#like ive been at this computer for four hours and somehow only able to complete four applications

[louisianimal]

someone kill me pls.

[jeongvision]

🗣 TEACHER!AU WITH JOHNNY

PART TWO! LET’S GET IT!

pairing. history teacher! seo johnny ✗ english teacher! fem! reader (ft. english teacher! mark lee)

genre. fluff, slight humor, high school teacher au, non idol au

warnings. some cursing and super soft hours after this huhu <3 and not proofread but we can discuss that later

author’s note. this is an continuation to this blurb! this could be read as a standalone but regardless i hope this brought a smile to your face bc it certainly did for me <3

You should’ve seen it coming. Damn it, it was right in front of you all along, so why didn’t you see it in the first place?

You and your students have been grinding nonstop for the past couple weeks to prep them for the AP English IV exam. There was a time where you requested two days off from work for emergency purposes (thankfully it was nothing too major) leaving you to ask your coworker- Mark, another teacher in your department -to help fill in your students on materials needed for the exam.

Everything was perfectly fine when you came back, your coworker going beyond your expectations in taking care of your students. However, one thing you failed to take notice of is the recent changes the college board made in their AP exams, including the course you teach. After reviewing some of the revisions they made, you felt your heart drop.

They’ve added three additional sections to the exam, meaning an additional two weeks is needed to cover the materials for your students to grasp some sort of mastery on those concepts.

You have four weeks left until the exam, and you’re already compacted those remaining weeks with other necessary materials for the exam.

“Fucking hell,” you murmured under your breath.

Running your hand through your hair, you let out a tired sigh. It’s already bad enough that you have to work overtime in making revisions to your lesson plans. However, it’s worse to see the crestfallen looks on your students’ faces when you dropped the news on them. They’re already tired enough from dealing with other classes and extracurricular activities. On top of that, you know most of them are stressing about their acceptance letters from their colleges.

You dropped the pen in your hand and rubbed both of your eyelids. Relax, y/n you told yourself. Don’t worry, you can do this. You heard the door behind you open, meaning someone walked inside the teacher’s lounge.

“Hey, y/n. What’s up- Woah, woah, WOAH! What do we have here?” the person exclaimed. You let out a chortle. You could distinctively point that voice out from anywhere, and you’re sure as hell that the state of your workspace is nothing short of hell. Taking your hands away from your face, you crossed your arms and leaned back a little in your seat to look up at the latter.

“Well, hello to you too, Mark,” you chuckled. You both gave each a fist bump before he sits down in the empty chair beside you.

“What the hell happened here?” He grabs some of the documents splayed out before you, eyes scanning through the materials that you’ve scribbled on in the past hour. “Wait, what? They added new things to the AP exam?”

You sighed and nodded dejectedly. “Yep. And somehow, I gotta squeeze all those materials into my lesson plans before they take it next month.” You rested your arms on the table and rested your head on top of them. “At this point, I just want to light myself on fire and call it a day.”

Mark lets out a cackle besides you, prompting you to smile. You’ll never mention it to him, but his laughs and smiles are always infectious. It’s what makes him so well-known and loved in the English department in the first place, both faculties and students.

“Please don’t do that. We love you too much to let you do that to yourself,” he responded.

Sitting back up in your seat, you take a glance at the clock. Just four minutes before the section ends and you have to go back to teaching your classes again. You heard your coworker clear his throat, bringing you to face him.

“Do you need help with any of this?” he offered.

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine, Mark. I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to bother you with my workload.”

“No, really. It’s fine, y/n. I only teach honors and they’re all pretty ahead in their assignments, so I have some free time if you’d like.”

Just like that, you swear you could see a halo shining above his figure, your world much brighter and clearer than it was this morning. “Oh my god, yes please.” You shifted through your papers, searching the remnants of the piles before handing it over to him. “Can you please go through these and grade them for me? Here are the answer keys for them.” After debriefing him for that stack of papers, you gave him another one. “And for these, can you make some copies for me? I need them tonight so I can plan for tomorrow’s class.”

He listened attentively to your commands, taking a mental note and nodding each instruction given to him. “Okay, got it, y/n. I’ll get these done and hand them over by the end of the day.”

You’re gawking at him, surprised that your coworker is willing to lend you a helping hand. You could honestly cry out tears of joy right now, but timing refuses to let you do so as the bell rings, marking the end of a period. You both stood up in your seats and grabbed the papers on the table into a neat pile. You let out a content sigh as you both walked out the teacher’s lounge.

“Thank you so much, Mark. You’re the best,” you exhaled. Outside your classroom, you already see some students entering inside as you left it unlocked, free for them or your coworkers to enter as they pleased. You both stood next to its entrance before he shrugs his shoulders at you.

“Hey, I mean it’s what I do best, right? Being the best.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful shove, earning a laugh from him. Saying goodbyes to one another, you walked inside your classroom. You nodded to the students present. “Afternoon, class,” you greeted.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/n!”

“Miss Y/n, there’s a bouquet of flowers on your desk,” one of your students called out. You raised an eyebrow. Flowers? Looking over to your desk, your student was certainly not lying and neither are your eyes. Perched in the middle of your desk lies a vase filled with varying colors of tulips. Petals are in full bloom and the stems are clipped uniformly. You walked over and saw a notecard attached to one of the flowers.

“Who is it from, Miss Y/n?”

“Yeah! Who got you flowers?”

You looked up and realized more of your students are present, capacity almost at its max. Class was starting soon so more and more are rushing in to see the surprise gift settled on your desk.

“Is it Mr. Kim in the science department? I saw you two walking together in the hallways last week.”

That assumption piqued your interest. “Wait, Mr. Kim? The physics teacher?” you asked. The student, Krystal, nodded, causing you to huff incredulously. “Krystal, please. We’re merely just friends.”

Another student chimes in. “Friends don’t lock arms with each other at work.”

“Jongin, please. Your last girlfriend only stayed with you for a month and she started dating an upperclassman a week later.”

“Hey—”

“Guys, calm down,” you interjected. “As much as I love you crazy bunch, I am still your teacher. Therefore, what occurs in my personal life stays private, and how much I am willing to share with you all lies in my discretion.” But unbeknownst to you, one of your students sneaks behind you to get a glance of the card, discreetly reading the contents:

‘The best deserves nothing less than the best.

Yours truly.’

The student, Luna, almost lets out a squeal. “Guys! Guys!” You jumped in shock, startled by her sudden presence and her high-pitched voice. “I think it’s Mr. Lee! The other English teacher!”

All attention is now on her, excitement filled in the air.

“Mr. Lee? The one that teaches honors?”

“The one with boba eyes?”

“The one that laughs at everything?”

Luna nods to each question, visibly thrilled with the subtle jump in her steps as she walked towards her classmates. “Yes! I heard Miss y/n calling him the best earlier and Mr. Lee joked about being the best! And in the card, it said ‘the best deserves nothing less than the best’.” The bell rang, marking the beginning of the period, but that didn’t stop your students from chattering with happiness, faces completely wiped from fatigue and stress of the upcoming exams. Some students entered your classroom late to the discussion, prompting other students to fill them in only to also be electrified by the ‘news’.

You run a hand through your hair again and sighed. Not this again, you thought to yourself. But just before you could jump in to stop all this chaos, you heard someone knock on your open door, diverting your attention and your class’ to the intruder.

“Well, good afternoon, class,” the person chuckled. “Why’s it so boisterous here? Did I miss a party or something?”

Of course, what better person to appear now of all times? It was none other than the infamous history teacher, Johnny Seo. You rolled your eyes before laughing. Coincidence, my ass.

“Mr. Seo! Someone gave Miss Y/n a bouquet of tulips! She has a secret admirer!” Luna stated.

He raised an eyebrow at her direction. “Oh, does she now?” He looks back at you with a grin. “Did Miss Y/n find out who this secret admirer is?”

“We think it’s Mr. Lee from honors English.”

“And what makes you think so?”

“Because we heard her call him the best earlier before class started, and the notecard called her the best.”

“Coincidence? I think not,” Jongin nodded.

All of the students followed along in unison, profoundly proud of their assumptions that left you shaking your head in disbelief. Surely, you had a smile on your face, but it’s surprising to know how your students are able to make such large assumptions based on groundless evidence. You sat down in your chair and turned on your computer, getting your lesson plan ready for the period as your students entertained themselves with Mr. Seo.

Johnny takes it all in, nodding to all of them before walking up behind your desk. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that you don’t pester too much to Miss y/n about it. You know how much she likes to keep her life private.” While you were browsing through your saved files and pulling up powerpoints, you felt the latter tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Right, Mrs. Seo?”

And just like that, your hands stilled. Wait, did he just—

“Hold up..”

“What?”

“Did you just—”

“Mrs. Seo?”

“Huh?”

You squeezed your eyelids shut. Oh my god, here we go again—

“YOU GUYS ARE MARRIED??”

jeongvision’s milestone event!

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

Summary:  Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM. All the warnings listed on Part I apply. 

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V /  Part VI /  Part VII /  Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Living with Ned and MJ was both a dream come true and a bit of a nightmare.

A dream, because when they were kids, they always talked about how they would all go the same college and live together one day, and Peter would finally have a real home – and a real family, he used to think to himself,  in secret.

A nightmare, because he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of his friends, and that was the worst kind of feeling to have for the people who opened their arms and their home for him when he needed the most. Still, he couldn’t avoid it and he felt awful for that. They were both attending NYU; Ned was majoring in Computer Science and MJ in Journalism. All according to the plans they made in high school.

When Peter was younger, he made plans, too. He wanted to study Biochemistry, his teachers used to say he could probably get a scholarship to a good college, he was smart enough. Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, even offered to write letters of recommendation for him. Instead, Peter’s life choices led him to his current predicament: a 20 year-old porn actor, selling dirty pictures for a living, crashing on his friends’ couch, not a single dollar in his wallet.

He was definitely not getting any awards for good decision making, that was for sure.

He had been staying with Ned and MJ for a week when he was finally able to set up his Just4Fans account. He knew that had to be a temporary thing, it couldn’t last, even if he wanted it to. He wouldn’t be young forever, let alone a “pretty twink”, as his subscribers loved to call him. He had maybe three or four years left of that hype, at most, then he would be too old for that, and/or people would start getting bored of him. So he had to be smart, the plan was to save up as much as he could while he thought about what he was going to do once the fountain of youth dried up, and the clock was ticking fast.

But for the time being, porn.

Good thing he had his own Instagram account with a few thousand followers. All the other social media accounts were under Beck’s name, and those had hundreds of thousands of followers, but Peter no longer had access to them – he checked. He also checked and noticed that Beck hadn’t announced that they had split up yet, his last post dated from five days earlier, when he released their last video together – two days after kicking him out of the house, the asshole.

So Peter posted a few Instagram stories explaining to his followers that he and Beck weren’t a thing anymore – he didn’t give many details, he didn’t want any drama, specially not with Beck – and that he had set up a Just4Fans account for the time being. In minutes, his Instagram blew up. Apparently, people were either heartbroken over their breakup; relieved he “got rid of that perv!”; or devastated they wouldn’t get to see them doing porn together anymore.

He got a hundred subscribers in just a few hours, which was incredible. The subscription fee was ten dollars a month, so even after the website’s cut plus tax deduction, it still was a good start. He wondered what kind of money Beck made with their videos, because they had thousands of subscribers on their channel.

Once he got the hang of the site, he tried to post at least two sets of pictures a day – which was challenging at that moment, because the apartment was tiny and he didn’t have any outfits or toys with him, they were all at Beck’s. He made plans that as soon as he got the subscription money in around fifteen days, he would try to buy a few things and take tons of pictures to last a few weeks.  

He also made sure to answer people’s messages every single day, which often earned him a little more money in tips. It was shocking how many people were willing to tip him just because he answered them. Some other people asked for extra content, like specific pictures, videos or even voice notes, which he sent via “pay-per-view messages”.

In the end, he felt like he was prostituting himself. Again.

He would never judge a person for earning their living in any way necessary, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, he just never thought that would be him. Never ever. As a kid, he thought he’d be an astronaut. Growing up, he wanted to be a physicist. As a teen, he made plans to study Biochemistry. And somehow he ended up selling his body online, one way or another.

He didn’t dwell on that for long, he focused on the fact that it was temporary. If he managed to retain at least some of the people that had subscribed to his account for two or three years, then he would be able to start a small business of some kind in the future. Maybe he could go back to school. Twenty-three wasn’t too old for college, right?

Right.

It was two weeks later when he got a weird message. Not a weird message, actually, a weird tip. Someone under the username of YKWIM had sent him ten thousand dollars for no reason, there was no prior conversation, nor did the person ask for anything in return. Peter was sure there must have been a mistake, maybe they had typed in some extra zeros or maybe they had sent it to the wrong person, so he decided to reach out.

“Hey. I think there must’ve been some sort of mistake with your last tip. Lol.”

He left his phone on the counter and got started on dinner. He was a terrible cook, but to be fair, they all were, so it was fine. Ned and MJ were both at work, but they would be home soon and they were having a quiet night in. Those few weeks at their place had been good for Peter, it felt nice not to be alone after what happened, but at the same time, he was starting to feel like he really needed his own space. He was already looking for an apartment to move into as soon as he got the money. He was hoping to get one in the same building or at least close by, so that they could still see each other often.

His cell phone beeped as he sliced some onions and he stopped to check.

“Hey, gorgeous. There’s been no mistake, it’s correct.” Peter was taken aback by the answer, so he checked again to see how much the person had tipped him, and sure enough, there it was. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand. American dollars.

“Oh. Wow, that was very, very generous of you. Is there any particular content that you’d like to see from me as a thank you? I could send you exclusive pics and videos, whatever you want.” Inwardly, he was thinking that no amount of pictures or videos from him would ever be worth ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars, holy fuck.

“That would be excellent.”

“Great. What would you like to see?”

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird… Usually, Peter’s subscribers liked to see him in cute outfits or with cute toys, but some people liked very messed up stuff. He usually said no, but that person had just sent him ten thousand dollars. Fuck, that was so much money, it would cover rent for at least a few months.

“I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve put out so far, baby, so surprise me. I’m sure I’m gonna like whatever you send.”

God, generous and reasonable? Had Peter died and gone to porn heaven?

“You flatter me.” He typed in quickly, leaving the sauce unattended for a few seconds. “Give me a few hours to work on it, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Take your time, but I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried.”

Peter felt so stupid when he blushed and giggled to himself, because that was exactly how Beck lured him in when he was seventeen, with charming, easy words. He was an adult now, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t even know who he was talking to. To be fair, it was probably a woman. For some weird reason, according to his Just4Fans statistics, a surprisingly large percentage of his subscribers were middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual women. Peter supposed those were the ones who used to follow his “love story” with Beck – most of them hadn’t got over them yet, apparently they were “the perfect couple! So cute!”.

He couldn’t blame them, they sold them the perfect love story. And for a time, it was true. Peter really thought Beck was it for him, the love of his life, his soulmate. He didn’t know at which point it all became an act to Beck – or if maybe it had always been an act.

He sighed, shaking his head, he couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about him, so he focused on what he should send YKWIM.

As he finished making dinner, he tried to come up with ideas. They said they loved everything Peter had posted so far – he had posted thirty pictures and five short clips over the past two weeks. The pictures were all in MJ’s bedroom – she offered –, most of them in her bed. There were only a few pictures in which he was completely naked, in the others he had some sort of underwear on –  lingerie or tight briefs.

So, he decided he should do something similar, but different enough that YKWIM would feel somewhat special. He had a few good ideas, but they would have to wait for the next morning, he would need good lighting and privacy.

“Hey, nerd, what’s up,” He almost burned his fingers when he heard MJ’s voice, and realized he had spaced out for a minute there. He shook his head quickly and smiled at her.

“Nothing, how was you day?”

The next morning, once Ned went to visit his family and MJ left for work, Peter started working on the pictures. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell his friends about YKWIM, just like he didn’t want to tell them about Beck when they first met, three years earlier. And if he really was as smart as his teachers used to say, he would have seen the pattern. But as it was, he just focused on the fact that YKWIM was probably a woman living on the other side of the world, who just liked to get off to pictures of pretty boys in lingerie.

But.

For the sake of getting in the mood for the pictures, he imagined YKWIM was a guy. Not too tall, but taller than him. He imagined he had a beard, but not a full one, like Beck’s, no, perfectly trimmed, scratchy, in a good way. He’d have dark, warm eyes, not blue and cold. He’d be older, older than Beck, more mature than him. A real man. Maybe he’d have a few streaks of gray amidst his otherwise dark hair.  

He’d be gentle, despite Peter’s past. He’d treat him like he was the first one to ever touch him, even if he knew that was far from the truth. He would be careful, mindful of his pleasure. He’d start off slowly, kissing along his collarbones, fingers brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, just shy of where Peter wanted him to touch, as his mouth traveled down his chest; hot, moist breath leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach.

He sighed. Yeah, that would do to put him in the mood.

He put on a white t-shirt that was just long enough to graze the tops of his thighs, and a simple, plain black thong. He decided to take the pictures in the shower – the classic wet, white t-shirt, he couldn’t really go wrong with that. He positioned the camera on top of the bathroom sink, set the timer, and started posing.

First, he rested his back against the wall, one hand pulling the t-shirt down to cover the front his underwear, eyes staring directly at the camera lens as water ran down his face, neck and chest, making his nipples stiffen, becoming visible under the wet shirt.  

Next, he pressed his chest to the wall, looking at the camera from over his shoulder, lips parted, just a peek of his exposed ass cheeks showing where the t-shirt ended, but by then it was so wet it was mostly see-through.

Then he turned so his side was facing the camera and stuck his head directly under the stream of water, running his hands through his hair, back arched obscenely, eyes closed. He let his hands travel all the way down his neck, chest, and stomach, hearing the familiar “click” as the camera took several pictures.

He turned around again, placed his hands on the wall and lifted his t-shirt just over his lower back, sticking his ass out, showing off his provocative underwear.

He got out of the shower and turned the camera into filming mode, then got back under the water and also shot a short clip of he sensually and slowly taking the thong off, but in a way that the viewer couldn’t really see the skin that was revealed. He pulled the wet t-shirt down so it covered everything, but by then it was so see-through that it left nothing to the imagination. Peter twirled a little, then threw an innocent, shy smile at the camera.

That should do it.

He finished his shower, put the wet clothes in the washer, then went to edit the pictures. He didn’t do much, just adjusted the light and contrast, then cut them into squares, because he though it looked classier or whatever. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought, as he attached the photos and the video to a direct message to YKWIM.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint. Let me know if you’d like something different.”

He cringed re-reading the message, he thought he sounded desperate and insecure about himself and he supposed that wasn’t very attractive, so he decided to change it just a little.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint.” And he finished off with a hot face emoji, because why not.

He sent the message and went on with his day. Ned and MJ were both back for lunch and since none of them felt like cooking – and they all sucked at it anyway –, they ordered something to eat in front of the TV, as they binge-watched the first seasons of The Office.

“Oh, hey, Pete, I almost forgot, I talked to our landlord earlier and he said there’s an apartment on the fifth floor that should be vacated by the end of the month, if you’re interested,” Ned told him around a mouthful of pizza and Peter’s head snapped up.

“I’m definitely interested!”

“Cool, I’ll talk to him for you, I’m sure I can get you a good deal on rent.” He winked, and Peter smiled, feeling hopeful.

Things were getting better. Slowly, yes, but they were. He was spending time with his friends – who he had neglected for the past two years–; he had a good amount of money to withdraw in the next few days, that could get him going for a while; he was still doing porn, yes, but at least he was in control of the whole thing, including his own body, which was nice; and he only cried for Beck every other night instead of every single night, so he had that going for him.

All in all, things were looking up.

Ned and MJ convinced him to go out for a bit in the afternoon, they said he had been cooped up in the apartment for three weeks and should breathe in some fresh air, and since it was the first somewhat warm day of March, they decided to go jog at Central Park in the afternoon. They didn’t really jog, but they walked around some and Peter must admit that it felt good to stretch his legs and feel the sun on his skin for a change.

They were lying on the grass, resting for a bit, when they saw a blur of red and gold fly overhead. People started cheering and clapping and Peter smiled when MJ groaned, because he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“How can people cheer for that guy, he’s an egocentric, misogynistic, elitist, disgusting asshole.”  He laughed to himself, because he knew what came next.

“He’s a genius, he changed the world multiple times and he even saved it at least twice. I think he’s pretty cool,” Ned argued without any heat and Peter could hear MJ rolling her eyes.

Peter didn’t love or hate Tony Stark or Iron Man, like most people, he just – didn’t pay him any mind. Sure, when he was a kid, he was obsessed with him, he was New York’s first superhero after  Captain America, who was still in the ice when Stark announced he was Iron Man. But as he grew older, he had other concerns in mind other than who was the coolest Avenger, so he kind of forgot they existed, except for when there was some crazy alien threat looming over New York City – which was, like, a biannual thing since they found out aliens existed back in 2012.

The fact that Iron Man was flying over Central Park on a Saturday afternoon was a little alarming though. From what Peter knew, Stark was mostly retired since around 2016, he only ever “avenged” when there was a big threat, like the near-end-of-the-world they had back in 2018.

“Do you think we’re under attack?” Peter asked and Ned shook his head calmly.

“Nah, I think he must be late for something. I read an interview recently and he said he uses the suit sometimes when he needs to get some place fast.”

Seemed like overkill, but who was Peter to judge, he would probably do the same if had a suit like that.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the park and then headed home for the night. MJ turned in early, she said she was beat from a busy week, and Peter and Ned stayed up until a little later, re-watching Star Wars movies. It was close to 2AM when Ned said his goodnight and Peter went to check his Just4Fans, because he hadn’t answered any messages all day long.

There were quite a few, but he did notice there was one missing. YKWIM hadn’t answered him yet and Peter immediately felt like a failure. They probably hated the pictures, they must have thought “ugh, ten thousand dollars for that?”. Peter should have photoshopped them. He could have made himself look at least a little bit better, if only–

Before he could hate on himself too much, YKWIM messaged him, like they could read minds. Peter quickly opened their chat, still a little worried about their reaction to the pictures.

“Damn, baby! You have no fucking idea what those did to me. Fuck! Can I show you? Please?”

Peter was oddly relieved to read that, and was endeared by the fact that they actually asked before sending a dick pic. Or a clit pic? Was that a thing?

“Of course, gorgeous, I’d love to see it.”

Within seconds, they sent a video in the chat. Peter was a little surprised by that, but pressed play anyway, and almost fell off the couch when he did.

It was a thirteen seconds video. He could see the man’s midriff, all the way down to the tops of his thighs. His belly was toned and spattered with dark hair that led down to perfectly trimmed pubes that framed the most beautiful cock Peter had ever seen. There was no other way to put it.

It was long and thick, but not so much so that it would hurt – Peter knew better –, it stood proudly between his thighs, attached to a heavy set of balls that made his mouth water. He was jacking it mercilessly, Peter could only hear him grunting quietly before his balls recoiled and he came, covering his stomach in thick, pearly white come. Peter whimpered, pressing down on his hard-on, and almost cried when the video was over.

“Fuck, daddy, that was so fucking hot.” It was probably the first time ever that he actually meant that answering a DM from a subscriber.

“That was the third time today, baby, I have been thinking about those pics from the minute you sent them. Spent the whole day with blue balls, even after coming twice.”

Fuck.

“Wish I could have helped you with that.”

“Who knows, honey, maybe someday.”

Yeah, Peter thought, biting his pillow on the couch so he wouldn’t be heard when he came embarrassingly hard in his pajamas pants, face burning with shame. Maybe someday.

[not-oscar-wilde]

Revived

The apocalypse has been averted, the timeline fixed, and the Hargreeves siblings returned to 2019. Herb decides to do them one more favour and save the life of one Dave Katz.

I wrote a new fic! read it below the cut or on AO3.

The pain in Dave’s chest was unbearable. Klaus was above him and he was speaking, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. He wanted to comfort him, to stop him from panicking and tell him he loved him, but he couldn’t get the words out. He could only try and keep his eyes open, to keep his eyes on Klaus and try to psychically tell him everything he needed him to know, before the pain won out and everything turned black.

And then he woke up.

Though the room around him smelled sterile, it wasn’t like any hospital or medical tent he had ever been in before. He was lying in a crisp, white bed, with a myriad of wires attached to his body. Some of them he recognised, the IV drips were standard, but the majority were completely alien to him, from those puncturing his skin to those seemingly just stuck to it.

“Good afternoon, Mr Katz,” a smooth, female voice said in an accent that reminded him vaguely of movie stars. But when Dave looked around the room, he was completely alone, accompanied only by strangely flat screens he couldn’t see properly from his position on the bed. “Please remain calm. I have notified our Medical Team that you are awake and someone will be with you shortly.” There was something wrong about that voice, some kind indescribable, minute wrongness that unsettled him.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You are in the Intensive Care Unit of the Temps Commission Infirmary, Room 9,” the voice said.

The Temps Commission Infirmary? He’d never heard of that hospital, and it definitely didn’t look American or Vietnamese. “The what? What happened? And who are you?”

“The Temps Commission Infirmary, attached to the headquarters of the Temps Commission. You were shot through the chest in A Shau Valley, Vietnam, February 21, 1968. I am VINA, your Virtual Infirmary Nursing Assistant.”

He’d been shot. He remembered it, remembered the pain, remembered the way Klaus had screamed and held him and how he hadn’t managed to say anything before the world had gone dark. What had happened to Klaus? To everyone? “How long have I been here?”

“You have been in the TCICU for three days, six hours, and thirty seven minutes.”

But when he brought his hand up to his chest, there were no dressings, just bare, unmarked skin. If he had been there for six days, if he’d been shot… He should be dead, or at the very least, heavily bandaged. Before he could think too much about that, a door slid open like something out of a sci-fi movie, and a tall, dark skinned woman with a serious face walked in. “Good afternoon, Mr Katz. My name is Doctor Onyeka Nwoye. How are you feeling?” she asked as she approached his bed, examining the screens. If there hadn’t been much stranger things going on, he would have been mildly surprised by a black lady doctor being sent in to treat him. He forgot, sometimes, that not everywhere was like Texas. But he was immensely glad of that fact, particularly if she’d been the one to fix him up.

“I’m good,” he said, and as confusing as it was, that was true. He shouldn’t be feeling good. He’d been shot, and he felt fine. That shouldn’t be happening.

“Any pain?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, that’s good. VINA, anything to report?”

“Mr Katz has not experienced any physical complications during the healing process. His body has responded well to the treatment and brain scans indicate that no neurological damage has occurred,” the disembodied voice said. The voice that didn’t belong to a person at all, if Dave had understood correctly. VINA had to be some kind of automaton, a computer that could speak. He didn’t much like that.

Doctor Nwoye nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “A complete success, then. I would like to keep you under supervision for another twenty-four hours, but if I have no concerns at the end of this period, I see no need to keep you here any longer.” With that, she set about detaching the various wires from his body.

“Where is here? I know we’re in some kinda hospital, the… Commission?”

“Yes. We are an organisation dedicated to fixing, monitoring, and eliminating timeline anomalies,” she said, as if that made any kind of sense. “And, in exceptional circumstances, minimising potential disruptions.”

Dave frowned, trying to translate her words into something close to regular English. He knew he wasn’t that stupid, but he sure felt it. “So I’m a- what was it? A timeline anomaly?”

“I am a doctor, not an analyst. I cannot tell you who or what the timeline anomalies are.”

“Were you there, when I got shot?” he asked instead.

Dr Nwoye laughed and shook her head. “Oh Lord, no. I do not have the disposition for time travel, and I think my wife would have my head if I were ever to set foot in the field. I work solely from inside the TCI.”

“Your wife ?” he repeated, his heart leaping. This was a woman with a wife. A woman in a world where she could not only love another woman, but marry her and be able to mention it so casually to a complete stranger?

“Do you have a problem with the fact your life was saved by a lesbian, Mr Katz?” she asked calmly, and his stomach sank.

“No, ma’am! I just… Where I come from, people can’t… I didn’t know there was anywhere you could have that kinda marriage.” Was this the future? The place that Klaus had talked about, had said he couldn’t ever go back to? Had Dave somehow ended up there in his place, leaving Klaus in the middle of a war he’d never even signed up for? But that world was ending. Klaus had told him that. So how was he here? “I was just surprised is all. I’m… you know, the same typa way.”

The slight smile returned to the doctor’s face, and Dave relaxed. “It was 1968 you came from, yes?” So that pretty much confirmed his ‘future’ theory. Dave nodded mutely. “I cannot say I know why your survival matters so much yet your injury could not have been prevented, negating the need to bring you here at all, but I will say I am glad you are more… progressive than some of your contemporaries. It does make my job easier.”

“Doctor Nwoye, you are needed urgently in Room 14,” the disembodied voice said before Dave could formulate an answer, and the doctor sighed.

“I am on my way. Mr Katz, if you need anything, just ask VINA.” And with that, the bizarre door slid open again and Dr Nwoye was striding away.

The room was silent for a few minutes as Dave thought about this whole situation. He’d think it a fever dream, but he wasn’t sure he was creative enough to come up with all of this. “VINA?” he said eventually, feeling more than a little silly speaking to an empty room.

But the disembodied voice responded immediately. “Do you require assistance, Mr Katz?”

“I…What the hell is going on?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Please elaborate or rephrase to receive appropriate support.”

“I got shot . But I don’t even have a scar.”

“You are correct. Do you have any questions about your treatment?”

Dave exhaled shakily and touched his chest again. Even that should have hurt, and though he was incredibly grateful that it didn’t, that fact was in itself unsettling.  “What kinda doctor can just make a bullet wound… vanish?”

“Dr Nwoye is an expert in bioregeneration and biotemporal manipulation.”

“Bio… Jeez.” He could guess at what those words meant, but truthfully, he had no idea. It may as well have been another language. Was this the world Klaus had come from? This strange world filled with people and words he didn’t know, where gunshots through the chest were not just survivable but left no mark, where unseen people watched and spoke with you, where a black woman with a wife could be a white man’s doctor. It wasn’t a bad world. It was simply so far from the one he knew.

Some things would always be the same, though: hospitals were boring. Dave was half out of his mind with it, staring up at the ceiling and wishing he had something to do. Talking to VINA was just a little too weird, with her uncannily smooth voice and questionable existence. So he got out of bed, deciding to explore. There were no windows, only artificial lights built into the ceiling. He couldn’t even tell what time of day it was. The room was neither warm nor cold, despite the fact he was wearing only white cotton shorts.

The door that the doctor had come in through didn’t have a handle. Instead, he found a panel of buttons on the wall beside it and pushed one hopefully. With a hydraulic hiss, the door opened and he stepped out into the hallway. “Please remain in your room. If you require assistance, this can be provided. If you are searching for the bathroom, this can be located through the other door within your room.”

It was strange, being scolded by someone - or something - he couldn’t see, and in such a calm manner. But Dave obeyed and stepped back inside the confines of his room. He may as well check out the bathroom if he wasn’t allowed anywhere else.

There were clothes folded up on top of a cabinet next to the shower, accompanied by a ziplock bag of toiletries and a towel. He figured those must be for him. He was about to strip off, out of the plain white shorts he’d been left in, when a wave of self-consciousness overtook him. “VINA?” he said hesitantly.

“Do you need assistance, Mr Katz?”

“I, uh… Are you watching me in here?”

“I am tasked with monitoring all rooms of the Temps Commission Infirmary.”

He’d spent enough time in the military to be comfortable enough getting undressed in front of other men. But in front of a woman? Even if she might be a machine and not a real woman, it still felt wrong, somehow. “Could I get a little privacy?”

“To ensure your safety and the safety of other patients, I am required to observe at all times. Surveillance footage is wiped from my systems after two weeks and is not accessible without appropriate justification from Temps Commission staff.”

That still wasn’t exactly reassuring. Dave couldn’t even see where VINA was watching from, couldn’t work out where to position himself to turn his back. He’d been changed out of his fatigues, so someone had surely seen his naked body here before and there was no guarantee that they were all male, but the irrationality of his desire for modesty didn’t change anything.

She’s seen it all before , he told himself. There must’ve been hundreds of naked people in this hospital. And maybe this is just how things are in the future .

His shoulders dropped under the warmth and the strength of the water. It had been so long since he’d had a really good shower. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had one so good. Perhaps Klaus had had a point, waxing lyrical about the joys of a hot bath.

But then he touched his chest, touched the unblemished skin, and the touch stole the air from his lungs. He could feel it, feel himself being torn apart by the most agonising pain he had ever felt. What was the difference between warm water and hot blood? It all felt the same, running down his skin. Hands shaking, he switched the shower off and sank down to sit on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest as if they could shield him somehow. He wanted his mom. He wanted Klaus. He wanted to be held and told that it was okay, that he was safe.

Eventually, he slowed his breathing enough to realise he was getting cold, the water having cooled on his naked body. He got shakily to his feet and dried himself off before busying himself with getting redressed. He could do this. It was systematic, routine, a way to feel just a fraction more normal, even if the clothes weren’t quite right either.

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but he did feel slightly strange in them. The pants seemed too fitted around the legs and a little too short, with rips across both knees. He supposed even in the future, free clothes couldn’t always be new or in best condition. But he’d be able to fix them up easily enough. He’d never been as well-taught as his sister, but he’d been so eager to copy her in whatever she was doing that his mother had decided it was easier to just teach them both.

He wondered what had happened to Marie. How long ago had it been for her since they’d last seen each other?

“Mr Katz, you have a visitor.” VINA’s voice was still startling, with no clear source and no warning.

“A visitor?” he repeated. Who was here, visiting him? Who even knew he was here?

“Would you like to allow them access to your room?”

Dave looked himself over in the mirror. His hair was still damp and the clothes may be strange, but at least he looked decent. He looked normal. He didn’t look like a man who had just been shot.

But he pushed those feelings down, squared his shoulders and kept his head high as he stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bare room. “Yeah, let ‘em in,” he agreed.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. A very short man in a suit and a pair of glasses stepped into the room with an air of someone who didn’t feel quite certain how much space they were able or willing to take up.

“Hi, Mr Katz, right? I’m Herb, I’m, uh, Acting Chair here at the Commission,” the small man said with an awkward wave. “It’s good to see you up and about! And- and the timeline should be safe from any, uh, any attempts at rescue, so that’s a big bonus.”

Dave had resigned himself to the fact that everyone here was crazy. But there was something warm about Herb, something he liked. “Can you explain what’s going on? The doctor, she said something about anomalies?”

“Ah, well, in this case, we’re, uh, preventing a potential anomaly. I’ve seen firsthand what a determined Hargreeves can do, and I figured if we make sure none of them have a reason to go messing up a timeline again, it makes our jobs here easier!”

Dave’s breath caught in his throat. “You know Klaus?”

Herb giggled. “Do I know Klaus? Everyone here knows Klaus, he’s a Hargreeves . But I met him! I mean, I’m basically friends with his brother Diego, so you could say I know him better than most people here.”

Dave could barely hear what Herb was saying. His mind was racing faster than his heart, the use of ‘know’ rather than ‘knew’ enough to sustain him. He was still alive. And even if he was old now, stuck on the slow path through time, Dave knew he would still love him. He would love him until the end of the Earth. That had been a silent promise, as unspeakable as everything that they were, but as real and constant as the sun rising every morning. Forever was too much to vow in a war zone, but the intent had always been there. “Can I see him?”

“Well, that’s the plan!” Herb said brightly. “If you’re willing, we drop you off with him in 2019, there’s no need for any more time travelling shenanigans from the Hargreeveses, and we can all get back to normal!”

Fifty one years had passed. Would Klaus even still love him, after all that time? He almost couldn’t picture Klaus as an old man, not when he was full of so much energy, when he was so childlike sometimes. Was he an old man? Or had he somehow found a way back home before he had the chance to grow old? Back home... “People back home, my family… What happens to them?” he asked.

“Ah. Well, they think you’re dead. And unfortunately, they kind of had to. I’m afraid even if you turn down our offer to join Mr Hargreeves, you can’t go back to 1968. We made sure of that. And ooh, boy, that was a tricky one, but you’re not our first faked death and you sure won’t be our last!” Herb laughed, as if this was normal. As if this was simply how the world worked. And maybe it was. Maybe the world was bigger and stranger than anything Dave had ever seen. Anything but Klaus, of course. He was the maddest, strangest, most beautiful world all of his own.

In his mind, it had been just over a day since he’d seen him. But he missed him as if it had been weeks, months even. Maybe years. Did the ache dull over time? Would Klaus still be missing him as badly as he missed Klaus?

“If you’re, uh, amenable, we’ll drop you off in 2019 as soon as you’re discharged.”

It was a leap of faith into an unknown future, a new world. “I am.”

[starfaring-princelotor]

Hopelessly Devoted To You

Hello my Prince and thank you for another doozy of a word.  Devotion is one of those things that can be experienced on so many levels, and in the case of this little story it is of a familial aspect. Nearly everything I write is about you, but as you already know how devoted I am to your Highness, I thought that just this one time I would go off script, so to speak.  ~ Babs

It’s 7:30 A.M.  The alarm on her phone goes off, just like every morning.  It doesn’t matter that she just fell asleep two hours ago, her day begins with or without her consent.  She lays there, staring at the ceiling, steeling her resolve before throwing the blankets off and sitting up.

Quietly descending the stairs, laptop under one arm, phone in hand, she makes her way to the kitchen and sets up the coffee pot to brew.  The kittens are all rubbing around her ankles, waiting for breakfast, expectantly looking at her as she sets her computer down in order to free her hands to pull out the food bowls.

Once they’re fed, she goes down to start laundry, hitting the reheat cycle on the dryer before heading back upstairs.  Then it’s time to empty the dishwasher only to start filling it again, cleaning the kitchen and preparing the list of meals for the day.  She pulls certain items from the freezer and makes sure everything is in order for breakfast.

She carefully opens the door to the makeshift bedroom off the kitchen, just to verify that all is as it should be.  Hearing the deep and slow breathing of the occupant, she backs out and gently closes the latch.

She adds a healthy splash of cream to her coffee cup, picks up her laptop and phone, and wanders to the sitting room.  Curling up on the couch she checks her messages on her phone while waiting for the laptop to come to life.  She takes a sip of her coffee and is joined by one of the kittens, jumping up to lay by her feet.  She reaches down and scratches his ears, remembering the day that changed her future.

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

“We don’t know what’s wrong with her.  We’re checking for brain swelling, have done the lumbar puncture, and gotten a sample to rule out a UTI.  Has she been sick lately?”  The medical personnel were all surrounding the bed, poking and prodding, shining lights into her mom’s eyes as she lay prone on the gurney in the emergency ward.  She wasn’t talking, she wasn’t responding, her eyes rolled back in her head, her face ashen.

Her mom was behaving as if in a coma.  The MRI’s were being scheduled, as well as a battery of blood tests, CT scans, doppler testing, chest x-rays, everything to determine a reasonable explanation for what was happening.  She paced the room, opened the laptop and popped in a CD of her mom’s favorite music, in hopes to reach her on some unconscious level.

Eventually it was time to be admitted and taken up to the stroke ward.  She picked up all of her stuff, carrying everything as she hurried behind the hospital transport staff.  The room they were brought to was spacious and there was a foldable couch for family to sleep on.

She settled herself by organizing her things, before she started pacing the room, tears flowing with fear, waiting for the next medical staff to visit.  This was the pattern for several hours.  A visit by a doctor, nurse, physician’s assistant, physical therapist, hospital administration, and housekeeping, in between hours of nothing but waiting.  She fell asleep in the chair next to her mom, holding her hand all through the night.

Days of ICU stepdown and IV treatments later, her mom’s mind finally started to work, and she regained consciousness.

“Good morning!” the nurse yelled to her mom.  “Do you know where you are?”

Her mom nodded and said, “Yes”.

“Good!  Where are we?” she yelled.

“Hospital,” her mom answered.

“Yes!  We’re in the hospital!” she said with an excited voice.  The nurse gestured to her, “Do you know who this is?”

It was a shock to her when her mom turned and looked at her blankly, shaking her head no.

“This is your daughter,” the nurse said.

“Hi mom, don’t you know me?” she said.

The woman shook her head and turned over on the hospital bed, looking away from the stranger her oldest daughter had become.

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

She sipped her coffee, listening for noise in the room behind her, starting to type her newest work that she was hoping to complete within the next few hours.  She was waiting for the call from her mom, needing her help to get out of bed.  As soon as she did it would be medications, physical treatments, and helping to dress.

She typed furiously, hiding within the words, letting the characters take her away to new worlds, stopping only to sip her coffee, and look up an occasional word in the thesaurus.  She felt herself slipping away, dancing in the words that were flying from her fingertips.

The sudden crashing sound that came from the bedroom had her throwing the laptop aside and sprinting into the other room, throwing the door open to find her mom on the floor.  She had attempted to get up, but the wheelchair had slid away, and she toppled over.  She grabbed the sling and slid it under her mom’s arms, securing it at the waist to help her up from the floor and into her wheelchair.

A quick check just to make sure there weren’t any additional injuries, she grabbed the fuzzy robe hanging on the door hooks and wrapped her mom in it.  Now it was down to the routine schedule.  First came the prosthetic leg, and then the cane so her mom could walk if she chose.  The amputation had come during the last bout of a mental lapse due to sepsis.  It was discovered her mom was suffering from an infection that originated from the bones in her foot.  It was either lose the leg or she would lose her life.  There was no decision to be made.

Next it was time for coffee and breakfast, which she prepares after pushing the wheelchair into the sitting room where her mom could wait, watching tv.  The laptop is still open after being abandoned on the couch, partially written page sitting here, cursor blinking.

Medications soon follow, along with general ablutions and getting dressed.

Then she would be able to pick up the laptop again, maybe.  Oh, there goes the dryer buzzer.

Never mind, the story could wait until later.  She sighs as she descends the stairs to the basement to gather the load and start the next one.

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

“So, miss, we can’t say how long she’ll be suffering from this newest dementia trouble.  She might be gone for an hour, a day or maybe even for good.  Have you discussed any long-term care options?” the doctor said, looking over the Living Will directive.  

“We did.  She needs to be home,” she answered, hugging herself at the finality of the conversation.  “If she comes back to us and finds herself in a retirement home, she’ll take that depression express bus to death.  I can’t do that to her.  I promised her she would always have me around to take care of her.  She’s going to be home with me.”

“That’s admirable.  So many families can’t make that choice.  You are certainly devoted to her,” the doctor said as you nodded.  “We can help make sure you have the proper support mechanisms in place.  Being a long-term caregiver is a very challenging, and you will face a lot of obstacles.

“I will not abandon her.  She is my family and she needs me.  I won’t leave her stuck in a place to slowly wither and die.  She needs to be where she has familiarity.  She needs to be with someone who loves her, even when she doesn’t know who I am.”  She let the doctor know that it was her final decision.

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

She stood in front of her boss, handing in her resignation letter.  Her mom needed full time care and she simply couldn’t work a full-time job any longer.  The part-time she had would have to suffice.  She’d figure out how to make ends meet, somehow.

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

She walked into the counselor’s office, ready to terminate her schedule for the next semester.

“But, you’re only three classes from your Bachelor’s Degree!” the counselor exclaimed.

“I know, but I can’t come to campus anymore.  If I’m not there she might set the house on fire, or fall down the stairs, or wander out the door and never been seen again.  I’m going to be with her, taking care of her.  It’s my life now.”  She tearfully turned in her paperwork to drop all classes and return her student aid.

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

The evening routine is just like the morning, except in reverse.  Laundry, dishes, medications and treatments, getting pajamas on and washing her face, helping her into bed before removing the prosthesis.

She bends over and kisses her mom’s forehead, adjusting the pillows and pulling the blankets up to tuck her in.  She wonders how long it will be before her mom retreats into her mind again.  Will she still know me in the morning?

“Sleep well, mom,” she says.

“Don’t stay up too late,” her mom says.

“I won’t,” she lies as she turns out the light and closes the door.

She starts up the coffee again.  It is only 9:30 P.M.  She has four hours to get the next chapter done before it’s too late to meet her deadline.  Pouring the coffee into her cup, adding the flavored creamer, she finally sits back on the couch, the blueish glow emanating from the laptop.

She allows the world on her screen to suck her in, becoming lost in her written words, forgetting the reality around her.  One thousand words.  Then two thousand.  The clock reminding her that her deadline was racing towards her.  Three thousand.  

Spell-check.  

Saved.  

Updated on the platform.  

Posted.  

Headphones on.  

Site connected.

“Hello friends,” she says.  “How was your day?”

[some-bitch-named-destyni]

his name....is not finn.

at like 2:40 a.m. i meet a guy on grindr. this guy hits on me in the typically angry and abrasive fashion i have designed my profile to solicit from men of a certain variety, and so we get to talking then wind up on camera, me expecting the same shit as usual....in between midnight meeting with strange men in unknown and unsafe places, i get my need to self destruct and overcome the mind numbing boredom of sociopathic lack of fear satisfied by getting even more men off over the internet on camera... and then, last night happened.

his name, is not finn.

its robert. but he gies by finn. finn has four les pauls, recording machines...the works an entire worling fucking studio. lives in middle tennesse but has been to atlanta many times bc HE ACTUALLY PLAYS MUSIC MIDTOWN EVERY YEAR SINCE 2013 im watching the shit behind him on camera, the house hes in, the guitars on the walls, the records hanging around the cords and amps and pedals... and hes alone. he lives alone, its his place. FINN IS 23. thats all. 23. he got into it all, along with a little band that came from Knoxville tennessee in 2009 named 10 Years...who if u follow rock, u have to know. this is a massivelt succsesfull mainstream alternative rock act. one of my favorite bands.

so here we are.

its five a.m. were still talking, not fucking.

about music and art and finns ideas on sexuality not being real.

odd for someone whos telling me they wanna grudge fuck me bc i have extintential philosophers words tattoos up my arm, and then jump from a well worded rape fanatasy back to intellectual artistic expresssionary approach debate and metjod, use, deploymwnt methods and how they more prolifically provide correct walls of sound they assail the sensations of emotions in pattern sufficient to stimulate a response.

and were talking, then its almost six.

finn has to leave for "work" soon.

hes recording one of the three bands he plays in this a.m.

here i am, on cam talking like were actually getting to know, and enjoy knowing who each other are, with this man

a sound engineer for 10 Years touring company.

Actually. what the actual fuck is happening right now.

he looks like youd expect, having seen these guys on t.v and all, hes tall...6'1 not super tall but taller.

hes stocky and has bushy curly short hair and a clean face, complete with black shirts, wrist bands, leather vest/whatever material that is... the typical rock guy look. and youngish. p young looking yeah.

and i could see it all his house was fucking unreal the shit in that house, the music, drum sets . bass processors, computers studio monitors mic stands... and just i forgot about itnall speaking to him for three and a half hours bc he thinks so fucking different from anyone ive met before him. completely challanges every basic assumption of society that he can.

but then has the self discipline to make this all happen by his age. has the real world common sence, the extraverted thinking to handle the nessesary tedium that makes it possible for this creative energy to become something, and be used and marketed and produce a way to live for himself.

he confounds me sideways. these two opposite people, one part myself, one part my opposite???

i almost tell myself he wants it worse then i do, but thats not it, it cant be it. id die for it.

i would do anything. id give anything, go anywhere, crawl to china. id lose anything, live anything, repeat this entire awful miserable unbearable horrific life ive had three times for it.

id do anything anything id go to the ends of the earth id forsake anyone, id suffer any loss to get just a moment of chance

a moment a single opportunity is all id need and i would light a fucking fire so large it would blind everyone involved.

so yeah i want this sound in my head out, and onto an album just as bad as him or anyone so its not that he wants it worse.

so what then? why is this kid able to be me, and then some...and also not be me enough to actually be living the life he is already?

is it bc its not real? is that it? make me feel better. tell me that i am valid since im tragic enough to

have this incredible talent and yet at the same time have it come from something inside so FUCKED that having it means never being known, never heard, never shine bright like the fact of my creative passion could, and be unlived, then die never having spoken to the world like i should have could have would have

bc im valid so. bc im better. make me feel better. tell me its bc i am REALLY fucked. not pretend fucked for the sake of fashion in rock. not forced or mimiced or copied. and thats what he is right bc if not he wouldnt be well enough to make this happen.

but then, i know its a lie.

i wanna believe it, but i know its a lie. a beautiful, perfect lie. bc i know if i got the part out of the way that cripples me, id still have the rest to write from and create from. and still be capable of what i have been since birth.

so...im lazy? am i lazy? internally, mentally lazy? like or just for aomeone who loves to take pride in their pain, am unable to take the pain of change inside that facilitates the construction of a life like finns... what is it? do i just watch finn now and wait for a secret thats never coming?

I HAVE A DREAM. A NIGHTMARE. ALL MY LIFE I HAVE HAD IT OVER AND OVER. IN IT I AM 70 YEARS OLD , THO ILL NEVER REALLY MAKE IT TO THAT AGE, THE IDEA REMAINS THAT MY LIFE HAS COME AND GONE AND IM GREY AND WRINKLED AND LIEING DOWN AS I GASP FOR BREATH AND THEN I SEE AROUND MY BODY FROM ABOVE

im alone. poor. broke. in beggars clothes. in the gutter, in the filthy city streets, in the cold in winter. im that homeless decay you pass for the smell and then i die there. and thats it. thats what i let happen. i let this go on unti, i ran out of time to change it, and i never did a rhing. never made it, never finally got the shit insode out, never began to burn bright, never started playing live, never recorded, never anything. the thing inside i have that i alone see the magnitude of, and would only have ever really shown to anyone through true sucsess, it never MEANT A F U C K I N G T H I N G A T A L L

now in this mornings call with finn, i begin to see that dream take shape in my reality. soon. its creeping with an slythe above its shoulder just behind me. im here alone like this. deluding myself that this little computer screen is somehow a substitute for a real relationship, delluding myself that i actually am this sad imaginary projection i want to be lercieved as in this fake little digital world. making due with this as if its even happening for real . as of anyone or any idea on this small machine in my lap is life, or love, or me, or actual.

but here where my body is, where i cant take a good picture of me to hide my age, where my personality disorders are, where i am weird and different , where i am an addict, where i am unconventional and do things others wont want near them bcmof the risk i bring to myself, where my body is. my real body .... here there is not a fucking person with or like me. i have some temporary help as i stumble foolishly through my fucked circumstamce from my family, that ofc is going aay everyday, as that nightmare i mentioned begins to take shape. bc they gonna die before me unless i take my death into my oen hands and then that nightmare i have will have shaped fully and begin looking me in the eyes.

so, here i am. 10 a.m.

fuck this guy.

hes sexy, he wants me, and hes my type as in in another life serious boyfriend material . no kids, no phobics, trans or homo, no issues seeing me as who i am, and then also my creative and intellectual counterpart. and hes not very far like a w hour drive. and alllllllll so it makes it feel odd bc he seems like the worst thing for me, that only this situation would develope the addition of feelings have no room for amidst my chaos... i need to be LESS in romance with ppl not fucking MORE... or have someone else establish those feelings for me either just either way..bad idea. and so fuck him

mean it fuck this guy.

fuck this finn, robert whatever and fuck his life

fuck his guitars.

like i needed this shit? i needed to see this? needed to know him? or to have him that, weird weird convo for that long ...the longest ive spoken to someone new in years at once , and not even wind up wanting me for a nut before he got off the vam etc... just fuck this shit.

but not that it seems like that with him, im a combo of not romantic at all, and already emotionally spoken for HARDCORE by aomeone i am trying and fightimg with all i can to stop, STOP being romantically attached to.. so.. no new fucked romance crap for me please. i mention it bc it seems like what happens to me usially, and for no other reason then that.

but as for what i am SURE OF WITH FINN..for tnat... F U C K him

reminding me that im more then shit, reminding me that im throwing away things thousands of people never get to have or would kil, to be able to do like i can. remininding me that im more then this 4 a.m. methamphetamine induced desperate attempt to distract myself from throwing myself away, and relive the pain again, once more, one ,ore gimme one more time always...always need one more sex session where i live out how my father never loved or accepted or appreciated me in my own head again, and keep that defining pain in Clear FUCKING FOCUS FOREVER. KEEP IT HERE. KEEP THAT PAIN HERE. RIGHT IN MY ARMS, CRADLE IT, CLOSE TO MY CHEST, CLOSE TO MY HEART , EMBRACE FEED NURTURE IT GROW IT, LET ITS POISON VINES GROW INTO MY SKIN AND FEED ME FILTH HAPPILY, always one more man, one more moment of disrespect, one more instamce of debasing myself to remind me why i ket myself almost die in a hospital last winter, why ill be sleeping in the cold wind again before spring, and why ill never walk right again or run at all. why im this old and sti,, here, remind me why im trapped by my that talent im so thoughtlessly wasting daily, and...

finn reminds me. fuck him.

he reminds me im doing it , in at least part, by choice.

he takes my excuse away. takes away my escape.

lies, inside lies, inside lies..... finn shows up at 3 a.m. when ur only awake to do things like throw away potential of this magnitude and destroy your human body.

invades my momemt of distraction from the truth of how responsible i really am for this now, and reminds me that

its still out there. the chance i wanted, the opportunity to get the music out and realize that potential ratner then become that 25 year nightmare i have in my future currently...

tne hope, the possibility, the chance to burn finally

burn bright like a star, and shine so hard i can be seen for miles and miles by millions of people

its stil, out there.

fuck finn. i didnt need to remember that.

bc i am what i predict, i am what i know i will do. i am what i will and i dont have that other thing he does. common sense, extraverted thinking, strength to rid myself the demons so i can at least get it going. i dont have it, and im to terrified to let go the crutch ive found that gets me by with the maniac mind i carry and endure. i am not him, and i can not gather the strength to face the world without my crutch so i can then rise to the talent i toss in the trash more each day. i wont even consider it. its all ive got here. its all ive found through all this bullshit life thats made it even half way tolerable. and weather for my own better, weather i be to weak to sacrafice, weather i be to cowardice to dare to even attempt, or be to patnetic to for once FOR ONE TIME TAKE SOME PAIN FOR MY BENEFIT RATHER THEN MY DESTRUCTION.... even if its all true and i am very very responsible for how this hapoens here...

its ok.

bc that just makes me real right? and ive got that. and ill have it now, the rest of the way, to finish the ride,

all of the ride. ill have it. the truth, il. have that i was so cursed and gifted by the same thing that it overcame itself in me

and il. have that genuine authenticity, il. have that close as i finish this ride. the rest of the way.

all of the way.

all the

FuCkINg wAy DOWN

down down down down the only place im gonna go

and il. see finn from underneath, and everyone else who heard of or knew me from below

where i will burn in hell

[kj-nixon]

happy v day

On any other day, it would be nearly impossible to wake KJ up before 10am. You would have to fire a gun next to her. It was actually a major concern of her family’s, but she had always been more of a night owl than an early bird.

But today was Valentine’s Day. And this year she was going to do something fantastic for Hunter.

Last night, she had stolen his Apple Watch after he had fallen asleep and set the alarm to vibrate on her wrist at 7. She hated the thing because she felt the radiation from it would lead to arthritis. Bailey had tried to explain that that wasn’t how arthritis worked, but KJ was still skeptical. Regardless, it was the only way she could think of setting an alarm without also waking up Hunter.

God damn, 7am. Any later and Hunter would probably wake up on his own and ruin the surprise. Why did he have to be such an adult?

KJ grinned at that. That’s why she loved him.

As gracefully as she could manage, which wasn’t all that graceful if you knew KJ, she slipped out of their queen sized bed and tip toed to the kitchen. Their apartment was more of an open loft. A giant, brick square with only the bedroom and tiny bath distorting the shape by jutting out to the side. Looking at the floor plan, she had never quite been able to figure out how it interlinked with the other apartments, but really, did it matter? It suited them perfectly. The kitchen was as much a part of the living room as it was the dining room.

Open concept, open vibes.

They had it decorated as some combination of industrial modern and cozy, and the kitchen was pretty much the same. The tricky part was that KJ so rarely actually opened their cabinets that it took her a few attempts to find the pans she needed. Eventually, though, she got the bacon onto the gas stove and started on making breakfast in bed.

Hunter was, hands down, the best thing to happen to her. She knew she said it a lot, but it was just facts. Without him, she would probably be chasing yet another degree that she wouldn’t complete. He rescued her. Of course, he’d never admit it, but KJ and her siblings knew that she was kind of worthless without him.

And she was worthless, no doubt about it. Worthless against conventional standards. She couldn’t keep a job, her temper kept her from really being too great a people person, and without help her living space would be a dump. But she thrived in a space where you could let her be expressive, and Hunter provided her that. He encouraged her to be as creative and goofy and obnoxious as she wanted. And, somehow, they had figured out how to monetize it online. The cookie crumbled perfectly in that way.

She wanted to get lost in all the different ways she loved him, but it was almost impossible to actually start a list. Because as soon as she thought of one detail, it was almost immediately replaced and forgotten with another. He was just.... her world. She was obsessed with him. And she was pretty sure he was equally obsessed with her.

She assumed. She hoped.

KJ wasn’t actually a secure person. Some would even dare to call her insecure. And she felt justified in her anxiousness. Comparing herself to others was one of her most developed skills, and she never could measure up. So, if by some chance a girl who was just as pretty as she was, but twice as responsible came along, was there really any doubting that Hunter would take an interest? He was actually the perfect, functioning adult. One day he’d realize he was tired of babysitting a grown child. She just hoped it was on his death bed. Because KJ quite actually couldn’t live without him.

They’d be together forever if she had any say. And if you know any Faline, they have a lot to say.

And so what if they weren’t legally linked? KJ loved being with him no matter what. Did she sometimes dream about having the big wedding? Sure. Did she ever wonder if he even thought about asking her to get married? Yeah. Was she kind of concerned that he hadn’t asked yet because he didn’t want to permanently link himself to her in such a way that it would be difficult to leave her when he was ready? Who the fuck asked you?!

KJ’s brain snapped back to the kitchen when she smelled the smoke. While zoning out, she had splashed bacon grease onto the range and started a fire. Fucking ADHD.

What were you supposed to use on a grease fire again? All she could remember was not water, but she needed to put it out before the alarms went off and woke Hunter up.

Um.

Ummmm.

Flour!

Kj had no idea where they kept flour, or if they even had it, but the pancake mix sitting on the counter was the next best thing. Without giving herself a moment to second guess it, she dumped the box of powder onto the stove.

Well... on the stove, in the pan, and on the floor, technically.

She stared at it, willing it to not be all over the place. But, alas, there it was.

Kayla Jane, you’re an idiot.

But at least the apartment wasn’t up in flames.

Sighing, she dropped the empty box on the counter and skated to the corner deigned the living room in her socks. Her sleep tank and shorts were covered in mix now, but when was she ever put together? KJ picked up her phone and quickly ordered Postmates from their favorite diner, like the proper millennial she was. Should’ve done it in the first place, but she wanted to be romantic.

The second phase of the morning was cute enough anyway. It didn’t take her long to get her computer hooked up to their TV and get started on touching up the final bits of editing for her next video. KJ had become pretty savvy with anything techy since her career on YouTube took off. Not that she understood a single thing about engineering or how any of the machines actually functioned, but she could put it all together and operate it pretty easily if you gave her twenty minutes and a 5 Hour Energy to figure it out.

The doorbell rang and she ran to grab their food, knowing full well that he’d definitely get up for that. If he hadn’t smelled the smoke already.

Sure enough, Hunter stepped out of their room just as she finished unpacking their breakfast. KJ would never get over how insanely tall and good looking he was. Like, it wasn’t even fair.

But she sure did appreciate having the injustice in her bed.

He smiled at her and chuckled, probably laughing at how messy she was.

“Don’t go to the kitchen,” she warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly.

“It kind of smells like I should,” he replied.

“You absolutely should not. You should come kiss me and get your present instead.”

“That does sound much more pleasant.”

He graciously leaned down so she could stand on her toes and give him a peck on the mouth. She guided him to sit in front of the television and placed his food in front of him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sunshine.”

Patience wasn’t really a Faline trait either, so she only gave him enough time to take two bites of food before she climbed into his lap and face the TV. “Okay, I made something.”

“You did? For me?”

“For you.”

“I’m touched.”

“You will be.”

“So will you.” He winked.

She licked his cheek. Then she pressed the enter key on her keyboard.

The video went live on her channel. A shaky close up of Hunter’s forehead came on screen. You could hear KJ’s laughter over the speakers as the camera zoomed out and you were able to see the picnic set up from one of their earliest dates. Minute by minute, the video played through a compilation of vlogs from the last four years of their relationship. Some were of their travel adventures, others were at home where Hunter was obviously unaware that she wasn’t filming. Two consisted of KJ being home alone, lamenting her state of abandonment while Hunter was on a business trip. Every clip, every piece, was carefully chosen to show how perfect they were.

KJ had been on social media for the last three years, but she had never made her relationship public to her audience. Anything regarding Hunter was posted to her private accounts that only friends and family could see. Even her family was often used as clickbait. But Hunter had been reserved as a secret, or marketed as just a friend. And she had never quite been able to explain why.

Part of it had been that she was afraid of karma. If she put them out their publicly, then maybe they’d break up and she’d have to announce to the world that she was alone and her person had left her. Or maybe it was because she was selfish and didn’t want him to get any attention outside of her (and Simon.)

But, around Christmas, she had decided that she wanted the entire planet to know how mad she was for her. She wanted her audience, people she loved and was inspired by, to see how lucky she was.

And she would cut any bitch who tried to bat a single eyelash at him.

The video was only about five minutes long, nowhere near the length of her usual challenges and vlog segments, but there was four years of love pieced throughout it. And she prayed to the universe that he got the bigger picture.

That she loved him more than anything on the entire planet.

It ended and she stretched her head back to see his expression, a proud smile on her face. For a moment, he just continued staring at the screen.

She knew it would take a moment to buffer in his brain. They had discussed forever ago that they’d never go public and he was okay with that. Hunter had never cared one way or the other, but KJ had insisted.

Now...

He looked down at her and she saw his blue eyes glisten. It made her smile wider. He was such an emotional tall man.

Climbing around to wrap her arms and legs around him, she sat up to look him directly in the face. “You’re my person. I’ve staked my claim across the globe now. So if any skanks try to make a move on you while you’re wherever your stupid job sends you, you now have live proof to show them that I will hunt them down and burn their eyebrows off.”

“Oh, it’ll have them and their eyebrows shaking in their kitten heels.” He grinned.

She kissed him. Hard.

“I love you, Green Giant.”

“I love you too, Thumbilina.”

KJ tucked her head into the crook of his neck and gave a happy sigh.

“So... What did you burn?”

“Oh my god, SHUT UP!”

[the-meandering-manuscript]

Planning a Mini Writing Retreat

I usually look forward to summer as a time to focus only on writing, but that hardly ever happens. With my senior year and the college search looming over me, writing has fallen to the wayside and every time I try to write, I am plagued by an incurable case of writer’s block. So I did some research to see what other writers did when all hope was seemingly lost and I discovered the idea of a writing retreat. Now I had heard of writing retreats before, but most of them involved spending a week with other writers going to workshops and writing together, which wouldn’t work for a number of reasons. Number one: I’m broke, number two: I don’t have a week’s worth of time, and number three: I’m not 18 yet (sigh). So after being disappointed by delusions of grandeur (I will someday rent out a cottage in the Irish countryside for a month, surrounded by only sheep, but sadly today is not that day), I figured that I could have a writing retreat in my own home that didn’t involve me locking myself in my bedroom and wrapping myself in my Ohio State snuggie only to stare at a blank Microsoft Word document for six hours. So if you can tolerate a couple of un-witty section titles, join me, and we can plan our writing retreat together.

Discovering Your Motivation/The Genre of Your Retreat

First things first, you need to decide what you to accomplish. Set one concrete goal for yourself (i.e. edit four chapters, write 10,000 words) and one abstract goal (i.e. fall in love with your work in process). I really wanted my retreat to be a place where I could recharge and fall back in love with writing, so I decided to create an itinerary that would combine my goals with some of my favorite things: writing, relaxation, and Shakespeare. Now you could have very different ideas of fun and what you want to accomplish, so base your retreat around what you like best! Perhaps you get your best ideas while exercising, so work in activities that get you on your feet to break up your writing periods. I find that having a major theme to encompass your day or weekend will help guide you in your planning because it’s almost like an outline for the rest of the retreat.

To Invite, or Not to Invite

The next step is to decide whether this is a solo adventure or you need the support of a group of friends. When deciding this you have to consider if your author friends are going to help you improve your writing. My best friend and I would love to go on a writing retreat together, but let me tell you, you leave us alone for five minutes and we’d start debating over the best Irish punk-folk band (it’s The Pogues and I will fight anyone on this) and never get around to actually writing. If you’re going to invite a partner in crime, I suggest having a reading period at the end of each day, so that everyone has some accountability. You have to write so you don’t show up to the reading session empty handed. Also, only invite people that would bring good vibes to your writing space. Anyone who acts too author-ly (we all know that one person) should be left off the guest list.

The Setting of Your Retreat

The one requirement for your retreat is that you must be able to relax and be able to write in the space where you’re holding a retreat. While it would probably be better and more of a get away to hold your retreat somewhere outside of your home, it does provide a totally free option (as long as you live alone or somehow manage to get rid of your family for a couple of days). If you do hold your retreat in the comfort of your own home, change some things around to make it feel different. Build a blanket fort. Sit outside and write. Put some scented candles around the place. If you are looking for a free option outside of your house, go to a park nearby, a library, a Starbucks, or go bookstore hopping. Of course, the activities you plan will be limited by your location, so consider what you want to do with your time and whether or not your chosen location will allow for that. Your favorite bookstore might not mind you hanging out to write, but if you start busting out some yoga poses, you might be kindly asked to leave. If you are not a broke teenager like me, consider a Bed and Breakfast or maybe even an AirBnB. With the latter, you can usually rent out entire houses for a very reasonable rate. Maybe you can live out my dream of writing among the sheep in the Connemara countryside.

Choosing Your Trials

Now for the fun part, choosing your activities! Create a schedule for the day (don’t forget meals and breaks!) based upon your goals. So my schedule might look a little something like this:

8:30 – Breakfast

9:00 – Character Workshop – Gather any materials you might need the night before, so you don’t waste time scouring the depths of the Internet for character worksheets. For this activity, you get to choose what helps you get inside your character’s heads the most. Maybe you like character interviews, but personally, I love writing journal entries from the character’s point of view. Not only does it help me practice develop their voice, but I find this is the most effective way to discover who your character really is.

10:00 – Relaxation Break – For my first break, I wanted to emulate the feel of a spa (I wasn’t kidding about breaking out those scented candles), so I have a small collection of face masks just waiting to be used.

10:30 – Writing Block- Turn off your internet access and just let yourself free write!

12:00 – Lunch

12:30 – Henry IV: Part 1- For some reason, anytime I pop the Lord of the Rings or The Hollow Crown into my DVD player I get the urge to write. So this is a form of inspiration in a way. I love watching Shakespeare’s characters and they always encourage me to better my own, and besides, who doesn’t love a good hero story? Plus, Hal such a relatable protagonist. He’s constantly compared to his cousin who’s better than him at everything and then Hal acts incompetently to lower everyone’s expectations of him. We’ve all been guilty of folding the laundry incorrectly so our mothers won’t ask us to do it again. Or is that just me?

2:30 – Writing Block

4:30 – Relaxation Break. Take a dip in a hot tub if one’s available. Or draw a hot bath.

4:45- Worldbuilding Exercises – I admit, this time around I did not worldbuild as thoroughly as I should have and because of that, I feel like my writing has suffered. Plus, worldbuilding makes me excited, so I love to do it. If you’re worldbuilding too, you don’t only have to fill out questionnaires that never seem to end. Draw maps! Sketch designs of traditional garments! Make up regional recipes and then attempt to cook them! The fun never ends!

6:30 – Dinner

7:30 – Reflection. Did your retreat accomplish everything you wanted it to? Did you accomplish your goals? Do you feel confident in your craft? Are you happier and more relaxed?

8:00 – Writing Block

10:00 – End of the Day. Eat a giant bowl of ice cream while watching Henry IV: Part 1 a second time.

So like I said, this is what my schedule would look like, but yours could be completely different. Maybe you want to focus more on editing on your work in progress, or being active helps get you inspired. This is just a rough template that can be modified to fit your own personal needs and goals.

Tips

Tell everyone that you’re going to be unreachable for a day or a week. For me, knowing that I told people I’d be gone makes me want to reach out less. Turn off the Wifi. The Internet is a black hole that needs to be ignored. Download your writing music onto your computer or phone so you don’t have to use Spotify or Youtube playlists. Put your phone on Do Not Disturb. It’s the closest thing to turning your phone off without actually turning your phone off. Eat healthily. You may be tempted to binge eat cookies all day, but you’ll be more productive if you eat healthily. Save the sweets for the end of retreat celebration.

So, I hope this helps anyone that is thinking about planning their own writing retreat! Let me know if you’ve ever done something similar or are planning to try this out one day!

Katie

[the-coolest-mallard]

Homework Woes

Yes, you guessed it. Louie and his experience with homework.

Words required for Lena: 2006 exactly

There were days like today where Louie desperately wished he could just drop out of school and become a gangster. Or maybe he’d ditch school and join a circus. Or somehow out of the blue he’d make it big in a rock band and never have to study for any test or do any homework ever again. Oh how badly he wished he could do any of those things instead of stare down the assignment that Mr. Lyons had given them because he hated his students. Louie was sure the guy had to be hating them.

And okay, Simba Lyons was a cool dude when he wasn’t teaching. But teaching meant that he gave Louie stuff to do, and Louie didn’t like stuff. Especially not stuff about the medieval times and the days where people smelled really bad and thought kings were the shit. Maybe the kings had the shits, but Louie was fairly sure not a single one of those old farts was any good. The only dude that was interesting was one of the Henrys, and only because he went full psycho!

But no, here was Louie, stuck writing a paper on some asshole King Richard III. Well, he was doing his best. But Uncle Donald was working, and Huey was off doing who knew what, so Louie didn’t really have any good helpers to make sure his work made sense so far. As he glanced down at what he had, he couldn’t help but be dismayed by his efforts.

Rihard the third was burn the youngest sun and was considred to be a loser. No one cared.

Well, at least Louie could kind of sympathize for the dude. Like Louie, he was the youngest probably talentless guy who nobody really cared about. Though he would guess that this Richard dude could probably spell better than Louie could. His letters were all over the place. He was all over the place. He was pretty sure this Richard dude caused a big family drama, but he wasn’t sure that he had the right family drama written down. He knew about the Henry that chopped heads off, but that wasn’t the Henry that Richard’s family was against. At least he was pretty sure. Why did English history have to have so many repeated names for royalty? It was so damn confusing!

Okay focus Louie. Focus! He told himself, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at the textbook he had, as well as extra material he’d researched on academic sites online. Well, he’d found an article or two before he’d completely lost focus and started playing games on his computer. But he was getting there. Slowly. Probably. Well he had like two sentences written in his draft. That was two more than there had been an hour ago. God help him. Louie was going to die writing this paper, he was sure of it. 

For a moment Louie found himself tempted to try to reach out to Mark. Maybe he’d text Mark about how the next guy to die by crazy medieval death would be Louie! Or he’d text Mark and tell him that he couldn’t do anymore of this paper and that he should come over. Or he should send Mark cool pictures of himself and insist Mark send some back. Anything other than actually work on this medieval paper for History class. “Okay...okay if i just add this part here. This part is important I can do that and it’ll be...yeah.”

Richard’s bro Edward became King of England after people bitched about who was sposed to be King. He becm King Edward IV on March 4th, 1461. This made our guy Richie a royal prince.

Louie dropped his pen and sighed, staring at the tragic abyss that was all the blank space of his notebook. He’d had to ban himself from his computer to write it (though it would have good spellcheck, because there were just too many ways to distract himself on there) and now he felt like his hand was going to die. He’d only written a few sentences. God, why couldn’t Louie be smart like his brother? Or at least let him be smart for these occasions where it kind of mattered? Louie dreamed of getting through this paper with minimal crying.

His head jerked up at that, and he found his fingers already twitching for his phone. Speaking of crying, Louie should text Tae and see how bad off he had it with this whole thing. He was pretty sure Tae would hate this just as much as he did. Louie debated over what to say, before he grinned and just sent: ‘couldn’t give a fuck bot dis Richard dude. Howre u doin with ur old fart paper?’ Louie then forced himself to set his phone aside again and stare at the words on his computer screen. This Richard dude dealt with a fucked up situation. That part Louie had been able to focus on. It was just hard to write about said fucked up situation without writing it terribly. 

He already knew what comments he’d get with this: decent fact finding, but could stand to write in a more academic way. This is a research paper, not a casual conversation among friends. Stuff like that. He’d probably get more shit than that, but Louie was pretty familiar with all the red marks and comments he got for his shitty work. “Ugggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh,” Louie whined, throwing his head back and slumping in his chair. How did smart people do this? Louie struggled so hard to get through a paragraph!

Maybe he should try music. Louie hadn’t considered that option yet, but it was definitely one that could potentially get him through his paper. Music had to be it! After all, spotify had all kinds of study playlists and shit, things to help someone get through the work they were trying to do. Maybe Louie would do that. So he went ahead and switched on one of those study playlists and started reading stuff on this Richard dude again. But then the music was so calming, and Louie’s eyelids started drooping. His head started to drop, and then the next thing he knew he was jerking awake and looking at the clock.

“Oh shit! You slept for an hour Louie? Oh goooood why am I such a fucking idiooooot,” he moaned, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head desperately. This was so bad. Louie was so doomed if he didn’t get this paper done by midnight. He had four hours left or something, but he needed every damn second of that time. Writing all of this was so much harder for him than other people. Other people didn’t struggle to keep focused on one thing for as long as Louie did. He was going to fail and end up as a horribly sad janitor and everyone would laugh at him. Louie could see a tragic future.

So he decided he was going to pep up his mood a little. He took a nap? Now it was time to play some lively music and get back into it. Louie turned on Green Day. Louie started bobbing his head enthusiastically, glancing over at his computer to see what he could add about this Richard guy. If he were truly honest, the history was kind of interesting, but Louie still couldn’t keep himself focused enough to get through it more efficiently. He was on to the next little segment for himself, eyebrows furrowing as he debated how to put it.

Richie becm duk of gloucster n a knight of the roun table? or just a knight? something bout a garter. He was placed in a house of the kingmaker guy and grew to be an adult there i guess. ADULTS WERE 16. means im an adult and-

Louie cut himself off. Not important for the purposes of the essay, but he did debate over coming at his uncle with that. Like, ‘listen Uncle Donald, I know there are some dumb rules here, but I’m an adult in the medieval world. I can do what i want!’ Yeah, that probably wouldn’t go over very well, but Louie liked to believe he could have more control over his life. It gave him a satisfying feeling. Or the pretense of satisfaction. Much more satisfying than working on this thrice cursed paper for History. 

He tapped his pen against his chin, tilting his head as he tried to review some more notes and stuff when an absolute bop of a Green Day song came on. “Oh shit, gotta turn that up.” Louie turned up the volume for his speakers and got to his feet, dramatically playing the guitar for the song. It was too good to ignore! “I walk a lonely road the only one that I have ever knowwwwwwwn don’t know where it goes but it’s home to me and I walk alone!” Louie belted it out, not caring about who would here because well, apparently none of his family was around to help him suffer less. He rocked the air guitar, letting his head rock with it and himself pretend he was the amazingly talented Mike Dirnt. He forgot himself for a song before sighing and heading back towards his table and misery. Why did history have to suck so badly?

“Okay Richard, man...couldn’t you help a guy out and write this for me?” Louie suggested with a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced down at what he’d written. He really didn’t have much at all. He was doomed to a life of failure and crime probably. While his brother Huey became Prime Minister or some shit one day, Louie would be nothing. A no good hoodlum or a janitor or a tragically broke musician or something. The longer this went on the more depressing his future looked. He could cry. “Right so so...war of the roses started again right? It stopped chilling out....when.” His eyebrows furrowed, glancing at his paper and the computer with a sigh.

The rose war started up agin in 1469 when Richard and King Edwrds bro n the kingmaker guy Warwick were like ‘f u Edward’ n seized control of Eddie an his gov. Our dude Richie stayed loyal cuz he wasnt a piece of shit bro.

Louie glanced over what he wrote and shrugged. Was it informal? Yes. Did he basically know the history of this dude? Sort of. Mostly. Honestly, at least Louie was making the story more accessible. Maybe this paper could be his Hamilton. He was just offering it to the masses. The masses wanted information that wasn’t horribly bland and basic! Louie was totally delivering on that. In his opinion anyway. He was still probably going to fail this paper. 

But he had made it so far, so Louie let himself keep trying, figuring he still had a few hours leeway to make it sound more “academic” and “boring” rather than his actual writing and thinking style. Why were academic people so lame? Louie sighed, leaning over his paper again to start writing.

Warwick n the dumbass bro reinstated one of the Henrys...3? 4? who the fuck evn knows? 5? Before our man Richie and his bro King Eddie came back n KICKED ASS MAN. Took the throne back after a year lol bitches u tried.

Louie rubbed his eyes tiredly, getting up to go grab himself a snack. He was working hard. He was doing better than usual. Usually by now he’d have given up and just started playing games (or called Mark to do something actually fun). Instead Louie brought himself some crisps, a can of soda, and some chocolate for when it got too depressing to last without sweetness. He could do this! He could do this right? As it got later he started to debate the merit of selling his soul and offering it to Mr. Lyons. Maybe then the dude would go easy on Louie’s best effort. He really had tried.

[captainalwayslazycollectort-blog]

With regards to life insurance, what are the fees that are deducted from the account (mortality fees, etc)?

"With regards to life insurance, what are the fees that are deducted from the account (mortality fees, etc)?

I'm preparing for my life insurance exam, and one of the questions asked which fees were deducted from the account. It was multiple choice, and I remember one of the options were mortality fees, so I'm hoping you can tell me what the others are. Thanks!!

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2000 HONDA CIVIC CAR INSURANCE?

I'm 18 and a girl and have had my license for 2 years. My car insurance is 170$ a month, is that a lot? I don't know much about cars but it doesn't seem right. I only have full coverage for my medical and not my car. I have AAA car insurance. HELP please! I bought my car salvaged also.""

Cheaper car insurance in CA (san diego)???

my husband just bought an 03 toyota tacoma 4 cyl extra cab and is also lifted. he is 20 and due to financing the truck we had to purchase full coverage. we are both covered and currently have geico and pay $535 every 6months. is there anything cheaper???

Health Insurance question?

Hi i am a 22 yr old college student looking for health insurance. medicare denied me because i did not meet the requirements. my school offers insurance but it really doesn't cover anything. I'm in the state of Virginia if that helps. The question that i am asking i guess is is there any free/to low cost insurance out there for me

Choosing the most affordable insurance company?

I'm currently staying in Texas and I am shopping for an auto Insurance for my Mitsubishi Lancer ES 2011. I'm 22 years old and I started driving for the past 9 months, and also had received my Texas drivers license 9 months ago. I never had an accident of any kind or received any tickets. I need to find an auto insurance company that's affordable, I understand that because i'm a new driver and young I will be paying more. But I would like to get any tips on getting a cheap quote while satisfying all minimum state requirements for bodilly injury liability, property damage, motorist and etc. plus a $500 deductable for both comprehensive and collision coverage. Also if im asked how old I was when I received my drivers license, would it make a difference in my auto insurance monthly payment if I lied and said I been driving since I was 20 instead of 22?""

Would OSAP provide money for car insurance?

I'm going to buy a car for college to get from point A to point B and I was just wondering if OSAP would be able to provide me for car insurance and gas money. Thanks.

What is the point of insurance?

I've just graduated and will be going out into the real world now, and a question I've had for years is why people seem to get insurance? To me it makes more sense to save the money you would have been paying myself instead. Am I wrong here?""

""Car insurance in the USA, for foreigners / tourists?""

im 18years old, and hopefully after my exams in may, i hope to go to america to visit a couple of friends. My mates have put forward the idea of a possible roadtrip in his car. Its his car, and im assuming its insured. However since its a roadtrip, i will also probably need to drive, in which case how do i sort this out?? can i drive on his insurance, as long as i tell his insurance company or is it more complicated than that. I've been told than unlike car insurance in the UK, Americans insure the DRIVER, rather than the car. i have a full UK license, and dont mind if i have to get a international driving permit, but how do i figure out this insurance problem.""

Where can I get affordable healthcare?

I am a Iraqi war veteran with a serviced connected disability of 50%. I would like to find good health care for my wife a full time student that is affordable. I have done searches in places like www.eHealthInsurance.com and the insurance is either really expensive or it doesn't cover much which could make things expensive. Any suggestions would be great.

Will you encourage health insurance to be sold across state lines?

I can buy car insurance anywhere but not health insurance. Why? If competition brings down prices then selling health insurance across state lines should bring prices down. I have not heard any candidate mention this.

Why are some insurance companys rates so much higher then others?

Isn't there a risk guide insurance company's use? shouldn't that be the same or similar for all Insurance company's? I ask because I switched insurance company's and saved $300 for a 6 month policy. That seems to be a bit excessive to be off by that much.

Am I supposed to have car insurance?

I'm 17, I currently have my permit, I'm taking my driving test on Friday, so I was wondering if I'm supposed to have car insurance? I drive my dad's car, he has insurance.""

Does my employer provide good health insurance? ?

Here's a description of the health insurance my employer provides to employees. It costs $50 per month to have, and the co-pay for each doctor visit is $40. This seems really weak to me. Am I right? Should I look around for a new job? What's the typical average going rate? Any suggestions would be appreciated. Thank you!""

With regards to life insurance, what are the fees that are deducted from the account (mortality fees, etc)?

I'm preparing for my life insurance exam, and one of the questions asked which fees were deducted from the account. It was multiple choice, and I remember one of the options were mortality fees, so I'm hoping you can tell me what the others are. Thanks!!

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