#because he's gotten older and sober and wiser but that's still him. the boy is him. he can gripe all he wants; he can't disown himself.

[coweringnarcissus]

hey has anyone drawn fanart of the slip (nine inch nails) album cover with daniel yet. has this been done. has someone done this. can you direct me to the person who has done this (album cover attached below).

[ghostgorlsworld]

Johnny Boy (part six)

Werewolf! Johnny x reader

part one is here

Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.

Guys I cannot stress this enough, there is SMUT in this chapter. There is also dubious consent because of alcohol, as well as dark!Johnny being dark. He's not a good guy in this story and he's not all the way human, so his morals are WAY off--also I don't write smut very often so pls tell me if it was bad.

A bottle of wine later and you were feeling much better about the situation. After all, you weren’t sure you even wanted to kiss Charlie–he dressed like a frumpy old man and had weekly dinners with his grandmother. 

Before he was a slag, those qualities were endearing, like a stray dog with an ear flopped over. Now, they were just…unappetizing.

Not like Johnny, ridiculous mohawk or no. 

You uncorked another bottle of the expensive wine Tom had gotten you for Christmas and poured yourself another hefty glass, Pride and Prejudice 2005 keeping you company on the telly. 

It was nine o’clock. You texted Tom to make sure he had Emma in bed, just a touch too tipsy to see the keys properly.

Yes, she’s asleep, are you drunk??

You smiled to yourself. No.

Did you get stood up again?

You sniffled. Fuck off. 

You forced yourself away from the phone, focusing back on Mr. Darcy and the infamous hand scene. 

You found yourself thinking about Johnny again. The first time he kissed you was a little fuzzy, but you could remember the hand gripping your chin, the fingers digging into your skin. 

It had been like he had wanted to devour you, and you were just happy to be devoured. 

It was half-way through the glass when a knock came to the door.

It was probably Charlie, with his tail between his legs. You sighed, pausing the telly as you wobbled to your feet.

“What?” You snapped, ripping the door open.

“Nice pajamas, kitty.”

Johnny stood on your doorstep once again, carrying a takeout box that smelled suspiciously like your favorite pizza and garlic knots. He smiled, so blue-eyed and pretty it physically made you want to cry.

“What do you want?” You sighed, steadying yourself against the wall. “Can’t a girl wallow in peace?” “Ah, did I interrupt a pity party, kitty?” Johnny teased, inviting himself in. “Perfect. I brought ye dinner.”

“Johnny,” you said, your voice pitching close to a whine. 

He stilled, looking at you. His hand came up, pinching your chin like he used to. “You havnae called me Johnny in a very long time.” The rawness of his voice broke you down into someone you used to be, someone that loved him. You leaned into the warmth of his palm, unable to stop yourself. “You were gone, Johnny. I missed you.” Johnny’s fingers tightened on your jaw, his mouth twisting to the side. His eyes flickered to the table, where the empty bottle sat. “You’re shit-faced, kitty.” You nodded, his thumb sliding up to brush against your bottom lip. “M’a light weight now. Motherhood means bein’ responsible, and no drinkin’.” “It looks good on ye,” Johnny said, finally dropping his hand.

“What, the alcohol?”

“Bein’ a mother. I used to think about it sometimes, what you were doing–if you were with anyone, if you had any pups yet.” Johnny turned, busying himself with the pizza. “When they let me reach out to Tom, I think the first words out me mouth were about you.” That surprised you. “He never told me about that.” “Mmm,” Johnny rumbled. “He’s a good brother. He told me you were happy, and that you weren’t alone. That was it, no matter how much I asked.” He put a slice on a plate and gave it to you. “Now sit, kitty. I need you to sober up a bit.” You obeyed, taking a bite as you sat before him. “I stopped trying to find you after her third birthday. I just figured that you would be better off not knowing, you know, I could finally move on.” The alcohol had dampened the anger in your chest, you felt…open. Open to talking about it. Bleeding the poison from the wound.

Johnny slid a hand into his pocket, pulling out a very worn, very tattered picture of-

You. It was you six years ago, Johnny’s arm around your shoulder as you laughed.“Carried it w’me all over the world, kitty.” That contradicted everything. “But why? You don’t…” you trailed off, the wine haze falling away with your shock. 

“Why do you think I left, lass?” Johnny asked, his eyes reflecting the glare of the dim kitchen lights. “Did you ever ask yourself why the fuck I didn’t call you or why I never responded to your letters?” This was confusing. You frowned. “Of course I did. I just figured you…you grew out of me. You found your family with people more like you.” Johnny reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of papers, neatly gathered by a rubber band. 

They were letters. Your letters, the ones you had sent when he left the first time, the pages yellowed and crumpled with use, as if they were read often. 

“I kept ‘em, every last one,” Johnny trailed a hand over the paper, gently as if they were something precious. “Does it look like I forgot you?” “Sure felt like it,” you said, but the venom was gone. 

“Some of them still smelled like you. The lads  thought I’d lost me mind, reading the same fucking letters every night after missions.”

“Johnny,” you said. “Johnny this doesn’t make any sense, I thought…I thought you came for Emma.” “I dinnae know she even existed, kitty, I thought I was doing the right thing, staying a world away from you.” “But why? You-you broke my heart, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me or Tommy.” Within a blink, Johnny was kneeling before you, his hands on your knees as his eyes bored into yours. You felt a chill, a whisper of fight or flight pricking your neck at his predatory stare.

“It wasn’t right, what I felt for the little girl I taught how to ride a bike, kitty,” he whispered. “I left because you were sixteen and I shouldn't have been thinking the things I was thinking. It’s different for wolves, see, we…we know when someone is right for us, we can smell it, and it’s hard to fight instinct, kitty, it’s who we are.” “But I loved you enough to think about your future. I wanted you to have a life without me standin’ over your shoulder, I wanted to give you time to choose what you wanted.” “I wanted you,” you said honestly, reeling from his words. “I know, kitty, but that didn’t make it right. I came back a few years later thinkin’ maybe things would be different, that maybe I could control myself but…I couldn’t stand bein’ in a fuckin’ room with you. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, so I signed for another contract, this one different from the others. They would take me away from you, and in return I could hunt, I could be me, the real me, for the first time in me life–because if I was myself around you, you wouldn’t like it very much, bonnie.” He nuzzled into your neck, breathing in deep. “Then suddenly you were there, the night before I was s’posed to leave, and you were fuckin’ sloshed and gorgeous and everything I couldn’t have.” You remembered that night fuzzily. It hadn’t taken much, just a smile pointed his way and your clumsy kiss on his cheek then suddenly he was pulling you away from the bar, shoving his tongue down your throat in the dark back alley. He had tasted like beer and whiskey and Johnny. You had never wanted him more.

Your eyes welled up. You looked away, blinking furiously. “Johnny,” you sighed. “I can’t. I spent six years being so unbelievably hurt, you can’t fix it in a night.” He kissed your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin. “I know, kitty, I’ll spent the rest of our fuckin’ life making it right. Everything I ever wanted with you happened while I wasn’t here, I’ll never let you go now.” You tried to push him away, but Johnny was a big lad, his hands sliding to your hips to clutch you closer. He licked away the tears on your cheek with a hum, just like Emma always tried to do. 

“I’m not yours,” you said, your voice holding zero conviction. “You left.”

But Johnny wasn’t paying attention, his face in your hair. “You smell like the mother of my baby, ” he said roughly, inhaling. “When Tom told me you were with someone two years ago, I lost control for the first time in a fucking decade. Bit a head off or two, imaginin’ they were him, this bastard you allowed in my place.” His teeth nipped at your collar, already longer and sharper than they had been a moment before. 

“John,” you said, pushing at his chest. “What are you doing?”

Johnny pulled away, his eyes sparkling. “C’mon, kitty cat, we both know how pent-up ya are,” he went in for a kiss but you turned your head, his mouth landing on your chin. It didn’t stop him though, his tongue laving a line from your chin to the corner of your mouth. “Please, kitty, lemme help,” Johnny panted, his breath hot and sticky against your skin. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You had forgotten how gross he was sometimes, how he liked to lick and bite, even when you play-fought as kids. It turned you on more than anything, white-hot liquid pooling in your belly as the musky taste of his hormones filled the air.

You let him kiss you. Johnny made a noise, a mix between a growl and a whine as he got to work ruining your mouth. It wasn’t a good kiss–but it was so Johnny, messy and wild and slightly painful, his teeth catching on your bottom lip just so he could lick the pinpricks of blood away. 

“Missed ya, kitty cat,” he said, forcing you to look in his eyes while he swiped his tongue back into your throat. “All I had was a picture and letters, but I could get off just from you writing that you missed me, just from your smell lingering on the fucking paper.” You made a surprised noise in the back of your throat, the wine causing you to shift in your seat, feeling the heat of your arousal soak through your underwear.

Johnny inhaled deeply, shoving his head between your legs before you could pull away. He bit you through your pajama pants playfully, his teeth digging into the soft meat of your thigh. 

You yelped and he laughed, a harsh, gritty noise that made you shiver. “Johnny,” you whined, pushing at his head. 

“Johnny,” he mimicked, grinning as he nipped at your fingers. The glint in his eye reminded you of simpler days, when he was just lazy-eyed Johnny that made you laugh. 

“This is such a bad idea,” you said weakly. Your head was spinning, dizzy with alcohol and desire.

“You can hate me tomorrow, bonnie,” he said fondly, kissing your knee as he slid your pajama pants down your hips. 

And you allowed it. You let him shuck your pants, you let him paste sticky kisses to your underwear line, his penchant for dirty talk that you barely remembered coming in full swing as he swiped a callused finger through your slick.

“My poor girl,” Johnny cooed, sinking his teeth into your thigh as if to control himself. “I tried to be good, kitty, I tried so, so fuckin’ hard–I was gonnae take my time, win ya over, wait until you were fuckin’ gaggin’ for it, but I’m just  not that man anymore.” You slid your hand through his hair, just like you used to, that old love squeezing your heart so hard you thought it might burst. It was soft and thick, your nails scraping against his scalp. 

The simple act of affection pushed him over the edge. He had his mouth on you in an instant, the lacy edges of your underwear drifting to the floor in shreds. 

Your whine was caught in your throat when Johnny gripped your hips with sharpened nails, dragging you closer to himself with a ripple of power.

Johnny didn’t look like Johnny anymore. The humor drained from his gaze as he looked up at you, the blue sharpening into something cruel, something like a killer.

Something like a wolf. 

You looked away as he licked a line from back to front, pleasure shuddering up your spine. God it had been so long-

“Oh, no, bonnie,” Johnny panted, the sharp drag of his nails painful against your hips. “Eyes down here. Don’t ever fuckin’ look away.” His hand grabbed your chin, pulling your attention back to him. “Watch,” he said, his tone deadly soft. 

Johnny had always known how to embarrass you, how to make you squirm. He licked and sucked, dipping his tongue inside of you just to tease, just to make you yelp and blush. 

It felt like hours. You would make a soft noise and he would slide another finger inside of you just to make you squeal, the stretch making your jaw drop. 

“She’s cryin’ for it, eh, kitty?” Johnny whispered, flexing his hand. “She was fuckin’ waiting for me.” You come embarrassingly quick, gripping his hair and squirming as you cream into his mouth. He continues licking you far past the trembling aftershocks, cleaning up his mess like a good dog.

“Too much, too much,” you hissed, wriggling away from his needful mouth. 

Johnny fucking laughed at you, his mouth slick and his eyes so hazy he looked as drunk as you felt. “I’ve been thinkin’ about the way ya taste for so long I thought I dreamed it.” He looked younger for a moment, the scars disappearing, the stray gray hairs in his mohawk fading to brown. Suddenly, you couldn’t stand to look at him, the heat cooling on your skin. 

“Johnny,” you said, choking on your words. You couldn’t help the tears pricking your eyes, a stray tear falling down your cheek. 

“Shh, bonnie,” Johnny brought you in his arms, guiding your head into the space between his shoulder and neck with his wide palm. “You’re all tuckered out, hmm? I’m sorry, kitty, I didn’t mean ta push you so far…” He whispered in your ear while he carried you to bed, his accent twisting and turning the words into Scottish gibberish. You nodded sleepily against his shoulder, already half-convincing yourself that this was a dream as he tucked you in bed like a little girl.

“Night, bonnie,” Johnny whispered, pressing a scratchy kiss to your forehead. 

You mumbled something incoherent, tucking your pillow over your head.

[sachigram]

With Teeth Chapter 4

((click here to read on ao3!))

The next few days pass by normally for Shizuo. He's been making more of an effort to be social, doesn't want to make his friends feel left out of his life. He could see how it hurt them before when he pushed them away. As a result, he has more things to do, and he feels better than he has in ages.

Tonight, he's sitting across from Tom, next to Vorona. They're all having drinks to celebrate a successful week at work, and Shizuo is looking forward to the weekend. He doesn't have any plans on his off days, but he likes not having to worry about tracking down some low-life, even if he's only free of it two days a week.

“Any plans this weekend?” Tom asks them both. He's flushed, clearly tipsy already. Shizuo has a high tolerance, and he's pretty sure Vorona does too, because she's drinking faster than either of them, and she seems perfectly sober.

“Negative,” Vorona replies while Shizuo merely shakes his head. “I may go to the bookstore tomorrow.”

“Your checks all go to books,” Tom says. “You should live a little.”

“To acquire knowledge is life's goal.”

Tom looks from her to Shizuo and raises his eyebrows. Immediately, Shizuo feels like Tom is about to do something stupid.

“Why don't the two of you hang out together? Since neither of you have plans.” Tom sips his drink, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. Shizuo's blood boils.

“I—“ he starts, but is interrupted when Vorona speaks.

“That would be nice.”

“Huh?” Shizuo asks, turning to face her. She's looking at him with her usual indifferent gaze, not the least bit affronted by the idea.

“If it would be agreeable for Shizuo-senpai, I see no reason we cannot meet tomorrow,” Vorona says, and she tosses back the rest of her drink. It's straight gin, no mixer, no rocks, but she doesn't even flinch. Just the smell of it has been burning Shizuo's nose.

“Oh, um. If you want to,” Shizuo says, unsure of what's even happening.

“So it's a date then,” Tom announces, and he goes to get them all more drinks.

***

“You shouldn't have done that,” Shizuo grumbles later, after Vorona has split away from them to go catch her train. “You made her feel like she had to agree.”

“Shizuo, come on, man. How do you miss the way she looks at you? She's had a thing for you since she started working with us.” Tom is stumbling a bit as he walks, and Shizuo considers letting him face-plant if he falls.

“She does not. And even if she did, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

Tom looks up at Shizuo, giving him such an incredulous look that it's almost reminisce of the way the flea looks at him.

“What are you supposed to do about it?” Tom repeats, and then he laughs. “Oh, my god. You're killing me.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. I'm not someone that anyone should have a thing for. I'm dangerous, and it's only gotten worse.” Shizuo looks up at the sky, sees the lights of airplanes flying overhead. “I don't want to hurt her.”

“You don't hurt people who don't deserve it,” Tom replies, and Shizuo thinks of that strange dream he had before, the one where Izaya was there, seeing his worst memory. “Give yourself some credit, would you? Have fun. Try to be happy.”

“I am trying. This is a bad idea.”

“Well, too late now. If you stand her up, you really will be an asshole,” Tom says, and then he falls on his face. Shizuo makes no move to help him up.

Shizuo doesn't sleep that night. He's too anxious about his “date” with Vorona, has no idea what they'll do or what they'll talk about. He's tried before to think of himself as the kind of guy who would be lucky enough to have a pretty girl on his arm, but it's always too much of a fantasy, something unattainable and pointless to hope for. Vorona is strong, and she's seen him fight, knows what he's capable of, but it's different to behold someone dangerous from the sidelines and then up close, when it's turned on you. He imagines her look of indifference changing to real fear when he lunges at her, and he doesn't realize until he's waking up that he actually managed to slip into unconsciousness.

“Fuck.” He gets up from the bed, moving to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He's terrified of what will come, of what he is. More than anything, he's sick of being so terrified. His reflection is older, maybe wiser, but all Shizuo can see is that same snotty kid who hurt someone he wanted to protect once.

***

He meets Vorona at the train station. She's dressed the same as she always is, and he's grateful she didn't do anything different in her routine for his sake. She lifts a hand in greeting, studying his face.

“You appear tired,” she says.

“Yeah. Didn't sleep well last night. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. Perhaps we could get coffee first, both wake up a little more.”

As it turns out, following Vorona around isn't too different from trailing after Tom. She doesn't talk nearly as much, but she doesn't seem to mind taking the lead, and she doesn't take his silence as disinterest. They wind up going to the bookstore Vorona mentioned, grabbing coffee from a little kiosk outside before wandering the aisles. Vorona picks up a book every now and then, explains it to Shizuo in a way he can understand without being pretentious about it, and he finds that he's actually enjoying himself.

After Vorona purchases some new books, they make their way down the street to a restaurant she says she's been wanting to try. This is the part Shizuo was worried about, having to sit alone with her and have her realize he's got absolutely nothing interesting to say, but they manage to keep the conversation going. It's easier than Shizuo expected, and he finds himself thinking he should thank Tom later for setting this up.

“You seem happier than before,” Vorona says when they're walking out of the restaurant. “You were so quiet for so long.”

Shizuo opens his mouth to ask what she means, but he thinks he knows. He was feeling sorry for himself after the bite, wanted to keep everyone out, pushed them away. He is happier now than he was then, but he's still a coward, and he's still scared of anyone learning his secret.

“I'm better now,” he says, feeling that it's true.

“I am very glad,” she replies, and she gives him a rare smile.

That night, as Shizuo walks home after escorting Vorona to the train station, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Yo,” he says, picking up the call.

“How did it go?”  Tom asks.

“It was...nice,” Shizuo says. He can practically feel Tom's frustrations through the phone.

“Nice? That's not telling me anything!”

“We had a good time. It was much better than I thought it would be.”

“I guess that's all I'm going to get from you. Either way, I'm glad. I think you'll both be good for each other.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo replies. For the first time in his life, he can picture a girl on his arm. “Me too.”

***

The days that follow are slow, but enjoyable. Shizuo goes to work, hangs out with Tom and Vorona, makes plans to spend time with Vorona again on the upcoming weekend. He's almost able to forget all about his ailment, and the bullshit alliance he has with Izaya, who has been silent since storming out of his place the morning after the full moon. Shizuo will have to see him soon so he can stock back up on his potion, and he's not looking forward to it. Part of him worries what Izaya might do if he learns Shizuo is dating Vorona. Izaya wants to ruin every good thing in Shizuo's life. There's no way he wouldn't interfere.

Still, Shizuo is enjoying his period of peace. He's able to sidestep his involuntary entanglement with the other world, with Izaya. He's enjoying feeling like himself again, whoever that may be.

Friday night, before his date with Vorona on Saturday, he's able to find sleep easily, but it doesn't feel like sleeping. He closes his eyes in his room, opens them somewhere else. He hears the sounds of crying, of screaming, and while he should move away from it, he finds himself moving closer. There's a familiar scene before him, one of himself standing in front of a small boy cowering in a corner while two toddlers scream in their cribs. It feels like he's been here before, but he can't place why, not until the small boy looks up at him.

“Izaya,” Shizuo breathes. He doesn't know his own age here, but he can see how small Izaya is, how scared. It's unsettling. Shizuo has never seen fear on Izaya's face before.

“Who are you?” Izaya asks him, looking up at him with wonder.

“You don't know me?” Shizuo asks in disbelief. Izaya has his webs of deceit stretched over everything, over everyone, so time and space probably mean nothing to him either. But when Izaya shakes his head, Shizuo finds he instantly believes him.

“Am I dreaming?” Izaya looks around. “Are you a vision? You're not a ghost, right?”

“No,” Shizuo says. “I'm dreaming. I don't know what the fuck you're doing. You're a witch, right? You've gotta be the one doing something.”

Izaya flinches at the word “witch”, and he looks nervously around himself before looking back up at Shizuo.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Shizuo snaps, and Izaya flinches even more. Shizuo feels concern for the kid in front of him, even knowing who he is, or at least who he'll grow up to be. Is this real? It's not real; it can't be real. It's a dream, one of those lucid dreams he's heard about. He'll ask Shinra about it later.

“Your mind is loud,” Izaya says, and he stands up, padding across the floor to stand in front of Shizuo. How is the flea so tall? He's a small kid, can't be more than twelve if the twins are still toddlers, but Shizuo is looking in Izaya's eyes. Izaya snorts, amused. “I'm not tall. You're the same height as me.”

Shizuo looks down at himself, realizes he's a kid here, too, but with all his memories of the future. He looks back at Izaya, dubious of him, and the amusement drains from Izaya's face.

“You really don't like me,” Izaya says, and he fidgets.

“You ruined my life,” Shizuo spits. “Or you will, anyway.”

“Oh.” Izaya's voice is small. “I've sensed terrible things to come in the future. Things for myself, especially, but I don't know how to stop any of it. I don't think it can be stopped.”

“The future is shitty already, but you make it worse. You enjoy making people suffer. The Izaya I know is—“ Shizuo stops himself, realizes he was yelling. Izaya seems terrified of him, but also curious, his eyes shining even in the darkness of the room.

“You're the realest vision I've ever had,” Izaya says. “I hope I remember you. I forget them sometimes when they're over.” The lights of the room begin flickering on and off, and Izaya puts his hands over his ears. “Go away!” he shouts towards the corner of the room.

“What's happening? Who's doing this?” Shizuo asks, feeling like he should protect this child version of his greatest enemy. The Izaya before him is just a kid, and Shizuo doesn't know how or why, but he can feel how incredibly lonely Izaya is.

“A ghost,” Izaya replies, and he narrows his eyes at Shizuo as if daring him to argue. “I see them all the time, and they want me to help them, but I don't know how. They won't listen to me when I say that.”

“Where are your parents?”

Izaya shrugs, and Shizuo feels rage boiling inside him. He remembers hearing from Shinra once that Izaya's parents were never around, that Izaya raised the twins practically on his own. Mairu and Kururi are weird, certainly, and Shizuo isn't fond of the idea of letting them anywhere near his own brother, but he think they're good kids, all things considered, especially if this is how they were raised.

“My grandparents are around,” Izaya says, seeming to read Shizuo's thoughts. “Or, they will be tomorrow. They already came by today to bring food.”

“That's so fucked up,” Shizuo blurts, and to his surprise, Izaya smiles.

“My parents aren't bad people. They're incredibly busy, and they weren't expecting to have more kids.” Izaya looks to the the twins, who are watching him, still warbling even though the lights have stopped flickering for now. Their little hands are reaching towards him through the bars of their cribs. “As for my grandparents, they're not in great health. They can't do much to help aside from cooking and checking in every now and then.”

“Sounds like a lot of excuses,” Shizuo says, thinking of his own family. His mother never even wanted to leave their family overnight, much less weeks, months at a time. Izaya shrugs again.

“Maybe so. It doesn't matter much to me anymore. They never listened to me even when they were here.” Izaya studies Shizuo for a moment. “Your mind is—“

“Loud, yeah. You keep saying that.”

“It's more than that! It's like static and whirlwind mixed together. I can feel you wanting me out of your head, but you keep letting me back in, pulling me in, really. It's like you want me to hear you.”

“I don't,” Shizuo says flatly. “How are you doing any of this, anyway? I'm not anywhere near you in the present right now. Why are we sharing the same dream?”

“How should I know? I was born with this power, but I don't know how to use it all yet,” Izaya says, and Shizuo frowns at him, wants to bring up the future and all the terrible things Izaya will do once he does master his stupid power, but it would be pointless. This Izaya has no idea of the future, probably isn't even real. This is a dream, probably, Shizuo's brain attempting to humanize the flea.

“You called me a witch,” Izaya murmurs, more to himself than to Shizuo.

“That's what you call yourself,” Shizuo says.

“I've never had a word for it before. I just knew I was...different. People romanticize it, you know, being different from everyone else. Standing out. Maybe for a while, it was fun. But lately I'm like an island in myself, and every day the distance to the mainland grows.” Izaya pauses, as if hearing himself say so out loud is illuminating in some way. “I'm being dramatic, aren't I? I didn't mean to say any of that.”

“I know what you mean,” Shizuo finds himself saying. He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't really have to. He can feel Izaya in his head, like a prickle on the edges of his subconscious.

“Why aren't we friends?” Izaya asks, and the question is so earnest, so innocent, that Shizuo finds himself bolting upright in his bed, jerked back into wakefulness.

“Fuck these fucking dreams,” he hisses, rolling over to check his phone. It's a little after seven in the morning, an hour before his alarm was set to go off. He's already got a message from Vorona, telling him she's looking forward to their outing.

He doesn't know why he can't get Izaya's face out of his mind.

***

Shizuo's second date with Vorona goes well.

They meet at Sunshine 60, have some drinks with their food. Conversation comes easier this time, and there's hardly any silence between them. While they walk, Shizuo finds her hand in his, and he doesn't hate it. Her hand is soft, but not too soft. She has the same callused hands he does, and it reminds him that she can take care of herself, that she can handle him, so long as he's careful to remain human around her.

He drank enough to have a little bit of a buzz going as they make their way up towards the observatory. Vorona says she hasn't seen it yet, and wants to. It reminds Shizuo that this is the sort of thing people who visit Ikebukuro find exciting, while it remains mundane to the locals. He trails after her as they walk, and he doesn't know why he notices a familiar face off to the side, outside a comic book store, but he does notice, and he stops in his tracks. Vorona looks up at him questioningly.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Hey, I'll meet you up there. I need to ask someone something really quick.”

Vorona studies him. “Affirmative. I will go on ahead.”

Shizuo watches her go for a moment, and then he turns back to the comic book store, making his way through the crowd. A redheaded man is leaning against the building, his arms crossed. He grins up at Shizuo when he notices his approach.

“Well, well. Heiwajima Shizuo. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I don't remember your name,” Shizuo says bluntly, and the man laughs.

“Yeah, why would you? I'm sure you've got more pressing things to manage these days. You can call me Akabayashi, if you bother to remember it.”

Shizuo recognizes him from all that shit with Akane. Akabayashi also was there with the twins that day at the dojo, Vorona's first day of work.

“You know, don't you?” Shizuo asks, keeping his voice low. Akabayashi raises an eyebrow.

“You'll have to be more specific.”

“Cut the shit. You know what I am, and you know who did it. I wanna know why.”

“Well, let's see,” Akabayashi says, scratching his chin. “As I recall, you don't keep your head down much. In fact, you've gotten involved in plenty of things you shouldn't have been. You know that already, so your pressing question really is who, isn't it?”

“I already know Izaya ordered it. I wanna know who it was that did the dirty work.” Shizuo glowers at Akabayashi, hating how amused the man seems. He's not scared of Shizuo in the least. It's refreshing, but it's also irritating.

“Don't make assumptions that we take orders from the likes of that brat. Anyway, yeah, I know who did it, and so would you, if you saw him. He's laying low for now, under orders. I can't give you a name. You understand.”

“Bullshit, I do!” Shizuo snaps, and he lifts Akabayashi up by the collar of his suit. “Give me a name, dammit! It's the least you fuckers can do after you all stood back and let me turn into this— thing!”

“This is the problem with youngsters like you. You're too emotional. It's okay, kid, I was like that before, too, but this city has a way of beating passion right out of you.” Akabayashi doesn't seems concerned at all, even as his feet dangle. In fact, he looks like he's having a blast. “You'll know in due time. A little patience would do you good.”

“It's been seven months,” Shizuo says, offended at the idea he hasn't been too patient already.

“And? What do you want, a medal?”

“You fucker—“

“They had it! They really had it!” A small, excited voice says, and Shizuo finds himself looking down into the wide eyes of Awakusu Akane. She's carrying a bag from the store, clearly over the moon about her purchase.

“I'm glad,” Akabayashi says. “You can tell me all about that story of yours while we get lunch.”

“Shizuo-san...” Akane whimpers, and Shizuo releases Akabayashi. “You're not here to fight, right?”

“I was thinking about it,” Shizuo admits, “but I decided against it.”

“I'm not ready to fight you yet!” Akane says, her voice more determined now. “But I will be! I'm trying extra hard at the dojo, and I can challenge you soon!”

“I look forward to it. Just don't work too hard, okay? Getting strong means taking it easy sometimes, too,” Shizuo says, putting a hand on her head.

“Right! I'll do my best!”

“Anything else, or can I take the little miss to our lunch date?” Akabayashi asks, and Shizuo glares at him.

“I'll ask you again later.”

“Go for it! Maybe I'll give you an answer. Maybe you could ask that information broker friend of yours, too.” Akabayashi turns on his heel, pulling Akane along with him with one hand, his cane in the other. “Or then again, steer clear of that one. He's not right in the head.”

“Bye, Shizuo-san!”

Shizuo growls after them, and then he goes to meet Vorona. Akabayashi was right; Shizuo does have more pressing things to worry about.

***

After parting ways with Vorona at the train station again, Shizuo considers going to see Shinra and asking about the dreams he's been having, but he decides he'll do it later. He had a good day, and he doesn't want Shinra dampening it with his overstepping. Especially while Shizuo has something else even more terrible to deal with.

He knocks, and it takes a few moments for the door to open. Finally, an irate brunette appears, glaring at Shizuo.

“What do you want now?” she asks, and her voice sounds accusatory, as if Shizuo is interrupting more than just her current peace.

“I'm here to see Izaya,” Shizuo says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I didn't think you were here for anything else. Come in, I guess.” She steps to the side, allowing Shizuo inside. He doesn't see Izaya anywhere.

“He left something for you,” she says, moving to the corner. She emerges with a large box in her arms, and she shuffles towards Shizuo, letting him take it from her. “He said he knew you were coming, and that he didn't want to see you.”

“Of course,” Shizuo spits, taking the box that's filled with his potions. He doesn't know why he expected to see Izaya here, why he's disappointed he didn't.

“Please tell me you didn't give him anything to use against you,” the woman says. Shizuo frowns at her.

“What was your name again?” he asks.

“Is that really relevant? I'm your mortal enemy's secretary, and I also hate him. Watching him be angry about you is one of my few joys in life.”

“That's pathetic,” Shizuo says, feeling a vindictive sort of satisfaction when her lip curls at him.

“I wasn't looking for your approval. Answer my question.”

“Where is Izaya?” Shizuo asks, bypassing her and her scrutiny.

“Does it matter? Out. I thought you'd be happy. Now answer me, dammit. What's he holding over your head? Is it worth seeing him so frequently? To my understanding, the two of you only crossed paths before by accident, and it was always antagonistic.”

“If you hate him so much, you shouldn't work for him,” Shizuo snaps, disliking her and her unwanted insight into his life. “You seem capable enough to handle yourself. What do you need him for?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she says flatly, and he scoffs.

“Yeah? Well, I asked you first. The thing is, we both know what we're getting from him, right? And neither of us feel the need to share it with anyone else.”

“Whatever. Sue me for wondering. I won't take pity on you again.”

Shizuo is all but shoved from the apartment, the box of potion vials in his arms. He doesn't like anything about the way he feels, but he trudges home, his stomach in knots the entire way. Not seeing Izaya feels like an omen of sorts, like a harbinger of things to come.

***

He dreams later, first of nothing, and then of that same room, of the twins screaming in their cribs, and Izaya crying out in fear. It seems like the slate has been wiped clean, like this version of Izaya never spoke to any version of Shizuo. But that's accurate, isn't it? This is all pretend. It's all just a dream.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” Izaya's voice asks, and when Shizuo meets his eyes, it's the present version of Izaya. He's standing in the corner, right beside his past self, who doesn't seem to be able to see either of them now.

“I don't know,” Shizuo says. He's not a kid this time. He's towering over Izaya, but of course Izaya isn't backing down. “How are you doing this?”

“Me?” Izaya asks, incredulous. “How am I doing what? You're the one spying on my past.”

“I'm not the one with magic!” Shizuo roars. “Don't act like I'm invading your privacy, not when you're the one who's always linking us. It's not my fault that it goes both ways.”

Izaya pales, as if this thought only just occurred to him. He recovers quickly, schooling his features, turning away from Shizuo in a show of nonchalance.

“You got what you wanted from me. You got your potions, the ones that keep you so fucking tame—“

“Who are you to tell me what I want?” Shizuo interjects. “I never wanted to deal with you at all, especially so frequently. And even then, you couldn't leave well enough alone, right? You had to start haunting my dreams, too.”

When their eyes meet again, Shizuo is filled with a sudden onslaught of understanding, thoughts he knows aren't his own. Izaya isn't doing this on purpose, doesn't know how it keeps happening, doesn't like it any more than Shizuo does. Shizuo's mind is almost impossible for Izaya to pull away from, like a black hole, and even with Izaya trying to pull back, Shizuo doesn't seem to be allowing it. In fact, Shizuo is strengthening the link by being here, by interacting with Izaya's past. He's the one pulling Izaya in, like a child in desperate need of company.

“That's not true,” Shizuo growls, not appreciating Izaya's comparison. He can't help looking over to the younger version of Izaya, who is still crying pitifully. Shizuo feels the need to protect him from his future self's callous words, too, even if he can't seem to hear anything other than the twins and the ghost terrorizing them.

“In case you haven't noticed, I have been leaving you alone. I'm incredibly busy, and every time I actually manage to sleep, here you are, poking around. Snooping. Don't you have better things to do, like entertain that Matryoshka doll of yours?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo whirls back to face him, his mouth a twisted snarl of rage.

“Don't you fucking talk to me about her.”

“Don't talk to me at all. Get the fuck out!” Izaya shouts, and the door behind Shizuo opens. He's yanked backwards by an incredible force, and he falls through the doorway. He keeps falling through black nothingness, images flashing before his eyes as he does, memories he knows aren't his own. He tries to grab onto them, tries to make sense of any of them, but he can't. They're gone as soon as they appear.

Right before he hits whatever ground is below, he jerks awake, finds he's twisted himself into his sheets and managed to topple over into the floor. Cursing, he untangles himself, and he thinks back to the dream, at least, the parts of it he can remember. The image of a young, nervous Izaya talking to older men in fine suits is at the forefront of his mind.

Miles away, he knows Izaya is awake, too.

[nike-shawn]

Hockey Shawn Part One

It’s here!! I really hope you guys enjoy my next series: Hockey Shawn! Let me know what you want to see later on, and happy reading! ⚡️❄️

⚡️ November 1st, 2020 ⚡️

You wake up early, before the sun. The hotel room is bathed in city light but the sky is dark, and you notice small snow flurries sticking to the floor to ceiling windows.

Snow. The first of the season.

Careful not to wake the sleeping boy next to you, you sneak out from underneath the duvet and pad to the bathroom where you splash cold water over your face. One quick look at the bags under your eyes and the mats in your hair could tell anyone what you were up to the night prior— you blush as you remember his calloused hands running over your soft skin, moving lower, lower...

You jump into a cold shower. The first seconds are miserable but you soon get used to it, as you always do. Water falls over your tanned legs and shampoo lathers in your hair as you try to hurry through all the steps. You’re going to be late for school, and you’re already skating on thin ice. Your boss, a stern, older woman with bright red glasses, has had her eyes on you since you accidentally let out a laugh at one of your kids’ senior pranks. (It was something to do with shaving cream and pencils— you can’t quite remember, but it definitely was hilarious). One more slap on the wrist and you’ll be firmly placed on her bad side.

Hooking up with a hot guy at a bar on a Sunday night was not the brightest idea you’ve ever had. You didn’t think it would lead to you sleeping in his classy hotel room, but here you are. You can just slip away into the darkness of the morning and he’ll be none the wiser. Of course, you’d love to leave with his number, but you doubt he’s staying in town for more than a few days judging by the lack of luggage he had in his room. You’re better off leaving before he cracks his pretty eyes open.

You towel off and cringe as you put last nights dress on. There’s nothing else to wear, but the thought of dirty clothes touching your newly cleaned skin makes you a bit sad. You push the thought away as you emerge back into the bedroom.

“Oh,” you jump, pressing a palm to your heart that is racing in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

The man who you forgot to ask the name of smiles softly, and you notice that he has an adorable lazy eye. “I have to get going soon too,” he replies. He runs a hand over his unruly curls and clears his throat. You watch as his eyes drag slowly over your body. “Did you want to borrow something?”

You awkwardly pick at the (very short) hem of your dress. “If you don’t mind,” you say.

“Not at all.” He turns to his now open suitcase and starts to shuffle the clothes around. You see a flash of red and black, something that reminds you of a jersey, before the lid closes and he’s offering you a plain white t-shirt and black joggers.

“Oh, wow,” you say as you take in the brand names of each item. “You don’t have to give me nice stuff; I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get it back to you.”

He shakes his head and motions for you to turn around. You do, and he starts to tug your zipper down, much more gently than he did last night. Your dress goes slack around your shoulders. “It’s no problem. Don’t worry about getting them back to me anytime soon.” You smile your appreciation as you pull his clothes on. “Though, I would really like to see you again.”

You blush. “I’d love to see you again, too.”

You turn to examine yourself in the mirror and you catch his eye in the reflection. “Here,” he says. His fingers dig beneath the waistband of your (his) joggers and he rolls it over a few times so the legs aren’t as slouchy as before. Your skin heats up from where he touches it. “Better, eh?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You’re Canadian?”

He just nods, that genial expression still light on his features. He’s really such a kind person, you think, as you grab your purse and dress off the floor. You really would like to see him again.

In an uncharacteristic bout of courage, you lean up and, with a grip on his shoulder, kiss him. You can feel him smiling underneath your lips.

“I hope to see you again soon,” he tells you.

“You too.”

You walk out the door and feel like you’re walking on clouds.

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

That morning at school, your students are oddly energetic.

You’re trying to gather their attention when you overhear a couple of them talking about some sports scandal. You weren’t interested until you catch a name, one that was oddly familiar. “Shawn Mendes.”

Suddenly you’re transported back to the bar last night, completely sober and fighting annoyance at your best friends who were swooning over a boy across the room. He was obviously trying to stay on the downlow, since he was almost completely shrouded in the darkness of the far corner. “Shawn Mendes,” your friend told you, “he’s in big trouble these days.”

You must have pushed those words out of your mind because not too long after, the same boy ran into you outside of the bathroom. As soon as you locked eyes, you knew exactly how the rest of the night would play out. And you were right, of course, because you woke up in his bed. But if it weren’t for your students’ conversation, that entire situation with your friend would’ve completely slipped your mind.

Trying to push all those anxious thoughts away, you get through the rest of your day with little to no concern for Shawn. However, the second you get back to your apartment, you open up google and type his name into the search bar. Millions of results fill your screen— the first few being articles that reference an infamous video, a conversation between him and a paparazzi. It doesnt take you long to find a link to that particular scene, and you wait only a minute for YouTube to load before his beautiful face comes across your desktop.

He’s flustered, obviously so. It was from last month, so it hasn’t gotten too cold yet, and he’s dressed only in a light windbreaker and sweatpants with a logo you recognize on them. He looks exactly the same as he did in your hotel room, though his hair is a bit shorter. And, of course, he looks a lot angrier. “Get out of my way,” he says gruffly, wedging his way through the crowd of cameras. One person who was out of the frame must have refused to move, because Shawn says “I said, get out of my fucking way, man.” A few seconds pass and they’re all shouting things at him, things like “you and Maddy, huh? How is she doing? Have you talked to her?”

Then, there’s yelling.

The camera pans to the man in question, and all you see is Shawn’s fist collide with his face.

The video ends.

You stare at your computer in shock. Who is this guy? The boy in that hotel room would never do that, not in a million years. And why is he being followed by paparazzi? You figured he played some professional sport, but there’s a big difference between being on a team and being harassed by tabloids, wanting to know every last thing about your love life.

You check the sidebar for more videos of him, and you see a few referencing his “Greatest Plays” or “10 Times Shawn Mendes Made Me Swoon”, but then one towards the bottom catches your eye. “Shawn Mendes’ Career-Ending Accident”.

You’re too curious. You click on the video and feel your heart pound as it loads. It takes you to a hockey rink, the stadium filled with fans cheering loudly. The score is the New York Lightening 3, Detroit Cougars 2. The New York team is wearing the jersey you saw in Shawn’s suitcase. The camera finds him, the star of the show, and you find yourself smiling as you catch a look of his face through his helmet.

Then, a player on the other team comes up and shoves him against the edge of the rink. The hit itself didn’t look extremely hard— you hadn’t seen too much of hockey but you know that the players get hit much harder than that on a regular basis. However, this one must’ve hit somewhere that it shouldn’t have. Shawn falls to the ice and starts convulsing, the scariest sight you’ve seen in many years. The announcers of the game are rightfully concerned, and the crowd has fallen to a whisper. You find your palm over your mouth in shock.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he becomes still and a stretcher breaks through the crowd of medical professionals that have gathered around Shawn, shielding him from view of the camera. He is carried off, and before he disappears into the locker room, you can see him sitting up with a dazed look on his face.

You look over to the shirt and sweatpants he gave you. Last night and this morning with him seems so, so far away, and his picture in your mind has shifted dramatically. He’s an extremely famous hockey player who suffered an injury that has kept him from the game since this day over a year ago, and he has a famous ex-girlfriend who’s simple mention caused him to get angry enough to assault a cameraman.

His name is Shawn Mendes, and you need to see him again.

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

The opportunity comes a week later.

Your friend convinces you to return to the same bar you went to last week. Convinces is actually quite a strong word for what happened— she mentioned her plans and offered for you to come along and you readily agreed. A part of you desperately wants to see Shawn again and ask him about his life, about all the things you had no idea about before. But you know that, in the off chance you did see him, you’d sink back into your shell and revert to the same thing you two did before. You’d go back to his hotel, have sex, and wake up the next morning beside him, all without any semblance of meaningful conversation.

You walk into the bar and immediately your eyes latch on to that corner where he stationed himself last week. There’s definitely someone there, but it isn’t your six foot something hockey player hookup. You fight the disappointment in your chest.

It’s for the best, anyways. Plus, tonight is Saturday, and last week you saw him on Sunday. Maybe he’s a Sunday night regular. Or, maybe he isn’t a regular at all. With a hint of sadness you realize that he most likely lives somewhere else and just flies in when he needs to be in the city. Why else would he be staying in a hotel?

“What’s wrong?” Your friend Lilly asks, gripping your elbow to gain your attention.

“Oh, nothing. Just distracted,” you say, smiling softly. You sit next to her at a bar stool and immediately lose interest in the scene. The bartender starts to flirt with Lilly and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. You wish Shawn was flirting with you like he is with her, but it seems like you’re fresh out of luck.

The night drags on and you spend a lot of it scrolling through Shawn’s Instagram. Most of the recent posts are sponsored, one for a sports drink and another for a protein powder, and both pictures are just of him with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes on the balcony of a gorgeous high rise somewhere in the city. So he does live here, you think. You want to kick yourself for never getting his phone number. The next few are action shots of him on the ice, his cheeks flushed and his hair sweaty and matted against his head. He looks fantastic in his uniform-- no wonder the pictures have over a million likes each. 

“Are you ready to go?” Lilly asks, shaking you out of your Instagram stalking. 

With one last glance at that dark corner, you nod and grab your coat and purse. The two of you exit the bar not having paid for one drink thanks to Lilly’s flirtation, and you feel like a deflated balloon. You gained absolutely nothing from the past three hours when you could’ve met back up with the sweet, handsome boy you had a massive crush on who has some secret, intriguing double life that you want to know more about.

You walk back to the parking lot behind the bar and breathe in the very unfamiliar smell of the small patch of forest around the lot. In the city, you don’t get much of that natural, woodsy scent, but you welcome it, even if you can see right through the shallow gathering of tree trunks to the other side, which is classic, crowded New York City. You get lost in the view of the snow gathering on the branches. It’s beautiful.

“Y/N!” Lilly whispers. “Holy shit, is that him?”

You snap back to attention and follow Lilly’s finger to the tall, very familiar figure that’s getting closer and closer. If you didn’t immediately recognize that messy head of curls, you may have been scared. But instead your chest fills with butterflies.

“Hey, wow,” he says as he gets closer. His cheeks are flushed rosy red from the cold and the yellow streetlights illuminate his face enough for you to catch the sight of his adorable lazy eye. He is slightly out of breath and you figure he was on a run, taking a quick glance at his dry-fit long sleeve and leggings with running shorts on top. “Crazy seeing you here.”

You are almost stunned into silence, but Lilly covertly kicks your foot to get your attention again. “Yeah, hey. That is crazy. You live around here, then?”

“No, not really. I’ve been staying at uh... at that hotel.” You can see that he’s uncomfortable with Lilly being there, thinking that she may be unaware. Of course, you already told her everything. “Just went out for a run because I’ve been holed up all day working.”

“Us too. We came to the bar to let loose a little,” Lilly fills in for you. “Rough week at school.”

“You’re both teachers?” He asks.

“Yeah, high school English,” you answer. You start to realize that he knows your job before he knows your first name.

You both let a small silence blanket the conversation before he breaks it with, “I came over because I thought I recognized that shirt.” His blindingly white, straight-toothed smile is back. 

You look down, mortified at the memory of throwing on his plain t-shirt underneath a cardigan and tucking it into your jeans only a few hours ago, rushing through getting ready because Lilly was already waiting for you outside your apartment. It was the first thing you saw, so you grabbed it without any thought. 

You flush a deep red. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t even realize,” you stammer.

“No, no,” Shawn laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Looks better on you.” If you weren’t blushing before, you definitely are now. “Do love those sweatpants I gave you, though. Can I have your number?” You feel yourself smiling like an idiot, your embarrassment fading away. “Just to get the pants back, of course.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You reach into your purse to grab your phone as he hands you his, a new contact page already pulled up. You both save your name and number in each other’s phones. “My name’s Y/N, by the way,” you say a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Shawn. It’s really nice to run into you, Y/N. Hope I see you soon.”

“Just to get your sweatpants back, right?” You joke.

“Oh, yeah. Just because of the sweatpants.”

You both laugh a bit before waving, and you watch as he disappears back to the trail that he was running on.

Lilly whistles lowly. “Well, shit. You’re in for quite a ride with him.”

You had no idea how right she was.

Part Two

[remingt0nleith]

thorns | remington leith

try & find the hidden palaye royale song title in the fic! & additional A/N at the end. 

A/N: hi wow long time no write :( SORRY! I have ideas and I try to write then my brain just doesn’t want to put the ideas on the word document. + y’know having depression doesn’t help things bleh... BUT I did write a full something finally (yay bare minimum author things!) This was requested! gonna keep trying to turn out requests & work on dark cherries also my birthday is on thursday and i’m turning 24 (wow im getting old help) & also the bastards comes out the day after so yay! lets chat about it when its out ok?

Request: Where Remington cheats on the reader and she finds out, but he does everything he can to get her back? 

Thorns - A Remington Leith one-shot. || 1.9K words || under cut.

The catalyst for a ruined night came in a round of shots. Emerson poured the amber liquid into hot pink shot glasses that the boys had picked up days prior. Remington wasted no time in downing his, barely flinching at the bitter taste that now coated his tongue. 

“Slow down there, cowboy” 

Sebastian laughed before throwing his own shot back, placing a hand on Remington’s cheetah print covered shoulder.

“We can’t have our lead singer fucked up out of his mind, can we?” 

The eldest brother chided playfully as he took the bottle from Emerson and poured more shots.

As the brothers drank and talked anxiously about their first show of a new tour, Remington’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, taking it out he suppressed an eye-roll at the message filling his screen;

My Love <3: HEY BABY JUST WANT TO WISH U LUCK TONIGHT YOU’LL KILL IT. LOVE U. 

He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him lately, usually, he’d be thrilled at the love and adoration his girlfriend of three years was showing him. She was always cheering him on, listening to his music, and supporting his band in every way she could. Although she was unable to come to most shows due to a fast-paced work schedule she always made a point to let the band of brothers know they had her support. That should’ve been enough to keep Remington happy but recently he had become cold towards his girlfriend and as he put his phone away without responding all thoughts of her disappeared as well. 

Remington headed backstage after the show still high from the performance. The adrenaline from the encouraging crowd and kick-ass concert his band delivered had Remington feeling happier than he had in months. Once in the dressing room, the boys quickly changed out of their sweaty stage attire into more relaxed outfits, and like clockwork, shots were once again being handed out.

Once everyone had a decent buzz going the boys and their crew headed out to a nearby nightclub to celebrate the success of the show. Remington realized halfway to the club that he had forgotten his phone in the dressing room, a fact that didn’t phase him, in fact he was happy to be rid of the constant ringing. 

Once inside the packed club, Remington waved goodbye to his brothers and made his way to the bar.  His buzz had diminished slightly in the car ride and that was a no go for Remington so he ordered a drink, which quickly became two, then three before he headed to the dance floor. 

Packed in a sea of bodies the singer danced to the music, enjoying the happiness that came from the night’s events as well as the alcohol in his system. When a manicured hand grabbed him and pulled him close, he didn’t object, instead, he wrapped his arms around the dark-haired beauty. 

The pair danced together to the techno music blaring overhead, strobe lights illuminating their faces, hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies before the woman leaned in and planted a sloppy kiss to Remington’s lips. 

If there was a moment of panic, a spark of recognition somewhere in the sober part of his mind, Remington ignored it. Instead, he deepened the kiss with the gorgeous stranger, when the pair eventually pulled away from the kiss, they headed to the bar for more drinks. 

When Sebastian came to let Remington know it was time to head to the hotel, the frontman wasted no time in asking this new girl if she’d like to go with him. Much to the dismay of the older (and wiser) brother, she said yes and everyone piled into the van and were chauffeured back to the hotel to continue the party. 

Morning light filtered through the window a sign of a new day, but as Remington opened his eyes the gravity of last night hit him. He was alone in his hotel bed, the white sheets crumpled and covered in streaks of makeup (his or hers, he wasn’t sure). Flashbacks of last night filled his mind and all at once he realized the hickeys on his body were from a stranger, the realization filled him with shame and dread. 

He found his phone which had been placed on his nightstand by one of his brothers or their touring manager (who always cleaned up after the boys’ wild nights) and on it were several unread texts and calls which came in at varying points of the evening. 

[9:13 pm] My Love <3: It should be time for u boys to be on stage! I’ll be stalking twitter for updates and vids love u 

[12:02 am] My Love <3: Watched a ton of vids that are already being posted! Get back to me when u get this my love so proud of u xx 

[3:56 am] My Love <3: Guess your phone died or your out celebrating a great night. Call me when you see this or wake up. I love you. 

[10:20 am] 5 missed calls

[10:27 am] *attached photo* REMINGTON.... FUCK YOU.

The photo on his phone screen displayed the girl from last night under the covers as a passed out Remington slept beside her. The caption didn’t say anything besides a winking emoji and she tagged him and his band’s account. 

Instantly, he was dialing his girlfriend’s number, hands shaking as he paced around the spacious hotel room desperately waiting for an answer.

“Hello?” 

Rose answered, soft voice hoarse from hours of crying. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry..” 

Remington started to explain, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could form them.

“Save it” 

Rose snapped before continuing her voice harder and more assured now than it was just moments ago. 

“I never thought you’d do this even as the band started to gain an audience, I told myself that I had nothing to worry about. All the pretty girls and boys didn’t matter because what we had was strong but it sucks being proven wrong huh?” 

Remington’s sudden surge of tears prevented him from speaking as the pain in his chest grew with each word. The saddest part of it all was that she was right and that ripped him up inside. 

“Rose I-” 

he whispered, voice barely audible even to himself. 

Instead of an answer he was left hearing the sound of the call disconnecting. 

The tour passed by in a daze for Remington and while his brothers desperately wanted him to be more present, they understood. He’d get on stage and sing, forgetting about the pain in his heart for that hour or so, as soon as the curtain closed the ache in his chest was back, a cruel reminder to the life-changing mistake he’d made.

Rose had cut off all contact with her now ex-boyfriend instead choosing to go through Emerson to inform him she was moving out of their shared apartment in LA. 

Each night in his hotel bed, memories of the past three years filtered through his brain until he exhaustingly cried himself to sleep. 

Remington used Emerson’s phone to send a series of texts to Rose to apologize, to accept full responsibility but the only reply he received was instructions to give Emerson his phone back and to leave her alone.

Just as quickly as the tour started it was now coming to a close a few months later. The boys were back in LA for a sold-out show in typical Los Angeles fashion. Remington never stopped trying to get ahold of Rose -- he sent flowers to her new address, letters where he begged for her back, apologizing and pleading for her forgiveness yet he was never awarded a reply. He didn’t blame her at all but that didn’t mean the pain hurt any less, he’d do anything for a second chance. 

Shots of vodka were taken, cheers and high fives were given and the boys hit the stage.  Remington gazed out into the crowd, a see of silhouettes behind bright stage lights.  After a few songs, Remington sat down at the end of the stage, dark boots quietly thumping against the side. 

“Y’know fans like to think we’re perfect” 

he stated which earned a chorus of “I love you’s” as well as cheers from the crowd. 

He smiled before continuing, 

“As much as I love to hear it, it’s not true and sometimes we royally fuck up. I fucked up and these past few months have been hell so I wrote this song.”

The crowd applauded as they watched their favorite singer head to the piano, the spotlight shining on him as he sat down. 

“This song is called Thorns,” 

Remington began to play a hauntingly slow ballad about losing the love of your life and how apart of you is lost as well. 

The pain in my heart is defeating me

Cracking me open for all to see

I’m numb to life, deep inside

Needing you to realize, you’re the better part of me

An illusion of love is what I fear

Taking each step is now unclear

A rose garden in my dreams,

You leaving now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging for my rose to please believe

I made a mistake that I can see

Yet this pain without you is deafening

My heart of thorns cuts me deep 

Paralyzing me and making me weak

Please my rose I beg you, have sympathy.

The rose garden in my dreams,

But you’re leaving right now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging my rose to please believe 

I love you Rose it’s all I know, I’m sorry for all my sorrow

By the time the song ended, Remington had tears blurring his vision. He was so wrapped up in playing the song he didn’t realize he had started to cry but to the audience that just made it so much more beautiful. 

After the show, Remington hurried off the stage in order to collect his emotions but in the dressing room sat Rose. Her blonde hair was curled and she wore a red dress and in a true movie moment a dozen roses sat in her lap. 

“Rem that song…” 

she started but before she could finish, Remington ran over and threw his arms around her, hugging her to make sure she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“I’m so sorry”

he whispered once she hugged back. 

“The flowers were from Seb” 

Rose mumbled, green eyes flicking down to them after their hug. Sebastian must have ordered them because he knew what Remington was planning. That was his older brother alright, always playing the papa bear role. 

The singer’s mind was racing a mile a minute, he had a million questions but all he could do was apologize. 

Rose shushed him with a chaste kiss before speaking,

“By no means have I forgiven you completely. That song however beautiful doesn’t make everything go away but I’m willing to work on us”

Remington nodded, happy she was here and willing to give their relationship another shot.

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” 

he whispered, wrapping her in another hug.

They knew it would be a long road to get back to where they were before but Remington was happy he had his Rose back in his life. 

xx

A/N: omg that song was not that good I came up with it on my own though and I’m not a lyricist lol hope u enjoyed xx 

[frombeginingtoend]

You’re Back

Summary: You, Klaus, and Ben were always a little different from the rest of The Umbrella Academy because of your powers. When Ben passes, and everyone leaves the house, you and Klaus lose touch, but soon, unforeseen consequences bring you back together.

Notes/Warnings: major character death, drug abuse

Word Count: 2.2k

---

When the alarms went off, my head flooded with a tsunami of existential dread. The shouts of my father trying to round us all up, save for Vanya, never failed to put a pit at the base of my stomach.

I hope this time you send me into someone, hissed one of the many sprites I could conjure. I like to mess with your squishy little heads.

"What if I don't want to do that anymore?" I croaked, staring into the floorboards as if they had murdered my parents.

Do you think what you want actually matters? Let me out (y/n).

"You can't do anything unless I tell you to. You're powerless without my say," I muttered. I repeated the phrase under my breath as I changed into the Academy's uniform, finishing with the mask. How I longed for an ability like Luther's strength or Allison's rumors. Hell, I would prefer to be like Vanya, no true powers but a passion and a drive to be better.

Nevertheless, I was brought on today's mission to stop a break in/hostage situation at a bank... yet again.

"What the fuck is that thing?" screamed one of the armed robbers.

An imp, covered in ashen grey fur and sporting a long, red, scaly tail, slithered it's way to the tall man. This one was decent enough to obey commands in exchange for food rather than making a home in the mortal world. Food, of course, ended up being the tall man robbing a bank. The moment his tail wrapped around the man's neck I knew to look away.

He liked to eat the skin first.

We were only thirteen, yet we were the ones who saved the day and took out the bad guys. I remember I used to think the police would appreciate having heroes like us to do some of the dirty work for them. As I got older, I realized that what we were doing was technically illegal. As I got older, I realized that most detectives and police officers hated how much work we took from them. In some cases, we made even more work for them.

Years passed, and it seemed like no one understood how much I hated living in The Academy. I never wanted to be a hero. I never wanted to be the line between two dimensions, two states of living. I didn't want to be torn from one world to the next. It was a life of constant agony that no one else could dream of comprehending.

The only people who seemed to give any semblance of understanding were the boys who's abilities were closest to my own. Klaus: Number Four, The Séance, Ben: Number Six, The Horror, and me: Number Eight, The Omen. God, all three of us hated ourselves so much. We were all forced to keep using the abilities we despised, no matter how hard we opposed. We had to get dad's approval, we had to make him proud, had to live up to his expectations. Well, after Ben died... after Ben died we all gave up. One after another we left the house, The Academy. We went on our merry ways to flourish or fuck up. Klaus and I? Oh, boy did we become fuck-ups.

Drug addiction, alcoholism, desperate attempts to forget and to numb yourself to all the bullshit around you.

I hadn’t seen any of them in years. I hadn’t even talked to them. I ran into Klaus at rehab once though.

“(y/n)? Is that you?”

“Klaus? Hey, hey, man it’s good to see you again. How are... how are you doing?”

“One week clean,” he bragged with jazz hands for effect. I tilted my head at the sight of his palms. Without asking, I snatched both of his arms by the wrists to inspect the ink. I smiled at the words permanently marked into his skin.

Hello - Good Bye 

“I like these. When did you get them?” Klaus just shrugged.

“I don’t remember, honestly. A while ago. Hey, why, uh, why are you here? What have you gotten into?”

“Oh, right.” I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I didn’t have to explain myself, but knowing full well that I should. “It got to be too much, I’m sure that’s why you’re here too, right? It started out as just drinking, but then, y’know... I was drunk all the time... and my- my tolerance was too high, so I thought I'd try weed. That worked out for a while, but... it didn’t always get them to stop, so... I got into harder stuff.”

“What kind of harder stuff?” Klaus looked almost disappointed in me. The look in his eyes broke my heart. I gulped in a hard breath, then two, then I started crying.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a fuck-up. I let all of you down. Just like I always did.” Klaus pulled me into his embrace. He was hesitant, but still firm. One hand rested on the back of my head, the other in the center of my back.

...Let me out, (y/n)...

“How do you make them stop, Klaus?”

“...I don’t know.”

We spent the rest of our time together. Klaus no-doubt relapsed within an hour of his release. He was more dependent on that release than I was. It's probable that he didn’t think I knew that the only reason he was in rehab was to lower his tolerance. I was in my apartment for less than an hour when it came to me again.

...Let me out, (y/n)...

“Get out of my head.”

You can’t control me.

“Yes I can. Now get out of my head.”

I don’t want to. If you want me gone, you’ll have to come and end me yourself.

“Fine, you think you can win? Why don't you try to fucking stop me?”

It was surprising how peaceful the end was. That piece of shit that wanted to take over my body died with me because it was a prideful moron. I woke up on the ground. Everything around me was in shades of grey, and in the distance, a little girl with a basket of daisies made her way down the path. Despite her innocent appearance, I knew exactly who she was, and it calmed me.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you so soon,” she spoke, still a few yards away.

“I- I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t think I would end up here.” I looked around at what should have been a stunning, colourful forest, downplayed like an overcast summer sky.

“You shouldn’t be here. At least, not yet.”

I looked at the girl more closely, fear building in my chest. “Are you casting me out?”

“For now,” she noted solemnly. “It will be hard, based on how you dealt with it in life, but I’ve always liked you for your tenacity.”

Her words shocked me. I didn't think anyone would like me, especially the one who made me. What had I done more that ruin what she created? “You... really liked me?”

She nodded. “I wish this would turn out differently, but you have to figure it out on your own.”

“Please don’t,” I pleaded, “don’t send me there. They’ll tear me apart.”

“It will make you strong. You’ll figure out how to come back.” She slipped a daisy behind my ear and gave me a soft smile when I fell to my knees.

“No. No, please, no! Please!” 

The end was much less pleasant the second time around.

Everything smelt of nickle and ash. Time wasn't real. It could have been two hours or sixty years and I would be none the wiser. Pain started to fade away with each new incision to my skin. Each poisonous bite was weaker and less painful than the last. The more torture I endured, the more they broke me, the less I felt it. Until the day I snapped.

The demons and spirits who tried to attack me on my way out  stood no chance to my newfound strength. I shoved into the scorched earth, or slapped them across the face as I marched my way out of hell.

"Where's (y/n)? I figured they would want to be here to spit on dad's ashes," Diego muttered. He laid on a couch and tossed an orange into the air for entertainment.

"I don't think they wanna honour him in any way. They hated his guts," Allison offered.

"You guys don't know?" Klaus asked, genuinely shocked and confused.

"We don't know what?" Luther piped in.

"(y/n) died last month. Their neighbor found them in their bathtub."

"They killed themself?" Vanya spoke with a brittle voice. Klaus nodded.

A hush fell over the six who were present in the living room. Diego sat up off the couch to stare at Klaus with a deadly gaze. "Have you talked to them?"

"No. God as my witness I tried, but I can't get to them. I have a feeling they were the only person who would have been able to."

"Why didn't you tell any of us?" Luther growled from his seat at the bar. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"Okay, big guy, you were on the moon. I couldn't have told you if I wanted to."

"If you wanted to? Why didn't you want to?"

"Would you want to call each of us up and break that kind of news? Oh, I've been having a fine and dandy time on the moon, by the way your favourite sibling just killed themself," Klaus mocked.

"Oh, shut your fucking mouth, Klaus. You know how much they meant to each of us. You should have known we would react like this after a month."

"How do you think it made me feel, Luther? I was the last of us to see them! Don't you think that maybe I feel a little responsible for their death?" Klaus was losing it, he could see Ben's worried face from across the room, like he was signaling Klaus to stop talking. He didn't care about that, though. He cared that he couldn't stop his best friend from killing themself. He cared that while they were suffering, he was finding his next high.

"When did you see them?" Allison asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"We were in the same rehab center. They got sober, coached me through it for a month, then we went on our separate ways." Klaus couldn't help the dreamy, sing-song tone of his voice. He found that that was how he spoke when he was sad or disappointed, but that didn't help his case with Luther.

"They were an addict?" he interrogated, tone aggressive and angry.

"Yeah. What of it Spaceboy? They had a power none of us could dream of dealing with. Do you know what it's like to have a demon breathing down your neck? Have you ever looked into the void to ask a tiny little monster to eat someone's face? I haven't, but (y/n) did. They needed something to make those thoughts go away, to push back those memories. I don't blame them for what they did, and neither should you." Klaus was fuming at this point. Who were they to judge them? Who were they to think they knew what (y/n) went through or how they should have dealt with it?

The floorboards by the living room entrance creaked, drawing everyone's attention. 

"Thanks, Klaus. I'm glad you defended me." I smiled at my favourite living brother. "But I'm back now, and I don't plan on leaving again any time soon."

"Holy shit. Is-is that really you, (y/n)?" Vanya jumped to her feet. It was nice to see her again, especially after having crawled through the surface of the earth.

"Yeah, yeah it is, Vanya. Oh, before anyone gets any snarky ideas, Klaus was telling the truth the whole time. I was an addict, we got clean together, and then I... killed myself. I-" I faltered for a moment, "I'm sorry... that I left, but I found out things about myself that I never would have if I had stayed alive. I think, in the long run, dying is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"What the fuck is going on?" Diego asked. "What happened to you?"

"Huh? Oh, the scars." I looked over my exposed arms and ran my fingers over some of the lighter, raised, and pinkish skin. I forgot about the gallons of blood that soaked my body and lack of clothes and matted my hair. "I was in Hell for a while. There was this hole penitence thing, it's a long story. I'd rather not relive it."

"Looks like Hell gave you a better attitude," Diego joked.

"I yelled at a demon and it exploded, Diego. Can you yell at things and make them explode?"

His eyebrows rose in shock. "No I cannot."

At this point, Klaus was on his feet, and I pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," I whispered into his ear. "I didn't want it to happen like that. I didn't mean to leave you alone."

"You came back," he whispered back. "That's all that matters right now. You're back." 

We stood in a warm embrace for what seemed like minutes, and I didn't want to let go of the only comfort I had received in what felt like years.

"You need to take a shower. You're getting blood and ash on Allison's skirt."

[imaginepirates]

The Estuary

Nothing to Give

           The waters of the estuary were familiar, now. Their glassy surface reflected the misery in James’ face. How he’d gotten back was a mystery to him. Surely he hadn't died; he would have remembered dying, he always did. Then again, someone might have shot him in the head. He’d be none the wiser. 

           He turned himself facedown in the water. He reasoned he couldn’t die in the estuary. After all, he was already dead. 

           What wonderous things a person could see, if only they looked for them. Small fish flitting in and out of his sight, pebbles being tossed about in the current, a mixture of seaweed and river grass growing at the sandy bottom. An entire little world existed under the waters. The longer James stared, the longer he thought he could lay there. Watching life from the outside is better than participating in it. 

Half the fish swam out to sea. The other half glided upstream. There was no doubt in his mind; the ones fighting against the current had the harder time. When they reached their destination, the place where they would nest and have their children, would it be worth it? 

           Fish always return to the place where they were born. Am I a fish, returning to a world that I once knew?

           It felt so nice to float in the waters, weightless, not having to move or think or feel. It helped rid the phantom in his arms, the girl who, for being so light, had been so heavy in his arms. 

           Hours passed before he tore his head out of the water. Days, perhaps. He still didn’t know how time worked, or if it even existed at all. 

           He waded into the river without looking where it would take him. When it would take him. He didn’t want to know. 

                                 ~~~~~

           The first sensation that accosted him was dizziness. He had a faint notion that he wasn’t entirely sober. He was facedown in water, and he desperately wanted to puke. He got to his feet, dreading what he would see. 

           He turned in a slow circle. To one side, the open ocean. To the other, a little island, a bell still ringing in the distance. And somewhere along the shoreline, he knew, would be a little boat waiting for him with the heart of Davy Jones stashed in a jar of dirt. 

           In the vast time since this part of his past had happened, he’d had lots of time to reflect on how much he regretted it. He hadn’t known the consequences. He’d known there would be consequences, of course, he just hadn’t taken the time to think them through. 

           Like a moth to a flame, he headed towards the dinghy. Unsteadily, of course, but surely. He had a job to do, and he’d do it right. This time, Beckett would get nothing from him. How much trouble would be avoided, he didn’t know. He just hoped it would give everyone a happier ending. 

           It likely would not give him one. 

           The others arrived at the dinghy just after him. He contemplated, for a moment, going with them. Joining them on whatever adventure came next. He could stay. Things could be better for him. 

           But someone had to distract Jones' crew. He couldn't, for obvious reasons, let it be Elizabeth. Or Will. Jack would never think of such a thing, and neither would anyone else. 

He took a long look at Elizabeth's face. His time had been over before it even started. The moment he awoke on the island, he knew he was doomed. 

           "Don't wait for me." But please, dear god, be waiting for me in whatever reality I step into next. 

           James' feet slid through the mud and slippery leaves that littered the ground. He felt so different from that first time. So much older. So much…emptier. The first time, his head had been full of wild thoughts, his chest exploding with emotion, every fiber of his being on some sort of overload. Now, his head pounded with drink. Whatever had once lived in his chest was replaced with a burning sensation in his lungs. His head was empty. 

           It was like an entire world of color had disappeared. And as he fell in the dirt, he wondered if he would ever feel again, or if the sensations of death had finally taken over, even while he was living. 

           When was anything worthwhile easy? He didn't belong in the world of the living. He needed to move on. It was too hard a fight. When was anything easy worthwhile? Had it been worth all the struggle? To see Elizabeth's face again, to know that he could have made a difference? To live and breathe again? To keep hanging onto something that was slipping from his grasp, to fight for it, to hold the memory of an old life so closely, to refuse giving up all he had known?

           Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes. 

The pain is worth seeing her face. The knowledge that my choices could have been better haunts me, but humbles me. Living is so much better than purgatory. And now, now that I am dead and gone, my memory is all I have left. I cannot lose that. Not yet. 

           James didn't believe in god, exactly, but if god did exist, James was sure god would give him a happy ending. Eventually. 

           The creatures came for him. He didn't know what to call Jones' men, for they weren't men at all. In the end, they're not too different from me. He'd just accepted a different type of hell.  

                                 ~~~~~

           It was a little ironic, the noose. The rope hung limply from the wood above him. How many times had he watched hangings? Scores, probably. He'd helped put so many pirates to death. Now, he was there, with the trapdoor underneath him, watching the rope dangle in front of his nose. 

           He wasn't afraid, exactly. He knew where he was going. There was a certain sort of detachment in that. A certain sort of comfort. 

           He didn't want to look out into the crowd, instead preferring to stare at his feet. He knew many of the people who were sure to be there. The same people who applauded his promotion would celebrate his funeral. People liked a show. 

            The Governor had tried to clear his name. It hadn't worked, of course, but it was nice of him to try. James wished the man wasn't so attached to him. It would be awful for him; to see a man he'd known since that man was a boy, hung for a practice the man abhorred. 

           And I fell into it anyway. 

           He'd been so weak, in the past. He still was. For so many reasons. For turning to drink instead of help. For the hurricane. For not being a friendlier person. For not getting close to people, and for living like he had time. He'd always known he didn't, but he'd been young. Youth was always invincible. 

           What an impassioned person he could have been. Instead, he'd suppressed so much of what he'd felt, and he'd worked too hard for his success. But success was something else entirely; it didn't have anything to do with his career. 

           The list of crimes was read. Half of them bordered on lies, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

           He looked out into the audience. There was Governor Swann, crying into his handkerchief. Look up, thought James. See me. 

           He did. James hated the grief he found there, staring at a man who'd mentored him from boyhood. A man he'd been close to, in his own way. 

           A friend. 

           And James resolved to keep his gaze until it was over and he couldn't see any longer. 

"Do you have any last words?" The man asking was so apathetic, it was almost sick. But it was the man's job, and James had been the same way, once. 

           He wished that something would come to him, something inspiring and beautiful. Something poetic. A speech that would be remembered for years to come. That was how it was in all the great works; characters changed the world with words. But that was because the great works were written by authors, who actually believed that words could change the world, and because the characters were martyrs, not guilty men. 

           He took a deep breath, and let himself feel it. How his lungs expanded and his chest moved in response. In through his nose, out through his mouth. The deflating of his lungs, his body relaxing, every muscle letting go of its tension. 

           "I am not a godly man, but I hope some place will take me in, just as I was taken in here on earth." The crowd stared at him, and he stared back. Specifically, he stared at the Governor, and hoped the man had understood that those words were for him. The hangman reached for the lever. 

           "Goodbye." It was more a whisper to himself than a sentence to the masses.

           And his memory ceased. 

•@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands

[amazingmsme]

You’ve seen Umbrella Academy right? Got any headcanons for the siblings? :D

YES I DO! I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH! I'll do headcanons in order of their numbers. Putting it under the cut cause I got carried away & they got longer than expected 

Luther-my big boy-he's always really serious & so the others will try to do everything they can to make him laugh-like it's a game they play & whoever makes him laugh wins-one time Klaus won just by screaming "LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!" & just fucking decked Diego right in the face. Luther couldn't stop laughing for 5 minutes straight-when they would get too loud & their dad was gonna get onto them, he always tried to take the fall-he's a big ol softie-totally cries like a baby when any animal in a movie dies-his favorite food is lasagna. He'll eat the whole pan by himself if no one's watching him, so Grace usually had to make two just in case-his laugh is really loud & booming. Allison likes to tease him that it shakes the whole room-being the "oldest" he likes to pick on all the rest of them, even now when they're all adults -he's the biggest tickle monster ever omg he'll just scoop up anyone that's near & doesn't let them go until he feels like they've had enough-he's ticklish too tho, & if you think his siblings don't take advantage of that you're dead wrong-his underarms are definitely his worst. Whenever he holds something above one of their heads they just dig their fingers in under his arm & it comes crashing down

Diego-the angstiest lad-he would always wrestle with Luther when they were kids & pouted when Luther won-if he gets over excited or emotional his stutter will come back for a few seconds-he played the knife game a lot & one time accidentally stabbed his hand. Five & Klaus laughed their asses off as he cried & Grace had to doctor his hand-he always acts super tough & broody all the time but actually is a pretty sweet dork-he isn't the biggest fan of his laugh so he has a fake chuckle he uses instead. His family are all like "wtf that's not how you sound"-you ever heard Tom Hardy laugh? That's what he sounds like-it's really high pitched & bubbly -it embarrasses him so it takes effort to get him laughing like that, but if they ever want to hear it they just have to squeeze his knee & he falls back in loud laughter-he tries to act like he's not ticklish & will hold out for as long as he can before he gives up-his hips and thighs are the worst & he gets so desperate it's adorable-like he'll be a begging pleading mess after only a few seconds-no lie he pulled a knife on Five when he snuck up on him & squeezed his hips-he gets embarrassed about how ticklish he is & if anyone teases him about it he blushes SO hard

Allison-my cool daughter-she's literally so caring but doesn't always know how best to show it-the Mom Friend-after mending her relationship with Vanya they have sleepovers like once a month-if any of the siblings are sick she makes a big pot of soup-would kill for Claire if need be-the master of hide & seek cause she's played it so much with her daughter-a very teasy ler-she'll wiggle her fingers at you to let you know what's coming before chasing you-100% calls herself the tickle monster-has the sweetest laugh ever-her neck & knees are her sweet spots but her stomach is a close second-will literally screech if you scratch behind her ears

Klaus-the very definition of disaster gay(pan)-either looks like a trash ass hobo or an utter king, there's no in between-after he gets sober he practices his abilities practically day & night with Ben so he can summon Dave-once he finally does they hold each other for so long & Klaus cries for 15 minutes straight before he's able to speak coherently -Dave stays pretty consistently after that, tho not as much as Ben-the fact that no one ever takes him seriously actually hurts his feelings a good bit but he's Klaus so he can't let them know it affects him-pretty secretive about his power cause he doesn't like talking about it-tried his best to keep his ptsd a secret from the others but Diego picked right up on the signs & once things calmed down after the apocalypse he told the rest of the family-after getting better with his ability he summoned Ben so that the others could see him. He was the only one not to cry cause he's used to seeing him constantly(but he did tear up from seeing everyone so emotional)-says the most random things whether he's high or not-once ate a tube of toothpaste because he refused to go to the store & buy groceries -a very bouncy & giggly boy-just has so much pent up energy-everyone always gangs up on him cause he says something annoying or just cause-low key does things to provoke his siblings-if you get his ribs or underarms, congrats you've killed him-his feet are pretty bad as well-but his hips are def the worst. & since he's so skinny all you have to do is drill your thumbs into the bone to drive him up the wall insane-now that Ben can actually touch him without phasing through him he totally tickles him all the time-Klaus honestly likes being tickled cause he thinks it's fun & it helps him relax-but you better watch out, cause as he likes to say, karma is one hell of a bitch-he's super teasy, but in like a casual way? Like he can destroy someone while also having a completely normal conversation. He'll even sh them if they're laughing too loud!-loves to act oblivious while tickling you. He'll be all "why are you laughing, I'm not that funny! Oh I'm sorry, does that tickle? I didn't even notice"

Five-he's a very feisty boi-ultimate sass master -literally has a comeback for everything-he's really touch starved after spending so much time alone in the apocalypse -time traveling fucked with his brain so he mutters incoherently to himself a lot-hates that he appears younger than his siblings because he's older & wiser damnit!-uses his young appearance to his advantage tho, so it has its ups & downs-ever since his rediscovery of puppy dog eyes he can get almost whatever he wants-he can hide anywhere cause of his small size, so good luck trying to find him-misses Delores with all his heart. With his messed up mind he saw her as an actual person & losing her hurt him -he uses his ability to trap & corner his siblings so that he can attack them-like Diego or someone will tease him & try to sprint away only for Five to pop up in the doorway leaning casually like "oh I'm sorry, did you think I'd let you get away with that?" before he tickles him-he will show absolutely No Mercy, once he gets a hold of you, he won't let go until he feels like it-also uses his ability to dodge out of family tickle fights cause he knows they'll get him if he doesn't -like Klaus, he's also ganged up on, & it's even easier since he's tiny compared to the rest of them-his laugh is a really loud cackle & his eyes & nose scrunch up a lot, it's adorable-he swears like a sailor when tickled & thrashes around, but nothing really helps-he claims he's "too old for this shit" but Luther's like "you're never too old for this" before straight up murdering him

Ben-my dead son-it's hard for him to see all of his family but being unable to interact with them-he just wishes he can hug them & talk to them one more time-when Klaus finally made it happen, he was so overjoyed it was the sweetest thing ever-sick & tired of all the hentai jokes unless he's the one making them-used to be embarrassed about his power but now realizes how cool he is-was already bffs with Klaus when he was alive but they've gotten closer now that he died-pretty easy going & wants to have fun-helped keep everyone together & kept them from tearing each other's throats out, so once he hit the dust the family just kinda drifted apart-the fact that he has powers helps him stay around even when Klaus is high. Plus he's just stubborn & doesn't want to leave -gets kinda sad when he sees the other kids messing around & targeting each other cause he can only watch-his worst spots are his back, stomach & hips & he basically will go limp if you tickle him, he just gives up-has really breathy laughter-will tear up 5 seconds after laughing my precious boy-after he gets the hang of his powers, Klaus surprised him out of nowhere & attacked him for no reason-he claimed he was making up for lost time but Ben said he was just being mean-he'd be lying tho if he said he didn't enjoy every second of it

Vanya-my sweet baby dear, poor child-she's only just now learning to love herself-has major trust issues, & the shit with Harold did NOTHING to help-cried for like a week after the apocalypse cause she just feels so guilty & sorry-mended her relationship with Allison & loves her sister so much-almost cried when Claire called her Aunt Vanya-very claustrophobic-as much as she loves classical music, she also really loves classic & alternative rock-Diego literally had to beg her to play The Devil Went Down to Georgia but he managed to convince her & everyone was #shook-gets really embarrassed when anyone compliments her about anything & tries to deny it-apologizes over the smallest things. Allison told her she doesn't have to & she's trying to break the habit-really enjoys practicing with her power now that she knows she has it. She's gotten a lot better at controlling it-still pretty scared of Luther. He's apologized for everything & she forgave him but she can't help but flinch if he moves too quickly towards her, & it kinda breaks his heart -even more touch starved than Five cause while he had a childhood with the others, she was isolated & alone & had very little contact. It wasn't until after the apocalypse that she experienced a true genuine hug-always got sad when the others would play around & laugh & have fun cause it was one more thing she wasn't included in, so she's used to just hiding away by herself to practice -was barely ever the target during a tickle fight so she barely even remembers what it feels like-she honestly thinks she's grown out of it(spoiler alert: she hasn't)-a tickle fight breaks out while she's reading in the living room & out of habit she tries to go to her room cause she's used to disappearing without being noticed but Five teleports in front of her & is like um where the hell do you think you're going?-so she's like "to go read?" & by this point they have Allison & Diego's attention & Five's all "so you think you can just slink away scot free?" She tells him she's not ticklish & he belts out a laugh "I seem to remember otherwise" "well you're also like 60 so..." & that's how they found out she's still extremely ticklish-they never let her live it down-I mean they gotta make her feel included right? So it would be rude not to-her ears/neck, sides, & feet are death spots, she can't handle it-not much of a ler, but when she is she uses her skilled musician's hands to utterly wreck you, but overall she's pretty gentle-when she hears laughter her powers kinda go nuts(it's just a genuinely pure sound so she tends to really focus on it)& if it's her own laughter then it's even harder for her to control her abilities cause that fact makes her embarrassed & jittery so it takes her a while to calm down

Sorry this took so long, I've been pretty busy! But I had such a blast writing these so if you'd like to hear more or just want to talk about UA hit me up cause I'm always down to screech about my children(you can probably tell who my favorites are based off the length of each of their headcanons)

[dregstrash]

Earning the Present(s) [4/4]

Thank you, thank you, thank you x100000 for sticking with this story and for suffering for my very late holiday vibes. I really just wanted to explore The Dregs as young adults, giving each other presents and being happy for a bit. I love this fandom a lot and the feedback I’ve gotten on this has been astronomical. keep being funky you crows

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Summary: Five years after the events of the Ice Court, the six outcasts were in the prime of their lives. They had everything they had fought and bled for: money, power, promise, home. But this holiday season, a surprisingly altruistic event has them all under the same roof, and they all may have been a little older and a little wiser, but they were still those teenagers who had done the impossible and had almost died countless of times. And when the idea of a holiday gift exchange comes up the true test of their friendship and their growth is thrown into the rink.

----------------------

KAZ

Kaz remembered the cold winters that came over the farm. He remembered the cold snap as he stomped his too big shoes against the creaking porch, trying to regain some feeling back in his toes. He would always look up at the expanse of the gray sky and wonder why it was taking the sun so long to make an appearance. He hated the cold and he hated that he had to be packed in a million layers just to play outside.

But then he’d step into his family’s farm house and he supposed that winter wasn’t so bad. Because if it was a good season, the fire would be warming the hearth. His mother would be knitting in her chair by the window, and his brother would be greedily reading a book by fireplace. His father would be at the dining table looking at the numbers that Kaz couldn’t quite understand. And when Kaz walked in, his mother would smile at him, his brother would put his book down to play a game with him, and his father would reach over to ruffle his hair. Kaz always thought that that type of warmth had nothing to do with the fire. It had everything to do with the hugs, the teasing, and his family. It was a warmth that came from the inside. And the cold was bearable if it gave him the ability to treasure that little ember of heat with him forever.

But then the storms of his life crashed down all around him. One after the other until he looked up one day and found that he was always cold. The ember that he had carried with him had been smothered and all that was left was an unforgiving tundra that refused to be tampered down by something so trivial as warmth. Of course, there were days when he lay awake listening to the countless of sleeping bodies strewn across the floor of the Slat, and he almost longed for a modicum of what he once had-- a mother, a father, a brother, a home.

Then the tundra in him would rear its head and start to drown him with images of bodies floating lifelessly, the bloated flesh of a brother who promised to never leave him, and a constant reminder that he wasn’t what he was-- he was a boy determined to never feel the heat of a fire ever again.

Yet, despite his resolution, he met a Suli girl made from her own shadows, he took on an impossible job with the outcasts and outlaws, he had been tricked, he had been fooled, and still he won. And by the end the ice that he was firmly clinging onto was melting slightly in his own hand as he followed that same Suli girl to the dock to reunite her with her parents. 

In the years following the Ice Court job, he made sure to cling onto the reputation. He was still The Bastard of the Barrel after all, and his infamy had only grown as he was the first person to revive activity in the Staves after the plague he had orchestrated. He opened a new gambling hall in the richer districts of Ketterdam. He had a hand in most of the harbor. His Dregs were the most feared and most sought after crew that Kerch has ever seen. Pekka Rollins had been driven out of the small island for good (though he knew that was more Inej’s doing than his). He had money. He had made a name for himself. He had everything, and sitting on the roof of the Slat with his new cane resting by him and staring up at the sky, he couldn’t help but notice that a small spark of what he thought was long gone was starting back in his chest. 

“So I suppose you’re going to leave that cane behind when you have parlays with the other barrel bosses. Since it’s an actual pistol now.” 

He wasn’t surprised when Inej’s voice materialized out of thin air. He was even less surprised when he felt her drape a blanket around him and take a seat. What did surprise him was the slight smell of alcohol rolling off her tongue. She wasn’t drunk, she wouldn’t have risked the climb if she was, but based on past experience she always made it a point to be nothing but sober when she was with him. She had said some Suli proverb about keeping one’s wits about themselves when in the presence of animals with sharp teeth-- he wasn’t sure, he was far too busy watching her mouth to make any sense of the words.

Kaz snorted, “Like I’ve said before, Wraith, no one is going to deny a poor cripple his cane.”

Inej laughed lightly and he fought off the temptation to close his eyes at the sound, “Out of all the things I would choose to describe you, Kaz, ‘poor’ would not be one of them.”

Inej’s thigh was pressing closely against his and the warmth of it was making him dizzy. 

Ever since that day at the harbor, when he had so boldly took her hand in his, ungloved, it became a renewed effort to pull his mind from those drowning waters when he touched her. It had been so slow. There were some days when he almost wanted to let his lips linger longer and he thought himself strong enough to want to hold her without the barrier of clothes between them, but then the slightest brush of her fingers against his brow or her lips placed at the skin behind his ear and the riot of nausea and desire would render him paralyzed.

He hated it. He hated himself. He almost hated her. But then she’d understandably take a step back. She’d hold out her hands and give him that smile that would without fail melt him completely. Inej would listen to him breathe and get back his bearings and when he was steady once more she would take her perch by the window and they would spend the rest of the day in companionable silence.

Then there were moments when she needed that space. When she needed to draw back because he held on too tight. Or when she would hug herself when he tried to take her hand. Or when she woke up gasping and confused and...scared. He was there. Kaz would always be there. To help her fight whatever she needed to fight. 

It was a pendulum of good days and bad days between them, but eventually Kaz finally drew some comfort in Inej’s constancy. That in the midst of the good and the bad days, there she was, offering her hand to keep him steady--ungloved or gloved.

So sitting with her under the stars, Kaz didn’t hesitate in taking her hand in his. He turned his head and caught Inej’s smile as she laced her fingers with his.

“It was nice of Nina to do this.” She brought up, and Kaz turned his gaze back to the sky. “I haven’t celebrated Sankta Nichols Day in a very long time.”

“So the Suli give secret presents to one another and have to suffer through one of Jesper’s drunken rants?” Kaz mused.

“No,” Inej sighed. He could practically feel her roll her eyes, “We don’t really give presents like the rest of Ravka. Since we’re always moving, we would just throw a giant feast with dancing and songs.”

“There weren’t any presents? Even small ones?”

Inej shrugged, “If a family was rich enough or if people were in love, but it wasn’t common. What use is a present if you’re going to have to carry it with you.”

“Hmmm....”

“What about your family?” 

Kaz stiffened at that, “What do you mean?”

“Did they give each other presents at all? I know you Kerch value trade, but were there not any other occasions to give gifts?”

Kaz was silent for a while after that, weighing the words on his tongue. Inej knew most of his past by now, he thought she deserved that much truth at least. But it was still something that felt like a hot spike of cold that stabbed his chest. 

“No,” He rasped out, “We weren’t wealthy enough to give each other gifts. There were a few times that my father gave my brother a pocket watch that belonged to my grandfather. But presents like we had tonight were never within reach.”

Inej nodded in understanding and put her head against his shoulder. 

She was so warm. Everything about her was warm. Her body, her hair, her smile. She was everything that he had tried so hard to forget and he supposed it was that reason that he shifted his body away from her and turned to face her.

There was an obvious confusion in her eyes, but that slowly gave way to shock when Kaz pressed a small box into her hands.

“Kaz, what--” She gave a small gasp as she opened it and looked at the ring nestled inside.

A flutter of nervousness like he’s never known shocks through him, but he tries to talk through it.

“This doesn’t have to be a proposal,” He rushed to say, as Inej’s eyes were still fixed in the simple band with the three diamonds adorning it. “I-I just wanted you to know that if you’re ready or whenever you’re ready, that I’ll be here. That I’ll always be here, as long as you let me be.”

“It’s a promise ring then?” Inej’s smile could have rivaled the diamonds and for a moment Kaz lost his ability to speak.

“Of sorts.” He stuttered.

She held out the box towards him, and before he could even feel his heart begin to droop she said, “Put it on me?”

He nodded and took the delicate jewelry from the velvet box, “So is that a yes?”

The ring fit snugly on her fourth finger of her left hand and sparkled as it caught the light of the moon.

“Yes to the promise or yes to the proposal?” She said admiring it.

Kaz reached up and cupped her cheek with his hand, “Either or both, whichever you prefer.”

Inej’s lips quirked up and she inched forward. Kaz’s breath was caught in his throat as her breath fanned over his mouth, “Yes.”

“Are you ever going to tell me to which you’re agreeing to?” He teased.

She laughed and closed the distance between them in a quick and soft kiss before she settled her body more snugly against him. Her head hit his chest and she was sitting comfortably between his legs.

“Maybe next Sankta Nichols Day.” She chuckled as his hands immediately wrapped around her middle and he buried his face in her hair. The smell of it more intoxicating than all the alcohol in the world. 

Kaz shook his head disbelievingly, but found himself smiling regardless. He was a boy that the ice had tried to claim, but with the girl who had saved him countless times wearing a ring that held more visions of the future, he felt a new type of comforting warmth that had seemed so out of reach.

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[niksong]

2016: A little older, not much wiser.

2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015

-

Guys. I’m literally posting my 2016 reflection in November of 2017.

I’m posting what I have. Ignoring what I don’t remember.

It is what it is. This is my life.

-

2016.

What did you do in 2016 that you’d never done before? Digital Marketing. Performance Advertising. Saw Radiohead at Outside Lands (not necessarily by choice, and I still do not recognize a single song by them. #sorryJH But I did it.). Cambodia. Experienced Angkor Wat, one of the most incredible experiences in the world. Found - and got! - a dream apartment. Hang. Fucking. Over.

Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? To be quite honest with you - I cannot for the life of me remember if I made resolutions or not. 1) I’m not really a *resolution* kind of gal, 2) I can’t find documentation of it anywhere and if it’s not written down, it didn’t happen, 3) I have a pretty terrible memory. I blame it on alcohol most of the time, but I have a creeping feeling it may be more than that. Age, I see you. Looking forward to 2017, I wrote a little sumthin’ sumthin’ up. Here.

Did anyone close to you give birth? I believe the Song clan had a new baby boy join our ranks! S/o to Zayden, the 2nd(?) boy of our entire generation. Boys: 2, Girls: 1MM.

Did anyone close to you die? No. Thank you for this, 2016.

What countries did you visit? Korea! Cambodia! x x x

What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016? Purpose. Fulfilling everyday choices. Focus on health.

What dates from 2016 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? Summer 2016, Cambodia. Wine nights in Korea. A getaway trip down to Monterey Bay and the most incredible Hearst Castle. We chased and captured what we could of the sun, we held hands and assigned each other rooms at Hearst, we became obsessed with the varieties of jelly fish, and we forego-ed a nice meal to have our own personal (large) pizzas at Papa John’s. A perfect little trip.

What was your biggest achievement of the year? Successfully changing professions into something that continues to challenge me every single minute of the day. It drowns me sometimes, but I’m growing to be great at something, and I love it. Anything that gives me direction and purpose, is what I need in life.

What was your biggest failure?

Did you suffer illness or injury? Nothing major... But I think this is the appropriate time to talk about November 1, 2016, otherwise known as from this day forth: D-Day. Doomsday. The world brought unto me my first fucking hang over day. I SWEAR TO GOD THE NIGHT BEFORE STARTED - AND ENDED - LIKE ANY OTHER. It was Halloween. Yuri needed to fulfill her K-Pop cravings, so Chris & I, like the good friends we are, agreed to go with her. We donned our costumes - Chris a Snapchat (hoe) dog, Yuri a cat (was she a cat? I can’t even remember), and myself a Pumpkin (because I keep things sexy) - and headed to good ole’ Origin. We drank, we danced, we drank some more because there’s no way in hell I can be sober in a room of k-pop people, we ended up in front of Safeway begging the people cleaning up for some fried chicken, convinced JHart to get out of bed at 2:30 in the morning to come pick us up because drunk Nicolette likes JH better than any Uber driver in the world (sober Nicolette can be convinced otherwise), we got home, I drank water, took a B-12, I even washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed, and that was it! .........Cue a few hours later. I wake up, head is pounding, I’m definitely drunk, and I realize... I’m nauseous. I’m hella nauseous and no amount of water is making that go away. I chug back a cup, try to go back to sleep, but the pounding... The goddamn pounding. I get out of bed about an hour later because I know *this is it* and go hug my best friend, mr. toilet. I end up throwing up all the water I drank an hour before, I’m nauseous, no longer drunk, head is still pounding, crawl to the couch, and tell myself, “Nicolette, if you watch The Good Wife, you won’t be sick anymore.” I tried. 1 episode, 2 saltines, 3 bites of a banana, lots and lots of telling JH I want to die and convincing myself that this is how the world will end, I end up back in bed, and fall asleep. CUE 30 MINUTES LATER! I WAKE UP! AND YO, I’M GOOD!!!!! According to JH, while this was my *First Hangover*, 1) if I was able to even watch TV through the pain, it wasn’t a *real hangover* and 2) it ended in roughly 2 hours, so wait for the *real thing*. I don’t know how you people do it. How can you drink knowing that this is what awaits in the morning. S/o (and shame) to all my friends who have hangovers every. single. time. you drink, but you let us convince you to come out anyway. Damn. SO DID I SUFFER AN ILLNESS? MAYBE NOT. BUT THIS WAS A GODDAMN INJURY, OK. INJURY TO THE SOUL. NOTHING IS THE SAME ANYMORE. I pace myself now.

What was the best thing you bought? Probably my 12mm lens and Sony a6000.

Whose behavior merited celebration? JH’s. I’ll never forget our big “fight”. We had argued the night before about something silly, and I came to work and joked about it in front of our colleagues. That’s my way of completely getting over something - being able to talk about it and joke about it (if I’m mad, I’m not talking to you. Call me Russia cause I’m Cold War over here.), but that really frustrated JH. He had told me a while before that he was uncomfortable with airing our laundry in front of work people, and if I was going to do it, to do it without him present. I obviously forgot. He was upset, and it was clear that it has upset him. I started bugging him about it as we were walking out of work - ‘why are you mad, tell me why you’re mad, what’s frustrating you, talk to me’ pretty much being incessant and the usual amount of annoying that I pour on him. He stopped me, told me why, and kept going. I then started profusely apologizing because I actually had remembered he asked me not to do that and I really didn’t want him to be angry about this. You see, I had gotten out of a relationship a few years ago where every little thing pissed my partner off and in retrospect, I spent a good year or so simply apologizing out of frustration. It’s a bad habit I picked up, and I was afraid that JH would be upset with me. We got into the car. In the middle of my painful apologies, he suddenly stops me and says “I’m not mad.” Me, unable to comprehend this idea: What? JH: I’m not mad at you, it’s okay, stop apologizing. Me: What do you mean you’re not mad? How do you get unmad so quickly? JH: I sat here, thought about it, and decided it wasn’t worth being mad about. It’s not that big of a deal, and I don’t like being upset with you. You see. This is what being in a healthy relationship is about. It’s about not sweating the small things, being open about what bothers you, having a conversation about it, and forgiveness. I really respected him then. And that’s why I continue to respect him now, more than ever.

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Donald Trump. 47% of Americans. Anyone who chooses to support him for whatever the reason is - his “policy”, business plans,  whatever it is - it is not okay with me because what you are doing is putting your privilege, your ability to only think money, in front of other peoples’ liberties and basic human rights. That will never be okay with me.

Where did most of your money go? Plane tickets. I can’t remember why or what I did in 2016, but I vividly remember spending a lot of money on plane tickets to visit one place or another. Vegas being one of them. Or 5 of them. I can’t remember how many trips I made last year. #noregrets. (the ticket part, not so much the vegas part).

What did you get really, really, really excited about? NEW JOB. CAMBODIA. 언니 & 오빠들 IN KOREA. PATTY’S WEDDING - THE FIRST OF US HIGH SCHOOL KIDS. APPLE WATCH.

What song will always remind you of 2016?

Compared to this time last year, are you: 

Happier or Sadder? Happier? Less stressed. I was very stressed about where I wanted my career to go this time last year.

Thinner or Fatter? Thinner. Surprising, huh? I’m proud of this, so I will say the last time I checked, I was 12 pounds lighter than earlier this year. I am afraid to check now, because I might only be 6 pounds, but hell. That’s still something.

Richer or Poorer? Richer. In terms of numbers, but I feel poorer. I really need to stop buying clothes.

What do you wish you’d done more of? Longer vacation in Korea.

What do you wish you’d done less of?

How did you spend Christmas? 2016? Easy. Waking up early in the morning, running to my parents room, rolling around on the couch for a few minutes until we decide we cannot go another minute without hot chocolate. Race downstairs, wait for the hot chocolate to be made by the best daddy in the world, get excited about all the gifts I successfully brought from SF. Have my sister emcee the gift giveaway portion, rip open gifts, laugh at gifts, gasp at gifts... Speaking of gifts... We had something - or should I say someone - join the Song festivities this year... JH! And while I should say that the Song’s did quite a successful job at gift giving, JH outdid himself. Planned out some of my parent’s favorite gifts of all time and got me... An Apple Watch! A pink one. Okay, “rose gold”, but don’t play, it’s hella pink.

Did you fall in love in 2016? Yes. With Hippatato. It’s a long story, but I’m also still in love with a human too, so 2016 was looking up.

How many hook ups? If we’re talking rando’s, then 0.

What was your favorite TV program?

Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

What was the best book you read? The Name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss. Courtesy of my book angel, JH.

What was your greatest musical discovery? Without a doubt I want to say James Bay, but I have a sinking feeling that he was the man of my 2015.

What did you want and get? An Apple Watch. A brand new job opportunity.

What did you want and not get?

What was your favorite film of this year?

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? 26; had to share my birthday with my freaking s/o. HAHAHA. He was turning the big 3-0 so I decided to forego my bday this year (how amazing am I) and plan him a surprise birthday party. SF beer garden, close friends, drunk escape room, the good stuff. Yafs & Yrroh also took us out to Cockscomb for the most amazing steak as well. As we get older, our friend groups get smaller... But man, do they get more fulfilling. <3

What one thing made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016?

What kept you sane?

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Who did you miss?

Who was the best new person you met? [Did you meet any new friends this year? I’m sure I did, but to be completely honest, I had a very different approach to this year. I realized somewhere midway that as we get older, we learn how to prioritize more and more. Friends are a great example to this. As social as any butterfly can be, with the very limited amount of time I now have in my life, I decided that I didn’t want too spend that time constantly trying to impress people and have everyone in the world like me. I just can’t do it, and I just don’t care. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about my friends - just the opposite, actually. I decided that this year, I would focus on the friendships that truly mattered to me and to 100% invest in those relationships.]

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016. Learning to love and be loved by and with an adult.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

---

"THE THREE" OF 2016:

Leaving PR.

Heroes of the Storm.

First hangover.