Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7524169.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      The_Who, Bandom
  Relationship:
      John_Entwistle/Keith_Moon
  Character:
      John_Entwistle, Keith_Moon, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_-_Freeform, Teacher-Student_Relationship, john_is_the_hot_music
      teacher, this_is_really_sketchy_i'm_sorry, bad_bad_very_bad, Tumblr
      request, the_pen_is_a_metaphor_btw, toxic_environment, toxic_behaviour,
      wrong_illegal_bad_stuff
  Series:
      Part 2 of i_occasionally_take_requests_from_tumblr
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-19 Words: 5198
****** john's plan b ******
by AlasPoorAndy
Summary
     John decided he needed to throw his weight into his teaching to
     compensate for his professional failures prior to this. And perhaps
     he needed to step up his game and take a bigger interest in his
     student’s lives.
Notes
     part of a new series where i take requests from tumblr to make up for
     all my other delayed projects.
     side note, i do not condone any of this shit in any other context
     than silly fictional stories on the internet.X
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzQvGz6_fvA
See the end of the work for more notes
John could vividly recall the survival of the fittest lifestyle in high school,
but when he returned a few years later as a young man to teach, he learned
quite quickly that surviving as a teacher was definitely much harder.
There were many strict rules for faculty behaviour, although many were
unwritten. There was a certain way to act around the students in public, as
well as with the teachers in private. Dealing with the parents was a whole
other story.
To put it simply; a teacher wasn’t necessarily forbidden from staring at a
freshman girl in her short summer dress, but you were forbidden from ogling
long enough to scare the girl and receive a flood of angry letters from
parents. That was how John’s predecessor got canned, and how John got his job
so easily. The perverted old music teacher made himself too obvious, and even
let it slip that all the teachers were perverted too. He was promptly thrown
under the bus and practically exiled from the town.
On his first day, John learned he was replacing a much hated man. Everyone
believed, assumptively and on their own terms, that since John was a young and
fit man, funny and charming, that he couldn’t possibly be as wicked as the man
before him. John did not correct them, and for a long time tricked himself into
believing they were right.
There’s no need to be surprised at this, of course. You learn quite quickly how
predatory some teachers are at every school, picking out favourite students to
fantasize about and spoil in class, like champion animals at a zoo. When you’re
cooped up in the same building for decades trying to earn seniority, things get
boring for the staff.
Not that you could blame any of them either. There was always so much to see,
and so much tension to feel. For their four years in secondary school, you
couldn’t help but watch in awe as the young girls awkwardly navigated their
slow blossom into gorgeous women. The magic is in watching them learn how to be
sexual creatures and use that allure for power. And the boys—god, the young
boys—had tension and energy and power packed into their small lithe bodies,
brimming with a palpable sexuality they didn’t know how to handle. So, the boys
roughhoused with each other on the fields or in the hallways, desperate for an
innocent touch that verged on something more sinister, and chased after the
girls with only one instinctual need on their minds, never satisfied until they
were thoroughly used and spent.
One young math teacher once explained to John that teachers were there to
better the lives of their students, and push them further to expand their
horizons.
“But if they’re so distracted all the time, they can’t learn. It’s my duty to
simply help them clear their minds of other curiosities so they can focus
better in school,” the woman shrugged and stirred her coffee with a plastic
stir stick, and John watched her, his jaw practically hitting the floor.
Perhaps it was time for John to rethink his motivations as a teacher. This was,
after all, a temporary plan B until he could get back on his feet again. He
didn’t make it big in London as a session bass player just yet, having been
beat out by two other geniuses that stole all the gigs from under his nose the
second he got any momentum going. John used the last of his savings to move
back out to a smaller suburb and teach. He didn’t technically need a teacher’s
degree for music classes or conducting the school band since the rules were
still jumbled up at the time, and he was essentially giving glorified music
lessons. Even better for him, the school was desperate to pull in a fresh and
trustworthy face to cover up their scandal.
So, he taught four music classes a day, along with the senior jazz band on
Tuesday afternoons, and he co-captained the junior choir with the drama teacher
on Thursday nights. Everyone thought he was dedicated, passionate, nimble, and
focused. The students generally liked him, although they couldn’t spell his
name right, which was telling of their dedication to a struggling extra-
curricular: Entwhistle, Entistle, Enwistle. Hell, he let his students call him
John half the time for his own sake, which therefore made him seem even more
cool in the eyes of the teenagers.
Soon after he started working and learned the ropes, John decided didn’t have
much else going on in his life at the moment. He needed to throw his weight
into his teaching to compensate for his professional failures prior to this.
And perhaps he needed to step up his game and take a bigger interest in his
student’s lives.
*
There was a promising flutist he taught after school, schedules permitting. She
was preparing for her audition for the biggest performing arts school in
England, and John coached her on the competitive nature and professionalism of
the industry, which he didn’t mention had already chewed him up and spit him
out. She was exceptionally talented but still held back for a fear of failure
after giving it your all. Oftentimes, she seemed to purposely wilt just so John
would pick her up again—placing a hand on her back to fix her posture, or
thoroughly complimenting her until her pale cheeks had gone rosy, lips curved
in a satisfied smile.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know the girl fancied him. He was, after all, the only
one she could trust and confide in about her ambitious dreams, bridging the gap
in her fantasies between reliable father figure and intimate confidant, both
something she obviously lacked in her life and projected onto John.
“She trusts you, it’s not like you’re forcing anything,” the gym teacher told
John as they walked out to the car park together. “Just handle her a bit, get
her to loosen up. She’s far too rigid for the rest of us.”
So John tried one day. He had been curious, although not keen since she seemed
a little emotionally unstable. Nevertheless, they chatted in the music room
until the noisy floor cleaner came through the hallways to clean the melted
snow from everyone’s muddy boots, a nuance John carefully planned. Since it was
too noisy, he shut the door. Since she was quiet, he had to sit closer to her.
Since her audition was fast approaching, they had to make serious progress.
John hovered around her as her fingers skillfully danced over the shiny metal
of her flute, precisely focused, her stomach growing and shrinking under her
tight sweater with carefully practiced breathing. While she played, John pulled
her long golden hair back from her face, startling her and throwing her off her
count, which she struggled to make up for. He placed his hands on her shoulders
to ease the hunched tension she carried, the pad of his thumb brushing the nape
of her neck. Her breathing fell out of rhythm. John knelt down in front of her,
hands on both her knees, pressing her legs closed again after they had
instinctively fallen open after his touch. She nearly choked.
“Please stay focused,” John tutted. “You need to act professional.”
“I can’t, you’re being terribly distracting,” she said breathlessly, a
mischievous glimmer in her eye.
“A good musician must be able to stay focused despite all distractions,” John
warned her. He leaned in and took her hands, guiding her flute back to her
small peach coloured lips. “Do it again. From the beginning.”
John enjoyed teasing her like that with light touches and gentle petting, but
he soon became bored. There wasn’t much thrill to the chase, nor did she seem
like she’d be very exciting. Of course, she later passed her audition with
flying colours and bought him a bouquet of flowers and wine to thank him. There
was a lingering moment after all of that, one where anything could happen if
they truly wanted it to.
John made an excuse about something or other, and left. The girl remained quite
obsessed with him until she graduated at the end of the year, but he kept
finding reasons not to see her, upset with his own dissatisfaction.
*
After that failed experiment, a new student came along. He was a typical
problem child; an untameable hurricane, passed from teacher to teacher to
temporarily deal with until they could get him a diploma and out of their lives
for good. He was recommended to John as a last resort, the principal believing
some artistic outlets might help him deal with his problems—innumerable as they
may be.
They already had him on every sports team to try and exhaust him, but he still
disrupted classes during the day. Thus, on Friday afternoons when no team
practiced, Keith Moon was shipped down to John’s class for some casual music
lessons. John tried to explain every instrument they had available but Keith
just couldn’t stop fucking fidgeting so John gave up. He handed the boy some
drumsticks from the drawer and set him loose on the drum kit to expel some
energy.
Keith didn’t hesitate. Like a wild animal, he tore on the drums, beating the
shit out of each piece to make the loudest noises physically possible. John
watched in horror as he unleashed his fury. If the drums were substituted for a
fully grown man, he could have murdered without blinking an eye. John watched
as he eventually dropped the sticks and went to plow his fist through the skin
of the drum. John was up and by his side in an instant, wrapping his fingers
around the boy’s thin wrist to hold him back. The dead silence was
electrifying.
Keith hadn’t known what he was capable of. John hadn’t known a boy could have
so much anger in him. Keith slowly looked up at John, scared of his own
capabilities. John felt his pulse racing like a hummingbird under his tight
grip around the boy’s wrist.
“Pick up your sticks,” John said slowly. “Try again.”
Keith instantly obeyed, which pleased John. He sat back and watched, trusting
Keith to control himself as he started experimenting some more. One glance over
him gave John all the backstory he needed to know—hem on the sleeve of his
shirt was ripped and never repaired by a loving mother, knees on his uniform
trousers were permanently dirty from romping around. He was a little skinnier
than he should be, and his hair was hair overgrown and messy. He either had
parents who didn’t care enough, or parents who cared too much and made him
rebel, refusing to let anyone touch him.
Keith naturally shifted into focus, which naturally shifted into his discovery
of rhythm once he satisfied the desire to crash around. His head flopped and
his mouth twisted, and John couldn’t pull his eyes away. There were natural
virtuosos, and then there was this kid.
When Keith finished, he looked up at John with a look so open and vulnerable,
John was winded. That night, when John closed his eyes and willed himself to
sleep, all he could see were those huge, soulful eyes begging for something
exclusively from John, making him shake beneath the covers.
*
The following week, John noticed Keith was everywhere. John would turn a corner
and find him goofing off in the hallway with his classmates, or he’d hear his
boisterous laugh from a nearby classroom. He would search the crowd of faces in
the hallway between classes, desperate to find those pleading brown eyes,
masochistically enjoying the shock they gave him.
*
John had Keith sit in with the senior jazz band rehearsals to get a feel for
how a drummer would rehearse and play professionally, not just spastically to
relieve anger. John watched Keith the whole rehearsal, ignoring his other
bright and talented students. Keith was obviously bored but was trying his best
to learn for John and gain his approval.
*
During breaks from whatever sports practice he had in the afternoons, Keith
would fill up his bottle at the water fountain outside the door to John’s
office, initially oblivious that he was in John’s eyeshot. At first it was a
chance encounter, then it became habit.
Keith’s unruly mop of hair was sticking in clumps to his sweaty forehead, his
cheeks flushed red, mouth falling open as he struggled to catch his breath. His
gangly and bruised legs poked out from his uniform gym shorts, which John was
positive the gym teacher purposely shortened every year. His grey t-shirt was
already sweat through completely, and John forced himself not to think about
what his skin might taste like.
John pretended not to notice when Keith looked over at him, but one time Keith
did catch his eye, then smiled and waved enthusiastically at his new favourite
teacher. John was so shocked that he fumbled and dropped his pen. After he
scrambled to pick it up, Keith was gone.
*
Perhaps there were deeply layered and complicated reasons why John did what he
did, but he knew for sure that he desperately needed to see how far Keith would
trust him.
It was for that reason that John pushed Keith so hard on all those tense,
adrenaline fuelled afternoons they shared. Keith needed order and structure,
and someone who wouldn’t give up on him for once. John needed to accomplish
something worthwhile with his damn life before another professional failure
killed him.
John would push him until he cracked, just to see how long Keith would hold on
for him.
John shouted at him to go faster, hit harder, be louder. He waited for the brim
of sweat on Keith’s forehead which he couldn’t break to wipe away as it trailed
teasingly down his temple. Keith winced and twisted his mouth as he worked
through the complex exercises John wrote for him, his arms still untrained for
the spastic and repetitive movements. Yet Keith never cracked under pressure.
He always managed to find one last tug of energy, always scrambling to reach
every goal John set for him.
*
He didn’t even know how old he was, and he was terrified to ask. There was no
innocent reason to ask.
John subtly tried to pry his teachers for what grade he was in, but he was in a
variety of mixed level classes, often placed lower because of his bad behaviour
and learning difficulties. Eventually, he cracked and asked the gym teacher who
coached him.
The older man gave him a look, but it turned understanding. “I wouldn’t meddle,
John. He’s got way too many problems. Ones like those get obsessive.”
John glared at him, at first angry at the implications that John’s adoration
for Keith was frowned upon from someone as notorious as the coach, and then
later angry that other people were talking bad about his student like that. “I
just want to know when he’s expected to graduate. I want to get him good enough
to perform with the band.”
The gym teacher shook his head, balling up the cellophane from the sandwich his
wife made for him. “He’s 17. Too old already, if you ask me.”
John was stuck in that unwarranted bout of pure anger for the rest of the day,
because Keith was still too painfully young.
*
On an ordinary Sunday night, John let another dream wander too far until he was
thinking about the boy’s bare chest rising and falling, slick with sweat. John
was imagining the sound of his whimpers as his face contorted, in agony and
frustration, trying to work through one of John’s problems, always just too big
to handle. In the dream, the dark brown eyes finally sprang open, looking
shocked, then relieved, then his soft plush lips sounding out, "Oh.”
John was ripped from sleep, and in the dark of his empty bedroom he shook and
coughed viciously, body filled with ice but sweating flames nonetheless.
*
In the classroom, Keith did everything John instructed. He sat on the small
stool, finally patient enough to listen attentively and hang off of every word,
even perfectly mimicking every one of John’s movements.
He would do anything I told him to, he trusts me too much, John thought as
Keith dutifully practiced the jazz rhythm section for the band, over and over
until he perfected it. Keith, take your shirt off for me. Keith, come sit in my
lap. Keith, place your small hand here.
In the staff room, John was now being praised by all the other teachers.
“You’ve sparked some new drive in him I haven’t seen before,” his English
teacher remarked, chewing on the tip of her pen.
“What did you have to do to get him to like you that much, John?” the blonde
history teacher curled a lock of hair around her finger.
“I told you, all that kid needed was a firm hand to whip him into shape,” the
gym teacher winked, blowing on his coffee.
“We know what you’ve done to him, John, and we appreciate it,” the math teacher
sighed. “But now he won’t stop drumming on his desk during class. Think about
punishing him for that, eh?”
“I think you need to help him clear his mind so he can focus on his assignments
instead,” the vice principal smirked.
*
One week, Keith’s temper was dangerously short, and John suspected problems at
home were driving him battier than usual. John had a prepatory period between
classes, and was surprised to find Keith had been sent down to his classroom
for behavioural issues, and not the principal’s office.
Wordlessly, John went to the drawer to fetch the drumsticks, handing them to
Keith who went straight to the kit to viciously pulverize it. John watched the
boy work until he was spent, slumped over the kit, struggling to catch his
breath.
“Would you like to talk about it?” John asked quietly, biting his bottom lip
and weighing his potential options.
Keith just shook his head, but they exchanged quite the familiar look—that look
of a man who hates himself but has no choice but to live with who he was.
*
Around the school, their names were always mentioned together in the same
breath.
Have you heard of John’s student, Keith?
Keith got invited to auditions at all sorts of places, John loves showing him
off.
Ever since John got his hands on him, Keith’s changed.
Keith never stops talking about his rehearsals with John.
John never stops talking about his rehearsals with Keith.
Yeah, Keith is John’s boy.
This was about the time when John started drinking heavily again.
*
Except for the necessary touch during their first practice together, John had
never laid a finger on the boy. He was trying to be good, but he was doubting
it was worth it. He was going god damn fucking insane.
In the shower, he sobbed out Keith’s name as he came all over the tile wall.
John picked up random women at bars to scratch an itch that was slowly turning
into an incurable rash. In bed, he thought of the boy’s small, tight muscles
working on the football field outside John’s window, which he had permanently
scheduled into his day to discreetly watch from his classroom. The women never
said anything when John called out his name instead of hers.
In class, as utterly attractive as Keith was, John had to force himself to look
away before his other thirty students saw right through him.
*
“Please, sir, I missed the last bus, my mum’s going to be pissed if I’m late
again,” Keith pleaded over the roar of the vicious rainstorm outside.
John was using every bit of strength he had to say no to him. Eventually he had
to turn his back to avoid those brown eyes, speaking precisely. “It wouldn’t be
a good idea.”
“I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise,” Keith started to sound desperate,
and John’s knees almost buckled. “You can just drop me off on the main street
and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
You’re seventeen. That should be enough to convince me to say no.
He didn’t want the poor kid to get in trouble with his parents, or risk
catching his death, or a driver not seeing him in the rain and running right
into him…John would protect any of his students, right?
Eventually John caved, reaching for his wallet in his coat pocket. He didn’t
even look Keith in the eye when he handed over a generous amount of cash. “Take
a cab. Get home safely.”
That night, John replayed the look of disappointment in Keith’s face over and
over in his head as he clutched the toilet, drunkenly retching and shaking.
*
John had started to become increasingly paranoid that Keith was interested in
other people.
John followed Keith’s usual routes through the hallways between classes, always
trailing far back enough, noting who he talked to or smiled at when passing by.
He got along well with the girls, and John felt his stomach twisting in anger.
Every teacher he stayed late to talk with was a threat, and John took a habit
to straying around doorways to eavesdrop, pretending to drop his papers or put
up posters on the bulletin board.
The boy didn’t have many friends, which was a relief to John. Keith was,
however, close with the boys on the football team, and John watched with
delight as they clutched each other after scoring a goal, or teasingly groped,
or walked off the field with their arms around each other.
God, if only the coach would help him find a way to spy on them all in the
locker room. John was positive one glimpse of Keith in the showers would
satisfy him for a lifetime. Yet he never did ask.
*
To keep him interested, John praised Keith nonstop, watching Keith blossom
under his approval. John scheduled more frequent rehearsals so Keith wouldn’t
have time for anyone else, and John gave him harder sections so there was more
work to do. Keith didn’t protest in the slightest, which was immensely
pleasurable.
To convince Keith to stay later, John kept paying for cab rides home. This lead
to John buying him treats for when he got hungry, even sharing the leftovers
John brought for dinner. Then, he got Keith better equipment. Then, he bought
little gifts he thought Keith might like. It was all money out of his own
pocket, but who else was John going to spend it on? Plus, no amount of alcohol
could feel as good as when Keith’s face lit up with joy like that.
“John, it’s lovely!” Keith looked up at him with so much love in his eyes that
John was about to drop dead. Keith looked as though he was going to go in for a
hug, or brief touch, but they both hesitated.
*
Keith came by John’s classroom to talk every morning, lunch break, and
afternoon. John missed him more every time he left.
*
John was truly dying. He was positive that if he didn’t touch Keith, even graze
the skin of his fingertips accidentally, he would surely die of lust. His
desire grew like a forest fire in the pit of his stomach, and it was slowly
taking over every part of him, consuming him whole. Yet there was never the
opportunity to facilitate any sort of contact. Keith reigned from behind the
kit, and John sat back to watch.
What if he just asked Keith for a little tease? Or a simple kiss?
*
God, there were so many dirty things he couldn’t wait to teach Keith.
John always thought he had himself under control, but nowadays, just having
Keith an arm’s length away made John feverish and dizzy.
If Keith said the word, John would be all over him in an instant. He would take
Keith in the side room where the instruments were stored. The door locked from
the inside and they could be as loud as they wanted. He would have Keith on his
desk chair, or the piano bench, or even bent over John’s desk.
John just needed to touch him, to taste him, to satisfy him in any and every
way.
He could ask Keith to run away with him, and they could hop border after
border, sleeping in the car and living off of coffee and boxes of crackers.
They could live in motel rooms but make the space their own. John could get
Keith to audition for some bands and manage them, always being able to be close
to the boy and take care of him.
And their nights together. Good Lord, that would be a treat.
John daydreamed all the time about the luxury of having Keith properly, in a
bed, with privacy and all the time in the world. If Keith trusted him enough,
John would teach him everything he needed to know, in intricate detail, with
all the loving patience that the boy needed.
It would all be gloriously educational. That was what John’s job was all about,
wasn’t it?
*
“He looks like a schoolgirl with a crush,” the English teacher had laughed.
That afternoon, John put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, leaning in close as he
showed him new sheet music. The touch burned both of them.
“Everyone knows he secretly fancies you,” the blonde history teacher had told
him, biting the tip of her pen.
John handed Keith the papers and drum sticks, their fingers brushing, sparks
flying behind John’s eyes.
“The boys on the team tease him about it all the time, he goes red right away,”
the gym teacher had shook his head. “If you want him, you’ve got him.”
John pushed Keith through the complicated drumming patterns. He knew it was too
advanced for Keith but the boy needed to be challenged. John stared him down,
drinking in the sight of Keith starting to sweat, physically exerting himself
behind the giant drum kit.
Do it for me, Keith. Do it for me, do it for me.
Keith came to a sloppy, clattering finish, but he glowed with the satisfaction
of making it through the piece alive and almost in time. John slowly walked
beside him and leaned in close, combing the sweaty fringe out of Keith’s eyes.
The unexpected act of affection made Keith’s mouth drop open in surprise.
“He adores you, John,” the math teacher had told him one night as they were
walking out the building together. “You can do anything you want. He wouldn’t
protest.”
They finished reviewing their new rehearsal schedule at John’s desk, Keith
sitting close enough to John that his knee grazed John’s leg.
“You did a good job today, Keith.” John smiled sweetly and put his pen down,
then placed his hand on Keith’s leg, his thumb brushing the inside of the boy’s
thigh. Keith scrambled to cover the sudden tightness in his jeans, his cheeks
reddening.
*
He was a kid, for fuck’s sakes.
His mother still did his laundry, he still got scolded by his father for
staying out past his curfew. The boy got frustrated to the point of tears when
he struggled with his math homework.
God, Keith even confided in John that he’s never had his first kiss.
You’re disgusting John, you’re disgusting, you don’t deserve any happiness, you
bastard.
John kept drinking and drinking, his stomach begging him to stop but he
continued too quickly anyways. He convinced himself he deserved the sickness
that soon followed. He would do whatever it took to get those thoughts to blur
and fade away from his mind so the guilt might relieve itself a little.
John was a wreck in class the next morning, and he let the students take it
easy for the day. John did try to avoid Keith, really, he did. Yet they were
always pulled towards each other whether they liked it or not.
*
In late July, the students were finishing exams and preparing year end
celebrations. There had been a triumphant band performance for the whole school
to watch. John conducted his students with the utmost pride and love, knowing
that despite all this, he would miss them. His own talents as a conductor were
outshined by Keith, who stole the show with an improvised drum solo that got
everyone cheering. John had abandoned his professional front and watched Keith
with genuine love that somehow fogged over his insurmountable lust.
It was a good thing John had already handed in his resignation letter. He
needed to get the fuck out of there.
Keith was the only one who volunteered to help John wheel the instruments back
to the music room on old rickety carts. As the other students scrambled to get
ready and catch their rides home, it was just John and Keith alone in the mess
of a music room, cleaning and stacking and organizing the room, preparing to
leave everything for the summer. John had his tie loosened, a few buttons of
his dress shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he sweat
through all the physical activity. God, he was getting old. Keith tore around
the room like a hurricane, doing most of the work for John. He knew the music
room and the storage closets just as well as John did.
John let Keith do all the heavy lifting, and he tended to the clutter on his
desk, piled high with final reports and thank you cards from teachers,
students, and parents. They really did like him after all this. ”So, what are
your plans for the summer break, Keith?”
Keith came over and sat on a box filled with books by John’s desk, looking up
at him with those big brown eyes that still shocked John like that first day
they met.
“We don’t have much planned, really. I think my parents are going to take me
camping for my birthday in August, though.”
“Oh?” John avoided his gaze, occupying himself with slipping papers in a desk
drawer. “How old will you be turning, anyways?”
“Eighteen, sir,” Keith smiled. “Old enough to vote.”
“Of course,” John turned his back to him, hiding his reddening face.
“You know, I won’t be doing anything else this summer. I’ll be stuck at home
all break,” Keith stood up again, leaning his hip against John’s desk, inching
ever closer. “Mum said I should keep taking music lessons. Know anyone who’s
teaching?”
John summed up the courage to look over at Keith. “Well, I’ll still be in town
for a few more months until my lease on the house is up.”
Keith gave him a pretty smile, playing along wonderfully. “I should come round,
then. I’ve decided I want to be the best drummer in the world.”
“There’s still plenty I have to teach you,” John didn’t break his gaze with the
boy. “If you’re up for it, anyways.”
“Don’t be daft, you know I am,” Keith told him, and John sighed with relief.
*
End Notes
     so i whipped this request up quickly to keep you guys interested, and
     also to apologize for the delay in THE BIG PROJECT. if you haven't
     been keeping up, i'm putting it on hold for a month while i focus on
     a course at school. it's a bigger beast than i thought it would be so
     i'm taking my time and making sure it's perfect. in the meantime,
     i'll be taking more short requests from tumblr. do keep in touch!
     http://my-g-g-g-generation.tumblr.com/
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