#shortages in school bus

[georgiasedify]

Shortages in school bus drivers and also commercial drivers.

Shortages in school bus drivers and also commercial drivers. School bus drivers affected. RMV puts revocations on hold. This is happening all over the world. Two be continued, I've talked about this last week in Texas.

BOSTON – Hundreds of drivers who depend on their licenses to work were suddenly notified of disqualifications. Violations from decades ago disqualify them from holding a CDL in Massachusetts. That number includes school bus drivers and truck drivers. School bus drivers affected. The notices came as a surprise to their members too, and the timing couldn’t be worse.  “It’s the worst possible…

[rhirhidamiengurl666]

Low wages, rude teachers and parents , look down upon by the higher ups and lability. That is why my mom had retired as a school bus driver for 18 years. This had started before covid.

[pleaseletmeexist]

When I say “school should be disability accessible”, I don’t just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldn’t be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is “spotty” (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldn’t miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? “Either get a doctor’s note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.”

I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldn’t have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but that’s only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.

Disabilities aren’t always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. It’s already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is “accessible”

[wausaupilot]

As kids return to school, a shortage of bus drivers remains a challenge for Wisconsin districts

An estimated average of 15 to 20 percent of driver positions are unfilled statewide

By Robert D’Andrea | Wisconsin Public Radio Children are returning to class amid a persistent shortage of school bus drivers. Staffing levels have rebounded but not fully recovered from pandemic lows, and industry leaders say filling the positions has long been a struggle. An aging workforce, regulatory hurdles and misconceptions about the job are all likely contributing factors in the…

[alpaca-dave]

That's a lonnnnnnnnnnnnng day, school kids getting off the bus at 10 PM! Ugh... hope they can fix that.

How did they not know this was going to be a problem ahead of time?

[mudkipboy]

the school bus shortage blows man I couldn't go to school bc my dad's too lazy to bring me and the bus just didn't come im really irritated

[ladychlo]

They think Louis or harry or even niall just grew out of nowhere to be what they are now like babes, your faves were swageless, with a horrible hairstylist, caused uk a shortage of suspenders went from three colors pallette of Catholic school blazers to another national shortage of skin tan, hair spray and bleach, vans and Chelsea boots only to squeeze their balls in tight ass jeans and ink their skin and smell of weed and sleepless bus nights and fake ass pr stunts and one of them spent half of them years looking like a twink farmer with his hats and the rest looked like a nursing mum with her open shirt ready to breastfeed the audience BUT YOU KNOW WHAT that music was made by love and through bullshit and media scrutiny against girlhood and boybands so piss off

[julia-lestrade]

60s!Paul McCartney x reader

Tunes and Timeless Moments

Authors note : this is a SMUT FREE 60s high school au where the band will exist but it plays before " The Beatles " fanfic

Slow burn and fluff

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff , romance , teen romance , and some use of Y/N

——————————————————————

It was a nice summer day in Liverpool and your class and other people from your grade were getting settled in a school bus as you were about to go on a 4 week field trip , because of a shortage of teachers , so your school has to make time to find new ones . And even though it was a bit full when you and your friends were boarding the coach you still found three free rows and you got one to yourself right next to a window without any things to block it . Now you were chatting with your friend a row ahead when a boy from your class slid into the last empty seat next to you. He flashed a casual grin and said, “Seems like I’ve nabbed the final seat. Hope you don’t mind the company—uhm what is your name again ? “ you look at the boy a bit weirded out , because who Tf speaks to someone they don’t really know , right ? But to be polite you have him a light smile and stretched out your hand to and introduced yourself to him . " y/n – l/n y/n pleasure to meet you ! " the boy just smiles at you and shakes your hand and after a while you start to pull away and ask him for his name wich he finally shares with you … he was called Paul McCartney and then it clicked , he was the music obsessed boy you sat behind of in math class .

(Ugh you know what imma switch to first person perspective)

We both had made small talk from time to time in between school hours or had greeted each other in the school hallway but there was nothing more of any interaction than those . So as one figured after a bit of small talk, the conversation naturally fizzled out. You exchanged names and brief introductions, but now there was an awkward silence. You glanced out the window, watching the few teachers coming with you loading the bus with the bus driver , while he fiddled with his bags straps .

After some time the silence became insufferable and you had to start talking again .

“So, are you excited about the trip ? “ Paul looks up at you and replies with a relieved sigh

“Yeah, sounds interesting enough. I’m just hoping it’s not another one of those places where you’re not allowed to do anything but for things that have educational purposes .”

With slight intrigues I reply to him “Oh, I know what you mean. I find it super annoying . What’s the most trouble you’ve ever gotten into on a trip?”

Paul thinks for a Minute and then replies a few seconds later with a smile playing on his lips “Well, there was that time I tried to ‘borrow’ a statue’s hat at the last museum visit. Turns out, it wasn’t a prop. How about you?”

“I once got stuck in a gift shop because I was trying to sneak a peek at the secret stockroom. Got caught by the shopkeeper. Classic.”

“Sounds like we’re both experts in getting into mischief. Maybe we should stick together today. We could be a team of troublemakers.”

“Deal. Just promise you won’t get us thrown out.”

“No promises. But I’ll try my best. So, what’s your favorite part of these trips?”

“Probably the bus rides. It’s the only time we get to just talk and hang out without worrying about homework.”

“I’m with you there. The bus ride’s the best part. And who knows, maybe we’ll come up with a new adventure story by the end of the day.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies that were suddenly making themselves at home in my stomach. There was something about the way Paul spoke, so effortlessly casual yet with a glint of mischief behind every word. I hadn’t thought much about him before, but sitting next to him now, I couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“So, do you play any instruments?” I asked, half expecting a standard reply. It was a question that usually led to a predictable conversation, which, given the awkwardness earlier, felt like a safe bet.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Funny you ask. I’ve been known to mess around with a bass now and then. You?”

“Mess around?” I echoed, laughing lightly. “That’s not very convincing. And no, I’m more of a listener, to be honest. Though I do own a dusty piano .”

“Ah, a listener. Even better. Musicians need an audience, after all,” he teased, tapping his fingers on the armrest as if playing an invisible rhythm.

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Are you trying to recruit me as your personal fan?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone in the crowd rooting for me,” he joked, but there was a flicker of something sincere in his eyes.

“Are you any good?” I asked, feeling the conversation loosening up as we both settled into the bus seats. The awkwardness from before had faded, replaced by a lightness that I hadn’t expected.

Paul shrugged modestly. “I suppose you’ll have to find out one day, won’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” I replied, half-smiling. There was a pause as I glanced out the window again. The teachers had finished loading the bags, and the bus was finally starting to pull away from the school. The familiar streets of Liverpool blurred past, but I could already feel the sense of freedom that came with leaving it all behind for a while.

Paul leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him as much as the cramped bus would allow. “Four weeks, huh? Hard to believe we’re getting out of school for that long.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s weird, but kind of exciting. No classes, no homework... just us and a bunch of museums and... whatever else they’ve got planned.”

“Sounds like trouble waiting to happen,” he mused with a grin, then turned to me with a curious look. “So, what do you reckon we’ll do with all that free time?”

I shrugged, thinking it over. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see where the trip takes us. Maybe we’ll be well-behaved and stick to the itinerary, or maybe we’ll end up sneaking off and finding our own adventures.”

“Now you’re talking,” he said, his grin widening. “I like the sound of that. Let’s make a pact, yeah? No matter what, we find a way to have some fun on this trip. Deal?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Deal.”

We shook on it, and for the first time since he sat down next to me, the silence that followed felt comfortable. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. I leaned back in my seat, feeling a little more at ease, and glanced over at him. He was staring out the window now, lost in thought, his fingers

The hours passed as the bus hummed along the winding roads out of Liverpool, and the initial excitement of the trip settled into a comfortable lull. Most of our classmates were either dozing off, flipping through magazines, or talking quietly among themselves. Paul had gone quiet beside me, staring out the window again with that distant look on his face. I wondered if he was thinking about his band or maybe even some new lyrics.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “You ever been away from home this long?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve gone on a few trips with my family, but never for four weeks. Feels a bit strange, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, stretching his legs out as far as they could go in the cramped space. “Not that I’m complaining, though. Gets me out of school for a bit. Gives me time to work on some songs without all the usual distractions.”

I turned toward him, curious. “What kind of songs are you working on?”

He smiled, but there was something almost shy about it this time. “Just, you know, stuff about life, love, that sort of thing. Trying to find a sound that feels right.”

“Sounds deep,” I teased lightly, though I was genuinely interested. “Think you’ll play any of them on this trip?”

Paul chuckled. “Not sure how well that’d go over with the teachers. But maybe if I can sneak my guitar along, we’ll see.”

“Hey, you’ve got four weeks to work your magic. You could start a bus sing-along or something,” I joked, imagining how chaotic that would get.

“Now that would be a sight,” he laughed. “Though I’m not sure everyone here’s ready for that. You might be the only one who appreciates my questionable taste in music.”

I smirked. “Questionable, huh? Now I’m curious what kind of tunes you’re into.”

He thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the seat again, before grinning. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a taste later. But you’ve got to promise to be brutally honest—none of that polite nodding if you think it’s rubbish.”

“Deal,” I said, feeling a bit of excitement bubbling up. It wasn’t every day you got the chance to hear original music from a classmate who just might be the next big thing.

The bus hit another bump, jolting us both slightly, and Paul shifted in his seat, his expression turning a bit more mischievous . “You know, this trip could be a real chance to get away from all that usual school stuff—figure out what we’re actually good at, you know?”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. “Yeah, it’s nice to get a break from the usual routine. It feels like everything’s always about exams and homework, and you never really get time to think about what you actually want to do.”

He looked at me, his gaze steady. “Exactly. Feels like we’re just going through the motions most of the time. Maybe this trip’s the chance to shake things up a bit.”

We shared a moment of quiet understanding. It was strange to think that this boy I’d barely talked to before today was someone who seemed to get it—the feeling of wanting more than just the typical school routine, of wanting to do something that mattered.

After a moment, Paul’s easy grin returned, and he tilted his head toward the front of the bus. “Think we’ll make it through this trip without any major disasters?”

I laughed. “Not a chance. But hey, at least we’ll have some good stories to tell when we get back.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat again. “That’s the spirit. Let’s make sure they’re worth telling.”

With that, the conversation fell into a more comfortable silence. The miles stretched out ahead of us, and I found myself looking forward to whatever came next. Maybe this trip would be more than just a break from school. Maybe it would be the start of something… interesting.

As I glanced over at Paul, who was now lost in his thoughts again, I couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of whatever adventure we were about to stumble into.

The bus continued to hum along the road, and after what felt like an eternity of winding through the countryside, I noticed Paul had gone quiet again. He was still beside me, lost in thought, staring out the window at the rolling hills. The earlier ease between us had settled into something quieter, something a little more comfortable but still new.

I shifted in my seat, feeling the stiffness in my legs from sitting for so long. Paul must have noticed because he turned to me with a small smile. “Long ride, huh?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “My legs are starting to feel like they’re turning into jelly.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe we should’ve brought a guitar or something. Could’ve passed the time with a sing-along.”

I smiled at that. “And what would you have played? Something we all know, or one of your originals?”

Paul shrugged, that same casual smirk playing on his lips. “Depends. I might’ve tested out a new tune if I felt like the crowd was up for it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “New tune? So, you’ve got some secret songs you’re hiding from us?”

“Not exactly,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Just a few ideas, you know? Scribbles in a notebook, half-finished lyrics… nothing special.”

I laughed softly. “I doubt that. You seem like the kind of person who’s always working on something creative.”

Paul looked at me, a little surprised by the compliment. “Maybe. It’s just… you never know when something’s going to stick. Sometimes, you’re just playing around, and then all of a sudden, it turns into something real.”

I nodded, feeling a bit of admiration for him that I hadn’t expected. “I guess that’s the exciting part, right? Not knowing what’s going to come out of it?”

“Exactly,” he said, his eyes lighting up a bit. “That’s what keeps it interesting.”

We fell into another comfortable silence, and this time it didn’t feel awkward at all. Instead, it felt like we were both content to let the conversation come and go as it pleased. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I glanced over at Paul, feeling the conversation drifting into silence again, and decided to ask something that had been on my mind. “So… do you play in a band or anything? You mentioned the bass earlier.”

He looked a little surprised at the question, then smiled, a hint of something more serious in his expression. “Yeah, actually. A few of us have been messing around with the idea. It’s nothing big yet, just playing a few tunes in garages or wherever we can.”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “That sounds pretty cool. How’d you get into it?”

Paul shrugged, a bit more relaxed now. “I’ve always loved music, ever since I was a kid. My dad plays piano, and I just sort of… picked things up. Then, once I got my hands on a guitar, there was no going back.”

“That’s impressive,” I said, genuinely meaning it. “I always thought about learning an instrument, but I never really got past a few half-hearted piano lessons.”

He chuckled. “Piano’s not a bad place to start. But you know, it’s never too late to try something new. Could always join us for a jam session.”

“Me?” I laughed, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Hey, everyone’s got to start somewhere,” Paul said with a grin. “Besides, it’s more about having fun than being perfect.”

I smiled at that, appreciating his easygoing attitude. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll surprise you one day and show up with a tambourine or something.”

He laughed, the sound light and easy. “Now that would be something. We could always use more percussion.”

Paul’s laughter lingered for a moment, and I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more comfortable now. The awkwardness had melted away, replaced by a casual warmth between us.

“So,” I said, glancing out the window at the countryside rolling by, “what kind of music do you guys play? Is it, like, rock and roll?”

He nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yeah, that’s the idea. Rock and roll, a bit of skiffle—stuff that makes you want to move, you know? We’re still figuring it out, but we’ve been covering a lot of Chuck Berry, Little Richard… those kinds of tunes.”

“Chuck Berry, huh?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s some serious stuff. You must be pretty good.”

Paul shrugged modestly, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “We’re getting there. It’s all about practice. But it’s not just about being good—it’s about having fun with it, and seeing where it takes us.”

I nodded, impressed. “That sounds amazing. I don’t know many people who actually follow through on something like that.”

“Well,” he said with a grin, “we’ll see if we can make something of it. For now, it’s just nice to have an excuse to hang out with the lads and make some noise.”

“Do you have a name for the band yet?” I asked, leaning into the conversation now, genuinely curious.

Paul laughed, shaking his head. “Not yet. We’ve been throwing around ideas, but nothing’s stuck so far. Naming a band’s harder than you’d think. It’s got to feel right, you know?”

I smiled at that. “Yeah, I can imagine. It’s like naming a baby or something—it’s got to fit.”

“Exactly!” He pointed at me, nodding. “We don’t want to pick something we’ll regret later on.”

“Well, if you need any suggestions, I’m here to help,” I said playfully.

Paul chuckled. “I might just take you up on that.”

We fell into a more comfortable silence after that, but this time it didn’t feel awkward. Instead, it felt like the start of something new, like this conversation was the first step toward an unexpected friendship. The bus continued to rumble along the road, and I leaned back in my seat, feeling lighter than I had at the beginning of the trip.

As the scenery blurred by outside, Paul tapped his fingers on his knee, lost in thought. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I think this trip could be a good time to work on some new songs. Get some fresh ideas.”

“Yeah?” I asked, intrigued. “What inspires you when you write?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Anything, really. A bit of life, love, people I meet… sometimes it’s just a feeling that comes out of nowhere. You never know when inspiration will hit, so you’ve got to be ready.”

“That’s pretty deep,” I said, half-teasing but also impressed. “I guess I never really thought about songwriting like that.”

Paul smiled at me, his eyes softening. “It’s not as complicated as it sounds. You just… write what you feel, you know? Maybe one day you’ll give it a try.”

“Maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I had that kind of talent. Still, the idea of trying something new, of exploring creativity, sounded appealing.

The bus hit a small bump, jostling us both in our seats, and we shared a brief laugh at the unexpected jolt. The conversation started to drift again, but this time, it felt natural. We didn’t need to fill the silence with forced words. The bus continued on, carrying us toward whatever adventures lay ahead.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the next few weeks would bring, and whether this unexpected connection with Paul would turn into something more than just a fleeting conversation on a school bus.

After we all gathered our bags, the teachers started dividing us into our assigned rooms. The sun was nearly set by now, casting a soft orange glow through the windows of the old estate. The long day of travel had caught up with everyone, and the buzz of excitement had faded into tired chatter.

"Y/N, Room 12," one of the teachers called, ticking off names on a clipboard. I nodded, tightening my grip on my bag and heading inside the building. Paul was still beside me, waiting to hear his own room assignment.

"McCartney, Room 9," another teacher announced, and Paul raised his hand with a small grin.

“Looks like we’re not too far from each other,” he said, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “Not bad.”

I smiled back. “Yeah, close enough to find each other if we need to plot any late-night escapes.”

Paul laughed lightly. “You never know. But for tonight, I think I’m just going to crash. Too knackered for any adventures.”

"Same here," I agreed, stifling a yawn. The thought of a bed sounded incredibly appealing after a long day cooped up on the bus.

We both followed the hallway until it split off into different sections. My room was down one corridor, and his was down another. Paul turned to face me as we reached the split, flashing a tired but sincere smile.

“Well, goodnight then,” he said softly. “See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” I replied. “Goodnight, Paul. Sleep well.”

“You too,” he said with a small wave before turning and walking off toward his room.

I headed to my own room, pushing open the door to find it was already half-occupied by another girl from my grade. She looked just as exhausted as I felt, already halfway through unpacking her things onto her bed. We exchanged tired smiles and quick introductions before both agreeing to call it a night and save any further conversation for tomorrow.

After a quick change into my pajamas, I climbed into bed, the weight of the day finally settling over me. I could hear faint murmurs of conversation through the thin walls, including what might have been Paul's voice from down the hall. But soon, even that faded as the building grew quiet, and sleep started to pull me under. The last thought I had before drifting off was that this trip was just beginning, and I had a feeling there was much more to come—especially when it came to Paul.

-Paul’s POV -

Paul flopped onto his bed with a contented sigh, letting his tired limbs sink into the surprisingly soft mattress. The room was modest but comfortable, with a pair of neatly made beds, a small dresser, and a window that let in a sliver of the moonlight.

George, who was sprawled on his own bed across the room, looked up from fiddling with his guitar case. “So, how’s your day been, mate?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and exhaustion.

Paul grinned, propping himself up on one elbow. “Not too bad. Got to know someone from our class a bit better. You know, Y/N? They ended up sitting next to me on the bus.”

George raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, really? And how’d that go?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Paul said, shrugging. “We talked about the trip, a bit about music. Seems like a decent sort. We’re both in for some fun, I reckon.”

George smirked. “And here I thought you’d be too busy plotting your next great escape to talk to anyone.”

Paul chuckled. “Hey, a little adventure is always better with company, right? Besides, I didn’t exactly get any time to plot today. The bus ride was more about trying not to fall asleep and making sure I didn’t annoy everyone around me.”

George laughed, the sound echoing slightly in the small room. “Fair enough. And what did you think of the place so far? Not too shabby, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s got its charm,” Paul said, glancing around the room. “Bit different from the usual. Feels like we’re really on a proper adventure now. I mean, four weeks in this old place? It’s bound to be interesting.”

George nodded, strumming a few chords on his guitar absentmindedly. “Sounds like it’ll be a good time. And you know what they say—new experiences are always worth a shot.”

“Exactly,” Paul agreed, sitting up and stretching. “It’ll be nice to get away from the usual grind. Plus, we’ll have plenty of time to mess about, come up with new tunes, and maybe even make some new friends.”

George glanced over, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got that right. And with this lot, who knows what kind of trouble we’ll get up to.”

Paul grinned, feeling a surge of excitement. “Trouble, new friends, and maybe even some inspiration for new songs. Sounds like a good plan to me.”

As the conversation continued, the two friends talked about their plans for the upcoming weeks, sharing their hopes and expectations. The room was filled with a relaxed, easy camaraderie that only grew stronger with the passing minutes. It was a quiet, comfortable end to a long day, and as Paul finally settled into his bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip might just be the beginning of something extraordinary.

“Well, time for some shut-eye,” Paul said, stifling a yawn. “Big day ahead tomorrow.”

George nodded in agreement, his guitar case now closed and resting by his bed. “Goodnight, Paul. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, George,” Paul replied, turning off the bedside lamp and letting the darkness envelop the room. As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts wandered back to Y/N and the promise of the adventures that lay ahead.

As George’s breathing settled into a rhythmic, steady pattern, Paul lay awake in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and images from the day.

He couldn’t help but replay the moments he’d shared with Y/N. Her easy smile and quick wit had made a strong impression on him. He found himself wondering what it would be like to spend more time with her, to see where their conversations could lead. There was something undeniably engaging about her—a spark of curiosity and a willingness to engage in lighthearted banter that had struck a chord with him.

Paul thought about the little details of their interaction: how she had seemed genuinely interested when he mentioned his band and how she had laughed at his jokes. The thought of her intrigued him more than he expected. He recalled the way she looked when she mentioned her dusty piano, her eyes lighting up just a bit. He wondered if she might be someone who could appreciate the kind of music he was passionate about, someone who might even share some of his own interests.

He shifted slightly in his bed, trying to get comfortable as he continued to muse over the potential for new friendships and adventures. The trip was supposed to be a break from the usual grind, but Paul was beginning to see it as a chance to explore not just new places, but new relationships and possibilities.

As the minutes ticked by, Paul’s thoughts wandered to what the next few weeks might hold. Would he and Y/N find themselves paired up for group activities, or would they stumble upon shared interests that brought them closer? He imagined showing her his guitar, maybe even playing a few of his songs, and wondered if she would be interested in hearing them.

There was a small thrill in the uncertainty of it all—the sense of adventure that came with not knowing exactly what was around the corner. Paul felt a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. The future was full of potential, and he was eager to see where it would lead.

-Time skip to the next morning -

(Still Paul’s pov)

Eventually, the gentle hum of the night and the comfortable rhythm of his own thoughts began to lull him into sleep. Paul’s mind settled on the possibilities that lay ahead, the idea of new friendships, and the hope that this trip would bring some unexpected but welcome surprises.

Paul settled at the breakfast table with his friends and bandmates, John, George, and Ringo. The morning sun filtered through the dining room windows, casting a warm glow on the old wooden tables. The room buzzed with the chatter of students excitedly discussing the day’s activities. Paul, however, found himself somewhat distracted.

As his friends debated over the itinerary for the day, Paul’s gaze kept drifting toward Y/N’s table. She was laughing at something her friends had said, her laughter a pleasant melody that seemed to stand out against the background noise. Paul tried to focus on the conversation at his table, but he couldn’t help but glance over every so often.

John, ever perceptive, noticed Paul’s wandering attention. With a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned closer to Paul and nudged him with an elbow. “Oi, Paul, what’s caught your eye?”

Paul snapped out of his daydream, his face warming as he realized he had been caught. He looked at John with a sheepish grin. “Oh, nothing much. Just... taking in the morning.”

John raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Right. It seems like you’ve got a special interest in Y/N this morning. Didn’t know you were so keen on the company.”

Paul tried to brush it off, though he could feel himself blushing. “I was just thinking about how the trip might turn out. It’s nice to have some company, that’s all.”

John’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Well, if you’re thinking of making a move, you might want to be subtle about it. Can’t have you making a fool of yourself right out of the gate.”

Ringo, who had been listening with amusement, chimed in. “Looks like Paul’s got himself a bit of a crush. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

Paul chuckled nervously, trying to regain his composure. “It’s not like that. Just trying to figure out how we might end up interacting more. Could be interesting, you know?”

George, sensing Paul’s discomfort, gave him a supportive nudge. “Don’t worry about it too much. We’re all here to have a good time. If you end up talking to Y/N more, that’s just part of the adventure.”

As breakfast wound down, the group’s attention shifted to the plans for the day. Paul couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement mingled with nerves. He stole one last glance at Y/N, who was now chatting animatedly with her friends. Despite the teasing from his bandmates, Paul felt a genuine eagerness to get to know her better.

The transition from breakfast to the first activity of the day was quick. The group gathered their things and made their way to the bus, ready for the day’s adventures. Paul joined his friends, the teasing continuing in good spirits, but his mind kept drifting back to the promise of new experiences and the possibility of spending more time with Y/N.

As the bus pulled away from the accommodation, the landscape of the small town began to unfold before them. The anticipation of the day ahead mingled with Paul’s curiosity about Y/N, making the journey feel both exciting and full of potential.

The bus pulled up to the Natural History Museum, and the students began to disembark with excited chatter. The grand facade of the museum loomed ahead, its imposing columns and intricate stonework hinting at the treasures inside. As the group gathered in front of the entrance, the teachers began organizing everyone into pairs for the day’s exploration.

Paul and Y/N had been mingling with their friends, chatting about the exhibits they hoped to see, when one of the teachers called out. “Alright, everyone, we’re going to pair up for the museum tour. Make sure you’re with someone you can work well with!”

Paul glanced over at Y/N, who was also scanning the crowd, likely looking for a familiar face. Just as he was about to suggest they stick together, the teacher’s voice rang out again. “Paul McCartney and Y/N L/N, you’re a pair for the day. Find a partner and get started on the tour!”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat as he turned to Y/N, who looked pleasantly surprised. “Looks like we’re teamed up,” he said with a grin.

Y/N returned the smile. “Guess we’re spending the day together. Ready for some museum exploration?”

Paul nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Let’s make the most of it.”

As they entered the museum, the grandeur of the exhibits immediately captured their attention. Fossils, minerals, and ancient artifacts filled the expansive halls, each display more intriguing than the last. The museum guide provided a brief overview of the day’s activities and handed out maps, urging everyone to start exploring.

Paul and Y/N made their way through the exhibits, their conversation flowing easily as they navigated the museum’s vast interior. The initial awkwardness from the bus seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a shared curiosity and enthusiasm for the exhibits. They wandered through the dinosaur gallery, marveled at the minerals on display, and even took turns trying to identify the various fossils.

At one point, they found themselves in front of a particularly impressive diorama featuring prehistoric mammals. Paul leaned closer, examining the display. “These creatures are incredible. Imagine what it must have been like when they roamed the Earth.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes wide with fascination. “It’s amazing to think about how different the world was back then. I’ve always found stuff like this so fascinating.”

Paul glanced at her, noting the genuine excitement in her expression. “You know, I’ve got a bit of a fascination with history myself. Not just the music stuff. There’s something about learning how the world used to be that’s really intriguing.”

Y/N smiled, clearly enjoying the conversation. “I can relate. It’s like stepping back in time and seeing things from a different perspective. Makes you appreciate how much things have changed.”

As they continued their tour, Paul found himself more and more comfortable around Y/N. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared discoveries and laughter. It was clear that their time together was turning into something enjoyable and meaningful.

With each exhibit they explored, the day seemed to get better. The initial excitement of the field trip had settled into a genuine connection between the two of them. By the time they took a break in the museum’s café, Paul and Y/N were laughing and chatting like old friends.

“So,” Paul said, taking a sip of his drink, “how are you finding the museum so far?”

“It’s been fantastic,” Y/N replied, her eyes sparkling. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it this much, but having a good tour guide and a great partner definitely makes a difference.”

Paul grinned. “I’d say we make a pretty good team. Here’s to more adventures.”

Y/N raised her cup in a mock toast. “Cheers to that.”

As they finished their break and headed back to explore the remaining exhibits, Paul couldn’t help but feel that the day was turning out better than he’d imagined. Spending time with Y/N had been unexpectedly enjoyable, and he was looking forward to what the rest of the field trip would bring.

-Y/Ns POV -

As Paul and I finished our break in the café, we headed toward the museum’s next big attraction: the Butterfly House. The sun streamed through the glass ceiling, creating a warm, almost magical atmosphere. The Butterfly House was a lush, green paradise filled with colorful flowers and fluttering butterflies of every shade imaginable.

“Wow, this place is incredible,” I said, looking around at the vibrant display of nature.

Paul grinned, clearly just as taken with the exhibit. “It’s like stepping into a different world, isn’t it? All these butterflies—such a riot of colors.”

We walked along the winding path through the Butterfly House, surrounded by the gentle hum of butterflies flitting about. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the soft rustle of the leaves added to the serene ambiance.

I watched as a particularly large butterfly landed on a nearby flower. “Look at that one—it’s huge! I’ve never seen one like it before.”

Paul leaned closer, squinting at the butterfly. “That’s a Swallowtail, I think. They’re pretty common, but they’re always impressive to see up close.”

We continued down the path, pausing occasionally to admire the butterflies landing on the flowers and even a few that landed on our shoulders or arms. It felt like a gentle, almost playful interaction with nature.

“So,” Paul said, breaking the pleasant silence, “what do you think of all this? It’s pretty amazing, right?”

“I love it,” I replied, smiling at the sight of a butterfly landing gently on my hand. “It’s so peaceful and beautiful. I never expected to enjoy it this much.”

Paul chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “I’m glad we’re having a good time. It’s nice to just take a break from the usual routine and soak in something like this.”

We continued walking, enjoying the beauty around us. Paul’s easy demeanor and the relaxed environment made for a perfect combination, and I found myself feeling more at ease with each passing moment.

After spending some time in the Butterfly House, we decided to explore the museum’s main exhibition hall. The hall was grand and filled with a diverse range of exhibits, from ancient artifacts to natural history displays.

As we moved through the various exhibits, Paul pointed out interesting facts and shared his own observations, making the experience more engaging. We found ourselves getting lost in conversations about everything from historical events to the mysteries of the natural world.

“This place is a treasure trove of information,” I said, looking around at the impressive displays. “There’s so much to take in.”

Paul nodded, his enthusiasm evident. “It really is. I could spend all day here just exploring and learning new things.”

We spent hours wandering through the exhibits, and as the day went on, I felt a growing sense of camaraderie with Paul. Our shared curiosity and enthusiasm made for great company, and I was genuinely enjoying our time together.

As we made our way back to the entrance, Paul looked over at me with a smile. “So, how do you feel about the day so far?”

“It’s been fantastic,” I said, returning his smile. “I didn’t expect to have such a great time. Thanks for making it so enjoyable.”

Paul’s eyes sparkled with a mix of gratitude and amusement. “Glad to hear that. It’s been a pleasure exploring with you.”

We walked out of the museum together, the sun beginning to set and casting a warm glow over the city. The day had been filled with discovery and laughter, and I found myself looking forward to more moments like this as the field trip continued.

As Paul and I made our way back to the bus after a full day at the museum, we decided to take one last stroll around the museum grounds. We came across a small garden area that had been carefully maintained and was home to a variety of plants and, of course, more butterflies.

I stopped to admire a particularly vibrant flower bed, and Paul followed my gaze. “Look at that—more butterflies. They really seem to love this place.”

I chuckled and pointed to a patch of bugs crawling on the leaves. “You know, seeing all these bugs makes me think of something ridiculous.”

Paul raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Well,” I began with a grin, “I couldn’t help but notice that some of these little guys look like they’re having a bit of a band meeting. If I had to name a band after these bugs, I’d call them ‘The Beetles.’”

Paul blinked, then burst into laughter. “The Beetles? That’s brilliant! They’d definitely have a unique sound—imagine their hit single, ‘I Want to Hold Your Beetle.’”

I laughed along with him, enjoying the playful banter. “Exactly! And their debut album could be ‘With a Little Help from My Bugs.’”

Paul wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “You’ve got a real knack for coming up with names. I’m impressed.”

“Well,” I said, “if you ever need a band name or a joke for your future concerts, you know where to find me.”

We continued our walk, still laughing about the joke. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden hue over the museum grounds. As we approached the bus, Paul looked at me with a thoughtful expression.

“You know,” he said, “that’s actually not a bad idea. I think ‘The Beetles’ could work—if only there were enough bugs to fill out the band.”

“Hey, you never know,” I said with a wink. “Maybe we’ll discover a whole new world of insect rock stars.”

We boarded the bus, the laughter from our earlier joke still lingering in the air. As we found our seats, Paul and I exchanged smiles, feeling a new level of camaraderie. It had been a day full of discoveries and laughter, and I couldn’t wait to see what other adventures awaited us on this field trip.

As we settled back into our seats on the bus, the remnants of our laughter still lingering, I couldn’t help but continue with the playful theme. “You know,” I said with a mischievous grin, “if you’re serious about naming a band after these bugs, maybe you should tweak the name a bit.”

Paul raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” I began, “instead of ‘The Beetles,’ why not change it to ‘The Beatles’? It sounds a bit more... musical, don’t you think?”

Paul’s eyes widened in surprise as he processed the suggestion. “The Beatles? That’s actually quite clever. It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly,” I said, pleased with his reaction. “And it’s got that whole play on words thing going on—‘beat’ as in rhythm and ‘beatle’ as in the bug. It’s perfect for a band.”

Paul chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. “You know, you might be onto something there. If I ever start a band, I might just have to use that name.”

I laughed. “Well, if that ever happens, I expect a backstage pass.”

Paul grinned. “Deal. And I’ll make sure to credit you for the name idea.”

As the bus began to pull away, taking us to our accommodations for the night, Paul and I continued chatting about music and our favorite bands. The playful banter had turned into a more engaging conversation, and I was enjoying every moment of it.

The name ‘The Beatles’ had become an inside joke between us, a reminder of a day filled with unexpected fun and connection. As we arrived at our lodgings and prepared for the evening, I couldn’t help but feel that this field trip was turning out to be far more interesting than I’d originally anticipated.

As the days rolled by on our field trip, what started as a casual acquaintance had evolved into something much more meaningful. By the time the final week arrived, Paul and I had settled into a comfortable rhythm, our conversations flowing effortlessly and our shared laughter becoming a staple of our daily interactions.

Our time exploring museums, historical sites, and even the occasional impromptu adventure had drawn us closer. We had spent countless hours together, whether it was discussing our favorite bands, trying to solve random trivia questions, or simply enjoying the quiet moments on the bus rides between destinations.

The final week of the trip arrived with a sense of bittersweet anticipation. On one hand, we were looking forward to returning home and sharing our experiences with friends and family. On the other, it was hard to imagine not seeing Paul every day, not sharing those spontaneous jokes or planning our next playful escapade.

One evening, as we sat on a bench overlooking a scenic park near our lodgings, I turned to Paul, who was idly strumming on his guitar. The soft strains of his music blended with the tranquil surroundings, creating a serene atmosphere that seemed to echo the sentiment of our time together.

“Can you believe it’s almost over?” I asked, watching as the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink.

Paul glanced up, his expression thoughtful. “It’s gone by so quickly. Feels like just yesterday we were trying to come up with band names for a bunch of bugs.”

I laughed softly, the memory bringing a warm feeling. “Yeah, and who would have thought that joke would turn into one of our favorite inside jokes?”

Paul smiled, setting his guitar aside and turning to face me. “It’s been an amazing trip. I didn’t expect to make such a good friend, let alone someone I’d look forward to seeing every day.”

I met his gaze, feeling a flutter of emotion. “I know what you mean. This trip has been a lot more memorable because of you.”

We shared a comfortable silence, the evening air cool against our skin. The park was quiet except for the distant sounds of other tourists and the occasional rustle of leaves. It was a peaceful moment, one that seemed to encapsulate everything we had experienced together over the past few weeks.

As the sun set and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, I felt a sense of gratitude for the connection we had built. The upcoming departure felt like a poignant end to a chapter that had brought unexpected joy and companionship.

Paul’s voice broke the silence gently. “You know, even when this trip ends, I hope we stay in touch. It’s been really great getting to know you.”

I nodded, smiling warmly. “I’d like that too. It’s been an incredible journey, and I’m glad we’ve shared it.”

As we sat there, watching the stars emerge and the city lights begin to twinkle in the distance, I couldn’t help but feel that this final week had been the culmination of something truly special. It was the end of an adventure, but also the beginning of a new connection that I hoped would last long after the field trip was over.

The final days of our field trip flew by in a whirlwind of excitement and nostalgia. Before we knew it, the bus was pulling back into our school parking lot, and the familiar sights of our hometown began to come into view. As we disembarked and said our goodbyes to the teachers and other students, there was a palpable sense of both relief and sadness.

Paul and I lingered near the bus, our luggage in hand, as the excitement of returning home mingled with the wistfulness of leaving behind the memorable experiences we had shared. We chatted about our favorite moments and laughed over inside jokes from the trip, trying to hold onto the easy camaraderie we had built.

As the crowd began to thin and students reunited with their families, Paul glanced at me with a thoughtful expression. “Hey,” he began, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

I looked at him, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Paul hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Well, we’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few weeks, and I’ve really enjoyed it. I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime. Maybe catch a movie or just hang out, you know?”

I felt a surge of warmth at his words, a mixture of surprise and happiness. “Are you asking me out on a date?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light but unable to hide the excitement in my voice.

Paul’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he nodded, a hopeful smile on his lips. “Yeah, I guess I am. I’d really like to get to know you even better.”

I smiled back, feeling a flutter of excitement. “I’d like that too. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

Paul’s grin widened, and he let out a relieved laugh. “Great! I’ll figure out a time and place, and we can make plans. I promise not to drag you into any more bug-related band name discussions.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ll hold you to that. But seriously, I’m looking forward to it.”

As we gathered our belongings and headed toward the school entrance, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation for what was to come. The field trip had been an unforgettable experience, and now, with this new chapter beginning, I was eager to see where it would lead. The prospect of spending more time with Paul, exploring our growing connection, and creating new memories made the end of the trip feel like a new beginning.

Authors note: I initially intended on making this a series but I wasn’t sure if anybody would read it so please tell me if you are interested!!!

[lacktastrophe]

What are your thoughts on Sue in the current chapter? She usually says she dislikes drama but participates in it. (No shade towards her. Especially since they’re all teenagers and sorta end up in these situations)

Do you have any thoughts or analysis on her here? Abbey too? Since she’s more easygoing while Abbey has a genuine grudge here

I think people misunderstand that disliking drama doesn't necessarily mean you're exempt from gossiping about drama, let alone drama you happen to be involved with. They're mutually exclusive actions. Sue's aversion to drama is like most people's in how it's an unwanted distraction that requires your attention and time that you'd rather spend elsewhere, where resolving it more often than not requires a variety of skill to masterfully navigate to a good resolution. You have messes, and this story has no shortage of them especially when the kids refuse to listen or don't yet have the means or knowledge to move past an issue. The messes aren't navigated well and become larger messes (hellooooooo The Play). So it should be understandable why she feels this way to the idea of drama. Who seriously wants drama???

Still, that doesn't mean she's averse to gossip either and as we've seen she's very keen on a little gossip.

Anyway, there's nothing really new here that I feel we haven't learned from a later chapter to do analysis on. Behind closed doors is a new chapter but it's an event that happened between Golden Hour and Dial Tone. I don't feel a deep analysis is worth it because it doesn't really add anything new particularly to Sue or Abbey. It's more to deal with correcting the flow in the story on things we have figured out to give better explanation into Paulo's behaviour during Volume 6 after Dial tone -- there being another motivator than just Abbey and the fight Paulo had with Daisy over the phone in Golden hour as reasons why Paulo is avoiding her, and why despite his talk with Matt's in the same chapter he reverted to his womanizing persona.

As far as Sue, Abbey and maybe Stacy are all concerned, with perhaps looking at the whole group by extension, there is more supporting perspective and an understanding of a conclusion I feel a lot of people might have made about Paulo's relationship with the circle of friends in that he's largely tolerated (excepting David). I feel you'd be able to pick up this notion quite early in the story just by observing Paulo and his antics objectively, but where we got an impression that the seniors in his other circle largely pity him as we read in Sugar Substitute, we get confirmation of his relationships to many of the other characters.

Depending on how this chapter ends it could give greater meaning to some of the choices Paulo makes in later chapters, like maybe further justification why he was ready to throw Mike under the bus in Double Down for a chance with Lucy for instance (though I think there's enough there to show how desperate he was for her regardless).

But yeah, Sue can't help but not gossip because Paulo is her drama -- she has to deal with him on a day-to-day basis and they're in close proximity while they're at the school. He's a debilitating presence who belittles her and makes fun of her hobbies, and there's very little that she can do about it. I feel a lot is relying on Paulo to be less of a dick than usual.

---

I was going to make a comment how Paulo had backed off on Sue but I had momentarily forgotten about Popularity Contest. Behind closed Doors is a fantastic chapter and does a fantastic job of making Stacy trip over herself in the future.

(Fuck, man, I love Popularity Contest, why was this chapter made for me?)

[bubblegum-glitch]

The Catalyst: Life working in retail and the moment I finally said "fuck it, I'm doing porn."

I've been working in Customer Service off and on since early 2005, only ever being unemployed for short periods of time between job searches. I've worked in various retail establishments, with shipping companies, call centres, door-to-door sales, and even in kitchens & cafes. The only industry I have ever refused to work in has been fast food, and I'm sure those of you who have worked a drive through or two in your lives can understand my reasoning. I began in my first year of high school working at a Dollar Store that was next to an extremely seedy strip club (it eventually burned down and it was discovered that the owner had done it to try and cash in on the insurance). From customers verbally and physically abusing me, to an elderly man jerking his cock in front of me, my first romp in retail was merely a taste of what was to come for the next 20 years.

Some jobs were certainly better than others. I worked at a bookstore and a Halloween shop, both of which would have been fine if not for the politics of the company bleeding into the staff and making us all miserable. Bad management teams, abusive coworkers, bullying and drama akin to that which we experience in High School - it becomes exhausting after awhile. For minimum wage, which doesn't even come close to a living wage, it's just not worth the headaches. I rarely lasted longer than two years with any of my employers. When you're handed a penny raise after working your ass off for an entire year you tend to lose faith in the company that you've been breaking your back (and sanity) for. I promise, there was no lack of trying on my part to escape the clutches of the customer service industry. I have my BA in English, I have a certificate in photography, and I have some training in IT Web design (which proved to be far too much for my little brain to handle) and Audio Engineering. Unfortunately the job market for all of these industries in my part of the world is pretty much non existent. I'm pretty sure a BA in English is worth less than toilet paper even after the great pandemic shortage of 2020. Unfortunately, to make money in this world you gotta do what you gotta do. So to pay off my crippling debt and be able to afford an occasional package of ramen noodles so I don't starve to death, I have to continue working these soul crushing, mindless jobs.

It was in 2016 when I started working in donation rooms at thrift stores and, I will be completely honest with you - I fucking love it. Granted, it has it's downsides. I've sorted through more than a couple bags with mould, human feces, needles, and used sex toys, but the satisfaction of the treasure hunt it's absolutely worth the nasty shit that you sometimes encounter. But once again, the politics of the industry got in the way of finding my work enjoyable and rewarding. Nasty upper management was the downfall of all three thrift locations I've worked at. The first store the CEO shut us down without warning (I also later learned he was a sexual predator and was being sued by some of his employees for harassment, so that was gross). The second location had a violent customer base (we were robbed repeatedly), a bully assistant manager who would scream in your face when HE made a mistake, and a regional manager who loved to throw her staff under the bus.

So that leads us to my third romp in thrift, my absolute favourite job I've ever had, and the devastation brought upon me when everything came crumbling down.

My husband and I came into a little bit of money in 2021 and I decided to take a break from the world of customer service bullshit and return to school (This was my IT and Audio Engineering training). That summer I got a student job at a thrift store where 100% of the proceeds go into helping rescue animals. It was entirely volunteer based other than the management team and the summer students (who were there on a government grant). I had such an enjoyable experience working there as the volunteer coordinator than I returned the following summer, and they were so impressed with me they ended up hiring me on permanently part time to help with their rapidly growing business. At this point, due to some mental health struggles, I am not currently able to work full time hours, and they were more than happy to work around my disability...

Until the new regional manager was hired.

The store closed for renovations and I was brought in to help rebuild and re-brand the store.

Sure. No problem. It's more hours than I'm available for, but I don't mind just for a couple of weeks. It's also more physical work than my body is really equipped for but, just this once, I'll suffer through with a smile on my face.

Then I'm handed a key and I'm told "You're a staff supervisor now". Oh... okay? No one talked to me or asked me if I wanted the promotion, it's more hours than I can handle, and I don't really want the responsibilities that come with a supervisor position because of my disability, but since my old position has been dissolved I guess I'll have to suck it up. At least it comes with a raise, right?

Nope. Still minimum wage. Which is currently sitting about $15 under a livable wage. Also, we won't be training you and just expect you to know how to do the assistant manager's job.

Okay... Gotta do what you gotta do I guess.

You also have to work more shifts than you're available for.

Oh... yeah, okay. That could start to prove difficult as I'm dealing with a depressive episode right now but... sure?

Then suddenly I'm responsible for everything that goes wrong. A volunteer makes a mistake? Blame Billie - even on days she isn't working. The cash or pricing machines break? Billie. Shoes, purses, dresses, and coats priced to low? Blame Billie and make sure she's the only person who prices these things from now on. Need 30 things done at once right this second, tell Billie and don't let her delegate the tasks to anyone else. If she does, yell at her! Have Billie open and close the store for the next two weekends, but don't train her how to do it and expect her not to make any mistakes. Customer has an issue? That's right, it's also somehow Billie's fault! Even when she's at home sleeping!

Blame, blame, blame, blame, blame, blame, blame.

Yeah. This was the breaking point for me.

In July of 2023 I had started up an OnlyFans account to bring in a couple extra dollars. I'll discuss why this was a challenging decision for me in a future post, but originally I was just planning to post some tasteful nudes to earn myself a little spending money. By May of 2024, as all this bullshit had begun happening at work, that mindset had officially gone from a couple tasteful nudes to "Fuck it, I'm quitting retail and making porn." By August I had amassed enough of a following to put in my notice.

I am finished with retail as of October 15th, 2024 and turning to creating adult content full time.

Honestly, this is a terrifying leap of faith as I know content creation can be a fickle beast. Some months will be more lucrative than others, while an inability to keep people invested could have everything all come crashing down on top of me.

But I'm done with working for people who take advantage of me and pay me pennies. I know my value and I'm worth more than what I'm being given. I'm not a number who is easily replaceable, I am a strong capable woman who is in charge of her own destiny.

So fuck you workforce,

I quit!

Now. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to live life how it's meant to be lived,

Enjoyed!

[jungle-angel]

Tricky Little Treats (Ben Mears x Reader)

Summary: Randy is dead set on making his Halloween costume but it's definitely apparent that he has a little trouble with the scissors

Warnings: Parenthood, boy shenanigans, cuteness overload etc.

"Alright buddy, you're lookin pretty good," Ben said as he buttoned up Sean's little orange pjs.

Your son was barely home two days and already he was the star of the house with everybody wanting to hold him and pass him around. Randy had already eagerly been tending to his big brother duties while the same went for Mark and thankfully it meant no shortage of help.

"Alright let's go downstairs and see momma and your brothers," Ben whispered.

Downstairs to the living room he went only to find Randy cutting away at an old sheet with his baby scissors. There were scraps of it all over the floor while a sheepish look came over the toddler's little face.

"Daddy I hada trouble wit da scissors," Randy chirped.

"Yeah I can see that bud," Ben chuckled. "Hey dear?"

"Yes?" you called from the kitchen.

"Charlie Brown had some trouble with the scissors."

You came out from the kitchen where you had been helping Matt Burke prep for the big Halloween party later that night, unable to control the grin crawling across your face and the laugh boiling in your throat.

"Oh Randy come here," you laughed, hugging the sheepish looking toddler. "This happens all the time."

You took the rather holey sheet and placed it over Randy. You and Ben both couldn't deny that he looked kind of cute. "So you know what we'll do, is we'll take some black felt and we'll cover the holes with it," you told him.

"I gonna be a ghosty wif a hundred eyes?" Randy asked.

"Yup," you answered.

Randy ran of cheering but not before you took the scissors straight from his little hands. "Now we just have to find out where all my black felt went," you remarked.

"Last I saw, Mark was using it for Halloween decorations," Ben said, adjusting Sean against his shoulder.

You made a face and nodded. Knowing Mark, he was probably making some sort of monster movie model or something up in his room.

You kissed your husband and son, unable to resist how cute your little one was in his pumpkin pjs. "You know everybody's gonna keep circling back because of him right?" you joked.

Ben laughed a little. "Yeah I figured," he said. "But I also figured we've got the biggest candy stash in town so that'll be a big part of it."

"Good that means we won't have leftovers," you told him.

Sean began to wriggle a little, a sign that he wanted out of his daddy's arms and somewhere else. "Alright, alright little man," Ben said to him. "You're goin in your Baby Moses basket for now."

Ben very gently placed Sean in the Baby Moses basket by the window and covered him with the knitted throw blanket on the back of the couch. Oreo, one of your house cats, jumped right into the basket with him, purring like crazy as she nested in beside him.

All that afternoon, Randy ran around the house in his newly made Charlie Brown ghost costume and when Mark got off the bus from school, he rushed upstairs to jump into his hobbit costume. You and Ben had always loved this time of year, the excitement and anticipation of it all making everything worthwhile.

[gerardpilled]

in high school I took the city bus home from school and one day I guess the mta was having a driver shortage because the guy got on and went “okay everyone I don’t normally drive this route so you’re gonna have to give me directions” and everyone shouted at him when he missed turns to which he was like “I told you to tell me”

[simulation-machine]

Okay, so remember when I was trying to find purity ring cc? It was for this cutie, Ruth Powell. I was not successful, but found a nice simple silver ring that I ended up going with.

Per usual, more details (and pictures!) under the cut.

Ruth is an amalgamation of a few folks I've known throughout my life, combined with my own personal experiences with spiritual abuse, childhood abuse generally, religious bigotry, and connecting with ancestry after having spent the majority of life separated from it. Unlike with Tuesday and Wren, she's not based on a previous character or concept.

She was born in another country, adopted, and raised by white conservative Christians. She was homeschooled from preschool to 4th grade, only allowed to attend public school on the promise that she would use this freedom to proselytize to her peers.

While at home and church, she plays the part of the obedient, humble, and faithful daughter. But she allows her more energetic and goofy side to come out at school with her friends.

One of the hardest parts of designing her was having to research modest fashion. Hooooo nelly did I ever struggle to come up with gym wear, swimsuits, and hot weather outfits. For the first time ever I found purpose for online Christian modest fashion stores, of which there is no shortage if you hit up that Google.

Even though Ruth was a struggle bus I ended up really liking her aesthetic which... I did not think was possible. She does get a whole makeover later on, which was even more fun to come up with!

[shuxiii]

Everyday pt. 6

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n drink your milk everybody even the adults so your bones get yummy yummy milk if you are lactose intolerant, eat your veggies. credits all to ''every day'' by David Levithan.

Day 6003

I am not alone when I wake up the next morning.

I am sharing the room with two other boys—my brothers, Yeonjun and Beomgyu. Yeonjun is a year older than me. Beomgyu is my twin. My name is Soobin.

Soobin is big—a football player. Beomgyu is about the same size. Yeonjun is even bigger.

The room is clean, but even before I know what town I’m in, I know we’re not in the nice part of it. This is a big family in a small house. There is not going to be a computer here. Soobin is not going to have a car.

It’s Yeonjun’s job—self-appointed or otherwise—to get us up and out. Our father’s not home from the night shift yet, and our mother’s already on the way to her job. Our two sisters are about done with the bathroom. We’re next.

I access and find that I’m in the town next to Haruto’s, over an hour from Hanni’s.

This is going to be a hard day.

The bus ride to school takes forty-five minutes. When we get there, we head to the cafeteria for free breakfast. I am amazed at Soobin’s appetite—I pile on pancake after pancake, and he’s still hungry. Beomgyu matches him bite for bite.

Luckily, I have study hall first period. Unluckily, there’s still homework that Soobin needs to do. I push through that as quick as I can, and have about ten minutes of computer time left at the end.

There’s a message from Hanni, written at one in the morning.

Yn,

I want to believe you, but I don’t know how.

Hanni

I write back:

Hanni,

You don’t need to know how. You just make up your mind and it happens.

I am in Laurel right now, over an hour away. I am in the body of a football player named Soobin. I know how strange that sounds. But, like everything I’ve told you, it’s the truth.

Love,

Yn

There’s just enough time for me to check my other email address. There’s another email from Haruto.

You can’t avoid my questions forever. I want to know who you are. I want to know why you do what you do.

Tell me.

Again, I leave him unanswered. I have no idea whether I owe him an explanation or not. I probably owe him something. But I’m not sure it’s an explanation.

I make it through to lunch. I want to go immediately to the library to check the computers again. But Soobin is hungry, and Beomgyu is with him, and I am afraid that if he doesn’t get his lunch now, there won’t be anything for him to eat until dinnertime. I checked, and there’s only about three dollars in his wallet, including change.

I get the free lunch and eat it quickly. Then I excuse myself to the library, which inspires no shortage of taunts from Beomgyu, who claims that “libraries are for girls.” A true brother, I shoot back with, “Well, that explains why you never find any.” A wrestling match ensues. All of this takes away time from what I need to do.

When I get to the library, all the computers are taken. I have to loom large over a freshman for about two minutes before he freaks out enough to give me his space. Quickly I check out public transportation and find out I’ll need to take three buses in order to make it to Hanni’s town. I’m ready to do it, but when I check my email, there’s another message from Hanni, dated just two minutes ago.

Yn,

Do you have a car? If not, I can come to you. There’s a Starbucks in Laurel. I’m told that nothing bad ever happens in a Starbucks. Let me know if you want to meet there.

Hanni

I type:

Hanni,

I would appreciate it if you could come here. Thank you.

Yn

Two minutes later, a new email from her:

Yn,

I’ll be there at 5. Can’t wait to see what you look like today.

(Still not believing this.)

Hanni

My nerves are jangling with possibility. She’s had time to think about it, and that hasn’t turned her against me. It’s more than I could ask for. I am careful not to be too grateful, lest it be taken away.

The rest of the school day is unexceptional … except for a moment in seventh period. Mrs. French, the bio teacher, is hectoring a kid who hasn’t done his homework. It’s a lab assignment, and he’s come up blank.

“I don’t know what got into me,” the slacker says. “I must have been possessed by the devil!”

The rest of the class laughs, and even Mrs. French shakes her head.

“Yeah, I was possessed by the devil, too,” another guy says. “After I drank seven beers!”

“Okay, class,” Mrs. French intones. “Enough of that.”

It’s the way they say it—I know Haruto’s story must be spreading.

“Hey,” I say to Beomgyu as we head to football practice, “did you hear about that kid in Monroeville who says he was possessed by the devil?”

“Dude,” he replies, “we were just talking about that yesterday. It was all over the news.”

“Yeah, I mean, did you hear anything more about it today?”

“What more is there to say? Kid got caught in a crazy lie, and now the religious crazies want to make him a poster child. I almost feel sorry for him.”

This, I think, is not good.

Our coach has to go to his wife’s Lamaze class, which he bitches about to us in detail, but it forces him to end practice early. I tell Beomgyu that I’m going to make a Starbucks run, and he looks at me like I have been totally, irredeemably girlified. I was counting on his disgust, and am relieved to get it.

She’s not there when I arrive, so I get a small black coffee—pretty much the only thing I can afford—and sit and wait for her. It’s crowded, and I have to look brutish in order to keep the other chair at my table unoccupied.

Finally, about twenty minutes after five, she shows up. She scans the crowd and I wave. Even though I told her I was a football player, she’s still a little startled. She comes over anyway.

“Okay,” she says, sitting down. “Before we say another word, I want to see your phone.” I must look confused, because she adds, “I want to see every single call you’ve made in the past week, and every single call you received. If this isn’t some big joke, then you have nothing to hide.”

I hand over Soobin’s phone, which she knows how to work better than I do.

After a few minutes of searching, she appears satisfied.

“Now, I quiz you,” she says, handing back the phone. “First, what was I wearing on the day that Minji took me to the beach?”

I try to picture it. I try to grab hold of those details. But they’ve already eluded me. I remember her, not what she was wearing.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Do you remember what Minji was wearing?”

She thinks about it for a second. “Good point. Did we make out?”

I shake my head. “We used the make-out blanket, but we didn’t make out. We kissed. And that was enough.”

“And what did I say to you before I left the car?”

“ ‘That’s the nice note.’ ”

“Correct. Quick, what’s Yunjin’s girlfriend’s name?”

“Kazuha”

“And what time did the party end?”

“Eleven-fifteen.”

“And when you were in the body of that girl who I took to all of my classes, what did the note you passed me say?”

“Something like, ‘The classes here are just as boring as in the school I’m going to now.’ ”

“And what were the buttons on your backpack that day?”

“Anime kittens.”

“Well, either you’re an excellent liar, or you switch bodies every day. I have no idea which one is true.”

“It’s the second one.”

I see, over Hanni’s shoulder, a woman looking at us quizzically. Has she overheard what we’re saying?

“Let’s go outside,” I whisper. “I feel we may be getting an unintended audience.”

Hanni looks skeptical. “Maybe if you were a petite cheerleader again. But—I’m not sure if you fully realize this—you’re a big, threatening dude today. My mother’s voice is very loud and clear in my head: ‘No dark corners.’ ”

I point out the window, to a bench along the road.

“Totally public, only without people listening in.”

“Fine.”

As we head out, the woman who was eavesdropping seems disappointed. I realize how many people sitting around us have open laptops and open notebooks, and hope that none of them have been taking notes.

When we get to the bench, Hanni lets me sit down first, so she can determine the distance that we’ll sit apart, which is significant.

“So you say you’ve been like this since the day you were born?”

“Yes. I can’t remember it being any different.”

“So how did that work? Weren’t you confused?”

“I guess I got used to it. I’m sure that, at first, I figured it was just how everybody’s lives worked. I mean, when you’re a baby, you don’t really care much about who’s taking care of you, as long as someone’s taking care of you. And as a little kid, I thought it was some kind of a game, and my mind learned how to access—you know, look at the body’s memories—naturally. So I always knew what my name was, and where I was. It wasn’t until I was four or five that I started to realize I was different, and it wasn’t until I was nine or ten that I really wanted it to stop.”

“You did?”

“Of course. Imagine being homesick, but without having a home. That’s what it was like. I wanted friends, a mom, a dad, a dog—but I couldn’t hold on to any of them more than a single day. It was brutal. There are nights I remember screaming and crying, begging my parents not to make me go to bed. They could never figure out what I was afraid of. They thought it was a monster under the bed, or a ploy to get a few more bedtime stories. I could never really explain, not in a way that made sense to them. I’d tell them I didn’t want to say goodbye, and they’d assure me it wasn’t goodbye. It was just good night. I’d tell them it was the same thing, but they thought I was being silly.

“Eventually I came to peace with it. I had to. I realized that this was my life, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t fight the tide, so I decided to float along.”

“How many times have you told this story?”

“None. I swear. You’re the first.”

This should make her feel special—it’s meant to make her feel special—but instead it seems to worry her.

“You have to have parents, don’t you? I mean, we all have parents.”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I would think so. But it’s not like there’s anyone I can ask. I’ve never met anyone else like me. Not that I would necessarily know.”

It’s clear from her expression that she thinks this is a sad story I’m telling her—a very sad story. I don’t know how to convey to her that it hasn’t all been sad.

“I’ve glimpsed things,” I say. Then I stop. I don’t know what’s next.

“Go on,” she tells me.

“It’s just—I know it sounds like an awful way to live, but I’ve seen so many things. It’s so hard when you’re in one body to get a sense of what life is really like. You’re so grounded in who you are. But when who you are changes every day—you get to touch the universal more. Even the most mundane details. You see how cherries taste different to different people. Blue looks different. You see all the strange rituals boys have to show affection without admitting it. You learn that if a parent reads to you at the end of the day, it’s a good sign that it’s a good parent, because you’ve seen so many other parents who don’t make the time. You learn how much a day is truly worth, because they’re all so different. If you ask most people what the difference was between Monday and Tuesday, they might tell you what they had for dinner each night. Not me. By seeing the world from so many angles, I get more of a sense of its dimensionality.”

“But you never get to see things over time, do you?” Hanni asks. “I don’t mean to cancel out what you just said. I think I understand that. But you’ve never had a friend that you’ve known day in and day out for ten years. You’ve never watched a pet grow older. You’ve never seen how messed up a parent’s love can be over time. And you’ve never been in a relationship for more than a day, not to mention for more than a year.”

I should have known it would come back to that. “But I’ve seen things,” I tell her. “I’ve observed. I know how it works.”

“From the outside? I don’t think you can know from the outside.”

“I think you underestimate how predictable some things can be in a relationship.”

“I love her,” she says. “I know you don’t understand, but I do.”

“You shouldn’t. I’ve seen her from the inside. I know.”

“For a day. You saw her for a day.”

“And for a day, you saw who she could be. You fell more in love with her when she was me.”

I reach out again for her hand, but this time she says, “No. Don’t.”

I freeze.

“I have a girlfriend,” she says. “I know you don’t like her, and I’m sure there are moments when I don’t like her, either. But that’s the reality. Now, I’ll admit, you have me actually thinking that you are, in fact, the same person who I’ve now met in five different bodies. All this means is that I’m probably as insane as you are. I know you say you love me, but you don’t really know me. You’ve known me a week. And I need a little more than that.”

“But didn’t you feel it that day? On the beach? Didn’t everything seem right?”

There it is again—the pull of the ocean, the song of the universe. A better liar would deny it. But some of us don’t want to live our lives as liars. She bites her lip and nods.

“Yes. But I don’t know who I was feeling that for. Even if I believe it was you, you have to understand that my history with Minji plays into it. I wouldn’t have felt that way with a stranger. It wouldn’t have been so perfect.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s my point. I don’t.”

She looks at her phone, and whether or not she truly needs to leave, I know this is the sign that she’s going to.

“I have to make it back for dinner,” she says.

“Thanks for driving all this way,” I tell her.

It’s awkward. So awkward.

“Will I see you again?” I ask.

She nods.

“I’m going to prove it to you,” I tell her. “I’m going to show you what it really means.”

“What?”

“Love.”

Is she scared by this? Embarrassed? Hopeful?

I don’t know. I’m not close enough to tell.

Beomgyu gives me no small amount of grief when I get home—partly because I went to Starbucks, and partly because I then had to walk two miles to get back home, and was late for dinner, which our father roundly chewed me out over.

“I hope whoever she was, she was worth it,” Beomgyu taunts.

I look at him blankly.

“Dude, don’t try to tell me you were just going for the coffee or the folk tunes they play on the speakers. I know you better than that.”

I remain silent.

I am assigned to wash all the dishes. While doing so, I turn on the radio, and when the local news comes on, Haruto Watanabe comes with it.

“So tell us, Haruto, what you experienced last Saturday,” the interviewer says.

“I was possessed. There’s no other word for it. I wasn’t in control of my own body. I consider myself lucky to be alive. And I want to ask anyone else who’s ever been possessed like this, just for a day, to contact me. Because, I’ll be honest with you, Chuck, a lot of people think I’m crazy. Other kids at school are making fun of me constantly. But I know what happened. And I know I’m not the only one.”

I know I’m not the only one.

This is the sentence that haunts me. I wish I felt the same certainty.

I wish I weren’t the only one.

Day 6004

The next morning I wake up in the same room.

In the same body.

I can’t believe it. I don’t understand. After all these years.

I look at the wall. My hands. The sheets.

And then I look to my side and see Soobin sleeping there in his bed.

Soobin.

And I realize: I’m not in the same body. I’m not on the same side of the room.

No, this morning I’m his twin, Beomgyu.

I have never had this chance before. I watch as Soobin emerges from sleep, emerges from a day away from his old body. I am looking for the traces of that oblivion, the bafflement of that waking. But what I get is the familiar scene of a football player stretching himself into the day. If he feels at all strange, at all different, he’s not showing it.

“Dude, what are you staring at?”

This doesn’t come from Soobin, but from our other brother, Yeonjun.

“Just getting up,” I mumble.

But really, I don’t take my eyes off Soobin. Not through the ride to school. Not at breakfast. He seems a little out of it now, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by a bad night’s sleep.

“How’re you doing?” I ask him.

He grunts. “Fine. Thanks for caring.”

I decide to play dumb. He expects me to be dumb, so it shouldn’t be much of a stretch.

“What did you do after practice yesterday?” I ask.

“I went to Starbucks.”

“Who with?”

He looks at me like I’ve just sung the question to him in falsetto.

“I just wanted coffee, okay? I wasn’t with anyone.”

I study him, to see if he’s trying to cover his conversation with Hanni. I don’t think, though, that such duplicity would be anything but obvious on him.

He really doesn’t remember seeing her. Talking to her. Being with her.

“Then why’d it take so long?” I ask him.

“What, were you timing it? I’m touched.”

“Well, who were you emailing at lunch?”

“I was just checking my email.”

“Your own email?”

“Who else’s email would I be checking? You’re asking seriously weird questions, dude. Isn’t he, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun chews on some bacon. “I swear, whenever you two talk, I just tune it right out. I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Paradoxically, I wish I were still in Soobin’s body, so I could see exactly what his memories of yesterday are. From where I sit, it appears that he recalls the places he was, but has somehow concocted an alternate version of events, one that fits closer to his life. Has his mind done this, some kind of adaptation? Or did my mind, right before it left, leave behind this storyline?

Soobin does not feel like he was possessed by the devil.

He thinks yesterday was just another day.

Again, the morning becomes a search to find a few minutes’ worth of email access.

I should have given her my phone number, I think.

Then I stop myself. I stand there right in the middle of the hallway, shocked. It’s such a mundane, ordinary observation—but that’s what stops me. In the context of my life, it’s nonsensical. There was no way for me to give her a phone number. I know this. And yet, the ordinary thought crept in, made me trick myself for a moment into thinking that I, too, was ordinary.

I have no idea what this means, but I suspect it’s dangerous.

At lunch, I tell Soobin I’m going to the library.

“Dude,” he says, “libraries are for girls.”

There aren’t any new messages from Hanni, so I write to her instead.

Hanni,

You’d actually recognize me today. I woke up as Soobin’s twin. I thought this might help me figure things out, but so far, no luck.

I want to see you again.

Yn

There isn’t anything from Haruto, either. Once more I decide to type his name into a search engine, figuring there might be a few more articles about what he’s saying.

I find over two thousand results. All from the past three days.

Word is spreading. Mostly from evangelical Christian sites, which have bought Haruto’s devil claims wholesale. He is, for them, just another example of the world going to H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

From what I can recall, none of the many versions I heard as a child of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” spent that much time pondering the emotional state of the boy, especially after the wolf finally showed up. I want to know what Haruto is thinking, if he really believes what he’s saying. None of the articles and blogs are any help—he’s saying the same thing in all of them, and people are painting him as either a freak or an oracle. Nobody’s sitting him down and treating him like a sixteen-year-old boy. They are missing the real questions in order to ask the sensational ones. I open up his last email.

You can’t avoid my questions forever. I want to know who you are. I want to know why you do what you do.

Tell me.

But how can I respond without confirming at least part of the story he’s created? I feel that he’s right—in some way, I can’t avoid his questions forever. They will start to dig into me. They will follow me wherever I wake up. But to give him any answer will give him a reassurance I know I shouldn’t give. It will keep him on his path.

My best bet is for him to start feeling that he is, indeed, crazy. Which is an awful thing to wish upon someone. Especially when he’s not crazy.

I want to ask Hanni what to do. But I can imagine what she’d say. Or maybe I’m just projecting my better self onto her. Because I know the answer: Self-preservation isn’t worth it if you can’t live with the self you’re preserving.

I am responsible for his situation. So he’s become my responsibility.

I know this, even as I hate it.

I’m not going to write immediately. I need to give it some thought. I need to help him without confirming anything.

Finally, by last period, I think I have it.

I know who you are. I’ve seen your story on the news. It doesn’t have anything to do with me—you must have made a mistake.

Still, it appears to me that you’re not considering all the possibilities. I’m sure what happened to you was very stressful. But blaming the devil is not the answer.

I send it off quickly before football practice.

I also check for an email from Hanni.

Nothing.

The rest of the day is uneventful. And I find myself wondering once again when I started to think my days would contain actual events. Up until now, I have lived for uneventfulness, and have found smaller satisfaction in the art of getting by. I resent that the hours seem boring now, emptier. Going through the motions gives you plenty of time to examine the motions. I used to find this interesting. Now it has taken on the taint of meaninglessness.

I practice football. I get a ride home. I do some homework. I eat some dinner. I watch TV with my family.

This is the trap of having something to live for:

Everything else seems lifeless.

Soobin and I go to bed first. Yeonjun is in the kitchen, talking to our mother about his work schedule for the weekend. Soobin and I don’t say anything as we change into our sleep clothes, as we parade to the bathroom and back.

I get in bed and he turns out the light. I expect to hear him getting into bed next, but instead he hovers in the middle of the room.

“Beomgyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you ask me about what I was up to yesterday?”

I sit up. “I don’t know. You just seemed a little … off.”

“I just thought it was strange. You asking, I mean.”

He heads to his bed now. I hear his weight fall on the mattress.

“So nothing seemed off to you?” I ask, hoping that there will be something—anything—that rises to the surface.

“Not that I can think of. I thought it was pretty funny that Snyder had to end practice so he could go, like, learn how to help his babymama breathe. But I think that was the highlight. It’s just … do I seem off today, too?”

The truth is that I haven’t been paying that much attention, not since breakfast.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I feel fine. I just don’t, you know, want to look like there’s something wrong when there’s nothing wrong.”

“You seem fine,” I assure him.

“Good,” he says, shifting his body, getting into the right position with his pillow.

I want to say more but don’t know what the words are supposed to be. I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable nighttime conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there’s no light in the room. I think of the rare jackpot nights when I ended the day at a sleepover or shared the room with a sibling or a friend I genuinely liked. Those conversations could trick me into believing I could say anything, even though there was so much I was holding back. Eventually, the night would take its hold, but it would always feel like I was fading to sleep rather than falling.

“Good night,” I say to Soobin. But what I really feel is goodbye. I am leaving here, leaving this family. It’s only been two days, but that’s twice what I’m used to. It’s just a hint—the smallest hint—of what it would be like to wake up in the same place every morning.

I have to let that go.

[nixieisaloserr]

Since the requests are taking such a long time, I decided to post my book (that I have been writing for several months) on here. I only have around 5 chapters out now.

Introducing,

Oneirataxia

A creepypasta x reader

Prologue

This book is intended for those 13 and over. If you are under the recommended age, whether you proceed or not is your choice. You will come across many disturbing things including: Violence, Gore, Various mental disorders including but not limited to BPD, depression, Anxiety, and ASPD, misogynistic characters, unhealthy relationships, visibly unhinged characters, descriptions of panic attacks, descriptions of dead/ decaying bodies, descriptions of the decomposition process, and mature language. 

This book is classified as psychological horror. It will contain disturbing things. 

Before I start this chapter - I trust that you have read the warnings. I will not be restating them. 

I will not write for Jeff the killer or Laughing Jack. Laughing Jacks creator is someone who I personally do not agree with and I think their actions were appalling. As for Jeff the killer, he is a character I do not want to create content for due to personal reason. If you want to ask, message me privately.

And lastly, updates will be slow. I'm a high-school student, and there is no shortage of work for me to do. I also have some things going on in my life that are affecting my motivation and mental health. 

Keep in mind this is a yandere x reader book. It will be disturbing, especially since these characters were already unhinged to begin with. 

Thank you for understanding. Enjoy <3

—

Public transport was something you didn't particularly enjoy. The suffocating atmosphere was too much for you, and being squished between people you didn't know wasn't something you looked forward to every day. But, not everyone had the money to buy a car, and not everyone could get a license. You would just have to put up with it for the time being. 

You let out a sigh of relief as your street name was declared over the intercom, the bus doors opening and letting the chilly afternoon air waft into the rather stuffy atmosphere of the bus. You huffed as you jumped off the bus and onto the concrete, a small jolt running up your legs from the landing. The bus doors slammed shut behind you, and the wheels of the bus screamed and pleaded; begging for a longer rest. You watched as the bus left you, all alone. With a small sigh, you started your walk. You looked at the tree-line while you did so. The trees looked so beautiful, especially at this time of year. There were many colours mixed within the trees, creating an outstanding colour palette. The trees always looked so pristine - untouched by humanity. For some reason, no one ever bothered to venture into the unknown depths of the forest. Everything was left unbothered; it was quite pleasant to look at. Maybe some day, you would take a look. You could walk through and take pictures with your mums old camera. There had to be a path, right? You shook your head, no, you needed to get home. 

You saw your house in the distance, and picked your pace. You didn’t want to be caught by your neighbours, they would just end up dragging you into a painfully long conversation. You loved your neighbours, you really did, but all you wanted was rest. Your neighbours were nice - an elderly couple who loved to strike up conversation every chance they got. You didn’t mind talking to them, but you wouldn’t go out of your way to initiate any interactions with them. Just as you were getting close to your driveway, your heard someone call out on the other side of the fence. “Would you be a dear and help us with something, darling?” Ugh. That nickname made you want to grind your teeth together and pop the bones of your knuckles out of your skin. For lack of a better word, it made you feel icky.

You turned around slowly, and smiled as best you could. "What is it, Mrs. Luvis?" 

"Oh! No need to be so formal, you can just call me Diane!"

"...Diane...what do you need?" 

“Could you help my son bring in some furniture for us? He can’t lift some of the stuff up on his own…”

Oh. That’s right. You saw the furniture on their front lawn, and wondered why it was there as you walked past. You were tired, but you didn’t have the heart to tell this poor old woman ‘no’…you would just have to endure. “Okay. I can do it.” You smiled, and begun to walk towards her. Your body gradually got heavier and heavier with each step you took - all you wanted to do was collapse on the ground and fade into nothingness. That definitely sounded better than busting your ass, anyway. Diane beckoned you over and adjusted her glasses, looking you up and down before frowning. “Are you alright, dear? You seem very tired. We all know how overworked you Uni students are…you don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” she cautioned, looking at you with a deep concern laced in those tired grey eyes of hers. A small pit set in the bottom of your stomach. You felt bad. Maybe it was the way she was looking at you? Maybe…you felt bad for thinking all those horrible things about her. It wasn’t her fault she was so frail, it came with old age. 

You didn’t want to be like her.

You didn’t want to grow old - to rely on other people. You couldn’t imagine yourself being in her shoes- did that mean you didn’t plan to die of old age? Did that mean..? No. No, it didn’t. You were just scared. Everyone was scared of growing up; of feeling everything fade away in what felt like seconds. It was a rational fear, you had no reason to panic over these feelings of yours. “Dear?” Dianne’s voice called out to you, ripping you out of your thoughts - your safe space - and out into the world. “Oh!- Um, I’m okay. Just got a little lost in thought there, sorry,” you assured, looking her in the eyes. Diane sighed, and turned away. "Whatever you say, hun," she muttered. You followed after her as she walked towards the stranded furniture on her front lawn. You felt awkward, like you had upset her. 

"Hey, Ma - who's this?" A mans voice rudely interrupted your thought process, but you didn't mind. Diane nudged your arm, as if she was telling you to introduce yourself. "Oh, um. Hello. I'm [Name]. I'm here to help you move in the furniture," you answered. The man nodded his head, and looked to Diane. "Thank you. Should we get started?" he asked. Diane nodded her head before heading inside. The man looked towards a rather large and heavy-looking dresser. "Lets start with this. Best to get the bad stuff out of the way first, right?" he declared. 

"You go on this side, I'll go on the other side," he ordered, already in position. You hurried over, rushing to grip the dresser and press your body against it as best you could. "Three, Two, One, Lift!" He grunted, and shakily hauled the dresser off the ground, your arms already beginning to hurt. The man started to walked backwards, and you stumbled in suite. Both of you struggled to stay coordinated, constantly tripping and making many, many close calls. The man was halfway up the concrete steps, you only on your first. He moved to make one step up, when he slipped.

And he let go of the dresser. 

You tumbled backwards, the dresser following close behind. You felt your body smack against the ground,  hitting your head roughly. You swore you could feel blood begin to seep out of your skull. A horrible pain burst through your entire body as the dresser crushed you under its weight, as if you were nothing but a measly ant. You felt a pulse everywhere in your body, and the pain became so unbearable you felt like you were going to throw up. Your eyes were bursting out of their sockets, and you felt like you were going to explode. You felt sick to your stomach, like you were a fruit on the ground, being squashed by all the shoes stomping on it. You couldn't breathe, not one bit. You could feel the warm, thick blood pouring out of you. You didn't care, though. All you wanted was for the pain to stop. 

And stop it did.

You could feel fabric underneath your hands, and everything around you was vibrating slightly. You opened your eyes, but everything was blurry and it was hard to keep them open. You tried to force them open, but all it did was made your head pound even harder. Where were you? Didn't you die? Your ears were ringing, your head was pounding, and you felt like you were about to vomit. Lord, you felt like shit.

Slowly, your ears stopped ringing and the pounding in your head dulled down to a small throb. You heard people talking, cars honking, and a very annoying rumbling noise akin to that of a motor. It dawned on you, you were back in the bus! Did you fall asleep? Maybe that was a bad dream? 

But if that was a bad dream, then why did you still feel some of the pain?

The horrible, horrible pain that made your eyes water and mouth run dry. You swore you could feel cracks and scars in your skin. You smoothed your hand over your abdomen, feeling around for any sort of injury. Your skin was hot to the touch - not warm, it was hot. It hurt when you touched it. You considered lifting your shirt up to see if there was anything worth going to the hospital for, but you decided against it due to the amount of people on the bus. You would hate for people to see that; especially if you really were hurt. What if your clothes were the only thing keeping you together? 

Nonsense. You were fine. You seriously needed to get your crap together. 

You perked up as the sound of your street name being called met your unsuspecting ears. Accompanying the unexpected wake-up call came a strong sense of déjà vu. You literally went through this less than fifteen minutes ago. 

What the hell was going on!? 

You stood up slowly, as if people were watching your every move and scrutinising you as you shuffled awkwardly down the isle. It really, really felt like they were. You swore could hear people giggling and whispering to their friends. Did you really look that disheveled? You rubbed at your face tiredly, feeling around for anything abnormal. Nope, you were fine. You had to be. Ignoring the embarrassment that came with public spaces, you stepped off the bus carefully and looked back at the driver, only to find that they were already looking at you with a rather concerned expression. 

“You know it’s unsafe for someone to be out here all alone at this time - right?” 

You tilted your head and hummed in response. “Pardon? I don’t remember this street being so dangerous. I’ll be fine, don’t worry! I’ve taken this path many times before,” you smiled. The bus driver sighed and shook their head before the bus doors closed and the bus took off. As the bus began its journey to a new destination; so did you. You found yourself walking down the familiar path with a bounce in your step as you listened to a random playlist you had forgot to turn on the last time you walked down here. As you looked over the the tree line, you slowed down and gaped at the trees. 

They looked so…

Unhealthy. 

You saw gashes in the trees, with sap oozing out of them similar to blood spilling out of a fresh wound. Your brows furrowed in confusion - the trees had never looked like that before. As you stalked closer, you could make out strange symbols, words and jumbled letters you couldn’t make out. It looked kind of like the result of really, really bad mental breakdown. But still - it had only been about twenty or so minutes since you had last seen those same trees, how could they have managed to change so drastically in such little time, especially with no traces of who did it? Some of the gashes looked old, too. Some looked like they had accompanied the trees for years. 

“Excuse me?” 

You jumped, and turned to face whoever had caught you in your very confused train of thought. You locked eyes with a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and bright red lipstick. “You really shouldn’t be so close to the forest. Someone could hurt you, you know? It’s really dangerous around here. Haven’t you heard the rumours?” 

You looked at her like she was crazy. This town had always been a quiet and uneventful place to stay. You had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Erm, what? I’ve lived here for a very long time now and I’ve never heard of anything ill-natured involving this specific area. Uh, do you know where these gashes came from? I’ve never seen them before,”  you asked. The woman looked even more puzzled, you swore you could see math symbols floating around her head as she put together a fitting answer. 

“Those have been there for a really long time now…are you okay? Have you been getting enough sleep? Do you need any help getting home? You don’t seem to well,” she babbled on, making your brow twitch in slight anger. This woman was starting to piss you off. You didn’t know who she was, or even why she approached you, but you really didn’t want to stay and chat with her any longer.

“Look, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m going to go home now, on my own. Have a good night,” you asserted, taking multiple steps towards the sidewalk before the woman grabbed your arm in retaliation. “I- wait! I really don’t think it’s a good idea to be-“ she began, before you spun around and yanked your arm out of her grasp with an unexpected force. 

“I really don’t know who you are, so that means you have no right to be fretting over my well-being. I’m sorry, but I don’t need you to accompany me. Please just let me leave,” you grunted, giving the woman a half-hearted glare. She stepped back and attempted to utter and apology with glossy eyes. You wanted to feel bad, you really did, but you were honestly to tired. You hustled away, whisking your hand through your hair and letting out the most stress-induced sigh you have ever heard. As the pressure left your chest with a final rumble, you thought harder about how you could’ve handled the situation differently. 

You were really rude to that woman. Guilt sprouted in your belly, ready to grow and eventually take over your thoughts until you had the chance to apologise. You probably should’ve been calm about it. Cool, and calculating. That way - she would be less likely to grab you like that. It gave the illusion that you knew what you were talking about. You sighed.

You would have to use that one next time.

With that thought fresh in your head, you took off. You started where you left off last time, picking up your pace as to not get interrupted by anyone else. A million ideas raced in your head, you entertained the thought of one of them winning first place when you walked through the front door of your home, but you guessed that would have to wait until you actually got there. You found yourself scanning your surroundings as you meandered around, following the path set in stone. For some reason, everything looked much sadder than what you remembered. You even noticed a few changes - there used to be a tire swing on a feijoa tree in a nice lady’s backyard for her daughter, but that was now gone and the tree was reduced to nothing but a stump. A man had a playhouse in his front-yard for his neighbours kids, but it looked like that had never existed. Everything looked so sad, it made you feel sort of depressed, really. 

As you walked passed Diane’s house, you noted that furniture was on the front-lawn, and the front door was opening. You quickly turned your head so that you were facing in-front of you. You kept your eyes locked onto your destination as Diane walked up to the fence and called out to you. “Would you be a dear and help us with something, darling?” she called out, waving you down. You froze in place as your blood ran cold. “N-no…I’m sorry, Mrs. Luvis…I’m busy at the moment. Maybe try asking someone else?” you stuttered out, shuffling your feet on the ground. 

"Oh! No need to be so formal, you can just ca-“ she began, with the same smile you saw the time she recited that to you the first time. 

“Diane. I know. Sorry, but I need to go,” you interrupted, waving her a quick goodbye before scurrying into the safety of your home. As your fingers curled around the cool metal doorknob you couldn’t help but push your whole weight against the door and stumble inside half-hazardly. You felt hot tears dig trenches into your skin as you closed the door behind you and leaned on a nearby chair for support. You sucked in a big breath as you desperately tried to hold yourself together. 

What the fuck. 

What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK!?

This couldn’t be happening - this was something only seen in movies and books. Maybe you really were going crazy? Maybe those people really did have a reason to be so concerned for you. Your body trembled as sobs racked your body. You clenched the back of the chair so hard it could’ve snapped, and you slowly lowered yourself to the ground as you realised how badly you screwed up. You had absolutely no idea what was going, what changed, and how you were going to play it off. You were practically living the life of another person, as far as you knew.

You covered your mouth as your tears burned your skin. You felt as if your lungs were collapsing in on themselves and your stomach was devouring itself oh so slowly, and your mind came up with horrible thoughts that made you gag and convulse - sometimes you hated your brain and it’s stupid ideas. 

Your crumpled body lay on the ground as you drowned yourself in tears and half-complete thoughts. You blinked the tears away and moved your hand away from your mouth, expecting to see snot covering your hand when you looked it over. Your breath caught in throat as you saw the unmistakable crimson liquid coating your palm that ran down your arm when you rolled over on your back and lifted your hand above you to get a better look. You looked to the side as you realised - your tears weren’t the only thing puddled on the floor. With shaky legs, you jumped off the ground ran to the nearest bathroom to look at the mess you made. As you looked yourself over, you wondered how you never noticed your nose was bleeding when it was this bad. 

After cleaning up the mess, you stumbled up the stairs and into your bedroom. Your limbs ached and head pounded, and you prayed that your nose wouldn’t start bleeding again while you were asleep. You grunted as you climbed into bed and got comfortable, and wondered if you would even be able to sleep. That thought soon left your head as you closed your eyes and lost any and all motivation to stay conscious.