Summary: Dave and John have the house to themselves for the day. Any normal couple would probably take advantage of that, and John and Dave aren’t an exception. They just spend their day in an unlikely way.
Author’s Note: I am so sorry I keep posting these here…
Look How Far We’ve Come
Summary: They were really doing this. It was actually going to happen. After everything, all the waiting, all the planning, and all the worries, John and Dave were getting married.
Author’s Note: All right. Since those other two fanfiction posts seemed to get a bit of attention here, I figured I could post this one as well.
Anything But Tickling
“Please tell me I’m seeing this wrong.”
“Well, what are you seeing?”
“I’m seeing you sitting fully clothed in your bathtub with stuffed penguins all around you.”
Anonymous asked: You are a very wonderful writer. Your writing captures emotions that most do not capture eloquently. I, sadly, have no other suggestions for you but to continue writing, you lovely person.
Wow, oh my gosh. Thank you so much! I really appreciate this. I try really hard to make the emotions in my story seem authentic. I will definitely keep writing. Thank you again!
It’s a Pretty Good Day Pt. 2
Summary: It’s John and Dave’s one year anniversary, and Dave does have something planned. He’s not such a bad boyfriend after all. Some might even say he’s the best. Dave disagrees, though, when he finds out what John had planned.
Author’s Note: So, because I was struck by inspiration when I woke up, I decided to continue the story I put up last night for John’s birthday. This whole thing might have a third part, but I’m iffy on that.
It’s a Pretty Good Day
Summary: It’s John’s birthday, and Dave… doesn’t have anything planned? Some boyfriend he is. But, it still ends up being a pretty good day. Actually, it wouldn’t have been any better if Dave did plan something.
Author’s Note: I usually wouldn’t post a fanfiction here, but I forgot my fanfiction.net account and had to make a new one. Then there’s that 2 day wait thing I forgot about. So, because it’s still John’s birthday and this is finished and I have somewhere to put it, it’s going here.
Nobody dies before their time. That’s why it’s called “their time.” That’s what I’ve always been told, at least. It’s pretty logical, actually, and that’s probably why Collin was so fond of it. He loved logic; it was almost like a game to him. He was always playing games, not games like normal teenagers play, though. They were always mind games. Everybody used to say he was really cynical, but they don’t dare to say that now. They really didn’t know anything. At least they didn’t about Collin.
The Writing Process
There you are, sitting at your laptop with a new document open. You’re ready to write and inspiration is just flowing through you. There are so many ideas, but which would be the best for this assignment? You put your headphones on and turn up your music. You start typing, slowly at first.
You tune into the music, sometimes it gives you ideas, and feel the beat coursing through your body. You type along to the beat, but you aren’t paying attention to what exactly is being typed. It could just be the lyrics to the song playing, for all you know. For some reason, though, you’re confident it isn’t the song. You open your eyes; you weren’t even aware you closed them. Looking over the mess of words sprawled over the screen, you scowl. That wasn’t what you expected and it could definitely be better.
You open another new document, keeping the first open still, just in case you want to get back to it. You pause the music and mute the television. Perhaps this will help you. You close your eyes again, this time aware of the action. You hear the wind outside blowing loudly and open your eyes back up. At this point, you aren’t sure if you’re ever going to get this paper done. You type a few words then take a drink from the glass of water next to you. Now you read over the sentence you typed and feel content. You decide to continue with that train of thought, hopeful this will be it.
Thirty minutes later, you put your laptop to the side, standing up and stretching. You’ll read what you wrote after a break. You walk to the kitchen and grab a snack; you’ve been dying for something sweet. You talk with your family for a few minutes before returning to your perch next to the laptop you discarded earlier. You pull it back onto your lap. You sip the soda you snagged from the fridge, you were tired of water, and start reading. It could be better. You reread everything two more times, once quietly to yourself. You tweak the more obvious mistakes and read through it again.
You put your headphones back on and sip your soda again. You decide to try one more idea. You open yet another new document and start the process again. You spend less time on this one and can feel yourself just wanting to quit. You hate yourself for having to write another essay. It wears you down but you can’t help it. It’s become something you must do. No matter what it is- be it a chapter for a story you write out of boredom, a school assignment, or even a poem- you have to write at least two of your ideas out and be content with them all.
This all causes you so much stress. All this writing, rewriting, reading, rereading, and belittling yourself really takes its toll. You’ve tried to stop this process before, but it’s useless. You don’t feel content with yourself or your writing if you haven’t gone through your mental writing checklist. Finally, you save the writing you spent the most time on and put it away for the night.
What am I?
What will I be?
What are you?
What will you be?
There’s not much hope.
Not for me.
You, however, have the world
at your mercy.
Do you even realize?
People love you.
They hate me.
You will go places.
I’ll forever be in your shadow.
You have a plan.
I just have a dream.
Guess that’s the difference.
The difference between you and me.
Today’s the Day
You hate them. You hate them so much and they don’t even realize. Really, why should they realize? You’re just the freak who doesn’t ever wear matching shoes. No one cares about you enough to notice your absolute hate. You like to think you prefer it that way, but, in all actuality, it just frustrates you further. You want people to notice. You’re tired of being ignored.