#his friends somehow hearing him from however far away: now is NOT THE TIME ELLA

[warlordfelwinter]

i do use this game primarily as a way to take a billion screenshots of my Elf Of The Week, but also the entire in your heart shall burn sequence still goes hard as fuck. that moment in the chantry of the herald fully deciding to die. corypheus, albeit somewhat a lame villain, coming in with that “i have seen the throne of the gods and it was empty” line. the game forcing the herald to stagger and drag themself through the snow, shivering and injured and exhausted, the anchor going wild on their hand the entire time, and then the second they hear a familiar voice and know they’re safe their legs give out. i just hgj;sdhgjsd

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 30

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, vomiting

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

Things were quiet, much to quiet. It was so quiet you could only hear your single heartbeat, beating forcefully in your brain. The house layout itself seemed to match the lack of sound in the room with most objects being covered by dark slumber pieces of heavy curtain like fabric. Most of the decorative accessories like pantings and plants were gone and if one were to come into the house, they would believe it to be only inhabited by the dust and somber darkness that lingered around like a lost seashell in a stormy sea. 

Every once in a while, steps would break through the quiet atmosphere floor leaving him to only look around at the place where his mother once used to live in. After what seemed like a decade of waiting, his father had finally managed to free himself from everything that belonged to his late wife, even his son’s memories which with age seemed to falter every day. Next to the door however, was a very heavily pregnant woman. She couldn’t be anywhere below seven to nine months pregnant however she seemed to carry this hidden glow and love that inevitably seemed intertwined with the funereal in a ying/yang like atmosphere which led to a simply comfortable quietness.

However, Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes out from the pregnant woman. She couldn’t be much taller than the people around them, with long hair pushed back with a small, delicate pearl pin that matched the pearl-like button of her long blue flowy dress, probably the most comfortable thing a heavily pregnant woman could wear. She was makeup free and mostly jewelled-free expect for a small thin silver band on her fourth finger and the golden bird charm necklace. 

Noticing the blue eyes of the young mob boss to-be on her bump, the woman smiled softly at the boy before softly walking the wood floors with her soft ballerina shoes before taking a small seat next to the boy who had a walkman on his lap, with some headphones on yet slightly placed so that one of his ears were uncovered.

      - I saw you looking. - she had a princess-like tone to her voice, a sort of lively force that always permeated her voice. The colour drained for his voice, his mother’s words echoing in his mind about how staring was inherently rude and how he should always be an icon of mannerism. - Don’t be scared, I do look rather huge with this little peanut. 

      - Sorry. - he sheepishly hide his gaze from her, defences collapsing which greatly reminded Robin of his late mother. - When are you due?

      - Shouldn’t be too long. It’s a girl. Everyone wants her to be named Genevieve after the patron saint of Paris, however ... I rather enjoy Ella. It means beautiful or goddess depending on who you ask. - she spoke of her unborn child with an endless amount of love, almost as if she had already held the baby in her arms and looked into her eyes. - What do you like better?

      - Ella sounds like Cinderella.

      - You think she should be named after a princess? 

      - Sounds better. - he shrugged, not wanting to offend any of the names the woman had told them.

      - I will keep your opinion in mind, then. 

Y/N couldn’t exactly bare look at herself in the mirror anymore dressed in her friend’s wedding dress. It was almost like a cruel joke and she wondered if Gwen suspected anything as she would have to be extremely bad at picking tasks if it wasn’t. Nevertheless, there she was, dressed in white in front of the man who had taken her innocence, dressed in the white belonging to the wife that he was to take either he wanted it or not.

Truth be told, it was rather complicated to explain which one of them had their heart imprisoned and clenched yet if asked, one would probably guess it was Sebastian. He felt like an hypocrite, like someone who kept waving this promise of a peaceful place for the two of them, of a solution that he just couldn’t find. How was he to find the solution for a problem which he had been bound to since he was 13? He hadn’t even gotten his opinion heard, merely hearing from his father he would one day marry someone in order to strength an already strong family. Documents were signed, money was transferred yet he couldn’t help but spend sleepless nights wondering if he could just ... leave. There was always leaving. Several times he thought about knocking on her room at long hours of the night and just ... flee. Just go in the middle of the night, away from the constant danger that came with his position, away from the lousy lights of New York and the deadlines in between. However, he had no money to him if he were to escape. He couldn’t just withdrawal all his money from the banks and whatever he had stored in off-shores would never last for more than two years and he wanted nothing but to provide her with adventures in various far away frontiers. 

No, he couldn’t run away and so he would just spend more and more sleepless nights wondering what to do. He had promised her, Sebastian had promised her she wouldn’t be just a mistress and the mere thought, that being conscious or unconscious, of her being even mentioned as a possible mistress brought disgust and shivers. She would never be a mistress, no, Y/N was nothing like a mob mistress and he would be damned if she got called anything remotely related to it. 

Y/N on the other hand felt like Alice falling down a hole which she was too deep into to climb out. All she could do was wait until the laws of gravity pushed her onto her fate; crashing. One cannot deny the force of gravity even if their head was in the clouds and her head surely went to the clouds whenever she was with him. 

     - Can we talk? - he questioned, almost too softly for someone his rank in public. Somehow, between all the pins and needles carrying women surrounding her, Y/N managed to hear him, softly nodding her head afraid any of the pins would stab her. 

    - Could I please be excused? - Y/N asked one of the women surrounding her dress whom mumbled something under their breathe before stripping her off the expensive fabric, offering her a white satin robe to cover herself but not before Sebastian got a small peak of her dusky pink set. Out of the dress and veil, she followed the mob boss down the aisle until they reached an empty room which he locked, not wanting anyone to really talk to them.

She stood in front of him, unsure of how to start the conversation and still a bit drunk on the lack of sleep that had been hunting for the past days. The constant ever evolving mystery that was her parents and the information she had found about the Deschamps also did not allow her to be comfortable. Maybe she should tell him, after all he had been nothing than helpful towards her but the tenseness in his face convinced her not to do so. She loved him as as such she would never want to be a weight on his back, or on anyone’s back for that matter. 

    - I didn’t get to check on you after last night. I was worried. - he confessed, mostly curious about rumours about how she’d spent the night speaking with Jude Dubois. - I’m sorry we get interrupted. 

    - It’s alright, the night was about you, not me. - she smiled softly, yet anyone and everyone could see the pain that lingered behind the summery smile which almost brought back childhood memories Sebastian tended to hide away, much away from the child he once was. - Did you enjoy yourself?

    - Festivities aren’t my thing. - his hand mindlessly found itself to her forearm, feeling the silky smooth fabric of her robe. - I heard some rather nasty rumours about you and Mr. Dubois. 

    - We just talked, Sebastian. - her hands rested on top of his shoulders, a little grin forming behind the sad smile. Could the mob boss be jealous? Now, Y/N was always thought that jealousy was an ugly emotions but being jealous meant he was afraid of losing, something she surely hoped he shared as she felt it constantly. - It’s nothing but talking. 

   - Just needed to make sure. - his touch on her forearm became a grip as he softly pulled her towards him, feeling her chest collide with his. Merely having her in his embrace calmed him down, or maybe put him under a spell that made them both forget the place they certainly were in. They were in no place to be playing Romeo and Juliet, less they were both ready to die and while Sebastian would willing do so for her, he wouldn’t allow her to perish. 

She would ever so often just lose herself to sleep in his embrace, every once in a while kissing his shoulder. As she seemed to regain her consciousness, she just looked up to him about to say something before her mouth forcefully shut and she felt a heat creep up her stomach, a pain that made her hands fly to her middle abdomen. She clutched her stomach and covered her mouth. Her mouth had a horrible taste and it was as if someone had shoved something down her throat time and time again, making her stomach revolt and turn on itself. The stomach acidic liquids had started to make their way up her system and quickly she spotted the bathroom, running to the door and straight to the toilet.

She clutched the bowl fiercely and let out the contents of her stomach which was but nothing but whatever she hadn’t digested from last night’s food and the liquids of her stomach. Even if she wanted to take more things off her system, which she desperately needed to, she just seemed to be unable and soon enough there was nothing left in her stomach.

   - Are you alright, angel? - Sebastian had followed her once she had rushed into the bathroom. Grabbing a towel and wetting it under the faucet, he got closer to her in order to clean her face. With a calloused finger he wiped a stray tear from the force she made to push what her stomach had out through her mouth. 

   - I guess meat jelly didn’t sit well with me. 

   - Meat jelly doesn’t sit well with anyone. - before she could laugh at his joke, the urge to to vomit came again and she held onto the bowl once again, getting the rest of what was left in her system but, again, nothing but water and acid which left her in a bit of a coughing fit, her throat rash from the acid. - You sure you don’t need a doctor? I’m sure there must be one in the hotel. 

   - You worry too much. - she leaned her head against his shoulder. - Besides, you have more to deal with than me being sick due to terrifying meat jelly. 

  - No more meat jelly for you then.

  - No more meat jelly. 

tag list: @lilya-petrichor​​​ @xoxohannahlee​​​ @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​​​ @nikkipea​​​ @madisonpillstrom​​​ @cevans98​​​ @thelostallycat​​​ @sideeffectsofyou​​​ @anxiousdreamersworld​​​ @captainchrisstan​​​ @lookiamtrying​​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​​ @stuffforreferences​​​ @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen​​​ @nsfwsebbie​​​ @strangerliaa​​​ @emzd34​​​ @everything-is-awesomesauce​​​ @dreams-in-blxck​​​ 

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.14

Camelot. Courtyard. (Finally arriving back at the castle, Lancelot leads the knights into the courtyard where Morgana has been addressing the people.) Morgana: (Directly to Lancelot:) "As your Queen, I expect your allegiance and devotion." Lancelot: (Dismounting his horse:) "Is that right? Well it just so happens that there is but one Queen that we recognise. Long live Queen Quinevere!" Knights: "Long live Queen Guinevere!" Morgana: (Coldly:) "I will give you one more chance to pledge your allegiance to me." Lancelot: "Long live Queen Guinevere!" Knights: "Long live Queen Guinevere!" (To Morgana's dismay, several of the villagers and courtiers begin to chant along with the knights.) Morgause: (Stepping in:) "Perhaps this will help you change your mind." (Morgause raises her hand and several soldiers raise their crossbows.) Lancelot: (Defiantly:) "Long live Queen Guinevere! (Using her powers, Morgause forces the soldiers to turn and point their crossbows at the unarmed villagers:) No!" (Before the men can shoot however, a battle cry is heard as Xena and Gabrielle arrive. Hurling her chakram, Xena disables the crossbows while flipping in mid air and catching the weapon upon its return.) Gabrielle: (Seeing the glint return to Xena's eyes:) "I guess I don't need to ask if you're ready to fight." Xena: (Drawing her sword and twirling it:) "Bring 'em on."

(A battle breaks out between the soldiers loyal to Morgana and the knights. Xena and Gabrielle evening up the odds for Lancelot's men. Somehow managing to remain unnoticed amongst the fighting, Merida raises her bow and points it towards the balcony. Knowing that she'll only get one shot, Merida is torn and unable to decide who to shoot before reinforcements arrive in the courtyard.) Morgana: "Take them to the dungeons! (To Morgause:) Have Lancelot brought to the throne room." Morgause: "Yes, Your Highness." (Morgana leaves the balcony while Morgause watches with a satisfied smile as the rebels are rounded up below.) Neverland. (Armed with her own bow and arrow, Tiger Lily leads Regina and Emma through the uneven terrain as they carry Maria between them.) Emma: "So you mean to tell me that since Pan left, magic has pretty much disappeared from Neverland?" Tiger Lily: "Mostly, yes. There are still pockets of magic scattered across the island, but not many." Regina: "Obviously Pan's hideaway is one of those pockets and once we're back inside it, we can poof ourselves back home." Emma: "Is that why you're still here? You were stranded once the magic left?" Tiger Lily: "No, mine is a self imposed exile. This existence, where I am far from the temptations of magic, suits me much better." Emma: "Is that because of what happened with Rumplestiltskin? Is that what drove you away?" Tiger Lily: (Shakes her head:) "Those events took place hundreds of years ago, Emma. I continued my duties as a fairy godmother to countless children after Rumplestiltskin." Regina: "So what caused you to give up that life?" Tiger Lily: (Stops walking and faces them:) "There was another child who’s fate was forever altered by my actions. A beautiful baby girl was born to the King and Queen of a powerful nation. All was well at first, until the day it was discovered that the girl held magical powers. The King had come to power at a time where the people were distrustful of magic. Indeed, it was the King who had ordered many people, including children, to be drowned if they were discovered to possess magic." Regina: "The Great Purge. You're talking about Uther Pendragon?" Tiger Lily: (Nodding, continues:) "Queen Ygraine begged me to save her child from that same fate. And so, under the cover of darkness, I smuggled the infant Morgause out of Camelot and gave her to the High Priestesses of the Old Religion to raise. Uther was told that the child had died and I swore an oath never to reveal my actions to anyone. After that, I left my life as a fairy behind me, determined never again to play a part in ruining another child's life." Emma: "You know, if she and Morgana hadn't just put a bounty on my head, I might've felt sorry for Morgause." Regina: (Looking behind them:) "Speaking of which, it seems we have a few bounty hunters on our tail." Tiger Lily: "Lost Boys. Quick, this way!" (Regina and Emma follow Tiger Lily while the hollering of the Lost Boys draws ever nearer.)

Arendelle. (With everyone now awake and the party cancelled, Elsa is pacing worriedly as she learns that Lily hasn’t been seen or heard from. Anna speaks to Hook and Rumplestiltskin who were called to aid in the search. Kristoff is casually holding onto a chair, attempting to remain calm.) Elsa: "So, no one has heard from Lily? There's been no sightings from anyone in the castle?" Kristoff: "Since you asked me ten seconds ago? Nope." Hook: “Something is definitely going on here. First my wife goes missing, now my daughter.” Anna: (Suddenly grabbing him by his shirt:) “All right, Mr. Pirate Man, think! Who have you messed with that would want to take their revenge on you by kidnapping Lily?!” Kristoff: (Helpfully:) “And Maleficent.” Anna: “Her too. (Shaking Hook:) Well?!” Elsa: “Anna! Release him this instant!” (With a growl, Anna releases Hook. Kristoff takes her hand and moves her away.) Hook: “It’s all right, love. I’ve been asking myself the same question since I got here. The truth is, I just don’t know who would want to do this.” Rumplestiltskin: “There is the possibility that this has nothing to do with revenge. We don’t even know if the two disappearances are connected. Maleficent could simply be spending sometime alone. Perhaps she’s in the Forbidden Fortress as we speak?” Anna: “Well, Lily has definitely been taken. She wouldn’t just get up and leave my sister’s birthday party. We’ve been working on it together for months!” Elsa: “I can't just sit here. I'm going after her.” Kristoff: “Go where? There are no tracks to follow.” Elsa: “That’s impossible. Lily can’t just have vanished.” Kristoff: (Sighs:) “I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to stop you?” Elsa: “You can't. I'm the queen.” Rumplestiltskin: (Cutting in:) “Which is exactly why you need to stay in Arendelle. There has already been one Queen overthrown today. Until we know exactly what’s going on, we can’t rule out any possibility.” Elsa: “You think someone kidnapped Lily in an attempt to get me to abdicate?” (At that moment, a guard enters without knocking, clearly with important news.) Guard: "Your majesty. I apologize for barging in like this, but we have news from one of our scouts.” Elsa: (Hopeful:) “Have you found Lily?” Guard: “No. But they discovered something else in their search.” (He hands Elsa a leather wrapped piece of parchment. Elsa reads the report on the parchment.) Anna: “What does it say?” Elsa: “Lady Helen, or at least the real Lady Helen, was found dead in the outskirts of the forest.” Kristoff: “Well that's one less person to interrogate. Look, I know every inch of those mountains out there. Let me go and start the search for Lily.” Elsa: “No, you're not going anywhere. It's too dangerous. If Mr. Stiltskin’s right and Lily was taken because of me then the kidnappers would be only too happy to capture my brother in law too." Kristoff: “So I'll be real careful.” Elsa: “You're staying right here. As you said, I am the queen of Arendelle. So let me be the queen and handle it.”

A Cave. Location Unknown. (Much like Elsa, Lily is seen pacing. Unlike Elsa, Lily is confined to a cage. Grabbing the bars, she shakes them violently, screaming to be let out. Crouching down in the corner of her cell, Lily attempts to metamorphose into her dragon form.) Balinor: (Entering the cave carrying firewood:) "That won't work. (Lily opens her eyes and stares at the man:) That cage is designed to keep you contained in your current form." Lily: "Why am I here? What do you want with me?" Balinor: "That can wait. I was told you didn't get to eat anything at your fancy party. (Indicates the firewood:) So I'm fixing dinner." Lily: "I have powerful allies. Friends and family who will come looking for me. My mother-" Balinor: "We know about your mother." (They stare at each other, Balinor dropping his gaze first.) Lily: "What have you done with her?" Balinor: (Walks away:) "Don't worry yourself needlessly tonight, little one." Lily: "Where is she? Do you hear me? What have you done with her?!"  Wonderland. Grendel's House. (Still sitting on the kitchen floor and struggling with her bonds, Ella looks to Will who continues to stare at the images playing over and over within the knot.) Ella: “Will, let's get out of here. I can't find my mother if I'm dead. Forget the knot.” Will: “We've got to have it. Let me talk to him. Don't worry. I'm good with monsters.” Ella: “No. This is for me, and I say we find another way.” Will: “This is for me, too, and we're doing it. (Cheerily:) Excuse me, Mr. Grendel? That woman that you've been looking at, she's quite lovely.” Grendel: “Stop talking.” Will: “Do you know her? Does she have a name?” (The Grendel growls and stalks over to Will, raising his hand. Then, his attention caught by the images playing in the Forget-Me-Knot, The Grendel calms, watching.) Young Woman: “Tell it again, dear. I love that story.” Young Man: “I would gladly tell it to you-” Grendel: “Forever.” (The Grendel sighs as the young couple kiss.) Will: “She was yours, wasn't she? You loved her. (Grendel growls:) Losing someone you truly love, it can change you.” Grendel: “How do you know?” Will: “Because the way you look is how I felt. Believe me, I understand what you're going through.” Ella: (Whispers:) “Keep talking. It's working.” Will: “I say that the only way to move on is to leave the past behind ya. Looking through that knot, thinking about her, seeing her, remembering her. It hurts too much! You want to move on, you have to let go of the hurt. It's the only way.” Grendel: “I don't want to move on.” Will: “Sometimes you don't have a choice. It's for the best, mate. Trust me.” Grendel: “Silence! (He grabs an axe, pointing it at Will:) Dinner time.” (The Grendel walks over to the fireplace and adds another log to the flames.)

Storybrooke. Mayor's Office. (Snow White stands with her arms folded, clearly ready to argue.) Snow White: "Just admit it. You feel embarrassed about the jousting competition and you don't want to show your face at the camp site." David: "I am not embarrassed. Aladdin won fair and square. He got to his feet before I did. I have nothing to be ashamed of." Snow White: "No, of course not. Neither did Humpty Dumpty." David: (While Snow sniggers with laughter:) "Oh I see, you're enjoying this. All right, laugh it up. (Snow does, continuing to laugh:) I refuse to be embarrassed by something you're partially responsible for. (Snow continues to giggle, using her hands to mime David trying and failing to get back to his feet:) You know what? Fine. You want to hear an embarrassing story, how about this..." Storybrooke. Recent Past. Outside Swan-Mills House. (Emma waits outside for David to pick her up in the police cruiser when she receives a call.) Emma: "Hey, 'Gina, what's up?" Regina: "Oh, nothing, just missing you. We both are." Emma: (Smiles:) "Yeah? You guys still in bed?" Regina: "We sure are. Want to see?" Emma: (Looking around to make sure she's alone:) "I'd love that." Regina: "Hang on a sec." (Emma waits a moment, then receives a photo of Regina and baby Maria laying in bed together.) Emma: "Aw, you look so comfy, now I'm gonna miss you both even more." Regina: "I know, but we'll be right here waiting for you when you get home." Emma: (Smirks, looking back towards the house:) "You know technically I'm still at home." Regina: "Then come back to bed." Emma: (Sighs:) "You know I can't. They're short-handed at the station. (David pulls up alongside her:) David's here, I better go." Regina: "Hm. Well all right, but only if you call me that name I like. (Emma, seeing David stepping out of the car, mutters something unintelligible:) What was that? I couldn't hear you." Emma: (Louder:) "I said I love you, Smoopsie Poo." David: (Standing behind Emma:) "Damnit!" (Emma spins around to face her father, utterly mortified.) Regina: (Magically putting herself on speaker:) "I told you I could get her to say it." David: "Yeah, yeah you did." (David passes by Emma, walking to the front door and posts twenty dollars through the letterbox.) Emma: "Wait, you guys set me up?" (Emma receives another photo, this time of Regina with her tongue out and the caption: ‘Sorry, Snuggle Bunny.’) Regina: (Chuckling:) "Have a good day, Sheriff." (Regina hangs up.) Mayor's Office. Present. Snow White: (Having listened to David's story:) "Well sure, that's a little embarrassing, but you can bet Emma didn't just take that lying down. And that's all I'm saying, David. Yes, you were humiliated, but that doesn't mean you can just hide out here all day." David: (Putting his hands up:) "You're right, of course you're right. I'll see you tonight." (David leaves and Snow returns to her paperwork.)

Mayor's Office. Recent Past. (Stuck in a boring council meeting, Regina sits behind her desk reading through a stack of papers while Snow White makes her closing statement. Although used to tolerating her former step-daughter/current mother-in-law's long, rambling speeches, Regina isn't exactly thrilled to be forced to listen to one less than a week removed from the end of her maternity leave. After reading the same sentence for the third time and still not understanding it, Regina glances up to see Archie asking Snow a question that will undoubtedly prolong the meeting for at least another ten minutes. Resignedly, Regina returns her attention to her papers. After finally managing to read through the document, Regina places it face down on her desk before picking up another. The next document in question is actually a letter market 'urgent', written in familiar handwriting. Looking up once more to check it isn't time for her to speak, Regina slices open the letter and begins to read.)

Dear Mayor Swan-Mills,

Please can you help me as I have nowhere else to turn. It seems I have spent the whole day baking and yet have no one here to taste the 'forbidden fruits' of my labour. As you can see from the enclosed photograph, the kitchen really did become quite hot, but I managed to keep my apron on regardless.

Hoping you are well, Emma

P.S. Maria is asleep and if you're not home in five minutes, I'm starting without you. xxx

Regina: (Practically jumping to her feet:) "This meeting is adjourned." Archie: "But I was just-" Regina: "I said we are done here!" (The members of the council meeting begin to file out of the office while Regina starts stuffing papers frantically into her bag.) Snow White: (Concerned:) "Is everything all right?" Regina: (Distractedly:) "Hm? Oh, yes it's fine. I just have to leave, immediately. (As Snow continues to stare at her:) Really, it's nothing. Your daughter's laid out a lovely spread... (An explicit image flashes in her minds eye:) Er... I mean she's in heat. (Gasps:) I mean Emma's prepared something hot and I have to go and eat her. I mean the meal! Oh, whatever!" (As a flustered Regina disappears in a cloud of smoke, Snow shakes her head knowingly, not having been fooled for a second.)

Neverland. Present. (Still too far from Pan's Hideout, Regina, Emma and Tiger Lily decide to take a stand. Placing Maria's carrier on the ground, they turn to face the oncoming group of Lost Boys.) Lost Boy 1: "Over there!" Emma: "Listen, we don't want any trouble and clearly we're not going to fight you." Lost Boy 1: "There's only one thing we want from you." Regina: (Stepping forward:) "If you think I'm going to let a group of unwashed adolescents claim the bounty on my wife's head-" Lost Boy 1: "Bounty? What do we care about a bounty? We're here to make you pay for what happened to Pan." Storybrooke. Main Street. (Presumably headed towards the mines, Happy and Grumpy walk down the street with their pickaxes over their shoulders. At the sound of horses approaching, the dwarves turn to see three knights arrive on horseback.) Grumpy: (One of the knights dismounts and draws his sword:) "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to mess with a dwarf and his pickaxe?" (Grumpy swings and is quickly disarmed. Happy's axe is taken from him without a fight. Forced to their knees, the dwarves look up to see the third knight remove his helmet.) Third Knight: "Didn't anyone ever teach you to kneel before your betters? Now, tell me where Emma Swan is."

[333kaylynn]

beautiful girl - ethan dolan

summary: Y/n was a star student. A 3.79 grade point average and the captain of her cheer team. Her siblings looked up to her and all of her classmates wanted to date her or be her. However, with the popularity and the “fame” came the stress. Y/n tried so hard to keep up but she just wasn’t able to do it. Her stress led her down an unfriendly path of addiction and depression. Ethan, the one person who really cared about her, would do anything to help her get better. He would spend many, too many, days and nights researching every possible option she had to get better until she was back on top. 

a/n: slightly based on the book/movie “Beautiful Boy.” Timothée Chalamet has my heart and I’m barely a chapter into this book so it’s only slightly based because all I’ve really read is the summary on the back of the book. 

a/n pt 2: sorry this took so long to actually post. I’ve been super stressed out and busy this week and honestly, I haven’t had the motivation to write much lately. I’m attending a funeral tomorrow for one of my classmates so everything just seems wack at the moment. 

warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol, swearing, sex

word count: 1.6k+

tags: @tadadolan​ @brendondolan​ @thisworldwasneverforme​ @dolandolll​ @rachie160​ @dolansdaisy​ @iheartgrayson​ @dolan-rollin @5sos1dandaustin4ever​ @idkbroijustwannadie​ @grxysgxrl​ @simply-ellas-stuff​ @jenn1128​ @marvel-wdw​ @its-bsma​ @buildermangray​ @angelinaa00​ @dolan-bliss​ 

When y/n was young she had a dream to be an aspiring writer. It’s always been what she’s wanted and everyone knew. In first grade, she wrote her very own picture book called “Princess Kitty.” Her parents thought it was the cutest thing ever and they’ve kept it since then. They’ve supported her then and they still support her now. Since then, she’s been writing at any time possible. She’s wanted all the practice she can get if she wants to get published someday in the future. Nonetheless, y/n also had to keep up her outstanding grade point average whilst also keeping up with the constant stress of being the captain of her high school’s cheer squad. 

It was hard, she’d admit that. She wouldn’t lie and tell you life was perfect, even though on the outside it kind of seemed that way. After all, she was smart, gorgeous, all of the boys were swooning over her, and her family was perfect and oh-so supportive of her. Without her family, to be honest, she would have probably fallen apart long before she did. 

Sooner or later everyone knew deep down that she would spiral downward. Not everything can be perfect and she knew that but she wasn’t expecting it to happen like this. Not all at once. 

At first, it was just the endless nights of getting so stressed she’d scream and then cry because she realized getting angry wasn’t a good idea. Her parents were worried but they figured it was just a short little phase she’d get over soon enough. They were scared they would make it worse if they came to her room and said anything about it. They remember exactly how it starts. They’d walk past her room and hear her muffled sighs and groans. Her bed would hit the wall because she’d jump on it in defeat, causing it to shake and bang against the wall. The sighs were muffled because she would shove her face in her pillow in an attempt to be quiet. It never worked, clearly. After the groaning, she’d get up, try whatever she was doing again, and sometimes it would lead to good results but other times it led to her throwing her books across her room and a loud yelp because she realized what she had done wasn’t such a good idea. She’d start saying sorry to herself as tears slipped down her freckled cheeks. She was so afraid she had scared her siblings or disappointed her parents and she always made sure she was perfect for them. They, her parents, would walk into her room a few minutes after they’d stop hearing the muffled sobs and sit down on the foot of her bed, telling her, “Everything’s gonna be okay, y/n/n.” 

But she never believed them. At least, never fully. I mean, how could she? She constantly felt like the world was against her. Like, why couldn’t someone finally just come to her rescue and save her from this miserable world? 

First, she turned to the parties. She figured maybe alcohol would take her mind off of some of the stress. She didn’t do it often at first but then it just seemed to work so well. She started coming and going to more and more parties, somehow getting more and more wasted as they went on. Until one day, that stopped working. The alcohol just didn’t hit the same. She smoked pot for a little while and that definitely reduced the stress but it didn’t give her the same feeling of euphoria she got once she started using the harder stuff. 

It was February 13th, 2019 when she first tried heroin. She was feeling different that night - before she took it. She felt like she was on top of the world. I mean, she had taken molly previously. Obviously, taking molly right before she decided to snort heroin for the first time wasn’t her greatest decision, but she lived so it’s okay. 

She was at a house party right near her own house. Her parents didn’t suspect a thing, after all, they lived right by a bunch of fraternities and sororities and y/n just told them she was going over to a friend's place to study and she’d be home in the morning. They trusted and loved her so much it wasn’t hard to make them believe it. Plus, it’s not like she hasn’t lied to them before and gotten away with it.

She knows deep down what she’s doing is wrong, that she doesn’t have the right morals, but she can’t seem to stop. It’s an addiction, after all. What exactly are people supposed to expect? Sometimes she feels bad, thinking that she doesn’t have the right to act how she is. She has a perfect life, a good family, a sufficient amount of money, etc. but when it comes down to things, she really does think her stress overpowers all of the good aspects of her life. 

Y/n walked in the house, not knowing exactly whose house it was but with full intentions of getting high on whatever it was she could find. According to her, somebody always had something at one of the parties she was at and she was a great manipulator and would easily get her drugs for free.

 She doesn’t feel proud admitting it, but at these parties she would occasionally sleep with guys, and girls, in exchange for drugs. It’s hard for her to describe the feeling she gets when the heroin finally gets in her system - all she can say is that it gives her a feeling of euphoria and that she feels like she can do anything. Her confidence goes through the roof and she knows she can do anything she sets her mind to. 

Ethan met her at a party that one of his friends dragged him to. He wasn’t much of the party type and if he did go to parties he preferred if they weren’t insanely packed or ones where everyone was on drugs. He remembers the night he met y/n vividly. She came stumbling into the living room and threw herself onto the couch, right next to where Ethan was sitting. In her high state of mind, she started to talk to Ethan - hitting on him, more-so. He thought it was hilarious, laughing at the cute girl in front of him. He hadn’t realized how he’s never really paid attention to her before, he knew all of the guys would die to be him at that moment. However, Ethan loves the fact that he was the one there at the time. 

Since that party, Ethan’s started dragging himself to more and more just for the sole purpose of being able to see her again and again. He hated going to parties but he loved seeing her. They got closer as the time went on and even started hanging out when y/n wasn’t at parties or high. When y/n was sober, she was a completely different person. She was shy and completely reserved at first. She didn’t want to tell Ethan anything but eventually, she started to pour out her feelings onto Ethan. It came flooding out as if someone had broken this invisible wall she had been holding up for far too long. 

Ever since she’s poured out her heart and soul to him, he’s wanted to help her get her life back on track. He knows it’ll be hard but for some reason, he feels as if he owes her that. He spent day after day, night after night, researching how badly the drugs affected her in the long run and how he can help her stop. At first, he just figured if he kept asking her to hang out she wouldn’t do it as much. After all, she never got high when she was alone with Ethan. Sadly, Ethan’s plan didn’t last long. She started changing plans and making excuses so she could go get high instead of hanging out with Ethan. He didn’t know what to do at that point but he knew he would do anything to help her get better, even if that meant she’d get upset with him. He researched plenty of rehabilitation facilities and even mentioned a few of them to her when she did give him the time of day, but she always pushed his ideas off because she never thought she’d be able to overcome her addiction. 

It got too much for Ethan, he couldn’t stand watching her slowly but surely kill herself. She may have looked happy on the outside, but he knew deep down that she was hurting and that she needed help. Fast. He drove to her house and knocked on the door politely. Y/mom’s/n answered the door and let Ethan in and he told her everything. Little did Ethan know, y/n was hiding in the hallway listening to everything, planning just what she’d say. She knows she couldn’t leave because she’d have to walk past them to go to the front door and her dad was in the backyard so the back door wasn’t an option either. 

Her mom and dad decided to send her to the facility for 6 months. They wanted to make sure she would actually recover and get better. Ethan missed her a lot and so did her siblings. Their mom and dad wouldn’t tell the kids what really happened, just that she had to go away for a while. At one point, they might have said she had an extremely important thing to do for school and it could benefit her in the future a lot. They weren’t lying about that though, being able to overcome her drug addiction did benefit her, a ton. And she couldn’t have done it without Ethan. 

[you-andthebottlemen]

56 - Request: SIDETRACK song fic

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Going against my better judgement, a verrryyyy drunk Evangeline is posting this at 4am.... 

I got home a couple days ago and life hasn’t been so kind to me.  Aka I had ‘welcome home’ drinks with friends which turned into me crying over all the scary things going on for me right now and making everyone just watch catfish/van videos with me.....

You wouldn’t believe how many tries it took to type this without typos...anywayyyy please send me your thoughts and ENJOY!! And listen to past me below:

***************

Okay so I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard or as long on a request before....I’m pretty proud of this one? I tried to draw both from the request and the lyrics and meld it all together. Ahhh I hope you all love it as much as I do! 

Would honestly love some feedback on this one, so if you read it and love it or hate it or something in between, please feel free to drop me a message or an ask! I just want my writing to get better so I wanna know what works and what doesn’t etc. Just give me any and all thoughts :)

Based on this request:

A Sidetrack song fic where the reader is one of Van’s best friends (like a second Larry) and they’ve always been more than just mates... and they start to get somewhere but then Van gets the hots for another girl and he always has to visit when they tour by her house, but they fall out and the reader’s the god in the ‘if I try to talk to god and she’s forgot your name, you won’t get through’ lyric and Van realises that it’s the reader that he’s really wanted all along? [1/2] And it’s kind of angsty because the reader’s like ‘well why didn’t you have me when you had the chance’ and there’s really sad Van because he realises how dirty he did the reader but it ends with a big load of fluff? Is this a bad concept? Idk [2/2]

I hope this is everything you wanted anon, thank you sooo much for requesting <3

Also I hope you don’t mind that I wrote this from two POV’s! It seemed to make more sense to me to write a song fic from Van’s POV idk….

E x

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‘YOUR’ – reader’s POV:

Your roommates were away, you had no idea where Larry was and since Van would be late back from the studio, you felt a little lost at your own house party. It had grown way bigger than planned and you didn’t know half the people who’d shown up. You escaped to the kitchen, thinking it would be a refuge from the drunken house guests and their plus one’s. But alas, you were thrown into the deep end of drinking games. Somehow, you’d been convinced to play a round of Truth or Dare. You despised the game, well drinking games in general, but were tipsy enough already not to care. The music was loud in your ears and your whole body was buzzing.

So far you’d been lucky, relatively speaking. You pranked called your sister. You told the story of your most embarrassing sexual encounter. It was all pretty juvenile but that was okay. You just kept drinking your way through your six pack of canned ciders and enjoyed the feeling of slowly becoming intoxicated. Though through your drunken haze, you managed to spot a familiar black suede jacket and mop of sandy brown hair try and pass through the kitchen unnoticed.

“Vaaan!”

Van turned on his heels, his face lighting up when he saw you. He came over and leant on the wall beside where you were sat. You rested your head on him and he stroked your hair gently as a hello. Quickly you pulled away and introduced Van to anyone at the table he’d not already met.

“Gotten a bit mental here y/n,” he laughed, looking around him. You nodded and shrugged; not your problem right now.

“Come and play Van!” Ella interrupted, reaching out to hold his arm and batting her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.

Your stomach nauseated for a moment. She probably had a crush on him, quite a few your friends did. No one understood how you could simply be friends with Van and not head over heels in love with him. Though what people didn’t know, was that somewhere along the way you’d began to feel some very non-platonic feelings develop. This terrified you beyond belief. You were y/n and Van. Best mates. You’d seen the worst of each other and you’d seen the best, shared life experiences, grown together. You were the ‘female Larry’ apparently. You knew nothing else. And because of all this, you kept your feelings a secret, buried deep inside, too afraid of losing him.

“Nah, I was just gonna duck out for a smoke actually,” he replied, trying to worm his way out politely.

“Come on Van…I daaare you,” you replied, looking up at him mischievously.

You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist that glint in your eyes. Van took one of your cans and sat down beside you with a heavy eye roll.

Sure, maybe you and Van were a little closer than just friends at times with your cuddles or meaningless flirtations. Sometimes you even thought that just maybe, he felt the same things for you back. However, you were never sure and never confident enough to say anything. You just suffered in silence and pretended you didn’t feel whatever it was you felt.

Despite his strong dislike of drinking games, Van was actually enjoying himself. Everyone was laughing and goofing around, Van had a grin plastered to his face and you felt warm inside seeing him take part in some normality. It was good for him.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Van replied confidently then took a sip of his drink.

“Van, I dare you to kiss y/n,” one of the girls said, a sly smile on her face.

Your stomach dropped and your heart seized up in your chest. No way. You didn’t want your first, or only kiss, with Van to be because of a stupid, drunken dare. You began to panic and sweat lightly. With a gulp you glanced at Van. He had a dreamy little smile on his lips. You wanted to stop playing, to back out. Though you found yourself too nervous to speak.

Everyone else at the table looked utterly thrilled at the prospect of seeing you two kiss, except Ella who wore a tiny frown.

“Alright…” Van said quietly to himself then skulled the rest of his can. “Pucker up, babe,” he winked. You just stared at him blankly.

Before you could prepare for or even think about what was happening, Van moved in and held a hand to your jaw then pressed his soft, cider flavoured lips to yours. You swore your heart stopped. After a second of shock induced stillness, you kissed him back. Hard. You heard people cheer and whistle but all you could think about was how Van’s lips were warm and his faced seemed to fit perfectly together with yours and how his hand felt cupping your cheek.

When you both pulled back for air, you met his swimming blue eyes for a moment, and both just stared into each other. It was a proper kiss, not just a peck and you didn’t know what to make of it. Van sat back into his chair and laughed as he hung an arm around the back of your chair casually. You couldn’t wrap your head around what’d just happened; you were too drunk and too dizzied by your feelings and rapid heart rate. You sat back quietly and took another gulp of cider from your half empty can, then forced a smile onto your  dazed face. The rest of the game played out like a dream; you couldn’t focus and things felt blurry. Your mind was stuck on the fact that you’d just kissed Van, your best friend and it was a big fucking deal for you. Was it a big deal for him too?

Eventually you sipped water and sat out of the final rounds under the pretence you were feeling dizzy; not exactly a lie. You watched as Van completed dare after dare and listened to the occasional truth he’d have to spill. When your mate from work, Todd suggested another game, you pulled a face. Van took your hand in his under the table and without a fight, you let him lead you away out of the kitchen.  

In the living room you spotted Larry playing cards on the sofa around the coffee table, wedged between the arm rest and a couple making out. Nice. Van picked up a bottle of wine from the coffee table, careful not to disturb the game. You looked at all the chaos around you; people hooking up, dancing, talking, taking photos. Some poor chap on the floor. Van placed a hand on the small of your back.

“Wanna get outta here?”

“Yes please.”

You and Van slipped away from the heart of the party and disappeared to your room. You collapsed back onto your bed with your eyes shut. Even though you were still, the alcohol in your blood made you feel as though you were actually on a boat rocking side to side.

Van shed his jacket then fiddled around with your record player but gave up when he realised the music from the living room would drown out anything he put on. He sat beside you on the bed and opened the bottle he’d brought. You sat up and he held it out to you. You took a swig then passed it back. You took it in turns with the bottle while making pointless, drunk chatter under the yellow glow of your fairy lights. All the while, the thought of kissing Van played on your mind.

When you’d had enough wine, you fell onto your back again and stared up at the ceiling. Van put the bottle on the floor then lay down, his shoulder pressed to yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne and hear his breath. You shut your eyes and Van let out a contented sigh.

“Some dare huh…” you said nervously, but your tone light-hearted.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. Van moved to lay on his side and face you, his head propped up with his arm. “You’re a good kisser,” he added.

You fluttered your eyes open and gazed up at him. He was really close now and your chest tightened once again. You didn’t know how to reply but you were sure the hot pink blush on your cheeks said it all. Van’s eyes were sparkling in the dim light, his eyelashes casting small shadows onto his cheeks. You looked at the seas of freckles dotted around his face, his gingery stubble, the shape of his pink lips. Quite simply, he looked beautiful. Van was staring at you too and he seemed to notice your eyes on his lips. The tension in the air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. This was brand new territory for you both.

“Van I- “

Before you could finish your sentence, Van swooped in and kissed you, again. Your eyes widened in shock for a moment then you melted into the kiss. You grabbed his hair urgently in your hands and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you as close as he could. You didn’t realise how desperate you were for this moment until you were thrown into it. You found your rhythm together and things heated up quickly. Van slipped a warm hand under your shirt, running his fingers lightly across your skin, making you shiver. You pulled away slightly and looked at him. Both of you breathed heavily.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice a low whisper.

You nodded and moved your hands slowly to his belt, keeping your eyes locked on his. They were still sparkling but now full of lust; it drove you mad to see him look at you that way.

“It’s not weird?” you asked.

“Not weird,” he breathed with eyes half shut, and impatiently kissed you again.

You managed to undo Van’s belt and he ripped it away, your shirt close behind. Somehow you both shed the rest of your clothing and you hardly had a moment to think about the fact you were naked in front of Van for the first time; utterly vulnerable. You were too intoxicated by both alcohol and him to care. Van pulled you beneath the sheets, skin on skin and all thoughts of the party outside or drinking games or friendship, left your minds.

……………………………..

You thought things with Van had started to get somewhere after you’d drunkenly slept together for the first time. The sex was messy, but it was intense and felt right. Furthermore, it stirred those feelings in you that you couldn’t ignore any longer. You thought maybe he reciprocated whatever it was that you had begun to feel for him. It had felt like more than just sex between friends. But it seemed you were wrong. It wasn’t too awkward at first but after a little while, Van seemed distant and distracted. Soon enough, he was off on tour again and things became even more complicated.

You spoke on the phone or facetime every so often, but it was different. This was the first time you and Van had been on the outs and it was killing you. You’d spoken to Larry briefly; all he’d said was that Van probably had the hots for some girl and his head wasn’t straight because of it, not to take it personally. But you were taking it personally and for the first time, you’d hoped that girl was you. That perhaps his behaviour was because he was struggling to come to terms with his feelings for you too.

Weeks went by and after a long period of deliberation, you decided to take the plunge and tell Van how you felt. When tour was done and he was home, you managed to get Van to commit to coming over for a drink. You heard his knock on the door, you let him in saying a shaky hello. He kissed you on the cheek and asked how you’d been. It all felt forced. Once the pleasantries were done, you decided to bite the bullet.

“Van, I know things with us have been…off lately. But I think I need to tell you…” you began, folding your hands into your lap nervously.

Van placed his drink down on the table and looked at you, his expression unreadable. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled before looking him dead in the eye and letting your heart spill from your mouth.

“I have feelings for you. I tried to ignore it but ever since that one night at the party I just… can’t keep pretending.”

The bombshell was dropped. It felt equally like a weight had been lifted and like you’d just made the worst decision of all time. Van sat up and ran his hands through his hair. Your heart began to pound and you felt a little faint. You couldn’t believe what you’d said, or the implications of such words. Van opened his mouth and for a moment, you thought he might just confess his feelings as well.

“Look, y/n. I…I’ve met someone.”

You blinked slowly and shook your head in disbelief. That was the last thing you expected him to respond with.

“What?”

“I knew it was a mistake for us to sleep together,” he muttered and your heart broke. “It’s messed everything up.” He looked away from you and bit his lip.

“Van, you kissed me first?! You led me on.”

You felt angry now and you fought to hold back tears.

“I was drunk y/n…. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“So this girl then, that’s why you’ve been so distant from me?”

“Partly, I guess. I don’t know...” Van looked down again; he knew he was being a dick.

You scoffed angrily and wiped your watery eyes. It was your own fault for reading so much into it. It was just one instance of drunken sex between friends, nothing more, clearly. You’d been wrong to cling onto any shred of hope that it had been significant. You should never have said anything.

“So, you don’t feel anything for me at all?” you asked bluntly.

“You’re my best mate…” he replied quietly.

You nodded and turned away, that was all the answer you needed. You felt devasted and it made your chest burn. Not only had you been rejected, you’d probably lost your best friend. You couldn’t shake the anger you felt towards Van for taking you to your room, kissing you, initiating things. Though how was he to know that to you, it would all mean so much more? You sighed sadly, letting the pain flood your body and slowly replace the anger. You didn’t expect him to drop everything and just be with you. But you didn’t think the conversation would go like this…

“But that’s my point… we are best mates. I know you like no one else,” you said slowly, trying to let the anger go. “Van, I should be everything you want…”

………………………………

Van’s POV

“But that’s my point… we are best mates. I know you like no one else. Van, I should be everything you want…”

I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I was frozen. Y/n was my best mate apart from Larry. Yeah, we’d had the one night of drunk sex that had made things weird. But I didn’t know she had feelings? That freaked me the fuck out. I’d never have kissed her for that dare if I’d known…I wouldn’t have led her on this way.

Her words, ‘I should be everything you want’ rang through my brain and did my head in.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, like an absolute mug. I was standing there breaking her heart and had nothin’ to say. Christ.

I felt annoyed she’d not said anything sooner about how she felt. And annoyed at myself for having missed it all this time. Y/n let her head fall into her hands and she sniffed, holding back tears. I reached out to put a hand on her arm but she sat bolt upright and ducked away from my touch. Her eyes were all red and glassy.

“You should go Van, forget I said anything.”

“Y/n…”

“Just go Van, go back to your girl.”

Her voice was sharp and hit me like a slap in the face. Y/n stood and motioned towards the door. I was feeling frustrated, mad at the fact she’d thrown all these feelings at me and was upset she wasn’t getting the same feelings from me back.

“Fuck this. See you,” I said, my voice flat and pissed off.

I left without another word, not really sure of what the fuck just happened. I knew I was in the wrong; I could have handled this better. Talk to her sooner, tell her I’d met someone sooner. But how was I to know she had feelings for me? Besides, she didn’t exactly seem willing to talk it out. Guess I’d not given that impression either. I didn’t wanna stick around and fight about it.

Once I was outside her front gate, I let out a heavy, frustrated sigh and raised my arms so I could fold them behind my head to breathe. My mind was racing a million miles an hour and I was full of feelings I didn’t know what to do with. If I was being honest, the fact I’d met someone wasn’t the whole reason I’d been off with y/n. It was just weird after the party, awkward and I didn’t know how to act.

Ironically, the person I would talk with about what to do in this situation would be y/n. But obviously that wasn’t going to happen. I contemplated calling Larry, but he was on a night out and didn’t need the bother.

As I walked down y/n’s street to head home, I flicked through my contacts. Zina. The girl I’d met on tour, the one I’d mentioned to y/n. I couldn’t talk to her about all this, but I could talk to her. Distract myself. I checked the time in her part of the world then pushed call. I spent the rest of the walk home talking and laughing with Zina, letting the situation with y/n get flooded out of my head completely.

………………

I was used to the ‘long distance’ sort of thing by now; I was hardly ever in the same place as my friends, family, whoever I was dating. It was always hard, but it was a lifestyle you got used to, especially when the perk of it is getting to travel the world and play music. Me and Zina had hit things off in America when we last toured. She even came out to visit me back in England once. She was incredible. Me and her just bounced off each other immediately, like we’d known each other for ages. Plus, she was dead gorgeous.

I was back in America, staying at hers for a while before a press run started. I was sat on her couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table and scrolling through my phone aimlessly. I decided to log onto Instagram for the first time in what, 6 months? A year? Don’t know. I scrolled down the feed and saw a post by y/n.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I’d not seen her or spoken to her since that night at her house. We’d never not talked for this long before. Were we even still mates? Usually when I’d fall out with someone, I’d just let things go their separate ways. You go your way and I’ll go mine, you know? And that’s sort of what I’d done here too; neither of us had reached out to one another.

Y/n was smiling wide, her arms wrapped around someone I didn’t know. She looked happy but it stung and I couldn’t tell you why. Quietly, Zina sat down beside me. I quickly switched my phone off and put it down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, handing me a cup of tea and eyeing the phone I’d slid away.  

“Nothin’ babe,” I smiled and leant over to kiss her.

She kissed me back but seemed off, kind of hesitant.

“Why were you looking at that photo of y/n?”

Zina and me had been together a few months now, so I’d told her in short what happened between me and y/n. Her feelings, my lack of, now the no contact.

“I wasn’t, it just came up on Instagram or whatever,” I replied, sighing and rubbing my face with my empty hand.

“Okay…”

I sipped my tea and tucked Zina up beside me. She curled her feet under her and rested her head on my shoulder. We sat in silence for a while just letting the sun from her large glass windows hit us and soak in.

“Do you ever wish things with her had been different?” she asked.

“What? I mean yeah, I don’t like that she’s suddenly gone from my life. Aside from Larry she was my best pal.”

“I mean, do you wish you had tried things with her? Been with her?”

Being thrown this idea of an alternative option threw me off. I’d not considered it all. It was like if someone had suggested I’d date Larry. She was my best friend. She’d always been on one side of the spectrum, off limits. I’d never seen her as anything but what she always was to me.

But then again….I had slept with her that time so I guess it wasn’t the same after all. Maybe subconsciously I had seen her in a different light and so I crossed that boundary with her. Thinking about lines and boundaries made my head spin. The possibility of being in a relationship with y/n genuinely had not crossed my mind, not even when she confessed her feelings to me. It was one that made me feel an overwhelming sense of confusion. It was too much to take apart in my head so I simply pushed it away. She was my friend, like Larry.

“No. Where’s this comin’ from babe?” I asked, looking down at Zina.

She shrugged and looked away. The vibe between us felt weird now, like she was upset about something I couldn’t see. I let out a breath. Girls, Christ.

…………………

“Van, I can’t do this. I can’t be with you while clearly, you’re in love with someone else.”

Zina wiped tears from her eyes and sniffed, avoiding my gaze. My bags were packed by the door, waiting for me to pick them up and run to the taxi to get to the airport with boys. Tour was starting up again. But that could wait right now.

“What? I’m not in love with someone else,” I pleaded, pain and confusion ripping right through me. I moved closer and took her shoulders in my hands. “Please don’t do this, I love you. No one else,” I said softly.

“Stop…please. You know I love you too, but I don’t want this anymore.”

Zina pushed my hands off her and wrapped her arms around herself. Tears leaked down her cheeks and she took a step back. I felt my own eyes start to prickle.

“I don’t fuckin’ understand what you’re sayin’ Zina. Things were good with us? Are good with us. Who am I supposedly in love with?”

“Y/n.” She said bluntly. My eyes bulged and frustration bubbled up inside.

“Fuck’s sake no I’m not. How many times do we have to go through this? She was my friend. Like Larry.”

Zina rolled her eyes angrily.

“Van. You always talk about her with the guys, asking what she’s up to. You write songs about her still, I know you do. She’s always on your mind and you miss her, I get it. But I think if you stop and look a little harder, you’ll see why. You’re in love with her and you don’t even know it,” she let it all spill out of her. I stood in stunned silence at the words being thrown at me.

“It’s not your fault but I can’t keep feeling like I’m second best or just a place holder…” she sniffed, her eyes still running like taps. I wanted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but I knew she wouldn’t let me.

“You’re not, I swear. Don’t do this,” I begged.

“I just can’t be with you anymore Van. I love you but I can’t.”

Fuck this. I moved closer and grabbed her face in my hands and kissed her. She kissed me back weakly. I could feel her tears melt onto my skin. When I pulled back, hands still on her jaw, I stared at her, thinking maybe she would change her mind. Instead all I got was silence and could see heartbreak written all over face. My hands dropped to my side in shock and defeat. I couldn’t believe it. It was really over, and I didn’t get a say.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her, feeling completely floored and not able to piece anything better together.

“Just please, make it worth it,” she replied and my face scrunched up in confusion. “Fix things with y/n.”

After a final embrace and goodbye despite my protests, I picked up my bags and left. Zina closed the door behind me and I wondered if I’d ever see her again. The taxi van pulled up shortly after and I got in without a word. I was speechless.

“You alright mate?” Larry asked.

“Yeah,” I grunted and looked out the window.

Zina was right, it wasn’t my fault. It was y/n’s. In my mind it made sense to shift the blame to her. I wasn’t in love with her. Zina had left me for no reason.

Days passed and I’d finally told Larry what happened. He kept me stocked up on smokes and whatever else to get me through. I vented my frustration on stage, thrashing about and yelling…and that helped. But I was still in bits about it. I’d lost my best friend and my girlfriend all in a matter of months and the common denominator was me. I was mad at y/n still but equally as mad at myself.

“You need to speak to y/n…just call her,” Larry said finally, fed up to the back teeth with my stroppy moods.

“She won’t wanna hear about my break up mate,” I replied, dismissing the idea. “Plus I don’t know that I really wanna talk to her anyway…”

“She cares about you Van, as much as I do. Give her some credit…”

I sighed and threw the PlayStation controller down beside me. I tipped my head back onto the couch and groaned. Larry paused the game. I rolled my head round to look at him.

“Should I really call her?”

“You gotta try and fix things man. It’s driving us all mad.”

That night after the show, I stayed back in the green room and called y/n. My palms were sweating and I had no idea what I was going to say to her, or where to even begin.

Turns out that didn’t matter; she didn’t pick up. Typical. I turned my phone off and headed outside for a smoke. I stood leaning against the wall breathing the smoke in and out slowly, contemplating everything that’d happened until the ciggie was done. When I got back on the bus Larry threw me an expecting look. I just shook my head and said nothing on the subject.

…………………

I kept trying to call y/n, but I never got through. At first I thought maybe she was just busy but quickly I realised she was ducking my calls. A move I knew well. I texted, even sent one of them Instagram messages but got nothing back. It was driving me up the wall. The anger I felt towards her started to fade away and it was replaced with a sort of panic. I’d well and truly fucked this up.

The rest of the tour dragged by slowly. All I could think of was y/n; it was like a switch had flipped in my head. I spent my days wondering what she was doing, who with. My nights were spent thinking about how things could have been different. I missed her.

In my many hours of contemplation and the many packets of ciggies I went through, it began to dawn on me that y/n was sort of…everything. She gave me direction, kept me grounded, was my voice of reason. She was like god, I looked to her for it all. She had always been there no matter what. And now she was just gone; she may as well have forgotten my name at this point.

When tour finally came to an end, I’d never been more anxious to get home. I needed to get my life back, get y/n back. The whole flight I was jittery and bouncing my leg; annoying Larry and Bondy to no end. When the plane landed, I darted off so quickly the boys lost track of me. As I raced through customs and baggage and all that, I couldn’t help but think of how y/n would always be there to meet me, holding up a card that said ‘McCann’. But this time she wasn’t.

Once I was in the back of a taxi and had given y/n’s address, I phoned her but as usual ignored and straight to voicemail. God, she had the will power of an ox. I texted saying I was home, that I needed to see her. After a few minutes, to my utter fuckin’ surprise, I saw the little text bubble pop up for a second and a response came through. I held my breath.

‘I’m going out’

‘Will you wait for me?’

‘Fine.”

I let out a shaky exhale of relief and put my phone away.

“Mate, do you reckon we can get there ASAP?” I asked the driver, trying to keep my voice normal; he didn’t know how much was on the line for me right now.

“There’s traffic so we’ll have to take the bridge,” he replied.

I thanked him and sat back, staring out the window as we drove. I thought about the night I’d last seen y/n. She’d confessed her feelings and I didn’t listen, didn’t give her a chance, didn’t try to salvage the friendship or even tell her it was okay. I panicked and responded badly. I pushed her away and did her real dirty. I was embarrassed with myself honestly. I could fix it though, I had to. She meant the absolute world to me.

I loved her. I love her.

My heart stopped for a second at the sudden realisation. Zina was right. My daft fuckin’ brain had only just made the connection. I was in love with y/n. I smiled and chuckled to myself as the feelings escaped my heart and spread through my body like wildfire. Bloody hell.

We should have been at y/n’s by now, but we weren’t. I was on the verge of just jumping out the car and running there.

“We’ve taken the quickest route,” the driver insisted.

I wasn’t convinced. We were stuck in traffic and moving dead slow. I thought about y/n waiting for me, probably pissed off at me for taking so long on top of everything else.

“Okay 5, five minutes,” the driver said eventually, looking at me in the rear-view mirror. He could probably tell how impatient I was getting.

When we drove up y/n’s street I was sure I was going to have a heart attack. I’d never been like this over a girl before. But to be fair, it wasn’t just any girl. It was y/n, my best friend. My absolute fucking goddess.

I paid the driver and grabbed my bags. As I walked up her drive, y/n’s words ‘I should be everything you want’ came back to mind. She was everything I wanted and needed and I’d been too blind to see it before now.

………………………

‘Your’ POV

Van crashed through your front door, dropping his bags to the ground in the hallway. He almost went to hug you, but you took a step back. He seemed breathless and his face fell when you moved away from him.

“Y/n…” he said.

The sound of his voice made you feel weak; you’d missed him beyond anything. The last few months had been torture, with ignoring Van and trying to forget your feelings. Though despite everything they only grew stronger. But you swallowed the tears and remembered why you were in this situation to begin with.

“Why did you need to see me?” you asked bluntly.

“Can we sit?”

“Come into the kitchen.”

You didn’t want Van getting comfortable, it would be too easy to just let him back in and fall back under his spell. Standing either side of the kitchen counter opposite each other, you both waited for the other to speak first.

“Thank you for waitin’,” Van said and you shrugged.

Your curiosity had gotten the better of you. You’d been able to ignore Van’s calls and messages while he was away, just. But when he said he was home…you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your heart ached for him as much as you wished it didn’t. You missed your best friend, in fact, you were completely in love with him.

You raked your eyes over Van. He’d not changed physically but he looked like he’d been through hell. His eyes had soft bags under them, his hair was greasy and his eyes looked wild. You wondered what had been going on for him the last few months. You knew he’d been seeing someone but anything beyond that you had no clue as you’d avoided the rest of the boys almost as fiercely as you’d avoided Van, not wanting any reminder of it all.

“Y/n…I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You looked at Van with stone cold eyes.

“Me and Zina broke up and-“

“Oh, so because you’re all alone now you come crawling back to me?” you snapped.

The nerve he had. You felt taken for granted as a friend, your feelings for him aside.

“No, shit….no. It just made me realise that I’d made a mistake. I need you y/n.”

You heart pounded at his words. Part of you felt outrageously angry and other part felt like you could break down into tears at any moment and just throw yourself into his arms. You shut your eyes and exhaled to calm yourself.

“You said we’d messed everything up. You shut me down and I don’t know…we fell out. I don’t know if this can be fixed. I can’t just forget all that because you ‘need me’ again.”

Van walked over to your side of the counter and stood in front of you. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. You could tell he was genuinely sorry and that he’d felt all the backlash he needed without you pushing him away further. But you just couldn’t see how things could ever go back to the way they were.

“Please y/n”.

“Van, I never expected you to drop everything and be with me. I just needed to tell you how I felt and work through it. You’re my best friend, I needed you to be there for me. You just immediately told me you’d met someone? Besides, you led me on, but that doesn’t matter. You showed me your true colours and it fucking hurt.”

You let the honest truth come out, he needed to hear it. You’d had plenty of time to reflect on how you felt about it all and it felt good to finally get it off your chest. Van looked distraught.

“Trust me if I’d known you had feelings for me, I never would have done that stupid dare…never would have slept with you…There’s so many things I should have said and done different. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t change it now but please let me fix it?” His voice was quiet and whiny, broken in a way you’d never heard. He was being sincere.

You kept silent and looked away, no idea what to do or say. You knew he wasn’t at fault for some of it, he wasn’t to know how you felt. You should have been honest with him before it all led to that night. But you couldn’t shake the resentment you felt towards him for all that followed. Van seemed to take the silence as a rejection and pushed his hair back like he did when he was stressed or nervous.

“Y/n… I love you. Okay? I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes bulged and your jaw dropped in absolute bewilderment.

“What?!” you all but shouted.

“It’s you, I want you. I think I have all along,” he replied quietly, not blinking.

“Are you joking?”

Van’s facial expression melded into one of confusion.

“Well why didn’t you have me when you had the chance?” you asked.

“I didn’t know I felt this way back then and look I’m here now, as soon as I could get here to tell you,” he reasoned.

Van dropped to his knees in front of you and gently took your hands in his. His touch made your skin light up. He looked sad and desperate. The tears had begun to seep out of your eyes and you couldn’t wipe them away so they trickled down your cheeks uncomfortably.

“You have to believe me y/n. I love you and I will make it up to you. You’re my best friend.”

Your gut wrenched. Van was begging you. Seeing him like this only made your heart scream at you louder. You melted down to your knees in front of him and took his face in your hands. Fuck it.

“I love you too, Van.”

His eyes lit up and his mouth opened slightly.

“You do?”

“Of course, you idiot,” you sniffed and chuckled through the tears.

Van pulled you into him and you threw your arms around his neck. You held each other tightly for a long while, collapsed on the floor and folded together. You cried into his neck and he rubbed your back, letting you get it all out. It felt so good to be back in his arms and have the weight of missing him lifted from your shoulders. You didn’t want to let him go; it felt like he was holding all your broken bits together.

As you untangled yourself from him and wiped your face, Van stared at you. He reached out and gently moved the sweaty, tear stained strands of hair from your forehead. Your eyes latched onto his and you were overwhelmed with love. It was almost all too much to believe.

When Van finally kissed you, it felt like all the hurt and all the shit that had happened between you dissipated. It was you and him, together again and as unbreakable as ever.

…………………………………

“Oi, move over,” you grumbled at Van.

He was spread out in your bed like a starfish, taking up all the space.

“Nope,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t contain the smile. Van looked so cute; his hair messy from drying overnight and all bundled up in your duvet. After you placed the fresh mugs of tea down on your bedside table you wiggled in to fit beside him. Once you were under the covers, Van snaked his arms around your middle and pulled you tight against his naked body. Your head was against his chest and you kissed his collarbones.

“Bed day today?” he asked as he crept his hands under your shirt, his voice low and sleepy.

“I’d love that,” you replied happily.

Life in love with your best friend was amazing. Things had slowly been patched up between you and Van, you’d been able to bridge the gap between best friends and relationship well. You still teased each other as much as ever, still had each other’s backs. Only now you got to kiss, have sex and say I love you also; it was perfect.

After a few hours of on and off napping, making out and watching youtube videos in bed, it was time to get up and get ready for your friends to come around. Van sat smoking out of your open window and watched as you put on your makeup, genuinely interested in how it all worked. He was so cute like that.

Larry arrived early to help with the barbeque. He and Van smoked on the patio while it heated up, talking about whatever it was they talked about when you weren’t around. Maybe even you? You watched from the kitchen window as they laughed and bickered between themselves. You’d all come so far since being the spotty, unruly teenagers you were when you’d first met. You never would have guessed you’d end up with Van at all. You weren’t sure if your seventeen-year-old self would be impressed or grossed out by it.

When they gave you the signal it was ready, you carried out the food to be cooked. Once you placed it down, Van slung his arm around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss.

“I’m never gonna get used to this,” Larry laughed looking between you two.

“Me either,” you and Van said at the same time. You burst out laughing and kissed again, giddy with love for one another.

After dinner, once the music had been turned up and the bottles of spirits brought out, everyone sat around in the living room.

“We should play a drinking game…” Todd proposed, and you rolled your eyes. Some things never changed.

“Yeah. How about Truth or Dare?” Van suggested smugly, his eyes meeting yours.

“No need. You can just kiss me now, don’t need a dare to do it,” you grinned and grabbed Van by the chin before planting a heavy kiss on his lips.

Maybe drinking games weren’t so bad after all?

[regrettablewritings]

Technically he wasn't included in the list of one's you could write for but I know you've written for him before, would you be willing to do a Matt Murdock x Reader for the ship meme? Either way, thank you. Your the best.

Crap, I knew I was forgetting something! Sure thing, though! Apologies beforehand if it’s not up to par – I did my best with all the crap going on today.

How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: When you first met Matt, you were just like everybody else and bought the schtick where he acts unassuming due to his disability. Nobody could blame you, that was the point of it. However, what stood out to you most was his apparently big heart: After all, most forms would turn you down upon hearing what little (yet all) you had to offer regarding the inhospitable conditions at your place of work.

But according to the Nelson part of Nelson & Murdock, any price was perfectly fine (“Feel free to throw in a blueberry pie,” he joked). And the Murdock half flashed a smile in your general direction, assuring you that they would get to the bottom of this. To your surprise, they not only did but also did so while treating you like an actual goddamn human being.

As for Matt, the first thing he thought of when he met you was, “She’s innocent.” Of course, he meant this in reference to your heartbeat when discussing your situation, as he always did when concerning a potential client. But the more he talked to you about the case, the subsequent things regarding your personal life he learned. And the more vivid of a picture he had in his head.Due to his reliance on sound and the things he could hear, as well as how secretive he actually was, Matt managed to develop a newfound opinion of you before you could of him.By the time the two of you accepted yourselves as a couple, Matt knew you as a resourceful type of person who wanted to make sure that the ones she cared about were comfortable and taken care of. However, if shit went down, you were absolutely not afraid to take a stand and call bullshit.You, on the other hand, still held your belief that Matt had a big heart. The problem was, it took a very long while before you also realized how self-destructive he could be. And it makes you worry tremendously. You still admire him, but you really wish he’d quit playing the martyr.

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Foggy’s beyond glad that you’ve entered Matt’s life because he foolishly believes that with a healthy love life, it’ll force Matt to have to reconsider his actions. He’s always been foolhardy, using the stigma of a docile blindman to convince others not in the know that he was careful with his decisions and actions. Perhaps having you and something to strive for besides the safety of Hell’s Kitchen might give him a reason to not be such a martyr and quit volunteering to jump in front of the swinging fist of some thug.Karen, similarly, is glad that there’s somebody who can look out for Matt potentially more because you’re more likely to be in a more intimate setting than she and Foggy would as just friends.Matt nearly won your friends and family over by the mere mention of him being a lawyer. Of course, it did come up that his particular firm was notorious for accepting cases with payments of pies, bananas, and IOUs. You really tried to hype up that this was due to Matt’s good hearted nature, but it was still accepted with some hesitancy.Otherwise, they don’t find him unpleasant and as long as you’re both happy and he treats you well, they can’t find too much to gripe about. (Though your folks still make occasional jabs at the question of his ability to provide for you in terms of a long-term relationship…)

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: Matt’s protectiveness works well with your need to assure the comfort of others. Additionally, you both have a sense of justice. The difference is that his involves dressing up like a devil and doing parkour around ten blocks of New York nearly every night and beating the shit out of people.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: You enjoy Matt’s wit, and he enjoys how you can make a person feel comfortable. He keeps you laughing with his dry humor, and your thing for hospitality meant you helped repay Nelson & Murdock by redecorating the office to feel less sterile and unprofessional.

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: Technically speaking, Matt’s secretiveness and martyr complex isn’t a pet peeve. Nevertheless, drives you insane the most and really tests your relationship. He takes way too much upon himself with little regard for the effects; he’s certainly not a scale, because he constantly proves he can’t balance everything as well as he thinks he can.The thing that annoys him about you is arguably and comparatively chill: Sometimes you just do things too loudly. Cutting up food, slamming cabinets — the usual. You try to keep it quieter, you really do, but what’s normal to most others is loud to the man.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: Matt’s lawyer mode unfortunately shines during arguments with you, and sometimes it results with him saying things that pierce you to the bone. The moment he hears you inhale sharply, smell the salt of the tears welling in your eyes, and hears a change in your breathing pattern, he knows he’s gone too far and regrets it. If you need space away from him, he doesn’t blame you and will probably hate himself: He made uncomfortable the one person who tries her best to make others feel happy and safe.If you’ll hear him out, he’ll likely give an apology riddled with self-deprecation until you’ve had enough. Unfortunately, his typical go-to is makeup sex as a result of him being used to doing that with Elektra. Given that you’re the first healthy relationship he’s ever had, he isn’t entirely sure of what else to do if this doesn’t suit your fancy; but Matt’s no quitter.He’ll try and do to you the things you do to him when you make him feel comfortable: Cuddle you, read stories (though, given that most of his literature is law books in Braille, you may want to skip this), order food from the Thai place down the street, and so on.On your end, usually all you have to do is apologize and Matt will hear it in your heart how truly honest you’re being and how much it’s hurting you to keep being angry with him. Once he hugs you close and whispers that the apology was accepted, you know all is better. Maybe not well, but better.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: Matt’s never really ventured out of New York or gone on vacation for that matter. Wasn’t the entire point of vacation to see new sites? Of course, you’re not buying that crap for a minute. With Luke Cage and Jessica Jones and god knows who else is running about, you promised him it’d be okay if he took a break and went elsewhere for a week or two. Somewhere nice and fresh, away from the pollution of an urban area would be ideal. A nice, small town perhaps. Rural. Where you can both sleep in under linen sheets and breathe in the cleaner, country air…

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time: Matt was quite aware of how odd it was for a blind man to be wandering around such a shady area of the Kitchen. At best, people would scoff at him and try to bring him back to “a nicer area”; but at worst, they might attempt to mug him. He made sure to put extra focus on his awareness, praying that the noises and smells of the jazz club wouldn’t distract him for too long.Go in, eavesdrop, get out. Go in, eavesdrop, get out.He repeated this mantra over and over in his head as he recited the password to the doorman. He didn’t need to see to be aware of the quirked brow the guard wore when they heard the clicking of his walking stick, having realized that the red-tinted shades weren’t for fashion.Immediately, he could smelling the choking stench of cigars and alcohol and cheap perfumes and expensive colognes alike. With the rustle of his fingers, he could feel the fabrics of the bar patrons, hear the chattering and obnoxious guffaws of overly flirtatious women as men slapped their palms on the wooden tables, making their glasses rattle.Matt tried not to appear uncomfortable, pretending to feel around for a seat he could “see” quite clearly. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth coming down here to get a lead on a self-directed investigation. Surely there was another way…“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage the lovely (Y/N) (L/N); she’s a little shy so be sure to give her a nice warm welcome.”Crap.If he tried to leave now, it might draw more attention than what he’d already gained as a visually impaired patron. Matt bit back a grimace as he slid into his seat, courteously joining the small crowd in light applause. No choice now but to go along with it, pretend he was enjoying the music when really his ears were scrambling to focus on a particular voice of the one suspect he was tailing.But, oh, was the attempt in vain.“There’s a saying old, says that love is bliiiiind… Still, we’re often told, ‘Seek and ye shall fiiiinndd.’ So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had…in miiiiiiindd…”Matt had heard many voices in his life — possibly more than the average person, given his hypersensitive hearing.He could not say even years from that moment precisely what it was about your voice that made him lose focus in record time from his initial mission.Maybe it was that you sounded like Ella, only somehow sweeter than Ella. Or how your handling of the words made each syllable slink the the air with honey-like grace. If he allowed himself to indulge in a very rare instance of sappiness, however, Matt would have probably secretly humored that God blesses your voice to be particularly wondrous that evening.In fact, he very much did think so.“I’d like to add his initials to my monograamm. Wheeeere is the shepherd for thiiiiisss looooossst laaammbb?”Cross that: Your voice was bewitching more than anything to him. (And had his vision been available, his sight of you would only encourage such: A red, curve-caressing dress; hair styled to display softness even at a distance; devilish, red lips that one wouldn’t expect to produce such sweet sounds.)“There’s someone I’m longing to seeeee I hope that heeee turns out to beeeee… someoonne who’ll waaaatch… oooover meeeee…”Matthew Michael Murdock had only ever heard of love at first sight – and he already didn’t believe in such rubbish. But as he heard you on that stage, his focus now completely on you, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps love at first song might’ve been a thing. At the very least, infatuation at first song.He no longer cared how unusual it was for a blind man to be in a club in the seedier part of the Kitchen. Nor did he care with how much enthusiasm he applauded your performance. Hell, he barely cared about the reason he came here in the first place.He heard you thanking the audience with gleeful yet shy appreciation, followed by the sounds of you hopping down from the stage … and walking towards him! Matt felt like an imbecilic college student again, flustered at the realization that a pretty-sounding girl was coming for him! … And passed him. His heart calmed with a gut-jolting thud, only to pick up as he caught a whiff of your perfume. Wait … Lotion, he corrected himself. How unusual for a club singer to bathe her scent in lotion and not perfume. But to Matt, it was a tiny yet wonderful thing. It made him want to get to know you more.She might have something to say about our guy, he told himself as he listened for your movements. He could hear the sway of your hips as you waltzed on over and took a seat at the bar. He heard you talk to the bartender an a highly amicable manner and order your drink. He could hear the parting of your rich lips as you took a sip, a sigh of relief as your parched throat was finally aided. You noticed that this copper-brown-haired man was headed towards you before he did – the click-clacking of his cane cued him in to you in spite of his own personal use of the item.He could hear you producing a confused smile. He didn’t mind. “Good evening, Miss,” he uttered, turning on the Murdock Men’s charm, whatever that was. Whatever it was, indeed – because even years from that moment, you wouldn’t be able to explain precisely what it was about Matt Murdock’s voice that stood out from the many others you had heard up to that point in your life.Maybe it was because it was deep yet encased with warmth. Or maybe it was how even among the chatter of the bar patrons, his voice seemed to caress your ears as gentle hands would. Or maybe it was because the words flowed from such a lovely-looking man, of whom proved himself to be quite the conversational partner as the evening wore on.

Whatever the case, by the time the both of you had left, you were both questioning the same thing: Was love or infatuation at first sound a thing?

Send me a character ship

[ellaofoakhill]

Mother’s Malt, Part Three

The shrimp was untouched when they returned to the kitchen. Meline checked the temperature, and professed it nearly ready. Havel nodded, and his belly gave a great rumble. Ella gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

Meline clutched her medicine bag. She turned away from the roasting crustacean, and sat opposite Ella, staring at her until Ella looked up.

“What, Meline?” she asked. Havel loudly prepared a pot of tea.

Meline toyed with the strap on her bag. “I understand being upset that someone has snuck into your home,” Meline said. “I would be too. And I would be outraged if anyone flipped through my private musings like Vedris through the morning paper.

“But you only seemed watchful and concerned when we realized someone trespassed into Oakhill. And you were already angry when we saw your room.” She groped for words. “If you can tell me what the whiskey means, it might help you clear your head, and help us catch this burglar.”

Ella looked down at her hands for so long that Meline thought she wouldn’t answer. “My mother was a baronet in the Fey Queen’s court,” Ella said. “My father was a knight.” She shrugged. “Well, his mother was, so by birth, he was counted among the nobility, albeit he occupied the lowest rung of that ladder.

“Pops and I were close. He taught me how to work metal, though as a wood fairy, he couldn’t teach me much about iron.” She smiled. “His eyes were full of proud tears when I showed him my first steel knife.” The smile faded. “Mother and I were… distant. She would ask how went my studies, and I’d ask after affairs at court, but… we never just… talked. I wondered sometimes if she loved me at all, or if she was trying to be nice because I was her heir and required grooming.

“I was twelve hundred years old when the War began. Pops was a knight, but by blood only; his training with sword and shield had been cursory. He went as my mother’s armourer and squire. Mother, however, was skilled in magic and in warfare; she was a captain under Alluzandra.” Meline recognized the name. “But I think, like my father, she was at heart a peaceful soul.”

A small smile tugged at Ella’s lips again. “She loved growing things, even though she was a fire fairy. The day she and dad left—I stayed to run the estate—she gave me a bag of barley and a lump of bronze. She told me to bring as much joy with them as I could, in my own way. And she would love to see what I made of them.”

“So, in the Fey spring, I planted the barley. I watered it. I weeded it. I cut and threshed and harvested it. Again and again, through many long years. The bronze I made into a ploughshare, a scythe, and the instruments of distillation. The first two saw much use in those years.

“When I had grown that barley for twenty-seven years—enough to fill three valleys—I distilled it, and the instruments I’d made were well-used. I knew little of wood magic, but Pops had taught me some, and I consulted my younger sister, also a wood fairy and far more inclined toward gardening and growing things, and she helped me. So I worked, tweaking and modifying my brew, until I had a serviceable whiskey. I sweetened it with caramelized honey, and poured it into oak casks, to age until my mother returned and could sample it.”

There was a pause. The kettle started to boil. “After fifteen hundred years of fighting… Pops came back.” Another pause.

“I left Fey soon after. I gave the estate to my sister, who runs it with Pops now.” Ella met Meline’s eyes. “I didn’t realize my mother loved me until it was too late for me to tell her I loved her in any way but writing. That whiskey was supposed to be the start of something better than what we’d had.” She looked above the sink, at the sheaf of barley hanging over the window. “Every century, on the anniversary of her death, I return to Fey. I visit the Iron Field where she died, and Sycamore Rill, our family’s hall, where she’s buried. In both places, I pour a chalice of this whiskey, and have a glass myself. Sometimes Pops has one, too, but usually he leaves the two of us alone.”

Ella took a breath. Meline almost missed the hitch in it. “This cask was the last of it.”

Havel blew his nose with a sound like a muffled horn. Meline took the kerchief he offered her.

“So,” Meline hiccoughed after they’d mostly dried their tears, “do you feel a bit better?”

Ella wetly chuckled. “I’m not about to kill anyone now.”

There was a knock at the door. “Hello?” Ella was up in an instant, reaching for the handle and her pole.

“Wait!” Meline held up a hand. “Felix?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

Ella mouthed “You know him?” Meline nodded. Ella took an enormous breath. “Enter.”

The door opened. Felix was almost a head shorter than Meline. Like her, he wore neither boots nor shoes. His walnut hair would’ve been wild if he didn’t tie it down with a rag that might once have been blue. He had a small moustache and a beard that grew nowhere but on his chin and lower lip, not because he groomed it—anyone who looked at him could tell that wasn’t the case—but because it couldn’t be bothered to grow anywhere else.

Ella’s frown was deeper than a gorge. “Why have you broken into my hall and gone through my things?”

Felix looked more ashamed than Meline had seen him in a while. He glanced at her, then looked back up at Ella. “I mean’ no ‘arm. There was this big snake, ‘n’ she chased me up t’ this tree, an’ I dipped in through yer barn door. I—”

“Felix,” Meline said, “was this a black she-snake with light stripes?”

His head practically vibrated up and down. “Aye! Said she was Famofus er somthin’, but I didn’ stick around t’ hear more!”

Ella sat down. “How… how did you get into the stable? I have fairy bells on the door.”

“There was a fairy horse walked in same time I did,” Felix said, “startled ‘im a bit, near got kicked fer it.”

“I would imagine so,” Ella said. She sighed. “Why wander about my hall like a thief? If you’d come and explained yourself, I’d have given you a bath, a meal, spare clothes, and a bed. And more, likely, as you’re Meline’s friend.”

“No one was home,” Felix said. “Saw the shop downstairs, ‘n’ young’un there workin’,” Havel blinked at this description of him, “cursin’ up a storm, an’ left ‘im be.”

Ella spared a glance at Havel. “I cracked the sardonyx inlay I’ve been working on for a month.” He looked at Felix. “Did you bump anything on the wall as you closed the door?”

“I might’ve.” He registered Havel’s tone. “Sorry. No one else was ‘ome that I could see. Kitchen smelled nice, though.”

“About what time did you run into the stable?” Meline said.

Felix scratched his chin. “Just after moonrise?”

“So minutes after we left,” Ella said. She held the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “And going through my things? Misplacing them everywhere?”

“Felix is the actual worst when it comes to putting things back where he found them,” Meline said.

“‘arsh,” Felix said. He had the smallest smile on his face.

“But true,” Meline said. She was almost smiling herself.

“You were in my room,” Ella said. She sounded more exasperated than angry.

“I know I knocked over two books in the big nice bedroom, so I—”

“Did you read them?”

Felix and Meline shared a glance. Meline snorted. “I can’ read,” Felix said. Ella’s jaw dropped. She looked to Meline.

“Also true,” Meline said. “Felix is less literate than a botfly.”

“Also ‘arsh,” Felix said.

“Tellin’ it like it is.”

“Alright, alright,” Ella said, raising her hands. “So: Felix ran into my house because Thamnophis chased him; He found Havel in the shop in a temper, and accidentally shut off the lights; He wandered around looking to see if anyone else was home, bumping into things and replacing them in the wrong spot.” Her look turned quizzical. “Why, once you realized we were here, didn’t you reveal yourself?”

Felix cocked his head. “I never ‘eard a soul ‘til shortly before young’un here took a swing at me.” He looked up at Havel. “Not mad, defendin’ yer ‘ome, I get it.”

“But things have been moving around on us this whole evening,” Havel said. He looked like he was still adjusting to “young’un”.

“This is a big house,” Meline said. “The dining hall alone has three separate entrances.”

Ella nodded, staring for a while at nothing in particular. Eventually, she gave another sigh. “If it weren’t for the cask you spilled in my cellar, I wouldn’t actually have much issue with what you’ve done during your ‘stay’ here.”

“Fair,” Felix said. His eyes lit up. “The whiskey, y’mean?”

“Yes,” Ella said, “and for it, I’ll require—”

“It’s fine,” Felix said. Ella’s head snapped up. “I knocked over the little barrel when I put my arms in yer cellar, an’ I cracked it. So I switched it t’ another one. I’ll show yeh!”

The whiskey was in fact in another cask. Ella confirmed with a sniff and a taste. She held the cask tight to her chest for a moment; Meline saw a tear leak from her eye. She came up and wrapped an arm around Ella’s waist. Ella leaned her head on Meline’s.

Once she’d regained her composure, Ella turned back to Felix. He somehow looked even shorter. Just as Ella was about to speak, his belly gave a huge rumble.

Ella blinked. “Have you… when was the last time you ate, Felix?”

He counted on his fingers. “Six days ago?” At her raised eyebrows, he looked only the slightest bit defensive. “I’m a walker. We see the world, we live nowhere, an’ we take nothin’. I wouldn’ steal food if I ‘adn’ eaten fer twice that.”

Ella nodded. She thought a moment. “I won’t lie, you’ve made some unwise decisions tonight. But none that caused any lasting harm, and none that you can’t pay for.”

“Pay?” Meline said.

“I can chop wood,” Felix said, “and maybe add a room to Oak’ill, if you like.”

“Oakhill has enough rooms,” Ella said, shaking her head. “Cut and split a pound of wood for me, and I’ll count myself compensated.” She held out a hand. After a moment, Felix took it. “Now, shall we celebrate the Autumnal Equinox?”

 The smell of roasted shrimp filled the dining hall. She was shelled, and laid out on a platter with herbs and berries. Felix looked flabbergasted; Meline could see him swallowing, probably to counter his watering mouth.

Ella raised her goblet. Meline noted her tired, relieved smile.

 “Winter soon shall sally forth

From coldest waste in frigid North.

Balanced now twixt stars and sun

Remember we the Summer’s fun.

“Cherish warmth and scrumptious food,

And friends who lift the darkling mood.

Autumn’s here from west to east,

With milk and honey in jar we feast.”

 As Ella carved the shrimp and Havel served mashed potato and salad, Felix nudged Meline with his elbow. “Does ‘er lordship play Fiz Bind?”

[artbysarah98]

Part 1 An ‘unexpected’ turn

When we're young...series

Masterlist

Ella

It was late in the afternoon on a hot Wednesday in July. A young woman reached the front gate that closed off the mansion's, or actually, the school's grounds from the surrounding forest. In the distance, she could see cars passing by. Daily life continued on for people outside of her world. Going to and coming home from work or school. The woman signed as she wished that she could go outside as well, but she hasn't been allowed so in 5 years now. That young woman is Ella, Ella Young, daughter of the former headmasters of the school she attends.

Ella turned around and slid down to the ground looking at the building, remembers why she was not allowed off the ground. The school behind these gates protects people like her, especially after what happened 5 years before this day. If humanity ever found out about them, they would probably say beings like us. You see, the school Ella attends is not usual. Not everybody can get in, and there is no application from either. The board of directors invites you to the school. Or is notified by a person of high status within the community about a problem worth their attention. The choice, however, always remains with the future student.

This school is not just any school you pass by when traveling through a city like Zwolle, the Netherlands. The school is a home for vampires, werewolves, witches, and everything else in between. This is the Young Boarding School founded by Ella Young's parents. The school for supernaturals by supernaturals.

Usually, the Young Boarding School welcomes new students that they have invited or persuaded to attend. These students seek a place to learn, need a place to stay, or want to make new friends. However, today one of their students decided to leave. That student was none other than the young woman who sat at the front gate with a grim look on her face. She only left behind a single letter to announce her dropping out after she packed up her belongings later in the evening.

The Young Boarding School was founded a little over 10 years ago when Ella Young reached the age of 11. Ella was a real handful when she was little. Her parents knew that she would become harder to handle in the future, especially because she had to hide who or better said what she was after activating them. Ella's parents had a hard time keeping her in check because of this. There was no way for Ella to let out her energy outside of the comfort of her home.

The problem that occurred was that there weren't any schools for kids like Ella. Not in the area or anywhere else in the world. Before Ella's birth, there wasn't even thought of a school like that before. For generations, the kids of supernaturals followed in the footsteps of the generations before them. They always blended in with the other students attending the same school. Although there were incidents throughout history that made them more cautious. Somehow they, 9 out of 10 times, ended up being bullied for being different.

So her parents came up with an idea. This resulted in the Young Boarding School being made. A safe place for their daughter and other supernatural kids who are a handful to their parents or became a danger to their neighborhood. This made history in their community, and in the 10 years to come, the Boarding School grew in name and capacity, becoming the most renowned school by supernaturals for supernaturals.

Ella looked up at the building to take it in. The Boarding School was a neo-renaissance building located far into the forest so that humans don't accidentally end up on the campus ground. There had been incidents in the past that cost some humans their life. The building is four stories high and can shelter up to 300 students and staff. The first 6 years that Ella attended her parents Boarding School she had the time of her life. She made many friends and was one of the popular kids because she was the daughter of the Young family. Not that she minded, Ella was glad that she finally had a place to learn to control her powers and be herself.

However, 5 years ago, everything in her life changed. The death of her parents hit everybody in the face like a bomb and especially Ella and her family. Her life collapsed, and she lost everything she had. Her friends. Her family. Her dignity. Everything. Since that day, Ella has had the feeling that she didn't belong anywhere in the world, especially not the Boarding School made by her parents to protect her and fellow supernaturals from the world and the world from them. Staying at the Boarding School was a constant reminder of her parents' death and how she was the cause of it.

Ella was fed up with the whispers, stares, and the avoiding from the other students. Ella was the one and only daughter of her parents, and every supernatural you would ask, knew that Ella was the reason her parents died. Then again, her parents weren't just any members of the community they stood, or more like used to stand, at the top, even after their death.

'This is certainly a crappy way of celebrating your birthday,' thought Ella trying very hard not to let the tears flow after she made a promise to be brave, 'Why did that man have to attack during my birthday? Why am I the one being blamed for everything?' She saw some students walking by enjoying an evening around the grounds. When they locked eyes, she could see them whispering. Probably about her or the incident from 5 years ago. Afraid that she could hear them, which she did, the group hurried on out of earshot.

'There they go again. Even now, I'm still the talk of the school on their deathday,' thought Ella as she stood up and dusted the sand off her school uniform. She slowly walked back to her room, undergoing all the looks and whispers she heard along the way. Ella slammed her door shut after reaching her dorm. Throwing herself on the bed, she grabbed her old mouse plushie and hugged it close to her chest. Her eyes were becoming glassy from the tears that were welling up. 'No, I can't cry. I'll not cry,' thought Ella as she frustratingly rubbed her tears away as she sat up. She looked over to her desk on the right side of the bed and saw her laptop lying, 'I'm sorry, mom, dad, but I can't do this any longer.'

She walked over to her desk and took place on the black wooden chair. Ella opened up her laptop and started it up. She looked up to her pinboard. It had some photos of her with her so-called friends, they left her alone when she lost her parents. Some of her with her family members. The oldest one was one of her parents holding her as a baby. They looked so happy, and that was all stripped away in a few minutes.

She looked at her mom in the photo. Ella's mother, Rose Waters, barely 23 in the photograph, was the only daughter of the alpha's of the Cresent Moon werewolf pack, therefor also the next alpha in line to take over when deemed ready. However, when her mom was very young, she became an orphan during an attack on the pack by local vampires from Zwolle. This attack massacred the entire Cresent Moon pack, or at least they thought. Roses' grandmother took her away during the attack and brought her to an orphanage. Rose never was adopted and ended up in the foster system, causing her to move from foster home to foster home until she finally passed the legal adulthood age, which was 18. She left her adoptive family behind to never look back. At the age of 22, Rose met Ella's dad. They met in Rotterdam, where she ended up after leaving everything behind.

The dangerous, yet caring vibe he emitted attracted her when she entered the bar he was hanging out in. He made the first conversation as he offered her a drink. Reluctantly, Rose accepted and gradually let him into her life. His facial features were very handsome, dark blue-green eyes that held so much pain and sadness and dirty blond short hair. Rose had already noticed that something was different about him, but she couldn't quite place what it was. When she learned that he was Nik Young, the Original hybrid, she was in shock. What did he saw in her? What made him chose her when he could get any woman he wanted? This was something she could never understand, but she was glad that she, eventually, managed to conquer his heart. Rose was pushed away by him when she told him that she was pregnant with his child, Ella, but deep in her heart, she knew that he had his reasons to do so. Over time, she noticed that Nik accepted the idea of becoming a father, and they grew closer than ever. For the founding of their Boarding School, they moved back to Zwolle as the city was quieter than Rotterdam.

Ella's gaze shifted from her mom to her dad in the photo. Ella's father, Nik Young, had his arms lovingly around his wife's shoulders, looking at Ella. Although he was over 1000 years old, he looked no older than 29. That was the age he was when he became a vampire. The only difference was the stubble on his chin and cheeks. It made him look more mature. At least her mother and Ella thought so.

Nik came from a somewhat similar background only 1000 years earlier. His mother was a witch while his father was a human. Together they had him and six other children, or at least that is what they thought. One day during the full moon, Nik went with his youngest sister to see the men who could turn into wolves. These days they are called werewolves.

This event took a grim turn, his youngest sister lost her life that day. This made his mother take some very drastic measures under the demand of his father. The next night his mother was forced to turn him and his siblings into the first vampires ever through an ancient magic spell. The spell had never been performed before, so nobody knew if it was going to work, but his father still wanted to let his children become vampires. His father had become afraid that he would lose all of his children in this way. Nik knew that his mother was also scared of this, but never voiced her opinion about it.

The spell required an endless source of power, an ancient source of life, and magically spelled blood to be reborn. His mother used the power of the sun for life, an old birch tree for immortality and strength, and her own magically infused blood to allow them to be reborn.

Today they are known as the Originals, the vampires, who made the vampire community that currently exits. The difference between the Originals and normal vampires are as followed. The Originals are faster, almost immune to werewolf venom, and can only be killed by a birch stake directly in the heart. They can compel humans and other vampires to let them do whatever they want, know as mind compulsion, while nobody can control them. The downside to their turning is everything that made them vampires became their weakness. They burned in the sun, a birch wood hurt them, and above all, they craved blood, human blood.

The first murder Nik committed made his father realize what he truly is and that Nik wasn't his son. Nik was a man who could turn into a wolf during a full moon. An abomination in his fathers' eyes. This made Ella's dad the first-ever hybrid, the Original hybrid. Born a werewolf and made a vampire by magic. Nik becoming the first-ever cross-breed had consequences for the mythical community. The fact that the Originals were created already was already a taboo. Nik being both a vampire and a werewolf was in the eyes of everybody else a thing to be feared. This caused Nik to be targeted by werewolves and witches alike afraid that he would be their undoing. The Originals decided that the attacks on Nik were becoming too much. Together they decided that they would run and hide in the shadows to minimalize the attacks on Nik. This continued for 1000 years, and in those years, the Originals made many enemies, especially Nik.

A little over 1000 years later, Nik met Rose in a local bar in Rotterdam. The moment Nik saw her, he was captivated by her beauty, big light grey eyes, dark brown wavy hair that fell over her shoulders, and a lively but sad vibe that pulled him in like a magnet. He needed to know her. He sensed that she was a werewolf, and even though werewolves and vampires are natural enemies, through the long history that his siblings and he had created between the species, they were attracted to each other. The attraction between them became so strong that they had a one-night stand. This resulted in Rose getting pregnant.

In the beginning, Nik believed that Rose had slept with someone else and that it wasn't his child. Over the years, Nik had become very cautious in trusting people after being hunted for so long. The fact that Nik also had no shortage of enemies made accepting that the child growing in Rose's womb was his even harder. In the end, the other members of the Young family asked a witch to confirm whether or not the child was Nik's. After confirmation that the child in Rose's womb was his. Nik started opening up to becoming a father and the consequences of their baby being born into his family. Vampires lost their fertility once they had turned, but his werewolf side made Nik fertile. They maybe didn't love each other in the beginning, but the pregnancy brought them closer than ever. Nine months later, Ella was born into the world. A beautiful combination of them, bright blue-greyish eyes, and wavy blond hair. However, in Nik's eyes, her smile was the most beautiful as it was Rose's.

Ella's birth was deemed a miracle because nature created a loophole with her father being a hybrid. She did not inherit their werewolf genes, but also her father's vampire genes. Making her the first-ever natural-born hybrid. Being born into the Young family also got her an entire long list of enemies that her father made over the years. One of these enemies finally found out their whereabouts and wanted revenge on Nik for killing his entire family but turning him into a vampire. So he set out a revenge plan. He had two of the only birch stakes left in the world, this being the only thing that can kill an Original. Which was thought to be destroyed by the Originals to ensure they wouldn't be killed. He nearly killed everybody in the school that day, including her, were it not for her parents. They sacrificed themselves that day by shielding her from the birch stakes that were flying in her direction, either dying or turning into dust. In return, Nik had also killed the enemy by throwing a wooden stake straight in his heart. That made them heroes of the school while Ella became the lost cause of the school because she lost one of the things that made her unique as she was the reason the Boarding School's headmasters died on her birthday, making it never the same again. On top of that, she also ended up losing the rest of her family, who couldn't cope with losing their brother.

Ella tore her gaze away from that picture, not wanting to get any sadder for missing her parents. She opened her browser and saw a news page that mentioned something called 'BTS' but was too distracted to pay attention to it.

'Today is the day,' she thought, going directly to the KLM website, 'I'm finally going to leave this place.' Today marked the day of her parents' death 5 years ago and also her the day of her birthday, July 10th.

Ella thought as she clicked on the page for last-minute flights, 'This year I'm going to choose for myself. I don't see my family anymore since the events that happened 5 years ago and leaving me to rot in this place. There is nobody that will miss me. I finally saved enough money to buy a plane ticket to a place far away from here. Let's see what last-minute flights there are left to wherever in the world. As long as I don't have to see this place ever again.'

Ella searched on KLM, the Dutch Royal Airlines, for any last-minute flights available. Preferably leaving tomorrow, so that the school would have more difficulty locating her. She soon found a few trips that she found interesting. One to New York, USA. The other to Seoul, South-Korea. Both flights were around 500 euros for a one-way ticket. Ella didn't plan on returning any time soon. A little less then she had saved up for her already planned leave, so she still would have some saving money left for the first weeks at her new destination.

'Not that I will go back any time soon,' she thought. She had contemplated compelling her way on a plane before but decided against it at the risk of exposure to the entire world in case anything would go wrong.

She grabbed a euro that was lying nearby, ready to decide her fate.

'Heads New York, tails South-Korea.'

Ella threw up the coin and watched it fall landing on....tails.

'South-Korea, it is then.'

She secured her flight and paid for the ticket. The plane would depart at 10 a.m., so Ella decided that she would sleep at a place near the airport. Sneaking out at night had a smaller risk of getting caught. Ella grabbed her prepacked suitcase and left her letter on the desk. She called a cab requested to be picked up at the Young Boarding School and taking her to Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam so that she could catch her flight.

A/N - Welcome to my first ever story. I hope you liked this part. I know there isn't any K-Pop yet, but don't worry, it will come. Comments and likes are appreciated but not necessary. Only do it if you liked the first part and would like to see more.

Part 2 What the f*ck is going on?

[ulfwolf]

Albums

Albums. They were more than mere possessions. They were a projection of being. So much more than a name or an apartment.

They were who I was. They were an extension of me.

They were how I, in my own estimation, was seen and judged by others. They were how I impressed friends, the way I established my identity with girls I dated and invited to my apartment to listen to them. It was the way I established myself with the guys. As a cool one. As one to know, as one with the great albums.

Yet, they were more than that. They were what came to reflect my emotional depth, my searching psyche, my love for the beautiful. They were what I woke up to in the morning and what I went to sleep with at night. They were my entertainment as well as my guide. They were a path to follow, a garden to grow.

To me, they meant more than food, more than water, ranking up there with air as far as life goes. Possibly—and I’m not exaggerating—my record collection meant more to me than life itself.

:

I clearly remember my first record player and album. The album was West Side Story, the original cast sound track with Natalie Wood and whoever else there was (although she didn’t sing her part as I recall). I got the album at the same time I got that first record player, if record player is the right word for such a monstrosity. An eighty pound reject from someone’s (much happier for the loss of it) living room, ugly, huge and heavy. But, it was a record player, with radio, and it played.

It arrived late one afternoon in the early fall. Although the sky was overcast you could tell that the sun had just reached the horizon, and that evening was not far away. My dad pulled up through the pea gravel in our old Volvo PV wagon, and in the back, testing its fetters, fighting to get loose, this monster of a record player. My father opened the back of the car and there, eyeing me with obvious scorn, it was. Just like real-life rejects or the little-liked in the world, it held an inflated opinion of itself and it seemed to debate whether I was worthy of its exalted presence. I stared back, slightly, but not overly, intimidated. I am very, very worthy. I know that, and it’s up to you to find that out. It held its horses.

My room, which I shared with my sister, was on the second floor and the fight through narrow doorways and up narrow stairs was completely in keeping with the arrogance of the record player. Finally, though, it was installed under the western window. My monster. Mine. And with it West Side Story, also mine. My sound, my songs.

It was an almost religious experience to place the needle on that first track and hear the sound rush out and fill the room. I felt in control, I held the key to fantastic power, I could listen to it whenever I wanted, I could bathe in this music at will. It really was a personal treasure that soon grew to take on larger proportions.

I soon got a second album. It was a United Nations release featuring among others Ella Fitzgerald’s “All of Me” which just sent me. I remember playing these albums over and over, for the sheer pleasure of listening and becoming filled with the magic. But I also remember forming the first tenuous bonds with the power of possessing such magic. I owned these albums, they were mine, and by extension, so was the music they contained.

But they were more than simply mine, these albums, these tracks: they grew part of my being. A portion of me somehow seemed to seep out and into the tracks I liked, making them, as well, me in the process. And playing some of my favorite tracks for some friend or other, I felt as if I gave them a piece of me, and I felt as if, indeed, I was due some of the admiration they would express for the artist.

This feeling was embryonic at the time, but looking back I recognize it even from this distance.

Next fall we moved to another house (a brand new one, built by my father), the monstrosity in tow. I must admit I had grown to like it though. Although it had yet to make up its mind about me, it did play, even if today (so many years later) I would never allow a single one of my albums to be subjected to that five-pound tone arm (well, a pound, say). This player belonged to another era altogether. You could select 33 1/3, 45 or 78 rpm, you could stack 10 albums on top of each other, and it never even suspected that stereophonic sound had in fact been invented. All you could get out of the single speaker hiding behind the ornate grille (made from discarded curtain material no doubt) was its very own opinion of that particular piece of music, take it or leave it. But it did play, and with volume.

In this new house, I had my own room. Although the house was fairly large my room was minuscule, a large cupboard with heating and a window. Four pieces of furniture: a bed, a desk, a chair and the monster. Then came Christmas and with it the album to turn my life around—the true forefather of all future record collections, The Beatles’ “With The Beatles.” On the Odeon label (this did take place in Sweden mind you).

For some time thereafter the entire universe consisted of me, the monster, and “With The Beatles.” And we spent a lot of time together, several times a day tracking the whole album from “It won’t be long” through to “Money”. This was now the album of my life, it was the only thing in my life, soul sustenance that it was. I played it to distraction, and eventually started yearning for more. The problem was, however, I just could not afford more albums; in Sweden, they were 5 dollars an album even then—a huge sum almost 45 years ago, especially if you had no income—and my album collection remained, primarily, “With the Beatles,” “West Side Story,” and the UN Album.

But it seems I could afford singles, and they started, if not exactly to roll, at least to trickle in. More Beatles, “From Me To You,” “Twist And Shout.”

The Zombies, “She’s Not There.” The Hollies, “Just One Look” and “Here I Go Again.” “I Believe” by the Bachelors (that’s a great one for you, how I loved that song). By now the collection, incipient though it was, began to take on its own life, an emerging presence which I readily adopted as a potentially valuable ally.

As I had sensed from the very beginning: there was survival value in this stuff: I would choose and play a record for someone and that would make a difference in how they then thought of or viewed me. It was a sure way to show and communicate who I was (for the music I knew about, liked, and played said much about me) and a way to impress. All I had to do was to discover the best sounding and potentially most popular records (which discovery had to be made before the man—or boy or girl—in the street made the same discovery), somehow obtain these finds, share them with others, and behold: it reflected well on me and it grew my “hip” reputation.

I had found my mission.

One such discovery—marginally before it became a hit—was “You Really Got Me” by the Kinks. I remember it as if it was yesterday, ushering my soon-to-be girlfriend into the record store to see if they in fact did have it. And, low and behold, they did.

In those days, you could sample records before you bought them (I sampled a lot). Just ask the sales clerk, then pick up a set of earphones, actually, two single earphones, one in each hand, and “sample” away. We sampled “You Really Got Me,” her and I, several times, and for me it was ever after our signature song. And as we listened the record said what I wanted to say. Not by implying or explicitly meaning what the lyrics said, but by meaning and imparting the great impression that the record as a record, as a song, regardless of its lyrics, conveyed to her.

And it was me communicating through the record (responsible, as I was, for her now hearing it) this great, great feeling of a wonderful song, and she listen and smiled and laughed and confirmed that the great feeling did indeed come from me, my gift to her.

In that record store that day, I shared my discovery, and by extension I shared myself, with her, and we became, if not lovers (we were, or at least I was, too young), at least steady-ish dates.

I was becoming the music I discovered.

Some singles went on the road with me. I would bring my new-found treasures with me to parties—if you could call them that—and I’d be the DJ of the one or two singles I brought. Power, here was power. Unimagined, hitherto un-conceived power.

But what parties. We were puppies barely catching the scent of puberty, while completely lost in whatever it was life was supposedly about, stumbling about and tripping over our own ears in a comedy of tentative emotions and feeble explorations. And I remember, at the pinnacle of my valiant foray into the mystic realm of sexual promise, how I actually sat in one sofa for one hour holding girl’s one hand gazing at one spot on one wall without one single word passing my lips or a single glance at the girl. Sexual abandon, but we were puppies, and puppies grow up eventually, as did this one. But this one was sure to bring his two singles, or was it one, with him back home.

:

The Beatles soon gave way to the full onslaught of the British invasion. The Animals, “House of the Rising Sun” was huge. The Nashville Teens, The Swinging Blue Jeans, The Merceybeats, Freddie and the Dreamers, Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders (which eventually spawned 10cc), the Moody Blues, P. J. Proby (anybody ever heard of him?), Heinz (“Just Like Eddie”), Brian Poole and the Tremeloes, Dave Clarke Five, Dusty Springfield, Petula Clarke (“Downtown”—what a great song), barefoot Sandie Shaw (“Girl Don’t Come”), Lulu with her cover version of “Shout,” the Searchers, of course, “Needles and Pins-a,” the Rolling Stones goes without saying, and more and more Beatles, the list goes on, seemingly endlessly. It was a musical cutting edge and I stayed on it.

It was a glorious wave, and I surfed it.

During the first recess of every Tuesday morning I ran down to the railway station’s newspaper kiosk to pick up the new copy of New Musical Express, or Melody Maker, or sometimes even Fab, the magazine—all imported from England. I read these avidly, picking up new groups, learning about new records being cut or released, immersing myself in the movement, rushing forward on this wave.

By now I associated myself almost entirely with music and had successfully managed to have others make the same connection.

I was music.

Fittingly, I also came to write a music column in a local paper, reviewing the English Top Twenty in each Monday’s paper, having barely managed to make the list out over Radio Luxembourg the previous midnight—a project and a sensation worthy of its own complete story. Yes, I was my music and I was the reigning guardian of hip.

And my hair grew. At first the attempt was to look like an original Beatle—lacking any real personal identity I garbed the most successful one around and wrapped it closely around me, hair and all, but it kept growing, and just when I was about to cut it to re-conform it to the Beatle model, I discovered that the Beatles had let their hair grow longer as well.

There was an odd metamorphosis of this boy from 9th grade to the 10th. 9th saw him exit with straight As, top of the class, albeit a music fanatic. The magnificent entrance to the 10th starred hair to the shoulders, head in the clouds and someone completely immersed in the success of being others, being albums and singles.

The monster (the old, gigantic record player, remember?) was more or less outgrown by now. It played my singles okay, but I don’t think I ever did get another real album for it to ruin. And it was time to move on. With insufficient cash to purchase a real stereo system, but with friends who had both the systems and the albums, the logical choice became a tape recorder. Reel to reel at that time, cassettes had not been invented yet. It was a Phillips, made in Holland. Mono.

My mother got it for me when I was around 16. 7½ inch reels, a fairly large thing, but it recorded well, at least by the standards of the day. I lugged it with me to friends’ houses and managed to record the entire Beatles catalog (at that time not so formidable) along with other semi deities. Other music still came off the radio, like Dave Berry’s “Little Things,” the Ivy League’s “Tossing and Turning,” and Kinks’ “All Day and All of the Night.” I kept listening, and recording, and writing for the local paper, and I got myself a shirt with frills down the front buttons, like the Merceybeats, and claimed the center of attention, albeit due to notoriety rather than fame.

Life, at this point, all life, centered around music. School was fading fast, in fact I flunked my first math test, after having had the highest grade in the class going in. Will the real Mr. Hyde please step forward and take a bow?

Then, “in the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty,” Donovan arrived in Sweden, and on his heels, if not simultaneously, Dylan. Together they struck a deeper chord yet. Both personally—for they did touch me profoundly, although I was as yet not wholly aware of this—and opportunistically, because it seems the man on the street had just about caught up with the British Invasion by now, and here was new, unchartered as yet, territory where I could be very mysterious, hip and apart from (read, above) the street-man.

Before long I had Dylan’s complete recordings copied on tape, and that, for several months, was virtually all I would listen to, all through the much-too-light for sleep northern Swedish summer nights.

I don’t think I understood too much of what he said; Dylan spoke much too much and much too fast for my high school English, but he still spoke to me, or so I imagined. And, at that time, being “extremely into” Dylan, was cool beyond cool. I reigned supreme in my little 10,000 population one main street home town on the Baltic, again at least from where I saw things. I was into Dylan, and looking back, nothing else really took place at that time, that is what I was doing. The rest of the world was simply part of my involuntary anatomy, rubbing elbows with lungs and kidneys. I didn’t pay it too much attention.

And then, early one summer evening, I heard the Byrds’ version of “Mr. Tambourine Man” (one of the best songs I had heard up to that point), followed by more Dylan, and then by more Byrds, and then this kid left his little 10,000 population one main street home town on the Baltic for the much larger Swedish capital, still on Baltic, where I arrived as one of Stockholm’s first long-haired boys, turning heads wherever I went—is it a boy or a girl?—it’s a crying shame, and what is the world coming to trailing me like a taffrail log which in my view was just fine. I wanted to stand out, I wanted to be set apart, I reveled in it, me and my Dylan collection.

These early days in Stockholm saw me without my records or tape recorder though. I moved around a bit too much to carry them around, so my physical appearance had to take up the slack, which it did.

It and a guitar I had recently acquired and learnt how to play “House of the Rising Sun” and “Catch the Wind” on.

This, by the way, was how I found somewhere to live after having been thrown out of my mother’s cousin’s apartment for drinking his wine and not cleaning the apartment completely up to their antiseptic standards after the parties I invited the neighborhood to in their absence. He and his wife complained to my mother about wine stains on the carpets and floors, and did not want me there anymore. They gave me one week to vacate. The first six days passed in unconcerned Dylanesque bliss, on the seventh day I played “Catch the Wind” for the girl in the army like parka and told her, quite truthfully as it happened, that I had nowhere to live, which is just about as romantic as things could get those days, and the next day I moved into her parents’ attic room in a southern suburb (cold as hell, that winter, but I did had somewhere to live).

Then there was Sonny and Cher, and the Righteous Brothers, and I used to play Sonny and Cher 45 rpm singles at 33 1/3 rpm and they sounded exactly like the Righteous Brothers, and I imagine they still do at that speed. And there was the Who and “My Generation,” and the following summer, Jimi Hendrix with “Hey Joe,” and I moved back into town, accompanied by Dylan’s “Blonde on Blonde” and Joan Baez.

I held down jobs of some sort, and I guess I spent some time at these places of employment, but what I did was more Dylan, more Byrds, and more Donovan.

I managed to get thrown out of another—sublet—apartment for a wild party, but soon found myself in my own one room apartment on the ground floor in the center of town, with the greatest phone number you’ll ever run across, 444-223 (it made me and my apartment the logical, if not the only choice, for late parties when my friends were roaming the streets, looking for things to do and places to go while stoned beyond remembering anything much—except 444-223); a single bed, and a portable mono record player. My record collection started again, from scratch.

My new first record was “Mr. Tambourine Man,” the album.

Picture this: There was me, the bed, the empty, empty room, the high ceiling, the two windows, the Byrds and the light Swedish summer night again. I’m not sure how anything else got done those days.

The rent was $15 a month. I could have scraped by on money my mother used to send me, but I did have a job. I must have, because my portable record player became a stereo (so I must have shown up regularly at work), and my album collection grew. Loving Spoonful, Bee Gees (the original, pre-disco Bee Gees), Cream, more Byrds, Percy Sledge (“When a Man Love a Woman”), Jim Hendrix, and my first taste of the classical, Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” Karl Richter on Deutsche Gramophone along with an album featuring Handel’s Water Music arranged for strings, weird actually, but it reached me.

My little apartment became a regular hangout for music appreciation. Not so much a novelty and expert and an outcast by this time, the world had caught up in those respects, but music had now become food in its own right, I listened to it like you would breathe. I osmosed my albums.

Especially the Doors’ first two albums, and, still my favorite sixties band, Country Joe & the Fish. Over and over again, they spoke to me. Then there was Pink Floyd, “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn”—recently released in its 40th anniversary edition.

As an aside, me and a friend set out one night to see Pink Floyd live at the Golden Circle Café in Stockholm, but (even though we set out quite early) we just never made it all the way there before the show was over. Talk about side-tracked. What nights!

And there was Sgt. Pepper, and Procol Harum’s “Whiter Shade of Pale” (still, in my mind, the best song ever recorded) and “Regent Walpurgis,” the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, the Touch (anybody remember them?), the Fugs, and West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band (anyone remember them?), and Van Morrison’s Blowing your Mind on Bang Records and the first Mothers of Invention Freak Out album.

They all found a loving and very sympathetic home in this one small and very cold in the winter with no central heating inside and 20 below outside apartment.

And then there was Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant which I learned by heart. Actually, I learned this almost purely by sound, for I only knew the meaning of half the words, if that. Then I would go down to the pub Sturehof and mingle with the Americans on extended visits to a draft dodging friendly Sweden and recite the whole thing for a couple of beers. Yes, the whole 20 minutes of it, I actually could do it, and they would laugh, and laugh, mostly at places where I had no idea about the meaning or the joke, I mean I didn’t know what Thanksgiving was, to start with, and it only got worse from there.

So, they would buy me another beer and plead with me to do it over again, and drunk on draft and all this attention I would gladly oblige and I put the needle on the outside track, got the record up to speed again, and off I went. Until they closed the pub for the night, to return next evening for more.

A bit of classical did leak through the rock and roll universe. One winter night I listened to Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and for some reason I was completely enraptured by it. The images evoked by this incredible piece of music in the freezing cold of this winter’s night found their way into a long prose poem, touching me deeply all the way. I felt that Bach wrote for me, and maybe only for me, as my cold and inky fingers scrawled as the images grew. I felt I understood. I went to sleep that night knowing that I had discovered something, albeit uncertain of precisely what.

The months flew by at this point. Country Joe & the Fish was a mainstay, Sgt. Pepper a lot, and more Byrds, “Fifth Dimension,” “Younger than Yesterday” and “The Notorious Byrd Brothers,” still three of my favorite albums of all-time, were with me continually.

I left Stockholm that winter for a town further south, bringing only some of my albums (I kept my Stockholm apartment and the rest of my albums in it). Joining me were Country Joe’s “I Feel Like I’m Fixing to Die” and the three Byrds albums. That was it.

I grew to love Country Joe through that winter and spring, along with her.

Yes, I had found a girlfriend and was incredibly, incredibly in love, a feeling intertwined with writing poetry, reading Baudelaire and listening to Country Joe to form a fantastic world of emotion, sounds and images. I was truly crazy then and very, very happy.

It lasted a few months, for although we were actually engaged to marry, she had to take a previously arranged trip to England with a friend of hers, and I was left stranded, and lonelier than I have ever been in my life. I hung around this town for two months that seemed an eternity, then hit the road hitch hiking further south. Finally got just about as far south as you can get in Sweden without running into Denmark, and settled there for the summer.

Sans records again, I used to listen to classical music in the library, and I was also introduced to Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos by a newly divorced city clerk who took me under his wing. I am grateful to him for that, there are still few pieces of music that bring so much pleasure for me, and I always recall that little house by the water where I first heard them.

Had to get a job though, out of money and nowhere to live, and found one as a summer nurse at a resting home. Sedate, but it provided living quarters and food, and a friend who introduced me to the Incredible String Band, a Scottish duo that were aptly named and, in a word, incredible.

I brought Donovan’s “Hurdy-Gurdy Man” and he played the String Band’s “The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter” on his great stereo system. And here I ran smack into incredible lyrics along with what I deemed fantastic music.

I had taken lyrics to heart before, and learned them and sang them and, quite often meant them, having them reflect my feelings and hopes, but here, these lyrics addressed so much more than being in love, or being lonely, or being lonely in love, etc., they reached for and found the spirit in me and struck chords that I didn’t know I could play. The rest of that summer I lived for and with the Incredible String Band. Fall came, and with it the return of my wayward girlfriend. We were reunited and moved up north. I brought my String Band records, and not much more.

As it happened we did not marry, and I eventually moved away, into the world, finding Sweden too much of a small town on welfare for my liking, leaving my records behind. Much have happened since.

I eventually settled in Southern California for a quarter of a century, before I moved up to northern Idaho (it’s very Swedish up there) for three years, then back to LA for two, and finally up to the northern California Pacific coast (just a stone’s throw south of the Oregon border), and I have rebuilt my album collections many times over, first on cassettes, then on albums, then on CDs, and now as mp3s.

I have found all my old records and I’ve fallen deeply in love with classical, especially Bach, Handel and, lately, Haydn. But I still listen to Country Joe and the Byrds, and the others. And it is still with my music where I live the most and the fullest.

Music touched me early, stole my heart, and never gave it back.

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