again while the rest of us suffer?” Castiel looked at him incredulously, anger seeping through him. “Do you know how many brothers I’ve lost? Sisters? Friends? Now Jack. Why can’t I save them? Why should they stay dead when you and your brother have been raised so many times?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. We would have figured it out without making the deal!”

“We didn’t have the time! If I hadn’t made the deal I would have lost him forever, right then and there. I couldn’t stand by and watch him die!”

It would have killed him. And it had.

“We would have figured it out,” Dean maintained. “Like we always do!”

Castiel shook his head. “Then you figure it out. If you bring him back, I’ll be back, but until then…” Castiel looked around the wide expanse of the Bunker with a strange longing. This had never been home, but it could have been, just as his friendship with the Winchesters could have been more. He was leaving behind an almost.

“Jack’s dead. Chuck’s gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.”

“Cas, wait.”

As angry and tired as he was—as they both were—Castiel wanted to. A decade of comradeship, of camaraderie and pining, did that, made him reluctant to leave. Then he remembered standing between Dean and Jack, realizing that if that gun went off, he’d lose them both. He knew now that he’d lost them both long before that.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

It was years before they saw each other again.

It took longer than Castiel could ever admit to find peace.

He still ached for Jack to come back, felt the pain in every drawn breath, but Rowena was right. Billie was right. The anger lessened and the pain dulled. He missed his son but Jack would have wanted him to try to move on. He would have wanted Cas to be happy, despite the deal still hanging over his head even if Castiel couldn’t see it ever coming to fruition now. He owed it to Jack to try to be happy.

And he would. He had to. No matter how much it hurt, even if he still wanted nothing more than to bring him back or follow him in death. Jack survived through him, in his memories and his love. He couldn’t let what was left of his son go like that.

He’d moved to Washington, made a home of where Jack had been born and Kelly had died. Where he had burned. It was a little too empty, full of broken promises and loss and regret, as if it, too, struggled to let go. One day it would. Another family would come and clean it out, fill this home with love as it always should have been. Children would run out to the sand, oblivious of the ash mixed in, while their parents painted over Kelly’s mural and took down the pale yellow curtains that had reminded Cas of honey.

One day, all memory of Jack and the world his parents had tried to give him would be gone. But it wouldn’t be today.

Castiel made his way outside, stood where the rift had first appeared. If he looked closely, he could still see the imprint of wings in the earth. This was where he and Kelly had both burned.

Cautiously, Castiel looked to the sky, the twinkling lights of stars against an unpolluted sky. Jack loved space. He would have loved it here, able to see the stars every night without fail.

It was time to let go.

Gently, Castiel let the ash catch in the breeze, wander everywhere it liked and more until it was gone. Jack was gone.

Castiel swallowed hard and tilted his head back up to the sky, to the light of a thousand stars. If he looked hard enough, he could see the golden twinkle of Jack’s grace reflecting back, his eyes glowing against a sea of blue.

“Hello, Jack.”

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