#first kiss in your best friends room after school that starts a life-altering romance changing the trajectory of your future forever

[reallifehumansunshine]

pov: you are sixteen and you’re kissing your best friend who is way out of your league (they are both thinking this)

[provisionalsparkle]

The Boy Next Door

Reader x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

[Genre] exes-to-lovers au, smut, angst.

[Word count] 6.7K

[Warnings] Smut. Angst. Unprotected sex, voyeurism, ample description of bodily fluids.

[Note] This is my contribution to @feliix ’s Summer 2 Lovers collab! Check it out!

Summer.

The season of fun and sun, careless joy, long days and warm nights…

For most people.

For you, this summer is about change. It’s about the little town you used to live in, the quaint house you grew up in, the smell of your mother’s cooking or the breeze from the yard, the sound of younger kids playing in the street. It’s about the big city you will go to live in, it’s purple and orange twilight skies, black silhouettes reaching toward the skies beginning to twinkle with golden lights, the noises of the traffic coming from evening bustle, the scent of the delis and restaurants that line the streets.

You were stuck between these two places, university having been a four year long limbo of boundless sex mislabeled as self-discovery, and now visit your home one last time, reminding yourself of the life you had there before moving on to another.

You think of the past with nostalgia, yet also with a restlessness that makes you want to run from everything. The stillness, the silence, the unchanging landscape in this little town is too unbearable, too unsettling. But it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable. The life you’ll soon live promises excitement, autonomy, it’s the adulthood you’ve fantasized about. It terrifies you too, and you have these horrible dreams about missing the payment of the most insignificant bill and having the entire world collapse on you because of it. You still don’t know how to do your taxes.

College is over, a new life awaits you in a big city after landing a rather ideal job, but it felt like you were leaving things behind. Funny how, after so many years of fantasizing about this grown-up life you suddenly felt like a lost child, scared to forgo the familiar.

It’s these sort of almost-quarter-life-crisis thoughts that fill your mind on a particularly warm afternoon. You’re indecently splayed out on a couch with as little clothing as possible, the door to the backyard is wide open, letting an occasional breeze waft in to disrupt the stifling stillness of the heat. The lights are off, and you were too unbothered to turn them on as the sun set, preferring to stare at a darkening ceiling as the evening sky turned purple.

There’s a familiar jingle of keys from the front door.

“Honey? You home?”

“I’m here, Mom.” You lazily answer back. She wanders from the hall to the living room, you can feel the judgemental look she gives you.

“Have you been laying like this all day?”, indignation lines her voice. Was it so surprising to find you like this?

“Yeah…”

“You can’t just lay here all day. Go out! Get some sun! Go play with those kids you used to hang out with from school!”

“I can’t Ma, I’d rather just plank here.”

“Oh goodness, Y/n. Give me one good reason you shouldn’t go hang out with them!”

“I’ll give you two: either they grew up to be total bitches or they had kids and became a bore.”

“I didn’t become a bore when I had you!” She exclaims, although it’s not too serious and some playfulness hides beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a cool mom. They don’t make those anymore.”

“Hmm… well, I think you should make a bit of an effort.”

“Mom… it’s my last vacation you know -”

“You know what?!” She suddenly exclaims, her voice brightening like a lightbulb just radiated in her thoughts. “Mrs. Carson’s son is here with her for the summer too! I bet you haven’t seen him in ages, and he’s gotten so handsome.”

“Mrs. Carson?” You didn’t have any clue who that was.

“Well… you might remember her as Mrs. Bang, but Jane changed her name when she married Norbert a few years ago. She still lives next door and Christopher’s in town spending the summer with his mother.”

Bang…

Christopher…

You hadn’t heard that name in years. It surprised you a bit actually, and a hint of a smile came to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom… I’ll think about it.”

You wouldn’t admit… something did grab your attention. A curiosity of sorts.

You were fifteen years old when you had your first kiss. He was a short boy with a kind smile, a bit awkward really, but you had a fondness for him. It wasn’t about looks at all, all boys at that age were hideous and nothing would change your opinion on that, but you’d swoon whenever you saw him. It was mutual, an icky teenage infatuation that had your friends poking fun at both of you whenever you’d become giddy at the sight of one another. Hot faces, nervous glances, trembling innocent touches.

He sat next to you in chemistry and you’d hold hands under the lab table while the teacher gave class. His left hand always felt soft in your right one. Cute. It’s a bit silly but you’re glad you had that sort of adorable and silly romance. While it lasted, that is.

Christopher wasn’t a bad guy. He was stupid, like all boys that age.

When you saw him kissing another girl, of course you cried, but you knew it had to do with him being stupid more than anything. This simple looking girl that you had been friends with in elementary school, you can’t even remember her name.

You know why he did it, beyond his stupidity. Your mom had let it slip long before - you knew it was coming.

“Honey, would you believe? Mr. and Mrs. Bang are divorcing!” Probably just some hot gossip from one of her PTA yoga groups, no ill intention on your behalf. She didn’t know you were seeing Christopher - over your dead body. You were fifteen and a horrible student, you didn’t need to give your mother yet another element to ground you with.

“Oh no…” You acted as normally as you could, your first thoughts went out to Christopher first though. “Do you know why?”

“Well… I’m obviously not going to ask, duh! But I do know that Mr. Bang is taking the kid with him abroad.” What?! What did she just say? Chis is WHAT?!

“I - uh, what?” Act normal, act normal, act normal.

“Aww… sweetie, was he your friend?” Goodness, parents can be so oblivious, but it’s beneficial in this case. She doesn’t pick up on the depression of your mood.

“I guess.” A sniffle is about to threaten your composure so, in your teenage arrogance, you leave before your mother can see your teary eyes.

The subsequent days were strange. You expected Christopher to tell you the news, you expected to comfort him, you expected to live out the rest of your young romance as best as you could. And then… you saw him.

And he said nothing. He was cold, pushed you away. He must be going through a lot of pain, you thought. More days went by and he still said nothing, and his demeanor grew worse, no affection, no smiles. He must be having a hard time, you reasoned.

Sometimes you thought he was on the verge of saying something to you, like he was about to say something and the words threatened to come out but he’d suddenly pull away and swallow them. You didn’t question it really, it was so confusing but you just went with it.

You never held his hand in chemistry again.

Time made you realize that Christopher didn’t want to be with you anymore. You weren’t sure if it was because he stopped liking you, and that hurt a little, but you knew what he was going through, and you stood by him in case he ever chose to open up and cry on your shoulder. You’d be there for him.

When he kissed that girl, it didn’t really surprise you. Damn it, what was her name? You cried, you thought it was because you were ugly and your boobs were still pretty small - stupid reasons.

It took a few months for you to understand the real reason.

He left without saying goodbye. You never spoke to him after he kissed what’s-her-name. Maybe he tried to do so a couple of times, but you ran away or didn’t let him. Or maybe you remembered it that way to comfort you, just so you’d live with the thought that he tried to apologize, tired to make things right.

But the fact of the matter is he didn’t speak to you and he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to say goodbye because it hurt.

He was trying to ruin your relationship so you’d break up with him and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye, so that he could kill the feelings you had for him to spare you from the pain of his departure.

Or maybe you were just imagining it like that to make it a cuter memory and think about it fondly.

Maybe in the end, Christopher was just a horny teenage boy that cheated on you. Maybe.

Regardless, you giggle as you think back on the silliness of it all, and how serious and life altering it all felt in your childishness. It seemed so long ago, so distant, and you were so changed that it felt like it had all happened to a different person. You wondered about the man next door, and the entirely different boy who had once been next door. What kind of person had Christopher become?

University did you well. It was four solid years of irresponsible drinking and uninhibited sexual exploration paired with relatively easy academics. You don’t know how it happened, but it had been like a transformation from one day to the next.

You, sort of, kind of, absolutely plain and normal girl that no one would notice lest you stepped in their line of sight. One day, there you were - normal.

Two weeks in - boom. Confident. Your roommate was an okayish girl, another plain one. Then you started noticing how comfortable you were undressing in front of her, to change clothes or whatever, as if it was the most normal thing in the world - which it was. Wearing shorts and skirts became less of a worry, just something that felt better. Sometimes you’d be thrown icky glances from some boys, which you hated, but others were acceptably flirty and you loved those. The best ones were the boys that would get shy and who would quickly whip their heads the other way once you caught them staring.

That definitely flipped the switch. It made you feel strong, it made you feel damn good. You, who at the most had dipped a finger into the world of heavy makeouts during high school, now became a seasoned seductress of all kinds of men. So long as you could wrap them around your finger with your demeanor, so long as you could prowl over them and take the lead.

Ah… the good old days.

What was going to happen now, though? Four years later, no slightly inexperienced men left to be wowed. Everyone you knew was turning into a bland and bitter office worker. Was this the end of it?

To think that you’d be ending this glorious chapter of your life in this tiny town, lounging on the same stuffy couch in the same hot living room every day, having your routine philosophical melodrama where you’d stare at the ceiling in the afternoons until your mother came in inquiring if you were alive. It was a terrible fate.

A few days after the revelation of Christopher’s presence, which you would never admit had been circling your mind nonstop, your mother returns with another piece of information.

“You know, Jane and Norbert are having a get together of sorts next Saturday - just the usuals from the block.”

“Is that so?” You said with disinterest.

“In fact, I borrowed a baking pan from her last week… why don’t you go over and give it back to her for me? She might need it, and you probably haven’t left this house in days.” You didn’t reply, but you could feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to obey.

“Fine…”

The afternoon was enjoyably fresh, although your white t-shirt stuck to you like a second skin, the bikini top you wore underneath tracing its silhouette into the cotton. You lazily stomped your way to the house next door, admiring the tall window where you had snuck into Christopher’s room a couple of times during your short romance. A ladder was perched up against the exterior toward that window, they must have been fixing things up. The porch was full of cans of paint, tools, boxes. It was only when you rang on the doorbell, begrudgingly holding the large tray, that you realized that Jane might not be the one to open the door but instead it could be -

The door swings open and you gasp. Christopher.

Well… his face hadn’t changed much. But he was slightly taller than you remembered, far more masculine, oh, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Yeah, he was shirtless… jeans hanging low on his hips… shirtless… abs… fit waist… arms…

“Hi! Is Jane home?” Good… pretend you don’t remember him.

“I - Uh… no, my mom’s actually out right now.” He replied. His voice had grown deeper, and where did he get that accent? Wait - did he not remember you? Now, that just made you angry, but you wouldn’t let it show.

“Oh, well… my mother wanted me to return this.” You say handing him the tray, avoiding trailing your eyes downward.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give it to her.” He says. He seems a little frozen, an expression between surprise and caution lingers on his face, but you don’t know if it’s good or bad.

There’s a moment of silence where you just stare at each other.

“Y/n…” He finally says. There’s hesitation in the way he says your name. He’s scared, not of you, but he’s scared about the fact that you’re on his doorstep.

You don’t say anything, calmly, almost coyly, waiting for him to continue. You’d gotten rather good at pretending you were calm, and the slightest tint of a smile painted your lips so you wouldn’t seem cold or ingenuine.

“Do you remember me?” He asks. You can’t help but huff, a tiny laughter really.

“Of course. You know, you haven’t grown much taller.”

With those slightly playful words, you turn to walk back to your home, and with each step your impression of the encounter with your childhood love became more bitter and less sweet.

It was strange how you thought about him, about it. The situation, that is. Seeing him, talking to him, both of you now being older. A few days of thinking now.

You don’t know why you thought about it so much, but you thought about it. You thought about it without knowing how you felt about it or what you thought about it. This man you had only gotten a glimpse of, too overwhelmed to take in his features properly, now walks around your mind freely. He wasn’t the boy you knew. He wasn’t the boy next door whose hand you’d once hold in chemistry, who you’d kiss before turning the corner towards both of your homes. The boy who left all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t that boy. It was that man, who kept perturbing you. What did you feel? Interest? Yes, there was something quite intriguing about all of this which sparked your curiosity. Lust? Of course, absolutely, the man next door looked divine. Suppose you could abstract the person from his body, so that you wouldn’t be so bothered by who he was and what he meant to you, and you’d easily bend over in front of him and invite him in.

You supposed a conversation was in place, though, because after all, he was still the Christopher. You couldn’t just go around fucking people like that anymore - unfortunately. That was something you got away with in college. It’s a shame college boys grow up to be boring men, sex gets more boring, they think they have all the authority… Maybe you should go back to school.

You’re sitting on the windowsill of your second floor bedroom, one leg hanging out and stepping onto the roof. Opposite to your window, beyond a neat shrub, is the window of the guest room of Mrs. Carson, formerly Bang, which seems unchanged from when you last saw it. You remember watching her from your room, also unchanged, using the TV in there to do some aerobics she followed along from a VHS… was it a VHS? No, that’s the machine. What were the things you used to put in the VHS? A cassette? No… regardless, eventually she must have started using DVD’s.

Damn it, it all seemed like thousands of years ago.

Damn it, you were still so melodramatic throwing around words like poetry over some Richard Simmons tape. Aha! It’s a tape!

Your crotch is being dug into by the window frame, and you let your weight rest on it, the slight grind tempting you to have a round of masturbation. But you’ll finish the cigarette you stole from your mother first. It tasted awful, it was another adult thing you couldn’t understand. Why did everyone at university smoke so much? It was just another thing their eager teenage selves did to emulate the adults in grown-up world, to feel a little more grown-up. Who the hell likes this stuff?

But you liked watching it burn, occasionally inhaling its airy and bitter smoke. It wasn’t your preferred type of smore. You preferred watching papers and matches burn, their sweet and rich smell, the warmth of the fire that would sting the edges of your fingers. Shame your mother only used a lighter, you didn’t like the smell of that fire either.

You just surrendered to watching the bright tip of the cigarette and the white streams that came from it.

“You know those are bad for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You exclaimed, your heart nearly jumping out from your chest. A man had sprung out from the window in the guest room of the Carson house, formerly Bang, and that man was Christopher Bang himself.

“Sorry I didn’t -”

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack - what the hell?!”

“ - mean to startle you…”

“Damn it, Christopher!”

“Ah! So you do remember me?” He says with a bit of joy, but you just look at him, realizing that this is where the talk will come. His features grow a little more somber. He continues, “So… I guess I -”

“Where’d you get the accent?” You interrupt, genuinely curious. “You sound like the crocodile hunter.”

“Well… I was living in Australia with my dad.” He says it in a normal tone, but you make sure it doesn’t stay normal.

“Oh, so that’s where you went?” You both wince at what you just said. Yep, it’s finally time for that talk.

There’s a bit of silence, but you’ll let him be the one to fill it.

“I…” He sighs deeply. Uuhh… it’s quite a masculine sigh. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but I… there’s something I’ve always wanted to say.”

“I’m listening…” You say. It’s a flat tone, but it’s funny. You hope it’ll ease him.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Some silence again, “I’m sorry for being an ass, I’m sorry for cheating on you -”

“Chris, we were like fifteen… you kissed a girl with braces, big deal.” You waved it off. Really, kissing that girl didn’t bother you so much, now almost ten years later.

“I left without saying anything.”

“Yeah, you did. Hard to not notice.”

“I was - I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through a lot and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you left without saying anything?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok… we haven’t spoken in years. I practically forgot about it.” No you didn’t.

“Did you?” He says. Was he hopeful when you insinuated he hadn’t hurt you as much as he thought he had?

“No, not really. I mean, yeah, you kissing another girl was pretty insignificant, we were just kids. It did hurt that you left without… I don’t know… There wasn’t any closure. There wasn’t a goodbye. I felt confused for a while, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry about that. But my parents were splitting up, I was going to have to leave everything behind. You were the first girl I loved and I was going to have to say goodbye and I couldn’t handle it. I was too hurt and embarrassed to even tell my friends. I wish I had done it differently.”

“Yeah, I wish you had too. I wanted to be there for you, you know? I wanted to hug you, hold your hand, tell you it was going to be ok.

“I really messed up there…”

“It’s okay Chris, you were just a kid. We were just kids.” You offer your sympathy but he doesn’t soften.

“Mhmm. Doesn’t make me feel less guilty about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, “Did you do all that stuff… you know, treat me that way, for real or where you…?”

“I was hoping you’d break up with me, get over me. That way we wouldn’t have to say goodbye and we wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I got hurt.” You admit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You insist. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We’re old and grown and fine. All of that’s in the past, I can’t blame you for acting like a kid. It’s okay.”

“Well I can agree with you there. We did grow up, not kids anymore.”

“You didn’t grow that much.” You laugh, he laughs too.

“You certainly did.” He’s being flirty. It could have been bad timing, but the mood felt right.

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Hard not to.” Goodness was he being direct. “You were really cute back in school, I had a crush on you for like, forever.”

“Really…Plain old me?”

“Really. And now here we are and I think I could have a crush on you all over again.”

“So you can go off and kiss another girl with braces and leave the continent?”

“No, I’m a one woman man.” He says while making himself comfortable on his own ledge. It’s getting comfortable overall, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known for the longest time, like a decade of separation didn’t do much harm.

“Well, well. And who is that lucky woman now?”

“There’s no one at the moment. I’m in the middle of some life changes.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m moving back. Well, not here, just in the country again. A big city, big job, kinda scary.”

“Seems we’re on the same boat. I just came back to say goodbye to this place forever and I’m ooout.”

“Did you finish school already?”

“Yeah… I wish I hadn’t though.” You think back on your experience with longing, lamenting it’s end.

“Wow, can’t relate. I couldn’t wait for it to end. What’d you miss about it?”

“Well, I didn’t have to work, grades were good and easy. And I guess, it was tons of fun.”

“How so?”

“Being on a campus full of horny and stupid guys - it was open game.” Chan hisses at your admission.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for that type.” He chuckles, “You would stutter for like the first two months we went out.”

“We were just kids.”

“I guess we were…”

Another comfortable silence as you stare off at the sky, your cigarette burnt through with only the spongy bud left to pinch.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m single too, you know.”

It might have been a bad idea, you said it on impulse after all, something quite instinctive having taken over you. Maybe you were just horny and Christopher was just hot, regardless, the conversation was over. Before he could even process what you said, and the implications to it, you had already slipped back into your darkened room and out of his sight.

Chan felt like a teenager again. Not in a good way.

Chan remembered your first kiss, holding your hand. He remembered your breasts being the first he had ever really noticed, your legs being the first he ever caressed. He remembers how you’d press your bodies together while you kissed, not really understanding what both of you felt, only understanding the urgency of it.

Now he can name those feelings, the ones that once belonged to an inexperienced boy, merely dipping his toes into the surface of that world. But now that he dove, and had dived into its waters several times, he knew how to swim in them.

Yet, seeing you made him feel like he didn’t. It made him feel like he couldn’t swim, like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning.

The first moment he saw you on his doorstep he felt his stomach drop, a pang of guilt that had lingered on his mind during countless of sleepless nights hitting him with full force. He didn’t expect it. He thought he would never see you again.

And after taking another look, a longer look, it was like he was swimming in completely different waters. He felt submerged, and he didn’t know which way was up. He wanted to open his mouth and swallow it all up, let you drown him.

He hadn’t felt this raging feeling since he was a teenager. He certainly hadn’t had a specific woman make him feel like this until you.

It made him feel another kind of guilt. Shame even.

The following days he’d watch you, shamefully. His mother had him painting the house and when he stood on the rooftops he took his time to enjoy the view of you swimming in your pool, wearing tiny bikinis that stuck to your skin and showed the buds of your niples and the lines of your labia through the fabric. He would admit, shamefully, that he stopped watching from the roof because he needed to get closer to see these beautiful details.

He now watched you from over the fence in his backyard. Getting incredibly hard watching you swim, watching you oil your body down.

It was all horribly, horribly shameful.

But weren’t you the one that mentioned you were single? It had caught him off guard. He was being cheeky in that moment, but he didn’t know what waters he was testing then. Now he knew, and it was making him behave so, so shamefully.

Should he go over there, push you into a corner of the pool and pull your bottoms to the side? Should he kneel at your feet while your rubbing yourself with that golden oil, and beg you to let him fuck you?

It wasn’t just the thought of sex that drove him mad, it was you in general. How inferior he felt in front of you, like he had to prove himself. Every day he worked shirtless, hoping you’d get a glimpse of him, but you were just so unbothered by it all.

It was driving him fucking insane.

If only you knew.

Except - of course you did. Of course you did. This is what you craved, what you were best at. Driving boys, technically men but boys sounds tastier, to be absolute slaves to their desire for you. Christopher wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it. Did he really think that you would suddenly spend every day swimming in the tiniest bikinis after having not left your couch for over a week? They really are such stupid, fuckable animals.

And Chris was particularly fuckable.

Day four of his perverted project, he was hammering away at some boards in the back porch of his house. Your mother wouldn’t be home for hours, his parents were away for a couple of days.

Everything was perfect.

“Chris?!” You call loudly over the fence from your chaise lounge, carelessly flipping through a book. The hammering stopped, he had heard you. “Chris, it’s hot today. Don’t you think you should come over for a swim to cool down?”

Why on earth were you acting so damn unbothered and confident, he thought. Why on earth were you asking him over?

It’s only a matter of time before he circles his own house and slides in through the gate on your end. He’s still wearing jeans and a utility belt, gloves too. No shirt.

“You can’t really swim in those, take them off.” You hardly peered at him from over your sunglasses. He was just standing there, frozen. That’s usually a sign that you’re working your magic well. Good. “Come on Christopher, take them off.”

“I - uh, I’m actually not wearing trunks right now. Uhm… I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go.” Insert unbothered page flip. “Why don’t you just undress and get in the pool so I can join you?”

“W-what?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He genuinely thought he had imagined it, maybe all of his hornyness was driving him insane.

“Christopher!” You whine. “You’re ruining the fun!” You slam the book shut and throw it over to the side, taking your sunglasses and hat off. “Chris, I think it’s obvious. Do you think I haven’t noticed you being a peeping tom for the past half week? Look! You’ve already got a tent in your pants and everything!”

“Fuck.” Shit, you were right.

“This is like, hmm, like an open invitation to fuck me.” You say with an eye roll, but your eyes roll toward his abs because they are absolutely distracting you.

“Are… are you serious?”

“Well… You want to, I want to. You’re nice, look like you’ve become quite a decent man - and I’m not just referring to your physique Chris. Maybe, just maybe, it would be an excellent idea if we finally fucked this tension away.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You’re here for a few weeks, so am I. Why not enjoy each other while we can? After that we can just go our separate ways, just like before except we’ll end it on good terms.”

Too many points for him to argue with - you were right on all of them. He couldn’t disagree. In fact, he eagerly agreed. Little did he know you had this pitch rehearsed to perfection, to your benefit, because he seemed to be completely subdued by it.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. Fumbling with his belt, zipper, exposing the line of his abdomen down to his hardening cock. A fat, heavy cock that swung between his muscular thighs. He was fully nude now, standing in front of you, his tan skin glistening in the sunlight. You’re quick to urge him over with a finger.

He pounces, but once he’s crawling over you on that narrow chair, he becomes slow.

“Hi.” You manage to whimper out, now feeling a bit small beneath him, feeling nervous even.

“Hey.” He’s just as nervous but there’s an energy that goes beyond either of your wills pulling you toward one another.

He kisses you. It’s a kiss you melt into, and he sinks his body against yours, with you spreading your legs so he can slot between them. His cock rests against your lower abdomen, his body pressing further into you.

You can’t help but slide your hand between your two bodies in an attempt to finger yourself, prepare yourself, but he stops you and pulls back.

“No.” He growls.

“No?” Is he going to leave you like this?!

“Let me.”

And you do. Chan lowers himself, adjusting you so he can easily bend over the chair while kneeling on the ground, and his hands shake as he dips the tip of his fingers into the hem of your bottoms, just slightly tugging at the material, playing with it before he starts to play with you. You’ve got the perfect view of him basically drooling over you.

He slides the bottoms to the side, but you pull at the strings at your hips, so they come undone and he pulls them away completely. Your lips and the juices coming from between them are just as glossy than your oiled skin.

He can’t help but dig in. Fucking you with his mouth, jamming his fingers in you. It’s an animalistic frenzy and it’s hot and slippery and sticky. You cum and your fluids spill over the impermeable cushion below, pooling under your ass. He can see every sparkling droplet fall from you.

It’s just a haze, he nearly jumps on you, bending your legs nearly over your head, bouncing his pelvis on your cunt like a trampoline, smacking with every thrust. You’re completely glued to one another. If he’s not abusing your mouth with his tongue then he’s biting on your shoulder or grunting, growling, into your ear. It’s filthy. You’re absolutely sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

He cums, several times, as do you. He pulls out each time, jerks himself off on your body, although a couple of times you urged him into your mouth and face. He pulls the triangles on your top to the sides, so your breasts are exposed. He made sure to cum on those too. Semen, sweat, squirt, oil, spit, everywhere there are droplets of your fluids shining on your body like jewels.

It ends with him lying on top of you, nearly sleeping from exhaustion, and your lips feel deliciously sore and sensitive, almost ticklish as he softens inside of you.

It happens again. Several times in fact. Many, many times. When his parents are away, when your mom is away, you fuck all the time. Just a little call of his name over the fence or from your window and he’d be running to you. You were too comfortable with one another to bother with formalities, it was like you’d never been separated. You’d wait for him on all fours, wet cunt on display for him to dive in, but he’d always greet you with a gentle kiss.

Fucking each others faces, drinking eachothers fluids. You even let him fuck you in the ass, multiple times, and he was the first guy to make you cum that way. You were just as hooked and as desperate as he was.

Things started to change though.

The welcoming kisses became longer, you’d talk between the rounds…

You’d fall asleep in his arms, or he in yours.

You’d fuck slowly, deeply, staring into each other’s eyes.

You’d talk to him, tell each other stories of all these years, asi if you had been together the entire time.

You’d smile as you made love, gently. You’d let him cum inside of you.

He’d hold your hand again. They were as soft and warm as you remembered.

You were holding his hand on one particular pink evening, your head resting on his heaving chest, teaching circles into his pecs and nipples. On your bed, in your quiet childhood room. It was a painful silence now. It had been weeks, weeks closer to your respective departure dates.

“I wish I had never left.” He eventually says. You don’t know what to say. “I wish we could have stayed like this for longer.”

“Maybe we would have broken up eventually, or left for college.” You ponder.

“Maybe I would have taken you to prom, or we would have had sex together for the first time…” He returns.

“On this bed? Hmm? With my cute school uniform?” You tease. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But I guess this is what was meant to be.” He sighs, as do you.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad. I started this and now we have to go our separate ways again.” You feel something sting in your eye. You can’t cry now.

“Shh…” He coos as he hears you sniffle and feels you twitch. It makes his heart ache like it did all those years ago when he left.

“I - I…” You cry. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to go.”

He pulls you into his arms, crushing you in an embrace. Your eyes are closed but you feel the tears fall from his face, he’s crying too.

“I know… but what else can we do?”

There was nothing left to do, other than fuck the days away, crying, holding each other until it hurt. It was a horrible, horrible thing to have fallen in love with Christopher Bang this final summer.

You didn’t go with him to the airport. You didn’t want to say goodbye, you didn’t want to see where he was going.

But he did slip into your room that final night. You made love quietly, he kissed you as you cried.

He said it was the second time he loved you, and the second time he had to leave you.

It hurt much more this time around. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it, maybe you shouldn’t have gone next door.

Being in your house was unbearable once Chris wasn’t next door.

A week later, you’ve arrived at your new place. It had been a whirlwind and you stayed at a hotel the first couple of nights while your new furniture got brought in, most of your personal belongings only fitting in a couple of bags.

It’s kept you busy. That way you think about him a little less. Crying into pillows that have that certain ‘brand new’ smell isn’t quite as comforting as you’d expect. Everything seems unfamiliar, strange, artificial. Nothing here reminded you of him - it was for the best and you hated it.

The place is nice, bright. It’s on the third floor of a small apartment building, a couple of other doors beside yours in the hall. You go downstairs to grab a few packages that have arrived, carefully treading up the stairs in a kind of balancing act once they’re piled in your arms. It’s a choreography you can dance to with expertise, always denying any help from your neighbors.

However, you do fumble with the lock and handle once you’re at your door, holding the boxes up by pressing them against the door with your body as your hands blindly fumble with the keys, nothing but cardboard in your sight.

Nothing you can’t handle, until they start to slip.

“Woah, let me help you with that!” someone says behind you, and in your complicated state it’s a bit difficult to process what happens but the boxes are soon out of the way, said someone pulling them from you and freeing you.

And then you see him.

Him.

Your him.

He says your name and you’re too stunned to react. He’s in awe too. He drops your packages, and you’re certain some of them contain some makeup palettes but you don’t give a damn at the moment.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, frozen in place.

“I… live in 304.” He says.

“You live in 304?” He nods. “You? You’re serious?” He nods again, eyes still wide.

You both stand there, processing it all. This can’t be real.

“I live in 302.” you manage to say, after some time. Your voice is weak, all the air has left your lungs. You shake.

“You do?” He asks. Now you nod.

This can’t be.

But he cups your face, holds it like you’re precious and delicate, he kisses you. It is real. You kiss him back, harder. Eventually you’re both clinging to one another, gripping each other’s clothes desperately.

“You live here.” He says, little tears sparkling in the corner of his eyes. You nod, the same tears coming to you.

“I do. Mm-hmm.” The sniffles you let out seem so sweet to him, he swoons with how happy you are to see him. Knowing you feel the same joy he does - it makes him feel complete.

“I live here too!” He cries, laughing, smiling, beautifully.

One more kiss, just to make sure it’s real. You pull him in and kiss him one more time.

It’s real.

[femnet]

2018,

What a year you’ve been. If there was one word to describe you, it would be: transformative. You’ve taken me through hell and back, given me a taste of heaven, delivered the biggest plot twist, and given me exactly what I needed.

I started out a mess, worn down and suicidal by suppressed feelings of guilt and shame. A relationship that was falling apart from seething resentment and ineffective communication, a fight that shook the cracks in the crumbling foundations. I couldn’t take it. I wanted out!

I moved to Italy, away from my support system and into the unknown. Unhappy about the process, I complained and bickered all the way through. A cappuccino and a bus ride at sunset on the first day took me by surprise. The fading sunlight on the buildings forced my eyes open and I did not think of my disdain for life for the whole ride. It’s hard to be sad when there’s so much beauty to be found.

Four roommates, numerous get togethers in the kitchen over tea or while preparing dinner, conversations exchanged on boys, parents, school, food. I found a safe place in the kitchen and in always having someone to talk to. Four roommates and being introduced to new people, making friends, Italy slowly starting to feel like home.

As winter faded, so did my love. A difficult conversation and a three-week break to “think”, I didn’t think. Erasmus parties, more tea and coffee meetups with friends, food, trips to Italy with newfound friends helped me stay afloat. A nagging hesitation between the need for stability and the urge for discovery gnawed at me. When asking my therapist for advice, he said: “If you want stability, work on your relationship,” he said. “But the other side will always bring more adventure.”

As spring started, my relationship ended. Fuelled by my forgotten dreams and a drive for survival, I put on lipstick and went to see my friends. Three days later, I went on a date and kissed another pair of lips. The next day, I got drunk and kissed yet another pair of lips I had been thinking about. I had longed for connection, playful conversation, validation. These lips on mine made my body come alive with a force not felt in months. The crash when he said he didn’t want to ruin our friendship, brought me to my knees. Melodrama playing on repeat, I wondered at the loss of young love, miscommunications, sweet beginning turning to bitter endings, the bitter sweetness of reflecting upon a love story lost.

Away from my relationship I discovered a side of myself I had never seen before. An almost social butterfly, never turning down drinks or an invitation for a night out. Was it pretend or was this me? Part of it was surely to cope with the breakup, but I liked this side of me. Going out four nights a week, spending more time with friends than on homework… It wasn’t all the healthiest, but I felt happy. Happy and sad and fulfilled and broken and chaotic and whole at the same time. It made no sense and yet felt perfectly natural. I started feeling more unapologetic, laughing through the tears and dancing through the heartache. I had started making sense of the chaos inside and fitting all the broken pieces together. At a party, my jaw nearly dropped as I saw the personification of the song Gorgeous by Taylor Swift walk into the room.

A trip to Cinque Terre took my breath away and my heart down under as a quest for food led to a life-changing encounter from Australia. I laughed and drank and kissed that night, appreciating the affection. I also threw up three times and agreed to a boat tour with my newfound lover’s parents. Oh, decisions made while drunk. The next day, cruising along the Cinque Terre with my toes in the water, the wind in my hair and his arms around me, I felt happy. A happiness I knew to be fleeting, but I was determined to enjoy the moment for what it was.

What followed was a summer romance of the ages, made of drunk nights, dancing in the kitchen naked, breath-taking views and constant kissing. For the first time, I felt like I belonged. Here, in this world, with this person, as this person I was when I was with him. Time felt unreal and surreal, as if I had been thrown into a new dimension and reality had been altered. Amidst this happiness lurked a constant confusion: the still present love for my ex and the total bliss for my newfound lover. How to choose?

On a trip to Italy to distract myself from a nagging feeling of an imminent ending, I went to dinner and ran straight into “Gorgeous”. Don’t ask me how, but on a drunk night I went “fuck it” and we kissed for the remainder of the night, while I was technically still “involved” with my lover.

My intuition was right: the ending came. As summer ended, so did my romance. I was shattered, to say the least. How would I keep on living, knowing such a connection could exist and yet not be able to have it anymore? Even on my graduation day, my sadness was palpable. I had achieved a master’s degree and written a thesis I was proud of but celebrating felt meaningless without the one who had changed my life. Like a snake, I felt like I had shed my skin and could no longer access the person I used to be. I wanted to go back to my past love, but every conversation felt like disguising myself as the person expected of me, not the one I had become.

Trying to hide my heartbreak, I felt like a traitor. How could I talk to my ex while feeling so broken over someone else? How could I tell my best friend of all this, when I had kept quiet about everything for months? I didn’t tell “Gorgeous”: no need to show what a mess I could be. But he seemed to understand the other broken parts of me, and he liked Monty Python. But what use? He lived in Italy, and I was not coming back. So I thought.

I did come back. And spent the weekend with him. With the nights spent together, I felt my broken pieces slowly healing. When he asked “so… are we dating?” my mind went blank. Did that mean I had a boyfriend?

It did. And I almost shat my pants. Out of fear of being broken, thinking I could not survive another heartbreak, I almost ran away. I could not believe he could be so adamant about wanting to be with me. Didn’t I make them all run away? Wasn’t I a liability, too much for everyone and yet never enough?

He stayed. He’s still here. After all the loves that were the idea of something, he seems to really be something. There’s a safety and an ease you only feel with someone who wants all of you, even the ugly parts. There’s a comfort in someone who wants to stay and doesn’t play mind games, who puts you first. And I’m staying. Subsequent conversations with him have shown we’d noticed each other from the first moment, but never had the chance to talk, until we both were ready to meet.

Here I am, in late 2018. It may sound cheesy, but it gets better. When I look at where I started, I see how far I’ve come. I’m still battling my demons, procrastinating my life away and I should probably get back to therapy just to keep some stability. In some ways, I am unhappy.

But I have found home in a place and in my friends, the people who have shaped me and supported me through the darkest times.

Maybe its beauty stems from the fact that it had to end. My heart is dripping with love for the people I have lost, but I am grateful for what I have with them and celebrate those connections in the one I have today.

I’ve learned that life is not just one or the other, but everything at once. It is tragic and surprising and heart-breaking and utterly beautiful. It cuts you and heals you and takes away and gives back tenfold. It’s full of endings and separations, and I think the best way to honour what has been is to thank the universe for experiencing it, and gracefully let it go. Just because something ends does not mean it wasn’t incredibly beautiful while it lasted.

Life isn’t so much about never going through bad stuff. It’s about making sense of the chaos and integrating the broken pieces into the good parts and loving them all the same. Life is death, life is life: you need to accept both to fully live.

And all I can say is, this year, I learned what it means to be alive.

[deanssweetheart23]

Before You Go

Title: Before You Go (AU)

Summary:  He’s lost everything he has ever loved. She’s trying to mend her broken heart . They’ve only got one night together.

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Jo Harvelle, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jody Mills (all mentioned)

Word count: 4049 (but worth it)

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Some language. Allusions to sex. References to loss and grief.

Author’s Notes: This is my contribution to @percywinchester27‘s “PJO Quotes Challenge”. Ana, thank you for letting me participate, granting me a generous extension, and being a wonderful friend. I hope you love this.

Special thank you to my beautiful sunflower @trexrambling because this wouldn’t have been the same without her help. She’s amazing.

My prompt for this was “I won’t go looking for trouble. I usually don’t have to”  and it’s included in bold in the text below. This is loosely based on Before We Go with C.Evans and A.Eve (do yourself a favor and watch this movie, it’s brilliant) and highly inspired by All The Pretty Girls by Kaleo (*cough* one of Jared’s favorite songs *cough).

Thank you for all your love, guys. Enjoy <3

Dean still can’t believe Jo Harvelle is married.

He’s standing in the middle of the wooden roof deck where the reception is taking place, surrounded by buffet tables with linens and vases with roses and tulips and white candles and an outdoor fireplace –an actual outdoor fireplace- and he still can’t believe that his best friend, the girl with the piggy tails and the innocent blue eyes that reminded him so much of the sky when he was a kid, is married.

It’s not that he’s not happy for her.

If anything, there is no one that deserves to be loved and cherished more than Jo does, but it’s unsettling, almost terrifying to see the world he has managed to build for himself changing without his consent. It’s like everyone he knows, everyone he’s always known, family and friends and people he’s grown up with, are shifting, altering shapes and sizes and essence while he’s watching life pass him by, still trying to cope with the turn his life has taken over the past couple of years. They have plans, have their lives neatly figured out and fit into boxes, but him?

He has nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he runs a hand over his face and reaches for his glass again, signaling the bartender for another round.

“You know,” a soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts, “my dad always said that when a guy’s drinking all alone at a wedding, someone probably broke his heart.”

Dean snorts a little at the words and turns to tell the stranger that her father probably didn’t know him, but stops when he realizes that the girl standing before him is the one that had saved him from one of the groom’s drunk aunts earlier that night.

She’s clad in one of long chiffon dresses Jo seems to despise with everything she has, and though Dean already knows she’s beautiful, the little observation stored somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t help but acknowledge it again now that she’s leaning against the bar, lips curled up in a perfect smirk as her eyes flicker over his features.

He grins.

“Or,” he says, hand curled around his glass, “he’s just hoping that the pretty girl that saved him from Martha Stewart Junior will join him.”

She laughs, a rich, loose laugh that’s warmer than whiskey as it seeps into his bones.

“Pretty, huh?”

“Among other things.” Dean says, looking up at her through his lashes. A sincere smile, and then, “I never got to thank you for that, by the way.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” She slides in a seat next to him. “Mildred can be really sweet, but she gets way too handsy when she’s drunk.”

“You know her?”

“Everyone here does.” She shrugs. “She’s the groom’s aunt.”

He snorts, eyes going a bit narrow. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. His family, uh,” she glances towards a group of people to her left, then turns to him again, “they’re interesting people.”

His lips twitch upwards. “You don’t like them.”

And it might be more of a statement than a question, but he’s not surprised when she nods in agreement because though he knows nothing about her, he does know how to read people, and the way she juts her chin and puckers her forehead when she mentions Dave’s family is the only evidence he needs.

“I don’t like all of them.” She gnaws on her bottom lip, seemingly thinking about something, then sighs and shakes her head. “Do you see that guy over there?”

He peeks over his shoulder gingerly.

A man in his late twenties is talking to Dave and Jo and, despite the fact Dean doesn’t even know him, his brash smile is enough to make him hate the guy.

“You mean the James Dean wannabe?”

A snort.

Amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Yeah, that. That’s Dave’s brother.” She shifts a little as she speaks and then-

“Please, tell me you didn’t date that douche.”

“Yeah, I was actually engaged to that douche.” She scoffs and, even though he knows she’s trying hard not to strap her words with emotion of any kind, the words are laced with melancholy as they leave her mouth.

He knows better than to comment on it.

“He seems…special.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she deadpans, drawing her head back. “Our relationship was…rocky, I guess. But I was young, and we were high school sweethearts and I had read far too many romance novels to just give up on him.”

He nods, eyes flickering to the amber liquid he’s twirling in its glass.

“He let you go, didn’t he?”

“Said he wasn’t sure he was ready to commit to just one person,” she leans forward on her arms, “then started dating his father’s secretary like two days after that.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Biggest one I’ve ever met,” she agrees, reaching for a pint glass the barman sets in front of her. “You don’t have to worry about Jo, though. Dave’s a good guy.”

“How did you-”

“I’ve known the groom my entire life. If you were his friend, I’d remember you,” she explains, nudging his arm with her elbow.

Dean can’t be sure, but he thinks the tips of his ears turn pink.

“You would?” he smirks.

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

“I definitely would,” she mumbles, but it’s laced with enough coyness to confirm the one thing he’s been suspecting all along; flirting with strangers was probably not a pastime of hers.

Huh.

She clears her throat. “So.”

Dean grins.

“So?”

“How do you know Jo?”

“Childhood friend,” he explains, eyes shifting towards the youngest Harvelle. “Our dads used to hang out, so we practically grew up together.”

And maybe it’s the whiskey that’s clouding his judgement, or maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t talked to someone –really talked to someone for over two years - but, he finds himself sharing childhood stories of him and Jo, finds himself telling her about the first time they met and the summers they spent by the lake at Lawrence and that one time Dean busted the windows of her boyfriend’s car because he cheated on her.

“She’s just,” he runs a hand over his face, tries to gather himself a little, “Dave’s a lucky guy.”

“Oh God,” she mutters, bright, Y/E/C locking into his, “you’re in love with her.”

The words echo as they leave her mouth, all certainty and realness, and catch him off guard, like a gunshot to the heart.

A crease forms between his brows.

His shoulders tense.

“I’m not –It’s… It’s not like that, kid.”

He’s expecting her to fight him on it, to ask more questions or squint or do… something.

She doesn’t.

“We just… We had a thing. Back when we were in college. And we both agreed it wasn’t going to work.”

She nods, making sure to meet his eye. “But?”

With a heavy sigh, he lets his eyes drift to his hands, to his father’s silver ring.

“What if I was wrong? I mean… Jo gets me, you know? We’ve been through so much together and we still… We’re there for each other. How often does that happen?”

“Not as often as you think.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I think… After all I’ve been through, I think that it’s one thing to love someone and another thing to be in love with them. And I can see you love Jo. A blind man could see that. But, are you in love with her? Or with the idea of her?”

A small smile.

Eyes looking at her in amazement.

“Who are you?”

“I dunno, Mr. Winchester.” She shrugs, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Why don’t you find for yourself?”

Yeah.

He likes her.

Dean’s not sure how they ended up back at his place.

He remembers drinking her under the table at the reception, remembers listening to hundreds of her childhood stories, dancing with her while the stereos blasted a cheesy Ed Sheeran song about stars and beating hearts, and, God, he remembers kissing her, desperate and needy and open mouthed, but everything’s a blur of hungry hands and short breaths after that.

And now, somehow, they’re in his living room, and he has her pinned against the wall, lips and mouth and tongue mapping the smoothness of her neck while his hands travel underneath her dress, to her hips, her thighs, any place he can reach, and she’s clutching at his shirt.

God, he wants her.

He wants her, and even though he feels like he needs to take his time, feels like this should be so much more than tangled sheets and breathless whispers, much more than just another one-nighter, the feel of her skin under his fingertips and the way his name leaves her lips in whimpers when he finds that spot on her neck are enough to drive him absolutely insane.

“Is that,” she lets out a soft whimper as he presses his mouth up her jaw, “is that a chess set?”

He lets out a loose breath, brows furrowed in puzzlement as he follows her gaze.

“Yeah, that’s… Yeah,” he replies, and leans in to kiss her, hands sliding up her sides.

She pulls away, tilting her head to the left, almost too slow.

“Do you, uh, play a lot?”

His head drops to her shoulder.

“Not really, no. My brother gave it to me.”

She hums in response, but when he starts peppering kisses along her shoulder, she shifts a little, squirms under him.

His eyes dart up to meet hers.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

She sighs, eyes cast downwards.

“Yeah,” she pushes some hair off her face, “yeah, m’ sorry. I just –I’ve never…” She shakes her head, stumbling over her words a little. “I’ve never done this before.”

He smiles, a soft, gentle smile that smooths his rough edges and make his eyes shine.

“Kid, don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of figured that part out.”

She clenches her jaw.

Something that looks awfully like shame floats across her face.

“Hey,” he cups her face with his large hands, “we don’t have to do anything. You know that, right?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but-

“Look, tonight’s been –it was amazing. And I’d never make you do something you don’t…” He lets out a nervous laugh, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you don’t want this, just say the word and I’ll kiss you goodnight and drive you home. No hard feelings. No drama. You don’t… You don’t owe me anything.”

A smile.

Fingers that trace the line of his jaw, tender and sweet.

“Dean, I know that. And I want this. I’m just…”

She lets out a sigh, armor down for a millisecond, and Dean sees the uncertainty behind it, sees the embarrassment she tries to hide under layers of small smiles and reassuring looks, but knows she wishes he doesn’t, wishes he’ll spare her the mortification.

So-

“Tell you what.” He clasps a hand at the side of her face. “How about you just take a hot shower while I make us some grilled cheese? You can lock the bathroom door.”

“Dean-”

“And if you still want this later…” he presses his lips on her forehead, the rest of the words whispered into her skin, a secret only for her to hear.

She smiles then and, this time, it’s all wonder and depth and awe, a smile that makes him feel like he’s more than a stranger to her, more than a guy she wants to sleep with.

And when she steps on her toes and presses a chaste kiss on his stubbly jaw, the breath hitches in his throat for just a second, and he hopes.

He hopes he’ll get to see that smile again.

Dean doesn’t remember the last time he laughed so much.

He’s laying on his bed with Y/N snuggled up against him, her cheek placed firmly on his chest while he’s running his hands up and down her arm gently, and every time he leans in he can smell his shampoo lingering on her hair.

So, he breathes it in, along with the sight of her dressed in his clothes, in that old Rolling Stones T-shirt he loves and that grey pair of sweatpants he doesn’t wear anymore, and tries to ignore how nerve-wrecking it all feels.

“Are you kidding me?” Y/N gasps in faux offence, catching his attention again.

It’s been almost two hours since she’d gotten out of the shower and, after they’d eaten, they ended up back in his bedroom, lips pressed together like pieces of the same puzzle.

And still, nothing happened.

Well, almost nothing.

Because ever since they settled against each other, limbs and heartbeats blending, they haven’t stopped talking.

She talked to him about her family, her best friend who’s like the older brother she never had, her dream to open her own record house one day. She said her favorite flowers are pink carnations and her favorite song is probably Dylan’s Knocking on Heaven’s Door and that she’d never really knew what heartache felt like until she lost her grandmother to Alzheimer when she was still a teenager. She spoke to him of winters nights spent at a little cabin her family has in Utah and of her favorite blanket, the one her grandmother had made for her when she was still a baby.

And then, she listened.

She listened as he talked about his parents and Bobby and how he practically had to beg the old man to go out with his neighbor, Jody. She listened as he told her about his job and his decision to go to college just to know what it would be like, about his love for classic cars and rock music and pie. She listened when he spoke of his first girlfriend and how she broke his heart, and when he told her about that little diner right across the street from his house, the one his dad used to take him to as a kid which has now been turned into a horrible block of flats.

She listened and listened and listened and Dean realized, much to his surprise, that, though he’s only known her for less than a day, she already knows things about him, already understands him in ways most of his friends don’t.

He doesn’t mind.

“How can someone sleep through La La Land?” she asks, laughing into his clothed skin.

“You see, when a movie is that terrible-”

“Shut up,” she whines, smacking his hand, “that’s my favorite movie you’re talking about, heathen.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a bad one.”

She perches herself on her elbow, looks up through narrowed eyes.

“It’s a work of art.” She jabs a finger at him. “Mia’s and Sebastian’s love story is the best one I’ve seen in years. It’s just… so pure.”

A snort.

Eyes rolled skywards.

“Okay then. Tell me what your favorite movie is so, I can make fun of it.”

“See, that’s impossible because my favorite movie is,” he leans in, brushes his scruff against the sensitive skin of her neck playfully, “awesome.”

A laugh escapes her lips.

“Hmmm,” she runs her fingers through his short hair, all mischief and delight, “and what movie would that be?”

“Every movie Clint Eastwood’s in.”

“Really?” She scrunches her nose up in indignation. “You don’t like Ryan Gosling, but you’re willing to watch a movie with a monkey?”

“Well,” he mouths up her jaw leisurely, “in all fairness, Clyde’s a better actor.”

She laughs, again, and Dean’s pretty sure he could get drunk on that sound.

“No, he’s not.” She presses her forehead against his, close enough that he’s sure she can count the freckles of his face if she wants to. “You just happen to have a very weird fetish, Winchester.”

“I do not.”

“You so do.” She settles against him again, lets his large hands slide underneath her shirt, his fingertips tracing over warm skin. “I bet you even dressed as a cowboy when you were a kid.”

“Hey now,” he waggels his eyebrows suggestively, “the ladies in the neighborhood loved it.”

“Course they did.”

“Shut up, you perv.” He tickles her sides. “My costume was fan-frigging-tastic, if you must know.”

“Well, in that case, I might have to ask your brother for pictures.”

And Dean’s so lost into their conversation, so lost into the sense of her so close to him that he doesn’t realize what she’s said until the words are out there, new and uneven, hanging in the air between them.

He wishes she could take them back in then, wishes he could erase them from his mind, from her mind, but he can’t.

He swallows, hard.

“Yeah, he won’t…” He clears his throat, quietly. “Sam died two years ago.” A pause painted with grief. “Hit and run. He was jogging late at night and…”

A second passes and nothing happens.

Dean waits.

He waits for the sharp intake of breath, waits for the clipped I’m sorry to fly out of her mouth, for the way she looks at him to change, to turn from softness to pity and guilt, but she doesn’t move.

Warm lips press against that spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

Fingers tie themselves between his.

“Tell me about him,” she whispers.

And if it was someone else, Dean would refuse, would be absolutely furious because he does not want to share his memories, doesn’t want to share his brother, with anyone else.

But with her laying by his side, he hears a wrecked voice respond.

“What do you want to know?”

Her hand squeezes his.

A smile lights up her face for just a second.

“Everything.”

And so, he tells her.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?” Y/N whispers into his chest after what feels like hours, her fingers drawing arbitrary patterns there.

She’s almost asleep in his arms now, eyelids heavy with sleep and voice drowsy, and if it weren’t for the pensiveness that’s coating her features or the way she purses her lips and stares straight ahead as she asks him the question, he’d probably be pondering how cute she looks.

“You know, like when you’re in a room full of people, but you feel like nobody gets you? Because I’ve –I have so many good people in my life, but sometimes I feel like… I feel like there’s a little invisible line that’s always going to separate me from everyone else, you know?”

And Dean knows exactly what she means. He knows what it’s like to feel like a complete stranger in your own world, to feel disconnected and lost into the life you’ve made for yourself because he’s been there so many times after his brother’s death.

“Yeah,” he drops a kiss on her hair, “I do.”

She presses her face into the crook of his neck, breathes him in.

“What am I doing here, Dean?” she whispers, and it’s so faint he might as well have dreamt of it.

He wishes he had an answer for her.

He doesn’t.

All he knows is that this, the feel of her next to him, the weight of her in his arms, feels right.

All he knows is that he feels like this is how things are supposed to be from now on.

He runs his fingers through her hair, traces her jawline with his thumb.

“Get some sleep, kid,” he mumbles.

But he doesn’t sleep that night.

He just holds her, thinking that maybe that’s what he needed all along.

Dean finds her sitting on the edge of his bed the next morning.

She has her hair up in a messy bun, the dress she’s been wearing the night before already on, and, even though she seems so much different, even though she comes from a world so much different than his, there’s a simplicity in her that makes it easy for him to imagine her as a part of his world, too.

He smiles.

“What are you thinking about so hard over there?”

Her head jerks when she hears his voice.

“Dean,” she turns to look at him, “you’re back.”

“Yeah.” He holds up a paper bag from his favorite diner. “I went out to get us breakfast. You read the note, right?”

She nods, rubbing at her forehead.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, shy and nervous. “I could have just dropped by Starbucks on my way to work.”

And Dean knows that, but when he’d woken up a few hours earlier only to find her asleep in his arms, laughing lines and kindness dusting her skin, he felt it again, that pull he’d felt the night before, that need to spend every minute he could with her.

So, he’d gone out to get breakfast.

“Well, yeah, but” -he jabs a finger at her- “you said last night you like cinnamon rolls, and I just happen to know the place with the best cinnamon rolls in town.”

She frowns, looks down at her hands.

“See, now you’re just making me feel like an awful person,” she mumbles, voice laced with a nervous smile. “My boss just called. I’ve got to be at work in twenty minutes.”

“Oh.”

“Dean, I’m sorry-”

“Hey, no,” he shakes his head, hands her the bag. “You can eat that on your way there. Just…”

He thinks about the things he wants to say for a second, thinks about the night they shared, sprinkled with whispered laughs and honest confessions and wounds opened just for the other person to see.

And then he realizes that if he asks her to stay, if he asks for a chance, she’ll probably assume she’s being the girl he’ll use to numb the pain, the girl he’ll use to substitute Jo and forget his brother’s loss and he doesn’t want that.

He never wants that.

So, he sets her free.

“Drive safe.”

She cracks a small smile, but it’s all smoke and mirrors.

“Thank you,” she says. “And you-” -she jabs a finger at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “I won’t go looking for trouble. I usually don’t have to.”

A laugh, small but genuine.

Steps that lead her to him.

Her arms wrap around his waist, and he leans in.

God, she fits perfectly against him.

“I know you don’t-”

He never gets the chance to finish his sentence though, because she presses her lips against him, determined and slow and different, so much different from the way they’d kissed the night before, a kiss that’s warm and tender and makes him wonder why he hasn’t spent his entire life kissing her like that.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” she says when they finally break apart.

He looks at her then, looks into her eyes, and everything he wanted to tell her dies at the back of his throat, choked and genuine and overwhelming, and he just laces his fingers with hers and grips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

She doesn’t reply.

She doesn’t have to.

It’s all written there, in the way she grips right back, in the way her bottom lip wobbles and her lips brush against his cheek in the tiniest bit of movement.

When she leaves, the sound of the door shutting closed echoes his loneliness.

He doesn’t know how much time he spends staring blankly at the wall that morning.

He finds it the following day.

He’s wandering around his house, pondering whether he should ask Jo for Y/N’s number, whether there is even a point after the way she left the morning before, when he sees it.

It’s right there, just a little Post-It note with the world’s worst scribbles, a phone number and a tiny carnation drawing spread across it, etched on the chess set.

Smirking, he picks it up, lets his eyes dance over the lines.

Do not call unless you’re willing to reevaluate Mia’s and Sebastian’s love story.

I can wait.

Oh, but she won’t have to.

Tags: @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @ravengirl94 @hannahindie @trexrambling @percywinchester27 @torn-and-frayed @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @dancingalone21 @polina-93 @pickupthatamulet @atwistoffate @there-must-be-a-lock @ultrafandomcat @tiny-friggin-human @imagining-supernatural @impala-dreamer @becs-bunker @becominglionhearted @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @ruprecht0420 @myrabbitholetoneverland @juanitadiann @castianityislife02 @iwriteaboutdean @spngeronimo @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @captainemwinchester @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @wellthatsrandomkek @winchestersnco @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @akshi8278 @thevioletthourr @kathaswings @atari-writes @emilywritesaboutdean @keepcalmandcarryondean @mandilion76 @atc74 @ravenangel33 @holahellohialoha @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @sinistersaltqueen @carryonmyswansong @blushingdean @emoryhemsworth @princess-of-erebor1992 @superapplepie @bebravekeeponfighting @carryonmywaywardcaptain @sebastianshoe @stellaa33 @kleinkariertebetrachter @samisimportant @masksandtruths @shutupiminlooove @jessilliam-caronday @annoyingpeople-postingthings 

Crossed out tags don’t work for some reason, let me know if there’s something I can fix :)

[meenasmoon]

Shed a Light

And here is our winner, headcanon number 7, the soulmates AU. i hope you all enjoy my Valentine’s Day present to you. It takes place in the altered movieverse where things went just a little differently....

The day that Meena Jones’ life changed forever started out as the most beautiful day she had ever seen in her six short years of life. It was her family’s official picnic day, the only day that her father had off from the fire station. She, her grandma, and her mommy had spent the entire morning assembling their picnic basket, while her daddy and grandpa loaded up their old truck with blankets and things to do. The entire family piled into the car, Meena perched happily on her mother’s lap, the warm breeze from the open window kissing her cheeks and ruffling her brand new sundress. The white fabric was decorated with cherries and had been made especially for her by her grandmother. She loved it more than anything.

When they got to the park she burst out of the truck with an excited shout and went running to find the best shady picnic spot. When she found the perfect oak tree she stood in the shade like a little elephant sentry, guarding the spot from anyone who dared to even think about claiming their spot as their own. Slowly her family joined her, accompanied by the proper amount of praise for her choice in location. Once everything was set up and the food set out they all sat down on the huge checkered blanket and dug in.

The tingling on her wrist started when she was perched in her daddy’s lap, her face sticky with her grandma’s cherry pie filling and her bright blue eyes wide and innocent as she enjoyed every second of family time. She was in the middle of a story about the events of her school day when the tingling intensified to an intense burning that made tears well up in her eyes. Meena let out a whimper of pain and started itching the spot furiously, as if that would help relieve the pain, but it only increased until she could do nothing but sob and hold out her wrist for her concerned mother’s healing kisses.

“Mama Mama.” She sobbed and Leslie peppered her flushed skin with kisses. Meena couldn’t understand how her mommy could look so excited when her wrist hurt so much. She watched in teary amazement as scrawling, messy handwriting appeared on her wrist.

“It’s your soulmark sweet girl. Don’t worry.” Meena nodded tearily, waiting for the mark to fully appear. When the mark was fully formed, the pain faded away and Meena found herself staring down at the reddened skin of her wrist where a phrase had been scrawled messily, almost as if in a hurry.

“Congratulations sweetie pie. Why don’t you read it for us?” her daddy prompted her and Meena’s tears dried as she squinted down at the words, putting on her best serious face, despite her red, tear stained cheeks and sniffling trunk.

“Sorry…about…the…whole…k-kid-kidnapping…thing!” She looked up triumphantly, expecting to see the big grins on her family’s faces, but instead she was met with looks of horror. Immediately a cold frisson of fear raced through her entire body with a vengeance. Her father’s embrace tightened around her and her mother gaped down at her with fear on every inch of her face. Meena immediately shrunk back against her father’s protective embrace, looking up at his dark expression.

“Mama? Daddy? What’s wrong?” she whimpered, but her mom just looked up at her dad and whispered frantically.

“Kidnapping?!” She hissed out and suddenly Meena’s arm was being pulled so that her father could look at her brand new soul mark.

“Kidnapping. Leslie it says kidnapping.” Her father snapped, and like a cloud rolling over the sun, the mood of her picnic immediately changed. They quickly packed up the food and her father practically pulled her to the car where she was held in a literal death grip in her mother’s lap. She was sent to her room as soon as they got home, the adults retreating to the kitchen.

Meena barely lasted a few minutes in her room before leaping up off of her bed and sneaking down the stairs to listen to the heated conversation that was taking place in her kitchen. Meena perched herself on the stairs, just out of view with her trunk holding onto the bannister to steady herself. She didn’t understand most of the adult words that her parents were using, but her daddy was using his angry voice, and mommy sounded like she had been crying.

“We have to protect her! It’s practically guaranteed that she going to get… kidnapped!” Her mom started to sob and Meena hugged the bannister tighter. She didn’t know what that long word meant but it made her mom cry and her dad angry. It was not a good word.

She looked down at her wrist and angrily glared at the long, messy word permanently written on her grey skin. She had never wished for anything to go away like she did that word, but no matter how hard she stared, or rubbed, or itched at it, the word remained seared into her skin, forever. She abandoned her eavesdropping post and dashed to her room, rivulets of tears rolling down her face as she dove under her covers and and cried herself to sleep.

Starting the very next day, Meena was under constant supervision. She couldn’t even ride her bike down the street to play with the other kids anymore, if her parents couldn’t go with her she had to sit inside the house and gaze longingly out at her neighbors as they played and enjoyed the sunshine, while she was locked up inside. She took to wearing long-sleeve shirts and jackets to hide her scary soulmark, but it was no use. Her parents had told the entire neighborhood in an effort to keep everyone vigilant. Meena was just the elephant destined to get kidnapped.

As time passed, Meena grew comfortable inside, and though some part of her still yearned to  go outside and make friends her own age, every word drilled into her head by her overprotective family always hushed her desires with overwhelming fear. By the time she graduated high school, she had graduated from hiding her soulmark to hiding herself. She was to afraid to socialize, too afraid to join a choir like her grandfather suggested, half the time she was to afraid to show her entire face. Every night as she lay in her bed behind reenforced, locked windows and stared at those troublesome words and wish with all of her heart that they had never appeared in the first place.

Johnny Bannerton was 9 years old when his soulmark showed up. He and his parents had just arrived at their brand new house and were unloading their belongings from a moving truck when suddenly his chest began to burn painfully. He quickly dropped the box he had been carrying and peeked down the front of his t-shirt where a line of words written in elegant script were slowly tracing over the skin just above his heart.

Excitedly he ripped off his t shirt right there in the front yard, gaping down at his chest where his soulmark was almost finished, the loopy elegant writing was simultaneously out of place and perfect for the messy little gorilla with a crooked, gap-toothed grin.

When the mark had fully formed he sprinted into the house, his chest puffed out proudly to show of his favorite feature. He skidded on the fresh tile and found his mother standing in the kitchen organizing dishes and putting away the meager groceries that they had purchased.

“Mum! Mummy! Look! I got my soulmark!” He exclaimed and proudly stood in the middle of the kitchen, chest on display for his mother’s approval while excitement thrummed through every vein.

“Oh look at my little man! I’m soh happy for you love! Want me to read it for you?” Eloise kneeled in front of her son and gave him a loving grin that almost matched his in excitement. Since Johnny had been born his mother had been telling him stories about soulmarks, and how they would lead you to your one true love. Every night she would tell him that his other half was out there, waiting for him. Johnny had been waiting for his soulmark since he was old enough to understand what one was.

“Please?” He asked eagerly, practically vibrating with excess energy as he waited for her to read it to him. He had tried to read it upside down, but it was even more special if his mom read it to him. Somehow he was certain that her voice would solidify the mark, make it permanent. After all, she was the one who had told him all about the romance of soulmarks.

“Alright dearest.” She let out a warm laugh that made his grin widen further.

“It says: you dropped your mask.” Johnny tilted his head in confusion and looked down at his fully formed mark as if it would yield more answers, give him some idea about how and when it would happen. When he would meet his soulmate.

“Wot does it mean mum?” He asked curiously but Eloise just shrugged with a giggle.

“I dane’t knoh dahling, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She pulled him into a tight hug and Johnny held her just as closely, his mind racing with his new riddle.

When Johnny Halloween rolled around, Johnny made sure to wear a costume that required a mask, hoping that it would fall off on accident and he would meet his soulmate. Unfortunately for him, the mask was secure, and never once slipped off of his face. He was despondent the day after Halloween but his mother always cheered him up with his candy and a comforting hug.

“You’ve got time love.” She would whisper and Johnny would settle down for another year, counting the days until Halloween would return and give him another chance at true love.

For the tears following he resorted to dropping his mask on purpose or loosening the knots that held it together. Every year he returned home empty handed and sad, in such a state that only his mother could bring him out of.

And then his mother died, and suddenly there weren’t any soulmate bedtime stories, warm hugs, or loving smiles. His father’s soulmark faded to a faint grey until it was barely existent and the love and joy was sucked out of their lives.

Halloween snuck up on him that year, and for the first time since receiving his mark, Johnny refused to dress up and go trick or treating. He spent the night locked away in his room, crying softly to himself as he ten his long fingers over the mark that had given him such joy and hope. Without his mother, he no longer wanted to find true love.

Johnny withdrew from everyone around him until even his own father barely saw him and every Halloween he disappeared completely. When he was old enough his father brought him in on the gang’s heists as a lookout. It only took one glance at the faded soulmark on his father’s palm for him to give in and participate, despite his own reluctance and dreams.

And so his life went on and he had almost forgotten about his painful soulmark until the day of the bank heist when his father handed him a crude bunny mask and told him to wear it. Johnny had stood staring at the bunny mask for what seemed like an eternity before his father’s harsh voice brought him back to Earth and he climbed into the truck alongside his father and uncles.

They sat outside the bank for a few minutes, checking their gear and waiting for the perfect moment, but Johnny just stared at his mask, the simplicity of it mocking him. It wasn’t until his father grabbed him and hurriedly pulled the mask over his face that he put it on. The moment the mask was in place, his heart pounded erratically in his chest and every best made his soulmark tingle in anticipation. The day that he had dreaded since his mother was ripped from his life was here and it brought with it a confusing amalgamation of anticipation and dread.

Johnny shook his head to clear it and swore furiously to himself that he would not remove his mask under any circumstances. As far as he was concerned, this mask was glued to his face and they would have to pry it off of his cold dead body if anyone wanted it to come off. Secure in his resolve, Johnny grabbed his empty duffel bag, checked that his mask was secure, and joined his family as they burst into the bank, guns drawn.

Meena shifted nervously in her seat in the bank lobby, fiddling listlessly with her headphone cord as she watched her mother chat amicably with the teller. A jolt of envy rushed through her as she watched the easy way that her mother engaged a perfect stranger in conversation. She would give anything to be able to do the same, if only she had the courage to try. She sunk lower into the chair and wrapped her ears tighter around her face, trying desperately to get lost in the soft music floating from her headphones.

She nearly jumped a foot when the doors to the bank burst open and a group of four gorilla in blue jump suits and bunny masks charged in and began demanding cash. Meena gripped her chair like it depended on it and she watched as the three biggest gorillas waved their guns around and began making demands that she couldn’t quite make out. She was still wearing her damn headphones.

The smallest gorilla was watching as a flustered teller shakily filled his duffel bag with cash. Any sense of comfort she may have gleaned from the unarmed robber died as soon as she caught sight of her mother frantically staring at Meena, her eyes as wide as dinner plates with panic.

Meena felt a slight tingle in her wrist and she gasped aloud when she realized what that meant. It was coming, her worst nightmare was coming to pass. She began to hyperventilate, her vision swimming dangerously as fear practically suffocated every other thought besides her urge to run.

She was torn from her panic by the loud whooping of sirens and the colorful cursing of the largest gorilla in the room. Once again she locked gazes with her mother and tried to communicate that she was okay, that her mother had nothing to worry about. But her assurances were even less comforting than usual. Leslie shifted as if she was about to dash across the room to secure Meena, but one of the gorillas noticed and barked at her to stay put and put her head down.

All Meena could focus on was the gun barrel that was now pointed at her stubborn mother’s head. She prayed with her entire being that her mother would listen to someone else for the first time in her entire life. Leslie seemed to take the hint as she sat back down but her gaze never left her previous daughter.

Meena glanced over at the group of gorillas as they zipped up their bags and started backing towards her, obviously trying to escape the way that they had come in. Meena tensed when the sirens grew infinitely louder and the largest gorilla looked behind him with desperation in his grey eyes. Unfortunately he caught sight of Meena at the same time and and Meena saw his next move before his determination had fully set in his gaze.

Like a one man bulldozer he stomped over to her and wrenched her unceremoniously our of her seat, wrapping an arm around her neck so that she was secured in his grip. Meena gasped for panicked breaths, not noticing until that moment that hot tears were rolling down her cheeks and her sobs were echoing through the eerily quiet building. And just like that, the cold metal of a gun barrel dug into her temple and a rumbling, accented voice roared out.

“Anybody moves, anybody follows, we kill the girl.” He declared loudly and Meena looked at her mom to find her frozen on the floor, pale as ice and looking absolutely stricken.

“Meena!” She screamed desperately and the other customers had to hold her back as she tried to lunge for her daughter, tears now pouring down her face like a waterfall. The gun barrel pressed harder into Meena’s temple and she tried to pull away from it, but the strong arm restraining her kept her in place.

“M-Mom! No! I’ll b-be o-okay. I-I’ll be okay m-m-mom.” She sobbed out desperately, not entirely sure that she even believed herself. Across the room Leslie relaxed slightly and her eyes stayed glued to Meena. Suddenly she was being dragged backwards and out of the bank, the glass doors closing on her mother and leaving her on her own.

The police were waiting for them outside and though their guns stayed trained on the group, none made the move to fire or charge ahead as the biggest gorilla reiterated his warning.

Meena was sobbing in earnest at this point and when she was dragged to the back of an old black pick up truck she was suddenly handed off to the smallest gorilla who was frowning deeply and casting furitive flares at her original captor.

The truck roared to life and she reluctantly climbed into the back with the smallest gorilla and the largest one. No sooner had she sat down in the bed of the truck before the gun was once again pointed at her chest. With a screech of the tires, the truck sped away from the bank and began weaving through the city streets at ludicrous speeds.

Through her hiccuping sobs, the sounds of traffic, and the faint sound of police sirens, Meena caught the heated conversation between the two gorillas that she was sharing space with.

“Bloody ‘ell Dad! Wot was that? We daan’t take ‘ostages! We daan’t ‘urt anyone!” The youngest one yelled and Meena found herself absentmindedly itching at her tingling wrist as she examined his tense posture and formerly brown eyes.

“‘Ow the ‘ell else didja think we were gonna escape that shit show eh?!” The large gorilla roared bac, his aim never faltering from her stomach.

“I dunno dad but I definitely didn’t sign up fer tha’ stupidity.” The younger one spat venemously and for a second Meena feared that the bigger one might turn his weapon on the younger one. Instead he let out a furious huff and fell silent. In a dizzying sequence of sharp turns and detours, the police sirens faded and the driver began to slow to a normal speed. Meena looked at the young gorilla in the bunny mask and felt her tingling increase in intensity the longer she stared at his chocolate gaze and tense pose. She knew that she needed to look away, perhaps focus on the firearm that was still pointed at her, but there was something about him that drew her in like a moth to the flame.

Johnny knew that he was doomed the moment that his father grabbed the poor elephant girl and his chest began to tingle in earnest.

Not her. Please not her. Not now. He pleaded but the Universe wasn’t listening because now he was sitting in the back of their getaway car while his father pointed a gun at the elephant that very well could be his soulmate. For the millionth time he adjusted his bunny mask and internally cursed everyone involved besides the elephant girl.

Her innocent blue eyes were watching him, their depths consumed with fear and curiosity as a steady stream of tears escaped from them. Her face was half concealed by the ears that she had pulled in tight like a shield. It hurts him to see her so obviously terrorized and every part of him wanted to comfort her, to do something to make her comfortable.

Inwardly he scolded himself, the logical part of him demanding for him to realize that he was technically one of her kidnappers and he was the least qualified to comfort her right now.

At least I’m not the one holding a gun on her.

No that mammal was his father.

Locked in his own inner turmoil, Johnny didn’t notice as his Uncle Barry backed the truck into a secluded alleyway until he had shut off the engine. He glanced at his father whose expression had changed from frustration to glee as he hopped out of the bed of the truck and walked to the front cab to gloat over their haul. Just like that, Johnny was alone with a crying girl, who was supposed to be his hostage.

Nervously he fiddled with his leather jacket, trying to think of some way to break up the silence between them that wasn’t her soft sobs. He made the mistake of glancing at the girl, and his resolve to keep quiet crumbled under her terrified gaze. She watched him warily as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think of something, anything to say. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Sorry abaht the whole kidnappin’ thing.” He blurted out and like he had hit some sort of switch, the girl froze and her tears stopped their persistent flow. Her blue eyes were wider than before and in her obvious shock, her ears had relaxed, flaring out just enough to give him a better look at her face. She was beautiful, despite the tear tracks drying on her cheeks and the red tint in her eyes.

“Uh…” She said nothing and he felt more awkward than before, unsure of what else he should say to her, “We’re not gonna ‘urt ya. I swear.”

He hoped it sounded comforting, because he was getting nothing else from her besides shock and silence. She must be surprised at his abnormal behavior. What exactly was normal behavior for a kidnapper?! Johnny snorted and once again touched his mask, making sure that it was still in place as he leaned forward and continued to ramble at his silent companion.

“We daan’t usually take ‘ostages. I’m really sorry. Did my dad ‘urt ya? Er… I mean did the big guy ‘urt ya?” Johnny fumbled with his words, suddenly hoping that his runaway mouth didn’t tell a witness and a victim his name. It would only doom him and get her in even more trouble with his father.

Slowly she shook her head no and her ears flared out a little more as her body relaxed out of the curled up, protective position that she had been in from the moment she was forced into the truck bed. Johnny smiled eagerly at the encouraging response and promptly forgot about his need to keep his mask on as he continued to carry on the fairly one sided conversation.

“Tha’s good. I daan’t think ‘e would do it on purpose but sometimes ‘e daan’t know ‘is own strength.” He shrugged and leaned back against the edge of the truck, suddenly contemplative. When had his life gone from normal to comforting hostages in the back of his dad’s pickup? Somehow he had let his dad wrap him up in a life of crime that he had never wanted. Unbidden, the song that had been stuck in his head for the last couple of days popped into his head and he automatically hummed a few bars, softly singing the beginning to himself.

Abruptly he realized that he wasn’t alone and his cheeks went bright red as he nervously glanced at the girl. Instead of the usual fear, her expression was bright with recognition, and it was only then that he noticed the heavy duty headphones around her neck and the faint music that was still coming from them. There wasn’t really time to pause your music when being kidnapped.

“You know tha’ song?” He tried to engage her again, and this time he received a tiny smile for his efforts. She nodded slowly and a red blush popped up on her cheeks. Johnny couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face and the way that her shy embarrassment made her look that much more attractive. It was cute.

But there was still a tentativeness about her actions that spoke of some level of fear that still remained. In a second, all of his hard work vanished when a squad of police cars raced past the mouth of the alley, the sound of their sirens breaking their camaraderie and reminding both of them that this wasn’t normal, kidnapping did not involve friendly chatting.

She retreated once more, pulling her ears close and shrinking away from him. Johnny saw her retreat, and the part of him that craved the easy companionship of another mammal his age took ahold of his inhibitions and threw them out of the window. He quickly ripped his mask off and shoved it into his pocket.

The girl froze at his sudden reveal, and though she still looked cautious, her ears opened up in surprise and the fear all but melted from her gaze, “Please. I daan’t want ya ter be afraid of me. I didn’t want this, any of this.” He took a deep breath and bared his soul to the silent girl, “Ter tell ya the truth, this is all me dad.”

Johnny looked down at the scuffed paint of the truck bed, unable to meet her piercing gaze as he told her the one secret he hadn’t ever told anyone, especially his family, “I wanna be a singer.”

When he was once again met with silence, his heart sank in his chest. Before he could descend fully into his despair, he felt something heavy touch his shoulder. He looked up and found the girl leaning forward with understanding in her expression as she gently rested her hand on his shoulder. Johnny;s heart soared with relief and he just smiled back at her, absorbing every second as she slowly gave him a smile back.

But the Universe once again intervened on his carefully laid plans as the truck motor started up and his dad poked his head out of the window to address Johnny. The comforting weight of her arm disappeared and suddenly there was a chasm of space between them. Reluctantly, Johnny turned to his dad and listened to his instructions.

“We’re gonna drop the girl at the corner of Palm and Cherry. Keep an eye on ‘er til we get there.” He barked out and Johnny gave him a nod in response. Big Daddy disappeared back into the cab of the truck and they carefully made their way out of the alley and started the short journey to the intersection that his father had described. It was only a couple blocks, and the girl was pressed against the truck bed as she did everything in her power to make herself smaller. Whatever they had in the alley had disappeared the moment his father had interrupted, and for the millionth time that day, Johnny felt the urge to cuss his father out, do something, say something, anything to let out the anger he was feeling.

Instead he watched the girl, hoping that she would give him some sort of sign that he wasn’t as terrible of a mammal as he thought he was. Talking to her in that alley had been the first time in a long time that he had been open with another mammal. As the truck slowed she glanced at him, and though the fear was still in her expression, it was no longer directed at him. She gave him a tiny smile when they stopped and he jumped out of the truck to help her down onto the asphalt of the abandoned parking lot.

They awkwardly stood together in that parking lot for what felt like an eternity, her uncertain baby blues gazing up into his pleading chocolate gaze. Their reverie was broken by the sharp sound of a horn and his father’s voice yelling at him to ‘get in the bloody truck boy!’. Johnny wrenched his hands out of his pockets and climbed into the back of the waiting truck, his gaze glued to the girl. And then she leaned down and picked something up with her trunk, offering it up to him. It was his bunny mask, bent and a little worse for the wear, but still intact.

“Y-You dropped your mask.” her soft voice stumbled tentatively over the words that had consumed him since the moment they appeared on his chest. Johnny could do nothing but robotically accept the mask and stare at her in absolute amazement. It was her. She was his soulmate. She was the one that he had been simultaneously avoiding and searching for since he was nine.

Before he could say anything to her, not that his frazzled brain could possibly come up with the words, he was being yanked back into the bed and the truck roared to life as he sped away. The sight of the girl was replaced by his father’s frustrated face as he looked Johnny over and then fixed him with a glare.

“Wot ‘re ya doin’ boy?! We’re on the run from the bloody cops! We daan’t ‘ave time ter wait around! And why aren’t ya wearin’ yer mask?!?!” Big Daddy ranted, but as he settled back against the cold metal of the truck bed, all Johnny could think about was his soulmate, who he had kidnapped and left in a parking lot, and every part of him yearned to see her just one more time.

That night after all of the fuss of being abandoned in a parking lot, smothered by her frantic family, and questioned by the police, Meena lay in her bed and pulled back her pajama sleeve to look at the words that she had feared for so long. They were bold and stark against her grey skin and seemed to pulse with new life now that Meena had found him, her soulmate. In the background, the soft notes of “The Way I Feel Inside”, the song that her captor, her soulmate, had sung, were consuming her senses until she felt like she was floating with the music, wrapped up in her soulmark.

She remembered his kind gaze, his misguided attempts to comfort her, and his admittedly handsome face. The way his accent had danced over his words, changing the way they sounded, made her heart flutter. She had been wrapped up in a confusing whirlwind of emotions for the entirety of her captivity.

For the first time in twelve years she looked down at her mark and thought that maybe, finding her soulmate hadn’t been so scary.

[sophiekraymer]

A Very Long Victuuri Fic Rec List

Hi! So I made a super long list of Victuuri fanfic suggestions for my friend who just finished watching Yuri on Ice. I figured I’d go ahead and also share them here! 

Warning: I’ve been reading Victuuri every night before bed for about a year, so this list is very very long (aka there are 37 fanfics on here)

********Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8748484/chapters/20055247

Words: 197,681 Chapters: 14/14

SINGLE HANDEDLY THE BEST FIC ON THIS ENTIRE LIST!!!!

��…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’

A single event changes the course of Yuuri’s life, throwing him into a bitter rivalry with Viktor Nikiforov that spans across his entire skating career. But as the years go on, rivalry and hatred begin to develop into something very different and Yuuri doesn’t seem to be able to stay away, no matter how hard he tries.

Hatred and love are two sides of the same coin and even though everything changes, some things are still meant to be.

********Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/10450500/chapters/23069073

Words: 208,409 Chapters: 9/9

THE SECOND BEST FIC ON THIS ENTIRE LIST

Viktor doesn’t remember the first time he met Yuuri Katsuki.

This however, is what Viktor does remember…

Part 2 of the Rivals series and companion fic to ‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’. One small change alters the course of both Viktor and Yuuri’s entire lives, creating a rivalry that spans across many years and a world where they both tell a very different side to the story.

****Magic & Ice-  https://archiveofourown.org/works/9322724/chapters/21127244

Words: 303,928 Chapters: 41/41

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has begun accepting NEWT transfer students. For 5th year Yuuri Katsuki it’s a dream come true, and a chance for his to find his place in the world, both on the ice and off.

16 year old Yuuri is off on a fun-filled adventure, full of friends and discovery, as he learns how to fall in love, and how to love himself. He might be chasing his idol, 17 year Viktor Nikiforov, but Viktor may be closer than he seems, as he too struggles to find his place in the world.

The Harry Potter AU where they’re still Skaters!

****Gubraithian Fire-   https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256162/chapters/25165083

Words: 117,957 Chapters: 18/?

Seven years have passed since the end of the Second Wizarding War, and with the world turning a little brighter in the aftermath, the wizarding world has grown a little closer. Mahoutokoro might be the logical school of choice if you live in Japan, and Uagadou if you live anywhere in Africa, but if Hogwarts just so happens to have a more intriguing curriculum, why not go there instead, now that they actually accept students from outside the UK and Ireland?

Well, frankly, Ludmila and Ilia had little choice but to send Viktor there just in time for his sixth year of education. With a dark wizard, or several of them, on their heels, there really had been no other option than to flee from Russia, settling down in a flat in London’s West End instead, with top-rated aurors on the case and a chandelier the size of the moon in the living room.

With worry gnawing in the back of his mind and his heart attempting to hammer itself through his rib-cage, Viktor plunges himself into studies, Quidditch, too many towers, friendship, and… wait, who’s that guy with black hair and glasses that suddenly set the world aflame by breathing in his general direction?

Welcome, students, to the Hogwarts Role Reversal AU.

***All The World’s A Stage-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9135670/chapters/20759239

Words: 112,291 Chapters: 10/10

The romance actor victor fic where Yuuri is hired to teach him to figure skate for a movie

Everyone has a guilty pleasure.

For Yuuri, it just happens to be romance movies starring famous heartthrob Victor Nikiforov.

(And, honestly, on the spectrum of guilty pleasures, he figures that his is on the far, far more innocent side.)

***Come Out of Hiding (I’m Right Here Beside You)-  https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083449/chapters/20654911

Words: 84,345 Chapters: 33/33

THE BROADWAY AU!

After forgetting the words to his song during a vocal competition as a teenager, Yuuri Katsuki decided singing was not for him. Instead he went to NYU to study English. He never expected Viktor Nikiforov, Broadway star extraordinaire looking to direct his first production on the stage, would ever find his up-and-coming lead… in him.

***The Rules for Lovers-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9645131/chapters/21790376

Words: 323,342 Chapters: 20/20

Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…

That’s a long story.

**Bear Your Soul on the Ice-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9092290/chapters/20670766

Words: 166,203 Chapters: 25/?

At age fourteen, Katsuki Yuuri had been determined to be Japan’s next great figure skating hope, but with no coach that would never happen, so his ballet instructor packs him up off to Russia to train with Yakov Feltsman. The Yakov Feltsman, otherwise known as the coach to rising figure skating star – and Yuuri’s idol – Viktor Nikiforov.

**Empty Spaces Between Stars- http://archiveofourown.org/works/10847568/chapters/24084063

Words: 99,146 Chapters: 11/?

Victor gets just as drunk as Yuuri at the Sochi Banquet, and they disappear together after the dance-offs. They wake up the morning after with rings on their fingers, and pictures of them kissing after getting married the night before are all over the tabloids… but neither of them remembers a thing. They decide to stay married for a while for the sake of Victor’s sponsorships, and in exchange, Victor coaches Yuuri through nationals…

**Like a Fairytale-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9373529/chapters/21220337

Words: 73,412 Chapters: 13/13

In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his ‘Cinderella’ Yuuri.

(And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he’s doing).

“The crown prince of the Nikiforov kingdom, infatuated with a mystery pastry chef he’s only just met. This is exactly the kind of scandalous love story my life has been missing… So, what’s he look like? What exactly is Prince Victor’s type?”

“…Sweet.”

“Well, he does make pastries.“

**Love So Life-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9226067/chapters/20923982

Words: 114,335 Chapters: 12/12

Yuuri Katsuki was simply living his college life, teaching ice skating lessons to little kids, when suddenly his idol and champion figure skater Victor Nikiforov bursts in and requests that he start babysitting his three year old nephew, Yuri Plisetsky. Yuuri finds himself growing to be a part of their family and helping them work through their complicated family issues.

This is an AU based on the shojo manga Love So Life (2008-2015) by Kaede Kochi. The main difference from the manga will be the ages of Yuuri (23 not 16) and Victor (27 not 25), so therefore the “waiting until the main character is of age” plotline is not necessary or present. That also means that my story will be more focused on romance than the original :)

**Six Hours Ahead-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/10355178/chapters/22879563

Words: 88,416 Chapters: 14/?

When Yuuri downloaded the harmless quiz app, he didn’t expect to become best friends with the Russian boy who asked him for a rematch.

-

Porkcutlet: Wait, you’re from Russia right?

Makka: I am, why?

Porkcutlet: I was just wondering what it feels like to walk on the same ground as a real life angel?

Makka: Umm

Makka: It just feels like walking?

-

(In which Yuuri unknowingly befriends Viktor online and gushes to him about the living legend himself)

**The Unusual Truth-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/11898384/chapters/26878350

Words: 132,618 Chapters: 16/16

***I don’t usually enjoy Alpha/Beta/Omega fics, but this one is actually quite good and subverts the trope a bit

A different kind of ABO love story

It’s a few weeks before his 19th birthday and Viktor Nikiforov has just won his first Grand Prix Final Gold. He should be busy celebrating, but instead he’s forced to attend the ISU’s stupid presentation seminar. It was going to be awful, not just because he was sure to be the oldest newly presented skater there, but also because he would definitely be the only Omega. Being stuck in a room full of Alphas was definitely low on his list of things he wanted to do just days after his first major Senior Gold.

That is until a tiny boy walked into the room and went and changed everything.

*Body Music (Reverse AU)- http://archiveofourown.org/series/620569

A series of 16 oneshots in which Yuuri is older than Victor and Victor comes to Yuuri begging him to be his coach.

*Heel Sit Stay- http://archiveofourown.org/works/11651712/chapters/26213652

Words: 22,211 Chapters: 4/?

Yuuri gave up a skating career to care for his ailing dog four years ago. Now he’s at the 2016 World Dog Show in Moscow, his faithful partner Vicchan in perfect health. They’re athletes of a different sport now–doggy agility–and they’ve come to defend their titles as reigning champions. For Yuuri, though, it was just a nice way to pass the time. Nothing truly nerve-wracking ever happened at these dog shows.

He really should have realized that there was a high chance he’d run into a certain Russian dog lover.

(AKA the dog show AU)

*Lessons in Love- http://archiveofourown.org/works/9250658/chapters/20972102

Words: 106,456 Chapters: 11/?

All Viktor wants is for his son to be happy - and if that means spending countless hours at the ice rink, a million more in the ballet studio, and devotedly cheering for Katsuki Yuuri at every competition he enters, then that is precisely what he’ll do. He just didn’t expect to become a fan, too. (He didn’t expect to fall in love.)

*Miliy-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/11471580/chapters/25721622

Words: 42,794 Chapters: ¾

Viktor finds himself in a sticky situation – referring to more than the mess in his pants after watching his favorite camboy’s show.

In other words, how do you tell a camboy with a celebrity crush on Viktor Nikiforov that you are, in fact, the very man you role play with him as? The answer - you don’t.

*Story of My Life-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/11145114

Words: 5,354 Chapters: 1/1

There are 3,140,000 results on Google Search for why you should meet your idol. Meeting your idol could allow you to tell them personally how much they mean to you and can inspire you to be more like your idol.

However, there are 20,300,000 reasons why you shouldn’t meet your idol.

Or; AU where Victor is a famous author and Yuuri is his biggest fan.

*Sequel to My Life- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12303582

Words: 14,116 Chapters: 1/1

Victor has always wished his life was like a novel.

You know, one of those romance books with a hot, half-naked guy pictured on the cover that ends with an engagement and a steamy sex scene.Victor wishes his life is like those young adult stories where there are four different confusing love triangles and three different misunderstandings that somehow resolve each other by the end. Yeah, those kind of books.

But instead, he lives in a boring reality; one that is as far off from a romance novel as possible. There are no steamy sex scenes, and well scripted dates, and misunderstood love triangles between the main characters.

Just a steady, two month, long-distance relationship with the most precious man he can ever think of. And while it’s no Victor Nikiforov romantic comedy - although nothing could truly be as well scripted as a Victor Nikiforov book - he supposes nothing ever is.

Sequel to Story of My Life.

All this, and love too-   http://archiveofourown.org/works/9378959

Words: 3,882 One Shot

Royalty AU

“I am wondering,” Viktor whispers into the charged air between them, and when did they get so close? Has Viktor’s nose always been a hair’s breadth away from Yuuri’s? “If it would be entirely improper of me to request a kiss. I know that we are not due to be married for several more weeks, but it would be wrong of me to deny that I have been enamored with you since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“Only if you mean it.” Yuuri whispers back, lips parting. Breathless, hard to form words, his throat so very dry, his chest so very tight. “Please, only if you mean it.”

“If I am to ever mean anything more than I mean this, then I pray the gods strike me down.”

Bittersweet Dissonance- http://archiveofourown.org/works/10673280/chapters/23628108

Words: 23,898 Chapters:5/5

Victor’s attention is swayed to the gorgeous violinist playing in the park across from the rink. Yuuri is baffled by the kind actions of the attractive figure skater. In the meantime, both learn to open up to each other, and their lives finally take a turn for the better.

Born to Make History- http://archiveofourown.org/works/8785183/chapters/20139673

Words: 11,122 Chapters: 3/3

Victor Nikiforov, Heir Tsesarevich and Grand Duke of Russia, needs a husband and only a Japanese Prince will do.

Enter Stage Left- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12513064/chapters/28491300

Words: 21,616 Chapters: 4/5

"How about we practice lines together? It would be great! Who better as my coach than the guy who wrote it? You said so yourself, no one knows the characters better than you!” Victor suggests.

Victor watches as Yuuri’s eyes search for an answer, flickering between the script and Victor. He wants nothing more than to see them shine just for him.

“Alright,” Yuuri decides shyly. “I’ll run lines with you.”

After all, it’s just acting…

Or; the writer!yuuri and actor!victor fic that no one asked for.

I Will Break the Ice of Your Heart- http://archiveofourown.org/works/9120484/chapters/20728225

Words: 51,474 Chapters: 9/9

“Yuuri…” The teacher whispered near his ear.

Fuck… he’s…

“Y… Yes?” he stuttered.

Hot…

Yuuri is a talented but very shy student who enters in a new university for his last year. There, he meets a coldhearted and strict philosophy teacher: Viktor Nikiforov. Despite their differences, the two of them start to get closer…

Language Barriers- http://archiveofourown.org/works/10153565/chapters/22557656

Words: 237,735 Chapters: 38/38

Victor Nikiforov had always wanted to travel the world. When an opportunity arises to spend his final year of university study abroad, he is quick to leap at the chance. Twelve months spent in twelve different countries, he can’t wait to see new places, meet new friends, and finish out his degree with a bang. He just didn’t expect to fall in love along the way.

Yuri Katsuki only applied because his friend forced him to. He’s just trying to get through the year, keep his head down and his grades up. Victor has other ideas.

Make my heart beat out of my chest ‘verse-  http://archiveofourown.org/series/656144

A series of 4 oneshots about Adventures with Yuuri Katsuki, living dance legend, and his ridiculous popstar husband, Viktor “I’m Extra” Nikiforov.

Of Dahlias and Deadlines- http://archiveofourown.org/works/10695813/chapters/23690199

Words: 80,867 Chapters: 20/35

All Victor wants is to get dahlias for Khloe and Brad’s wedding in under 24 hours.

Hope comes in the form of the little family florist in his neighborhood and the quiet smiles of one Katsuki Yuuri.

A florist Yuuri and wedding planner Victor AU.

Pulses that Beat Double-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/12210117/chapters/27730044

Words: 41,714 Chapters: 9/?

Katsuki Yuuri traveled all the way from Japan to study medicine in London, but finds himself very short on funds. He’s long had a fascination with the scandalous Baron Viktor Nikiforov, so he’s shocked when the baron takes an interest in him. So shocked he runs away as quickly as possible. But Viktor Nikiforov is a persistent man when he sees something he wants.

AKA The Victorian Era Sugar Daddy AU

Raison d’Être-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/11535771/chapters/25899183

Words: 29,273 Chapters: 2/?

1. reason or justification for existence; the thing that is most important to someone or something; the sole or ultimate purpose of someone.

President Nikiforov of Russia has a few weaknesses: premium rye vodka, an attention span of 30 minutes, and a torrid love affair with the Japanese Prime Minister.

Siren’s Call: A Collection-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/12657330/chapters/30138846

Words: 30,174 Chapters: 62/?

A siren hardly belongs abroad a pirate ship, but love and adventure tend to bend the rules even of nature and myth.

A collection of minute-ficlets for the siren au created by lucycamui and crimson-chains for the YOI Nautical Zine.

Skater Next Door-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/11903991/chapters/26893467

Words: 41,359 Chapters: 24/24

When Yuuri finds out that his next-door neighbour is none other than Victor Nikiforov, he has a small break down.

He has a second small break down when he sees Victor Nikiforov shower his son in love and attention.

And a third break down when Victor asks him, Yuuri Katsuki, a poor, single parent, ballet dancer, out on a date.

Sugar High-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/10221779/chapters/22681472

Words: 115,192 Chapters: 8/?

“Baby boy, you can have whatever you want. Just tell me, and I’ll give you the world.” Yuuri is completely speechless. Was it going to be this easy? To get money from someone so handsome, so alluring, so rich? Just by asking? Victor presses on. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

“…Will you help me pay my college tuition?” Yuuri finally speaks, deciding to be straightforward, remembering why he signed up for this in the first place.

“If that’ll make you happy, then so be it. Now…lay on the bed.”

–

Yuuri Katsuki is a college student struggling to pay rent, tuition, and just about everything else. When he sets up an account for a sugar daddy dating app, he doesn’t expect anything to come out of it. Instead, he meets Victor Nikiforov, and so begins their walk on the fine line between their physical relationship and something more.

Sweet on You- http://archiveofourown.org/works/11167470/chapters/24926778

Words: 17,910 Chapters: 10/10

Victor Nikiforov is the owner of a popular bakery in St. Petersburg, and he loves it. But just when he starts to grow bored of the same routine every day a cute foreign college student comes to visit and suddenly becomes all Victor can think about…

AKA the bakery au/rom-com that probably no one asked for.

The Chronicles of Katsuki Yuuri, Unconventional Heartbreaker-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9823961/chapters/22058708

Words: 6,757 Chapters 1/1

The five times Yuuri Katsuki unknowingly steals the heart of everyone around him and the one time he does it on purpose (sort of).

The Tsesarevich Lives!-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/10589628/chapters/23407527

Words: 50,123 Chapters: 21/21

An Anastasia AU. Victor is an orphan with no name, no family, and no memory of a time before he was ten years old. Could he really be the missing Nikiforov heir? An adventure across Europe with two con-men will lead him to the answer.

Tu meum Animum-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/8892469/chapters/20382040

Words: 60,419 Chapters: 18/18

Viktor is many things but, lately, there are things that are added in his repertoire and he brushes it off as a trick of the imagination since he does not consider himself a stalker and most definitely not a dork.

—

In which Viktor is a fourth year Slytherin in Hogwarts and is very much infatuated with a cute fourth year Gryffindor.

Twenty-Five Hours-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9677486/chapters/21856832

Words: 22,861 Chapters: 3/3

In which Yuuri spends a 25 hour flight next to Victor Nikiforov, skating legend, and feels it might simultaneously be the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him.

Write Me In C Major-  http://archiveofourown.org/works/9578384/chapters/21657281

Words: 87,188 Chapters: 11/15

Living Legend of figure skating Victor Nikiforov has just won his fifth world title and doesn’t know where to go from here - until he falls in love with Katsuki Yuuri’s music at first hearing.

Movie composer Katsuki Yuuri is trying to bounce back from a series of flops when his idol shows up with absurd requests.

Victor wants Yuuri to compose about him; Yuuri wants Victor to skate about him.

[innuendostudios]

Superposition, a 25-minute dissection of Life is Strange’s genre fuckery. As ever, you can keep this work coming by supporting me on Patreon. Transcript below the cut.

Maybe you knew this already, but Life is Strange is a weird-ass video game, one that is, by turns, a nakedly honest point-and-clicker about teen girls and a psychosexual freakout on the nature of choice. It doesn’t exactly marry these two themes painlessly and I’m, frankly, unconvinced it’s trying to.

Mechanically, Life is Strange - a game by Dontnod - is a mostly faithful iteration on the Telltale adventure game model: a lot of mid-90’s LucasArts design, several recent innovations, and a heaping dose of Heavy Rain. Like a Telltale game, you navigate a 3D world and interact with your environment using context-sensitive button presses. And, like a Telltale game, play consists of simple adventure game puzzles, plot-branching decisions, and a whole lot of dialogue. Like a Telltale game, it’s released in five episodes, where choices you make in one will alter the contents of episodes down the line, and it has the same notifications that a choice will have consequences, the same frequent autosave to keep you from replaying too much of the game, and the same breakdown at the end of an episode that compares your choices with those of other players. But one hallmark of a Telltale game that is conspicuously absent is the thing that makes Telltale’s choices so meaningful: the timer.

A timer at the bottom of the screen ticking down every time you make a decision enforces a particular type of play. See, Telltale doesn’t want you to deliberate on your choices, Telltale wants you to act on your gut, which sometimes means making a choice you come to regret and having to live with it for the rest of the game. But, in Life is Strange, players are given the ability to rewind time, letting them see the all results of just about every choice, every puzzle, every line of dialogue, before making up their minds and proceeding. Players can deliberate forever. If you were to keep two saves going so you could see all outcomes of your choices, that would be playing against Telltale’s design philosophy, which is about living with your decisions, but, here, save-scumming is a core mechanic.

Now, I dunno what the developers’ thought process was, but I like to imagine them coming up with this idea and then asking, “OK, say a person could actually do this, could see every possible future stemming from their actions and pick the one they think is best; what would the logical endpoint of that story be?”

Hahaaahahaahaahaaa, okay. Okay. Alright.

The plot mechanics of Life is Strange are fucking bizarre. It is, in essence, two entirely different stories rolled up into the same package. These two stories contain all the same characters and all the same plot points, but exist in wildly different genres and have wildly different themes. For the first two-and-a-half-ish episodes, you appear to be playing a tender coming-of-age story, while the second two-and-a-half-ish are a Lynchian psychodrama that seems designed with the express purpose of complicating, then rejecting, and, ultimately, attempting to devour the coming-of-age story and erase all records of its existence. And then, in a truly bugfuck climax, the game point-blank asks you, the player, which of these two stories you want an ending to.

Why don’t we start at the beginning?

Max Caulfield is a student at the prestigious Blackwell Academy in her hometown of Arcadia Bay. Like a lot of people her age, she’s a little awkward, a little shy. She’s on her own for the first time - several years earlier, she and her family moved to Seattle, and her parents are still there while she’s moved into the Blackwell dorms. Max hasn’t maintained any of her local friendships, and, while she gets along with everyone who doesn’t actively hate her, she doesn’t have a group, or any close friends, except maybe the boy who has a crush on her. She’s also devoted to photography - it’s what she’s here to study - and greatly admires her photography teacher, but she’s too nervous to submit her work to the big photo competition, despite her teacher’s encouragement.

One day, after an intense vision in her photo class, Max bears witness to the school bully pulling a gun and shooting a girl in the bathroom, and, in that moment, she, as if by instinct, discovers that she can reverse time by up to a minute or two. After a bit of trial and error she manages to change history, preventing the girl’s death. And, that strangeness aside, she steps back into her normal life with her newfound abilities.

This is the setup for a very particular genre of story, albeit one with a more fantastical bent than usual. This genre has a name, but I’m only going to say it once, because it’s long, and German, and when American’s start dropping long, German words into their sentences they come off as seriously pretentious and even I have limits. But the word is Bildungsroman.

Now, English-speakers often use this term interchangeably with “coming-of-age story,” but it’s actually a specific genre with specific themes. The novel most often referenced as the first… story of this kind is Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, and other notable examples include Jane Eyre, The Glass Bead Game, and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Classically, these are stories about indecision, about a youth, pulled in many directions, trying to decide what kind of adult they’re going to be. The tension is not between protagonist and antagonist - traditionally, there is no real antagonist - but between protagonist and society. The adult world has expectations of the main character, and that character needs to decide to what extent, as a grown-up, they want to satisfy those expectations and to what extent they want to pursue their own happiness. The usual emotional arc of a… German coming-of-age story is accepting that maturity means taking on the world’s demands - shouldering your share of society’s burdens - and learning to fit your happiness around that responsibility: Wilhelm Meister leaves the theater and becomes a doctor, Jane Eyre marries on her own terms, Joseph Knecht leaves Castalia to become a teacher in the larger world (though sometimes the battle between personal happiness and social responsibility is not resolved simply).

The early going of Life is Strange fits snugly into the… genre. There are even subgenres that are “coming into one’s own as a student” and “coming into one’s own as an artist,” which revolve around mentor characters, so tick those off the list as well. After discovering her powers, Max runs into the girl from the bathroom in the parking lot and realizes it’s her best friend from childhood, Chloe, and the two become nearly inseparable. When Max reveals her abilities, Chloe enlists her in the hunt for Rachel Amber, a friend of hers who vanished recently, and what follows is less a traditional plot than, typical of the genre, a string of vignettes, this one loosely structured around a search for the missing girl. These various episodes gives Max many windows into lives she could lead. Stick it to the mean girl, or turn the other cheek? Down-to-earth boyfriend or maybe unpredictable girlfriend? Reach out to the girl being mistreated by a security guard, or take a photo for art? These are all hallmarks of the genre: questions of ethics, the wholesome love vs. the wild love, dedication to others vs. dedication to art.

You might think that the ability to call do-over on any decision would make these choices easier, but you’d be wrong - time travel makes all of them harder! Dedicating yourself to photography means breaking a hurting girl’s heart; kissing the wild love means devastating the wholesome love. At one point, Max changes history so dramatically that she actually visits an alternate timeline, where she’s popular with the girls who had previously mistreated her but isn’t friends with Chloe at all. This only drives home that, no matter what life she leads, there will be a cost. She can’t have everything; there is no one right answer. No matter what she chooses, she’s doing wrong by someone. This sets up the classic arc where she’s going to have to make some big decisions about what maturity means to her, and those decisions will involve sacrifices.

At least, that’s how it works on paper. In practice, the game only sometimes strikes that balance where all options have merits and drawbacks and no one is empirically better than the others. More often it’s like, ok, you’re trying to get into this RV but there’s an angry dog inside: do you distract the dog by throwing a bone into the parking lot, or kill the dog by throwing the bone into traffic? And that’s a fake choice. No one kills the dog. Why would you kill the dog? And then there’s the small mercies, like keeping someone from getting splashed by muddy water, which… ok, that isn’t a sacrifice; there is no reason not to do that.

So let’s say the time travel works as an imperfect metaphor for youthful indecision. And what pleasures can be drawn from this section of the game are to do with how much you enjoy earnestness. There’s a commitment from the designers to tackle subjects that are very uncommon to video games - from teen suicide to euthanasia to budding queer romance - and it’s hard not to respect their willingness to go there. Real effort has been put into addressing these subjects seriously, and these sequences can be very affecting… even as none of them entirely hit the mark. The scene where you talk a suicidal Kate off a rooftop, for all its intensity, is, mechanically, Kate quizzing you on how much flavor text you read in her room earlier; the sequence where alt-universe Chloe wants to die takes great pains to not be ableist towards paraplegics while still being kind of ableist towards paraplegics; and the budding queer romance often seems about two sentences away from turning into a late-night Showtime erotic drama that is obviously written by middle-aged men. But it’s not crass! The game’s heart is on its sleeve, and the writers clearly mean everything they say even when they don’t entirely know what they’re talking about. And if you can appreciate sincerity even as you acknowledge its failings, then you can appreciate the game for what it is: it’s like Max, awkward but well-meaning, naive, possessing a good heart and still kind of ignorant.

And that’s Life is Strange.... until the second half of the game happens.

In this story, time traveling teenager Max Caulfield and her best friend, Chloe Price, hot on the trail of the missing girl, Rachel Amber, discover that her story was not a tragic one of a wayward youth getting in over her head with her drug-dealer boyfriend, but one in which she was sedated, photographed, and murdered in an underground facility straight out of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. In trying to track down the boy they think is responsible, Max suddenly drops to the ground with a needle in her neck and watches helplessly as her best friend dies from a bullet to the head, then wakes up tied to a chair by the real killer: her photography professor, Mr. Jefferson. This is a story about regret, choice, and loyalty, full of serial killer monologues and hallucinatory imagery; a story where people look in the sky and see the moon doubled and the beach fills with the bodies of dead whales.

After two and a half episodes of vignettes, Life is Strange has decided it has an honest-to-goodness plot, one that bears a striking resemblance to, well... the designers want me to say Twin Peaks, but, honestly, the greater debt it owes is to Donnie Darko: Max is guided by an animal figure only she can see and who is probably the spirit of a dead character; Chloe is a teenager who’s only alive due to the interventions of a time traveller and this is causing a number of supernatural events to occur; just before the climax our hero is up on a hill coming to a difficult conclusion after watching her girlfriend die as a curious weather pattern descends on the town below; Chloe realizes that maybe the only way to set things right is to go back in time and die like she was originally fated to and then none of this awfulness will have ever happened; and multiple episodes end with tracking shots of all the major characters montaged together while melancholy pop music plays underneath… it’s not subtle.

As you can imagine, going from Jane Eyre to Donnie Darko is a bit of a tonal shift. In fairness, the game does set all these threads up in the first half, and it’s not like the coming-of-age story disappears (the euthanasia subplot actually happens past the midpoint), it’s just that what used to be background texture have become subjects in their own right, and they make the coming-of-age story look pretty out of place, Like, the love triangle between Chloe, Max, and Warren made sense in a coming-of-age story but it’s just ridiculous when your relationship with Chloe is tearing apart the fabric of reality and Warren is just a dude. In this story, the antagonist is not society but the very literal villain you thought was the mentor figure. The narrative tension is not about Max finding herself but about fixing mistakes, and hopefully not getting murdered in the process. Chloe is not a wild love but the possible instigator of the apocalypse. And Max’s powers are not a metaphor for indecision but a pointed meditation on what it means to be a protagonist, but more on that in a minute.

This half also has some ideas about choice that complicate what choice meant in the first half. There’s a scene where you try to get information from Rachel Amber’s ex-boyfriend, and, thanks to Max’s powers, you can see it play out a lot of different ways, but you start to realize that possibly the only way that nobody gets hurt… is if you killed the dog earlier in the game. Four episodes in Life is Strange decides it actually is a game about living with decisions you can’t undo!

When I started this video talking about Telltale, that wasn’t just an easy point of reference - what originally seemed like an interesting take on the Telltale model now seems as though it has a bone to pick with games of that type. The complaint so often lobbied against Telltale is that it promises your choices will have significant impact on the story; lots of people criticize them for not delivering on that promise, but Life is Strange seems to criticize Telltale for making the promise in the first place. Why, the game asks, should you even want that responsibility?

I mean, let’s look at how Max escapes Mr. Jefferson’s studio. Earlier in the game, Max discovers that she can travel to any point in the past that is captured in a photograph. So, through the photos Jefferson has on hand, she starts leaping back to different points in the game’s continuity adjusting her decisions, trying to tweak the timeline, undo mistakes. She’s looking for a scenario where she is free, Chloe is alive, and, if at all possible, no tornado is bearing down to wipe Arcadia Bay off the map, in case you forgot that’s a thing that’s happening. As when she first used her powers to save Chloe, it takes some trial and error, but she pulls it off - Mr. Jefferson’s in jail, Chloe is safe, and, hey, she even got her photo into that competition, and, what do you know, she won! Instead of tied up in a murderer’s photography studio, she’s in San Francisco with a new and better mentor figure, and her art is up on the wall, and she’s the toast of the show. This is a hyper-idealized ending to the coming-of-age story - after finally making up her mind and taking decisive action, Max has come into her own as a student, an artist, and a young woman.

Then she checks in on Chloe. There is always a cost.

Stories about teenagers who develop superhuman abilities often frame themselves as coming-of-age stories - it’s not a coincidence how many fall back on the puberty metaphor. Even without time travel or gamma rays, growing up means gaining power and independence one didn’t have as a child, so everyone is expected to learn - let’s all say it together - “with great power comes great responsibility.” But, however much superpowers serve as symbols for growing up, they are also wish-fulfillment. We may agree that Peter Parker should use his newfound strength with discretion, but it still feels good to watch him beat up the bully. And we may be saddened by Uncle Ben’s death, but we’re still glad that it turns Peter into Spider-man. Because that’s what we’re here to see. That’s a tension endemic to the genre - that, on the one hand, power is dangerous and must be be used sparingly, and, on the other hand, power is awesome, and we pay money to see characters wield it. And law and order, good and evil, life and death are all present not as subjects deserving of their own films but as means of centering a protagonist in an interesting story, compelling him to use his awesome powers, and teaching a boy how to be a man.

This tension is at the heart of Telltale games, as well, and most games in that model. They may present as being about futility, about being a miniscule player in an enormous, losing game, but the plot still contorts itself to ensure the most dramatic and impactful decisions rest on the protagonist’s shoulders. And however terrible that responsibility is implied to be, players play because they want to make those decisions, and complain when they are not impactful enough.

In Life is Strange, Max comes to realize that all the bizarre occurrences - the moons, the whales, the tornado - have been caused by her leaping through time. That she can’t set things right because trying to set things right has and will only ever make things worse. This isn’t just a false ending; this is an evisceration of the game you thought you were playing for the first two and a half episodes. Max gives up her perfect ending and goes back to the studio in one last effort to save Chloe, while the game stares down the player and says, “How dare you think this was a coming-of-age story. How dare you think time travel was a neat way to work through your indecision. How could you think a power this great could ever be used responsibly? How could you think the consequences for your mistakes would be borne by you and you alone?”

This sets up an arc where Max will have to do what superhero movies almost never do: truly reckon with how dangerous real power can be.

This point gets hammered for the rest of Episode 5. I got rescued by Chloe’s step-dad, and when he learned Chloe was dead he killed Mr. Jefferson, and the game was like, hey, do you want to go back and change that? And I was like, I don’t know anymore. I could, but will changing things just make them go even more wrong? And when I go back and save Chloe, will any of this have even happened? And, fuck, there’s a tornado gonna come kill all of us anyway, so is there any scenario where this choice even matters? Then, above ground, the game still let me perform those small mercies, but, like, great, you’re welcome, hope you enjoy the five minutes I just added to your life cuz you’re still gonna die and it’s all my fault but I want my girlfriend back so I’m gonna jump back one more time and make things just a little bit worse.

Even when you do get Chloe back, the game has made you aware of the horrible cost your entire community will pay for you having used your powers to save her again and again and again. Your only goal has been to fix your mistakes and you’re being punished for having even tried! The game deposits you on a hill to watch as Hell descends on the town below, and then tells you, in so many words, “This is the price you paid for your friend.”

And then it asks, “Would you like a refund?”

Seeing what’s happened to Arcadia Bay, Chloe says that, if there’s a chance it will undo everything that’s occurred, she wants you to go back in time to the bathroom and let her die. Maybe that’s just the way fate wanted things to happen. And it’s up to you to grant or deny her wish.

This final decision is the game offering you two very appropriate endings for the two very different games you have been playing. Per the themes of the… coming-of-age story of the Germanic persuasion, Max’s arc is learning to sacrifice for the greater good. She can’t have it all, she can’t satisfy everyone, and sometimes doing right by your society means giving up something you love. In the battle between personal happiness and responsibility, responsibility wins. Sometimes the wild love is someone you have to let go of - be grateful for your time together and kiss her goodbye. She knows what’s right - it’s better this way.

Per the themes of the Lynchian psychodrama, have you fucking lost it?? What about the last 12-odd hours of gameplay in which trying to change the past universally makes the present worse gave you the idea that going back “one more time” could possibly fix anything? Have you learned nothing? Yes, you fucked up, and all of this is your fault, but in real life people have to live with their fuckups, even the big ones. No one has the right to change history. You can’t keep trying to control this. This is bigger than you and Chloe. You have to let go.

That’s about as incompatible as two endings can be. In one, all the themes of the first half of the game are thrown in a lake and Max never finds her place in society because society gets eaten by a tornado, and in the other the whole psychodrama plotline and all its attendant themes are literally erased from history. Whichever you pick, whichever plot you decide is the right one, a sizable portion of the game will be rendered meaningless. And we should acknowledge that these two themes, Sacrifice For The Greater Good and Learn To Live With Your Mistakes are not, in real life, things we get to choose between. Maturity means doing both.

If you elect to keep Chloe alive, Max and Chloe wordlessly drive out of town. And maybe it’s meant to be an unresolved ending that sticks with you for a while - T2 meets Thelma and Louise - and that might be a pretty bold decision if the game didn’t autosave right before The One Choice You Can’t Make Twice, which means everyone is going to reload 5 minutes after they finish and watch the other ending which is just… is just in all conceivable ways better. The ending where Chloe dies is longer, it has proper closure, there’s this funeral scene that is so cathartic it doesn’t even make sense (you two never even met Chloe in this timeline, why are you here???). And it confirms that, yeah, you didn’t have to live with your mistakes, going back would have fixed everything. Worse, it boils the ending choice down to Who Do You Love More, Chloe or Everyone Else?, the reason fans have dubbed the ending “bay or bae,” but whether or not you love Chloe the mostest isn’t really what all that stuff about fucking up the timeline was getting at. If ever a game needed to pull a Swapper and erase your save after you make the final decision, this was it.

And that’s how Life is Strange ends. I honestly can’t tell you if this game is good, I can’t even tell you if I liked it, but I think… I think I loved it? I mean, that last decision is kind of bullshit, but I got real choked up making it. Now we’ve got word that both a sequel and a prequel are in the works, and, frankly, I’m apprehensive. There is a certain power to starting with an emotionally resonant genre and then ramming it headlong into a weirder, darker, more ambitious genre, and that’s a move that only works when you’re not expecting it. Do I wanna critique how effectively Life is Strange goes off the rails when once I was dumbfounded that it did at all? Life is Strange was like nothing I’d ever played, for good and for ill; a sequel will like at least one thing I’ve played already. And I don’t even know if I should like this game! When people talk shit on it, I don’t even disagree, and yet here we are. Ah, fuck it. I don’t even know. Life is Strange, everyone. Wowser.

[thebookrat]

I heard you guys: I don't highlight contemporary books enough. I tried to give you PLENTY of them this go 'round (and of course, some v. excellent fantasy), but there were so many book deals available, I might have to do a part 2 update mid-week! Check out all of the many, many excellent books to load up your ereaders with, all for super cheap, I don't think anything went over 2 bucks this time! -- and many are FREE FREE FREE!) So when you're done drinking your Cinco de Mayo margarita's and ready to do some drunken online self-indulgence, why not save a few $$ and load up on some deals instead? ;)

ALL BOOK COVERS ARE CLICKABLE AND TAKE YOU DIRECTLY TO THE DEAL!

I mean, COME ON.

Feyre survived Amarantha's clutches to return to the Spring Court--but at a steep cost. Though she now has the powers of the High Fae, her heart remains human, and it can't forget the terrible deeds she performed to save Tamlin's people. Nor has Feyre forgotten her bargain with Rhysand, High Lord of the feared Night Court. As Feyre navigates its dark web of politics, passion, and dazzling power, a greater evil looms--and she might be key to stopping it. But only if she can harness her harrowing gifts, heal her fractured soul, and decide how she wishes to shape her future--and the future of a world cleaved in two. With more than a million copies sold of her beloved Throne of Glass series, Sarah J. Maas's masterful storytelling brings this second book in her seductive and action-packed series to new heights.

Sixteen-year-old Beckan and her friends are the only fairies brave enough to stay in Ferrum when war breaks out. Now there is tension between the immortal fairies, the subterranean gnomes, and the mysterious tightropers who arrived to liberate the fairies. But when Beckan's clan is forced to venture into the gnome underworld to survive, they find themselves tentatively forming unlikely friendships and making sacrifices they couldn't have imagined. As danger mounts, Beckan finds herself caught between her loyalty to her friends, her desire for peace, and a love she never expected. This stunning, lyrical fantasy is a powerful exploration of what makes a family, what justifies a war, and what it means to truly love.

An epic fantasy filled with adventure, intrigue, and romance from Incarnate series author Jodi Meadows. This duology is perfect for fans of Graceling by Kristin Cashore, The Girl of Fire and Thorns by Rae Carson, and Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo. When Princess Wilhelmina was a child, the Indigo Kingdom invaded her homeland. Ten years later, Wil and the other noble children who escaped are ready to fight back and reclaim Wil’s throne. To do so, Wil and her best friend, Melanie, infiltrate the Indigo Kingdom palace with hopes of gathering information that will help them succeed. But Wil has a secret—one that could change everything. Although magic has been illegal for a century, she knows her ability could help her save her kingdom. But magic creates wraith, and the deadly stuff is moving closer and destroying the land. And if the vigilante Black Knife catches her using magic, she may disappear like all the others. . . .

In Ink and Bone, bestselling author Rachel Caine introduced a world where knowledge is power, and power corrupts absolutely. Now she continues the story of those who dare to defy the Great Library—and rewrite history... Jess Brightwell has survived his introduction to the sinister, seductive world of the Library, but serving in its army is nothing like he envisioned. His life and the lives of those he cares for have been altered forever. Embarking on a mission to save one of their own, Jess and his band of allies make one wrong move and suddenly find themselves hunted by the Library’s deadly automata and forced to flee Alexandria, all the way to London. But Jess’s home isn’t safe anymore. The Welsh army is coming, London is burning, and soon Jess must choose between his friends, his family, and the Library, which is willing to sacrifice anything and anyone in the search for ultimate control...

Get it. Get this whole damn series. Trust me.

Held captive in the barbarian kingdom of Venda, Lia and Rafe have little chance of escape . . . and even less of being together. Desperate to save her life, Lia's erstwhile assassin, Kaden, has told the Vendan Komisar that she has a magical gift, and the Komisar's interest in Lia is greater than either Kaden or Lia foresaw. Meanwhile, the foundations of Lia's deeply-held beliefs are crumbling beneath her. Nothing is straightforward: there's Rafe, who lied to her, but has sacrificed his freedom to protect her; Kaden, who meant to assassinate her but has now saved her life; and the Vendans, whom she always believed to be barbarians but whom she now realizes are people who have been terribly brutalized by the kingdoms of Dalbreck and Morrighan. Wrestling with her upbringing, her gift, and her very sense of self, Lia will have to make powerful choices that affect her country, her people . . . and her own destiny.

Lia has survived Venda—but so has a great evil bent on the destruction of Morrighan. And only Lia can stop it. With war on the horizon, Lia has no choice but to assume her role as First Daughter, as soldier—as leader. While she struggles to reach Morrighan and warn them, she finds herself at cross-purposes with Rafe and suspicious of Kaden, who has hunted her down. In this heart-stopping conclusion to the Remnant Chronicles trilogy that started with The Kiss of Deception and The Heart of Betrayal, traitors must be rooted out, sacrifices must be made, and impossible odds must be overcome as the future of every kingdom hangs in the balance. New York Times-bestselling author Mary E. Pearson's combination of intrigue, suspense, romance, and action makes this a riveting YA page-turner for teens.

This morning, Kady thought breaking up with Ezra was the hardest thing she’d have to do. This afternoon, her planet was invaded. The year is 2575, and two rival megacorporations are at war over a planet that’s little more than a speck at the edge of the universe. Now with enemy fire raining down on them, Kady and Ezra—who are barely even talking to each other—are forced to evacuate with a hostile warship in hot pursuit. But their problems are just getting started. A plague has broken out and is mutating with terrifying results; the fleet’s AI may actually be their enemy; and nobody in charge will say what’s really going on. As Kady hacks into a web of data to find the truth, it’s clear the only person who can help her is the ex-boyfriend she swore she’d never speak to again. Told through a fascinating dossier of hacked documents—including emails, maps, files, IMs, medical reports, interviews, and more—Illuminae is the first book in a heart-stopping trilogy about lives interrupted, the price of truth, and the courage of everyday heroes.

Evaline Stoker and Mina Holmes never meant to get into the family business. But when you're the sister of Bram and the niece of Sherlock, vampire hunting and mystery solving are in your blood. And when two society girls go missing, there's no one more qualified to investigate. Now fierce Evaline and logical Mina must resolve their rivalry, navigate the advances of not just one but three mysterious gentlemen, and solve murder with only one clue: a strange Egyptian scarab. The stakes are high. If Stoker and Holmes don't unravel why the belles of London society are in such danger, they'll become the next victims.

For the free, my darlings. For the FREE.

WINNER of the NATIONAL READERS CHOICE AWARD for best YA of 2015 Alexis Wyndham is the other type of Queen B—the Queen B*tch. After years of being the subject of ridicule, she revels in her ability to make the in-crowd cower via the exposés on her blog, The Eastline Spy. Now that she's carved out her place in the high school hierarchy, she uses her position to help the unpopular kids walking the hallways. Saving a freshman from bullies? Check. Swapping insults with the head cheerleader? Check. Falling for the star quarterback? So not a part of her plan. But when Brett offers to help her solve the mystery of who’s posting X-rated videos from the girls’ locker room, she’ll have to swallow her pride and learn to see past the high school stereotypes she’s never questioned—until now.

Rachel can't believe she has to give up her Saturdays to scrubbing other people's toilets. So. Gross. But she kinda, sorta stole $287.22 from her college fund that she's got to pay back ASAP or her mom will ground her for life. Which is even worse than working for her mother's new cleaning business. Maybe. After all, becoming a maid is definitely not going to help her already loserish reputation. But Rachel picks up more than smelly socks on the job. As maid to some of the most popular kids in school, Rachel suddenly has all the dirt on the 8th grade in-crowd. Her formerly boring diary is now filled with juicy secrets. And when her crush offers to pay her to spy on his girlfriend, Rachel has to decide if she's willing to get her hands dirty...

Did you snag the deal for book 2 a couple weeks back? Now you can grab book 1 for FREE!

In A THRONE FOR SISTERS (Book one), Sophia, 17, and her younger sister Kate, 15, are desperate to leave their horrific orphanage. Orphans, unwanted and unloved, they nonetheless dream of coming of age elsewhere, of finding a better life, even if that means living on the streets of the brutal city of Ashton. Sophia and Kate, also best friends, have each other’s backs—and yet they want different things from life. Sophia, a romantic, more elegant, dreams of entering court and finding a noble to fall in love with. Kate, a fighter, dreams of mastering the sword, of battling dragons, and becoming a warrior. They are both united, though, by their secret, paranormal power to read other’s minds, their only saving grace in a world that seems bent to destroy them. As they each embark on a quest and adventure their own ways, they struggle to survive. Faced with choices neither can imagine, their choices may propel them to the highest power—or plunge them to the lowest depths. A THRONE FOR SISTERS is the first book in a dazzling new fantasy series rife with love, heartbreak, tragedy, action, magic, sorcery, fate and heart-pounding suspense. A page turner, it is filled with characters that will make you fall in love, and a world you will never forget.

Also gloriously FREE!

Zachary Degaud was twenty three when he died. The problem was, he didn't stay that way. Present day, he's just another vampire with another unremarkable story. That is, until he manages to provoke a two thousand year old witch named Katrin, who wants to make him pay in the most horrible way imagined. Along with his brother Sam, newly made vampire Liz and their only witch ally, Gabby, his only chance for survival is to summon the ancient and unpredictable vampire known as the Witch Hunter. Zac is just looking for a way out of his psychopathic witch problems, but instead will find himself falling head first into a blood feud that has stretched thousands of years. Aya has been asleep for the past 150 years, until she was awoken by a haunting call. The witch she has been hunting for thousands of years, Katrin, has resurfaced and marked a young, annoyingly arrogant vampire by the name of Zachary Degaud. Unless she does something, he will die a slow and painful death. He has given her an opportunity to end the witch, but does she want to help him or leave him to his fate? Zac will get under her skin like no one else has and she just might find herself making the ultimate sacrifice before he is gone forever. They will both have to choose sides and look deep within themselves before the end. But, what Zac learns about himself, will surprise him most of all.

This synopsis needs to be cut down, my god, but again: IT. FREE.

I was born to die... But to defy fate is to control your own destiny. Little did I know that I was entering a world of ritual and magic and that my blood needed to be spilled so the witches’ legacy could be complete. Vampires. Witches. Werewolves. Supernatural Creatures. Dramatic Revelations. A Ritual Sacrifice. Ancient Artifacts. A Cold-hearted Serial Killer. Spilled Blood. Secrets. A Hidden Heritage. A Love So Deep. Supernatural Bloodlust. A Dangerous Curse. An Uneasy Alliance With A Dangerous Vampire. Legends of vampires and shape-shifters have been around for centuries, so Taylor Sparks isn’t too worried when the rumors start to fly. When Taylor learns secrets that are beyond terrifying, they threaten to destroy her entire world. She is born to die... But to defy fate is to control your own destiny. She warns her crush to leave. But how do you forget someone who is aligned with your soul? They fight against the witches, the vampires, and the werewolves. They know the consequences. They know the risk. But they don't care. Nothing will get in the way of these two star-crossed lovers. Taylor finds out she’s a KEY player in a dangerous game created 1,000 years ago that will give the witches and werewolves the upper hand against the vampires. Blood will be spilled and secrets will be revealed in this action-packed thrill ride and paranormal romance. Will Taylor dive into a paranormal world she knows nothing about to be with the one her heart can’t live without? Or will her life spiral out of control when she learns her blood is needed, just the serum necessary to lift an ancient curse from a group of supernatural beings and give the witches back their magic? Werewolves will serve as her guardians and protect her until the first full moon of the new year, the night of her sacrifice… Will she accept her destiny? Or will she refuse to let evil swallow her up?

For fans of Hex Hall, The Magicians, Practical Magic, and Food Wars! Anise Wise loves three things: baking, potion making, and reading her spellbooks in blissful silence. She might not be the most powerful witch, but enchantment is a rare skill, and her ability to bake with magic is even rarer. Too bad no one wants witchcraft on their campus. Anise’s dream of attending pastry school crumbles with rejection letter after rejection letter. Desperate to escape her dead-end future, Anise contacts the long-lost relative she’s not supposed to know about. Great Aunt Agatha owns the only magic bakery in the US, and she suddenly needs a new apprentice. Anise is so excited she books it to New Mexico without thinking to ask what happened to the last girl. The Spellwork Syndicate rules the local witches in Taos, but as “accidents” turn into full-out attacks on Anise’s life, their promises to keep her safe are less and less reassuring. Her cranky bodyguard is doing his best, but it’s hard to fight back when she has no idea who’s the enemy. Or why she became their target. If Anise can’t find and stop whoever wants her dead, she’ll be more toasted than a crème brûlée. Who knew baking cakes could be so life or death?

This one's kicking around on my shelves! I did a First Impressions of it awhile back and really liked it, and have been meaning to go back ever since.

Thoughtfully imaginative and action-packed, Steeplejack is New York Times bestselling A. J. Hartley's YA debut set in a 19th-century South African fantasy world “A richly realized world, an intensely likable character, and a mystery to die for." — Cory Doctorow, New York Times-bestselling author Seventeen-year-old Anglet Sutonga lives and works as a steeplejack in Bar-Selehm, a sprawling city known for its great towers, spires, and smokestacks – and even greater social disparities across race and class. Ang’s world is turned upside-down when her new apprentice Berrit is murdered the same night that the city’s landmark jewel is stolen. Her search for answers behind his death exposes unrest in the streets and powerful enemies. But she also finds help from unexpected friends: a kindhearted savannah herder, a politician’s haughty sister, and a savvy newspaper girl. As troubles mount in Bar-Selehm, Ang must discover the truth behind both murder and theft soon – or else watch the city descend into chaos. YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults Selection Kirkus Reviews Best Teen Book Booklist Top Ten YA in Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

Also kicking around on my shelves somewhere!

Just about everyone knows a family like the Radleys. Many of us grew up next door to one. They are a modern family, averagely content, averagely dysfunctional, living in a staid and quiet suburban English town. Peter is an overworked doctor whose wife, Helen, has become increasingly remote and uncommunicative. Rowan, their teenage son, is being bullied at school, and their anemic daughter, Clara, has recently become a vegan. They are typical, that is, save for one devastating exception: Peter and Helen are vampires and have—for seventeen years—been abstaining by choice from a life of chasing blood in the hope that their children could live normal lives. One night, Clara finds herself driven to commit a shocking—and disturbingly satisfying—act of violence, and her parents are forced to explain their history of shadows and lies. A police investigation is launched that uncovers a richness of vampire history heretofore unknown to the general public. And when the malevolent and alluring Uncle Will, a practicing vampire, arrives to throw the police off Clara’s trail, he winds up throwing the whole house into temptation and turmoil and unleashing a host of dark secrets that threaten the Radleys’ marriage. The Radleys is a moving, thrilling, and radiant domestic novel that explores with daring the lengths a parent will go to protect a child, what it costs you to deny your identity, the undeniable appeal of sin, and the everlasting, iridescent bonds of family love. Read it and ask what we grow into when we grow up, and what we gain—and lose—when we deny our appetites.

Fairy tales are life.

From wicked queens, beautiful princesses, elves, monsters, and goblins to giants, glass slippers, poisoned apples, magic keys, and mirrors, the characters and images of fairy tales have cast a spell over readers and audiences, both adults and children, for centuries. These fantastic stories have travelled across cultural borders, and been passed on from generation to generation, ever-changing, renewed with each re-telling. Few forms of literature have greater power to enchant us and rekindle our imagination than a fairy tale. But what is a fairy tale? Where do they come from and what do they mean? What do they try and communicate to us about morality, sexuality, and society? The range of fairy tales stretches across great distances and time; their history is entangled with folklore and myth, and their inspiration draws on ideas about nature and the supernatural, imagination and fantasy, psychoanalysis, and feminism. Marina Warner has loved fairy tales over a long writing life, and she explores here a multitude of tales through the ages, their different manifestations on the page, the stage, and the screen. From the phenomenal rise of Victorian and Edwardian literature to contemporary children's stories, Warner unfolds a glittering array of examples, from classics such as Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, and The Sleeping Beauty, the Grimm Brothers' Hansel and Gretel, and Hans Andersen's The Little Mermaid, to modern-day realizations including Walt Disney's Snow White and gothic interpretations such as Pan's Labyrinth. In ten succinct chapters, Marina Warner digs into a rich hoard of fairy tales in their brilliant and fantastical variations, in order to define a genre and evaluate a literary form that keeps shifting through time and history. Her book makes a persuasive case for fairy tale as a crucial repository of human understanding and culture.

A classic.

This Newbery Honor-winning, hilarious Floridian adventure involves new kids, bullies, alligators, eco-warriors, pancakes, pint-sized owls, and more. A New York Times bestseller! Everybody loves Mother Paula’s pancakes. Everybody, that is, except the colony of cute but endangered owls that live on the building site of the new restaurant. Can the awkward new kid and his feral friend prank the pancake people out of town? Or is the owls’ fate cemented in pancake batter?

Three months after returning Magician Emery Thane’s heart to his body, Ceony Twill is well on her way to becoming a Folder. Unfortunately, not all of Ceony’s thoughts have been focused on paper magic. Though she was promised romance by a fortuity box, Ceony still hasn’t broken the teacher-student barrier with Emery, despite their growing closeness. When a magician with a penchant for revenge believes that Ceony possesses a secret, he vows to discover it…even if it tears apart the very fabric of their magical world. After a series of attacks target Ceony and catch those she holds most dear in the crossfire, Ceony knows she must find the true limits of her powers…and keep her knowledge from falling into wayward hands. The delightful sequel to Charlie N. Holmberg’s The Paper Magician, The Glass Magician will charm readers young and old alike.

In the explosive third volume of The Hundredth Queen Series, the queen of fire faces off against a demon of ice. Despite the odds, Kalinda has survived it all: Marriage to a tyrant. Tournaments to the death. The forbidden power to rule fire. The icy touch of a demon. That same demon now disguises itself as Rajah Tarek, Kalinda’s late husband and a man who has never stopped haunting her. Upon taking control of the palace and the army, the demon brands Kalinda and her companions as traitors to the empire. They flee across the sea, seeking haven in the Southern Isles. In Lestari, Kalinda’s powers are not condemned, as they are in her land. Now free to use them to protect those she loves, Kalinda soon realizes that the demon has tainted her with a cold poison, rendering her fire uncontrollable. But the lack of control may be just what she needs to send the demon back to the darkest depths of the Void. To take back the empire, Kalinda will ally with those she distrusts—and risk losing those most loyal to her—to defeat the demon and bring peace to a divided nation.

From the bestselling author of Catching Jordan comes a new teen romance sure to appeal to fans of Sarah Dessen. SOME RULES WERE MEANT TO BE BROKEN. Kate has always been the good girl. Too good, according to some people at school—although they have no idea the guilty secret she carries. But this summer, everything is different... This summer she's a counselor at Cumberland Creek summer camp, and she wants to put the past behind her. This summer Matt is back as a counselor too. He's the first guy she ever kissed, and he's gone from geeky songwriter who loved The Hardy Boys to a buff lifeguard who loves to flirt...with her. Kate used to think the world was black and white, right and wrong. Turns out, life isn't that easy...

For twelve-year-old Emily, the best thing about moving to San Francisco is that it's the home city of her literary idol: Garrison Griswold, book publisher and creator of the online sensation Book Scavenger (a game where books are hidden in cities all over the country and clues to find them are revealed through puzzles). Upon her arrival, however, Emily learns that Griswold has been attacked and is now in a coma, and no one knows anything about the epic new game he had been poised to launch. Then Emily and her new friend James discover an odd book, which they come to believe is from Griswold himself, and might contain the only copy of his mysterious new game. Racing against time, Emily and James rush from clue to clue, desperate to figure out the secret at the heart of Griswold's new game—before those who attacked Griswold come after them too.

Sang Sorenson’s father abandoned her and her sister, leaving them to fend for themselves for months. He’s returned, and finds Sang is missing. He demands she return. Right now. Will he call the police if she doesn’t? Her Academy team doesn’t want to risk losing her ghost status and she doesn’t want to put them in danger, so she reluctantly returns home, but is comforted that she will still be monitored by them. But the second she opens the door, she discovers her father has made changes that will affect her entire future. His decisions will make them a normal family. Normal is no longer what Sang wants. It would kill her Academy career before it ever started. Not to mention it would end the special, new, and still-fragile relationships with the guys. Sang struggles with her family, her identity, and where she truly belongs. Now that the entire team knows about their romantic relationships with her, tensions are mounting, tearing the team apart from the inside. Only, Dr. Green isn't going to lie down and roll over by playing by the rules. Not anymore. Not while Sang is at risk. His heart can’t take leaving her in that house one more minute. He needs her. They all do.

Twins Crystal and Amber have the same goal: to be the first in their family to graduate high school and make something of their lives. When one gets pregnant during their junior year, they promise to raise the baby together. It’s not easy, but between their after-school jobs, they’re scraping by. Crystal’s grades catch the attention of the new guidance counselor, who tells her about a college that offers a degree in automotive restoration, perfect for the car buff she is. When she secretly applies—and gets in—new opportunities threaten their once-certain plans, and Crystal must make a choice: follow her dreams or stay behind and honor the promise she made to her sister.

From the New York Times bestselling author of Reconstructing Amelia comes a fast-paced teen series where one girl learns that in a world of intrigue, betrayal, and deeply buried secrets, it is vital to trust your instincts. It all starts with a text: Please, Wylie, I need your help. Wylie hasn’t heard from Cassie in over a week, not since their last fight. But that doesn’t matter. Cassie’s in trouble, so Wylie decides to do what she has done so many times before: save her best friend from herself. This time it’s different, though. Instead of telling Wylie where she is, Cassie sends cryptic clues. And instead of having Wylie come by herself, Jasper shows up saying Cassie sent him to help. Trusting the guy who sent Cassie off the rails doesn’t feel right, but Wylie has no choice but to ignore her gut instinct and go with him. But figuring out where Cassie is goes from difficult to dangerous, fast. As Wylie and Jasper head farther and farther north into the dense woods of Maine, Wylie struggles to control her growing sense that something is really wrong. What isn’t Cassie telling them? And could finding her be only the beginning? In this breakneck tale, New York Times bestselling author Kimberly McCreight brilliantly chronicles a fateful journey that begins with a single decision—and ends up changing everything.

Know of any deals I missed? Let me know in the comments! via The Book Rat

[somelittlewhitelies]

1 thru 75 except 57 lol

1. Are you a side, back, or front sleeper? Side sleeper, definitely

2. When you hum random music what song is it? Probably something from Hindemith’s Symphonic Metamorphosis

3. Explain your username. I was 15 when I came up with it and I’m too lazy to come up with something better

4: Explain my username. What?

5: How did you fall into the tumblr hellpit? My friend k8 talked me into it

6: What fan interest of yours would you least prefer to explain in your workplace? Gymnastics

7: What fan interest or yours would you most enjoy explaining in your workplace? The X-Files lol

8: Last song you listened to? “Hell on Wheels” by Cher

9: Weirdest thing on your dash today? I don’t know, I scroll through my dash mindlessly the few times I actually get on anymore

10: In a perfect world, what animal would you most like to adopt? A cat

11: What animal would you most like someone else to adopt? Dogs?

12: What’s something trivial you have strong opinions about? No bake cheesecakes. Because they’re not actually cheesecakes. They’re just shitty, refrigerated desserts.

13: What would your super-villain finishing move be? Idk laughing?

14: Explain your icon. It’s my mouth

15: You meet your true love(s) today. Possibly again. Describe your ideal hilarious romcom meetcute. (can be aromantic). Umm we run into each other in line somewhere, we start talking and hit it off? Idk I’m so bad at this

16: Your comfort food, and why. Mac and cheese because why the hell not. Alternatively, the student special from Sitar because my roommate and I get it when we both have shitty days. 

17: What type of mad science will you Show Them All with? (ex: mad chemical engineer, mad library scientist, mad linguist). Which of your creations will probably turn on you?

18: Favorite cheesy trope? Idk I’m really distracted and can’t come up with one because my idiot cat keeps trying to eat q-tips

19: Favorite trope nobody writes enough of? Domestic scenes I guess?

20: Rec me a book, comic, or anime, or other piece of media you wish there were more like. Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari

21: Wierdest tumblr drama you’ve been a part of or stumbled across. Idk there’s so mych of it??

22: You know those things from a million years ago your brain suddenly reminds you to feel embarrased/guilty/bad about in full technicolor? Tell me one of them. I told one of my guy friends back in high school that I’d rather vomit than kiss him. Which wasn’t true.

23: What is something you collect? T-shirts, I guess?

24: Pens. Do you know where the one closest to you came from? Would you be distressed if someone took it? My mom bought it, so not at all

25: The last game you played is crossed with the zombie apocalypse and now going down outside your window. How boned are you? Umm terrified

26: What was the last thing that made you cry? I used to be a stone cold bitch who couldn’t cry at anything, but I’ve recently started getting emotional about amost everything lol. So yeah, it was Simone Biles’s performance on Dancing with the Stars about her adoption

27: Most embarrassing/weird/personal body thing you’re willing to talk about. I can’t taste anything on the right side of my tongue

28: Your icon is now the voice of your inner therapist. How is this gonna go? LOL NOT WELL AT ALL BECAUSE IT’S ME

29: Name a kink you only like hypothetically. Monagamy lol

30: Name a kink you find bewildering. Feet???

31: You have acquired: a mouse, a lizard, a rabbit, a spider, a domestic fox. Name them! Who gets to sleep on the bed? Mouse-Cheese. Lizard-Snake. Rabbit-Apple. Spider-AAGGGHHHH. Fox-Ace. The domestic fox sleeps on the bed

32: What was your favorite childhood toy? Do you still have it? Lincoln Logs and yes, some of them 

33: Hit “shuffle” on your media player and tell me your favorite lyric from the song that comes up. “Paranoia strikes deep/Into your life it will creep/It starts when you're always afraid”

34: What fan media (of yours or someone else’s) would you most like to see art/fic for? I don’t know, I like most types of art honestly

35: What do you ship that you think would be hard to explain convincingly to other people? Attempt an explanation. Mulder/Scully? That my only ship right now and it’s not hard to convince people to get on board with lol

36: What meme gets on your nerves? So many

37: Showers or baths? Showers 

38: Who was your biggest childhood nemesis and why? I don’t think I had one 

39: First writing prompt that comes to your head. I am so uncreative and cannot write. 

40: Least favorite color. Orange

41: What was the last thing you got really obsessed with? I’ve recently got re-obsessed with Cher because I realized that she’s gonna die one day and I got scared lol

42: What’s the weirdest experience you’ve ever had on a mind-altering substance? (prescription, recreational, otc, or food) One time in Colorado I took too many hits off a grav and I started breathing colors

43: Shuffle up a random song on your media player. Now tell me what ship/story goes with it. “Landslide” and again, I am uncreative

44: What’s making you happiest recently? :) Spending time with my best friends

45: What’s scaring you these days? :( realizing that I’m probably gonna die alone 

46: Post a funny video for me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMJWL1CczMI

47: Did you ever have a dream/nightmare that stuck with you for years? Nope 

48: What’s a movie you thought you’d hate but you turned out to love? Oh god I don’t know. Probably Inception but I didn’t love it, I just liked it more than I thought I would

49: Tell me a really obscure fact you know. You can replace the strings on a french horn with dental floss if a string breaks and you’re in a pinch

50: Hot or cold? Cold

51: How did your parent(s) punish you as a kid? What do you think of that? I got time out and it was fine

52: What’s something you thought was true about yourself that your feelings have changed on over the years? I used to be a lot more conservative lol

53: Write a story in seven words. The sun shone brightly over the river

54: What is your favorite curse word? Shit

55: Favorite food for every color of the rainbow. ramen, oranges, yams, green beans, bread, indian food, vermuth ( I am so sorry I am dumb)

56: If you were a poltergeist where would you haunt and what would be your preferred style of prank? I would haunt practice room 222 in Moody and shake people’s music while they’re trying to practice

57: What is an art style, craft, or skill that you can’t do, but you really admire in others? I DID THIS ONE

58: What is a skill you have that people probably don’t know about? I’m pretty good at tie-dying?

59: Name a pet peeve you have, and something you do that is probably a pet peeve for others. Loud chewing noises

60: Dragons, dinosaurs, or aliens? Aliens

61: What was the last big fight you had with someone about? My mom about something, I don’t really remember

62: Insult the asker of this question creatively. You’re an inconsiderate son of a bitch (I’m sorry I’m so bad at this)

63: In an ideal world, what would you like done with your body after you die? I’d like my ashes to be put in a pod with a tree seed so that I can become a tree

64: Find me a weird stock photo and post it. 

65: What was your bedtime ritual as a kid? Did you have one? Wash my face, brush my teeth, get in bed

66: What are the three traits you value the most in others? Honesty, loyalty, and humor

67: What are the three most interesting wild animals you’ve encountered in your life? Snake, fox, squirrel? 

68: What is a word you really enjoy saying? Shit

69: Answer number 60 like it was a “fuck, marry, kill” rhetorical. Fuck aliens, marry dragons, kill dinosaurs

70: Describe something that happened to you today as if you were a narrator in a film noir, nature documentary, or 50s teaching video. My cat woke me up this morning by licking my face 

71: Create five new nicknames for yourself as quickly as you can. layruhs, lala, lulu, laura lou, cat mom

72: Shorts, pants, skirts, or other? Pants

73: What’s a song you hate and why? Most country songs

74: If you were a superhero, what would be your one weakness? My knees lol

75: Describe a weird encounter you had with a bug. I accidentally inhaled a gnat a week ago 

y’all this was difficult

[xoxomarlboroxoxo]

Dear..

Dear Kryptonite,

I remember it was cold; the kind of cold that hurts. The sun had decided to quit its day job and snow had acquired its place. Breathing ached, the leisurely inhale of freezing cold air as you watch snowflakes kiss the concert around you. Ice covered roads, windshields, and front porches. This was the kind of cold you could not liberate yourself from. This was the first day we met. From the instant you said, “Hey, I’m…” I was addicted; all you did was say a few words to me and I knew I would never forget your name. You were not a typical good guy. Yes, you were a great person, but you were the prime example of a “bad boy”. My father always said to be wary of strangers, boys who seemed like trouble, but he never warned me about how blue your eyes would be. He never cautioned me of how difficult it would be to detect the heartbreak that was to come, or how quickly I would donate my fragile heart to you. The countless girls you left heartbroken all had one similar goal; like all young girls to tame the mysterious boy. All I wanted was to fix the brokenness I saw within you, but you cannot fix people while you are not composed yourself. To this period the day I encountered you was the most life changing moment of my existence, you altered my entire world. In that single moment you became more to me than any human being will ever achieve. You will forever hold a place in my soul that no creature will ever replace, please, know that. We had a lot of first experiences together, ones I will cherish for a lifetime. The instant after our first date I stumbled to the light switch and turned off the bed. You turned the sky purple and the grass yellow in less than twenty-four hours. You brought so much color in my life; you were my own personal rainbow. The initial time I knew I was in love with you came months advanced. You were sitting across from me in a field that reeked of cow manure; you were covered in dirt and drenched in sweat, but in that moment I had never felt so content. It was a wave of calm that surpassed my body an instant relieve. In that minute I recognized that no matter what happened I was going to be secure because I had you. So I said the three words to you with no fear. I waited patiently for the “but” instead came your arms and “No matter what.” For two short years I tamed the untamable. I was the schoolgirl who broke your heart and tattered you into the unoccupied person you were when I first met you, but fragmented souls are not to be fixed in one swoop like in romance novels and you were no exception. The most memorable first was the first time I felt my heart break. Broken hearts are not to joke about, they are the only real things fairytales articulate us. Your lungs go first: they start to burn with a fire that is unbearable, then the fire spreads to your stomach scorching all of the butterflies, next your limbs become painfully numb, and finally the flood gates to your tears open. All I wanted was the pain to stop, to forget about all of the memoires of you. To forget how your fingers felt laced with mine, to remove your aroma from my skin, mostly I wanted to forget your eyes. Do you understand how impossibly hard it is to forget someone with blue eyes? I never noticed how many things are that color until I could not look at the sky without breaking. I couldn’t travel to the ocean and enjoy the wind because the color is identical to the ones I fell in love with.  I shared my deepest secrets with you, all of my dreams, and even my nightmares. I suppose that is what hurt the most, is that I trusted you. Often I blame myself because I knew you were not the trusting type.

I habitually wonder how two people who began so electrically could end so dreadfully. I regret a lot of the things I said to you and I presume the theme of this letter is to express all of the things I never said to you in our final days. Thank you is one of the many things I must share with you.  Thank you for showing me how to be myself. When we first met I was an awkward young girl who had no idea who I wanted to be. You opened me up to a whole new world and displayed to me that it is okay to be myself. You loved me for the nerdy bookworm I am and never judged me for my abnormal obsession with Criminal Minds. You were this boy with the ability to light up a room as soon as you arrived. You did not have to mutter a word but all eyes were on you. I always told you that you had this undeniable radiance about you. Your charm was flawless and you were magnetic; you would have been able to make hate, love. You were absolutely spectacular in everyway, and I was in astonishment that someone so sociable wanted me. You made me fearless, but with that came recklessness. Not only did you show me who I was, you exhibited the person I want to become. You revealed how I want to be loved and how I want to spend the rest of my life. Thank you for loving me. I know without your love I would not be the person I have become. Everyone should experience a first love, without it, they would have no awareness of what they would want in a counterpart. Our love was the kind teenagers envied and adults chuckled at. The reality is, we had very slim chances of making it out of high school. I am tolerable with that now because I know there is something better out there for me. We were full of adolescent drama and at the time that was “cool” Everyone knew that even when we fought you would always come back to me because you loved me and I loved you. I was your kryptonite people would say, little did they know, you were mine. I have now realized, you have shown me that my future love will not be hateful, it will not be jealous, it will not envy, and it is not bitter. My future love will not be wild and reckless; it will be nontoxic and reassuring. I have no evidence when that love will come but I do know I will be loved.  Thank you for allowing me to love you. For a period in time I fixed your brokenness and helped you see that there is more to you than your parents past. You are your own person and someday you will be an incredible man. You must never overlook how absolutely astounding you are, and understand you can do anything you want in this world. You must also remember to believe in yourself. My most essential thank you is, for reminding me of my independence. Growing up with only a father is arduous but it educated me to be self-dependent and to never rely on anyone but myself. When I encountered you all of those principles flew out the window. I relied on you for love and attention for so long I had forgotten what my father instilled in me. I became dependent on you for acceptance, graduate, and praise; when in authenticity I did not need it. I am a strong individual who will accomplish amazing things one day, on my own. It took a month of heartbreak to recognize this.

You are forgiven for all of your wrongs and betrayal. For a long time I forgot who I was and my face became prone to being wet. I thought the tears would never stop and the pain would never leave. I knew I was in agony when I couldn’t wear my favorite olive colored sweater because you said, “I love that shirt on you, it brings out your eyes.” And when I couldn’t turn on the radio in dread a song would play that reminded me of you. What you did wasn’t just painful, it was damaging.  It was me laughing at things with no motive as my stomach twisted because the desire of falling apart was getting fiercer. It was I lying in bed wrapped in the warmth of your hoodie telling myself “This is just a dream.” That maybe if I bolted my eyes I would awaken and it would all be finished. You were the individual who gave me immense feelings of bliss, compassion, and worth and it was suddenly ripped away by your own doing. You have no idea how hard it was to get up and begin my day. Every time I saw plaid button ups I was terrified it was you, or when someone wore the same cologne as you. One fragrance could set my senses in frenzy and it disgusted me. I missed you. I missed the way your nose scrunched up when you were asleep next to me. I missed the way your voice sounded over the phone when you were distressed. You were my best friend for two years of my life and something like that is hard to let go. I wanted to turn grey with you; I wanted to supply my lungs with your scent and hear your laughter resonance through our home. I wanted to drink wine, and still be madly in love. That was until I woke up to a message on my phone from one of my dearest friends. She quoted one of my favorite television shows and in one simple message I found the potency to move on.  “Don’t let what he wants eclipse what you need. He’s very dreamy, but he’s not the sun, you are.” In those conjugated words I found hope. I had lost myself in heartbreak and self-pity; but I was done. Understand moving on was slow; it was an extensive difficult process that broke me every day. I came to the realization that I was going to have to break myself in order to rid my self of your toxicity. I had to tear down the person I had become, the person who depended on you, and convert into someone I could be proud of. The reason it hurts so much is because in order to actually heal, I needed to break my heart completely, get rid of the pieces wrongly positioned, drive it entirely out of my system and then mend while growing a new one. It didn’t happen over night, but slowly I started to notice things were changing. I surrounded myself with people who loved me, and I noted when I woke up the initial thought on my mind was not you. I started getting out more and involving myself in activities to distract my brain from its dictator, you. As I traveled down this long road of “letting go” I found forgiveness. I forgive you fully for hurting me, for leaving me when I assumed you never would. I do not blame you nor do I blame myself because I had forgotten that you were also a teenager and that you had growing to do as well. I accepted that I was just a practice round for the girl you choose to marry, whom I hope you find. I forgive you for making me feel inadequate for you. I know now that I am enough just the way I am; we just out grew one another. I forgive you and even if that means nonentity to you, it means everything to me.

I did not mean to write this letter. It was one of those happenings that kept manufacturing itself in my brain like a supernova. There was so much I needed to say to you in order to fully move on with my life. To be able to finally close the chapter in my book that is you. You were apart of me for a very long time, and I will permanently hold you near my heart. You were my first love and you will be remembered as so. My future husband will know of you, and so will my children. You will live on in my life as a memory and a lesson for my offspring. I will choose to remember the good experiences we had with one another, to cultivate the laughs, and pause for a moment to reflect on all of the smiles we shared. I love you deeply; I love you more than I will every love anyone else. Our love is not replaceable or duplicable. There will never be another you, and I am content with that. My heart will never be the same because of you and I will be hold caution with it from now on. I wish you many blessings in your future, and courage for you to continue on the path of success. I pray you never forget who you are, and never allow anyone to dim that beautiful light you have within you. Most of all I never want to wish an ounce of pain on you. I never want you to experience suffer or injury; even though those days will approach I plead you have someone to be strong for you. You may never read this but the slight optimism that you will makes it meaningful.

 Forever Yours,

   A