A/N: Real sorry for the stupidly late update. I had my exams in school, and then every kind of school work just poured. I suppose I'll be posting as frequently as I could when Christmas Holidays are finally here. And when I'm not lazy.

Warnings: Same old, same old but with more octopus curses.

Tap.

A hesitant tap.

An even more hesitant tap.

Backspace the whole thing.

"Son of a bitch," Gokudera Hayato mumbled under his breath, hand perching his head as he stared (glowered terrifyingly) at his small laptop. From his current state, it was quite evident that he had been doing, and repeating this whole process for some time now. His eyes were twitching and sore, and they had the darkest bags ever below them; his forehead was wrinkled from thinking, and beside his laptop laid packages of junk food, cans of soda, and an almost empty packet of cigarettes.

His room smelt of nicotine, and the manly scent of sweat, at this early hour in the morning.

Well, as manly a smell of sweat could get from furiously trying to type up three more paragraphs for the most awesome motherfucking fanfiction ever! Since that was what Hayato was doing, or tried to do.

For the past month, once he managed to slave and get the laptop, he had been preoccupying his time by earning easy money from ads, hacking and humiliating any dumbass's site, and weirdly enough, he even made his own blog, forum and advice column, where he talked with other netizens and bashed them for being stupid.

He was bored. And doing such activities had satisfied him for at least two to three weeks, tops. After that small time frame, Hayato had felt empty, lazy, and ultimately unadventurous whenever he is confined to his apartment. The days went slow, and though he absolutely loathed it, Hayato couldn't be with Tsuna each and every minute of the day, which meant more empty time with himself. Oh the joy. So, one weekend day, the smoking-bomb-guy lazily lounged in his sofa, eating a very hot cup of instant noodles. He listened to the news on the television, amidst the raging noise the storm outside bellowed. He couldn't care less anyway. He sighed, placed the remains of his food on his table, and deftly changed channels, for the heck of it.

It was then, that his green lazy eyes felt misty, and his soul felt renewed. He was entranced, and so he continued to be entranced and to scrutinize and properly observe it, because he felt well then.

'You... You! The one in red! Aren't you Maria Leslova?'

'Why, yes, I'm Maria Leslova, and who are you—John?!'

'Oh Maria! I've waited for so long!'

'John!'

'Maria!'

The teenager had watched Lover's Ending Happiness's fifth episode, wherein John Collins somehow found Maria Leslova sitting somewhere in the airport he just arrived in. It was magic.

And he undeniably loved it.

To this day, he still does, maybe even more, though he might never will admit it, except to the netizens that somehow thought that they could give negative opinions of it on the internet. Christ, Hayato spent day and night flaming them, before hacking them and making them subscribe to slash furry porn. That has those weird viruses that makes gay porn show up the moment one's laptop is booted. Then, he admittedly ran up to their house, and left sparkling sacks of TNT at their front doors and a fire-proof note that says: You're lucky you aren't home, 'cause that shit was supposed to go up your ass, shit-face!' Then he took pictures of the destroyed rubble called houses which won't be covered with insurance, and walked the hell away, snickering to himself the whole time. His scary regimen had made netizens shut up for the mean time, and he liked it like that; that way, he could download all the seasons, subscribe to Lover's Ending Happiness's sites, and log in to forums—in fucking peace.

Now, Beth was pregnant, Maria was dying, Dr. Ana was having an affair with John's dad, and Gokudera Hayato realized: won't it be awesome if this crap happened instead of that? Thus, Hay Gogh, renowned fanfiction author, was born. He had written about long different eight stories by now, and people seemed to love him and his work.
Again, he couldn't care less. He didn't care if they look down on him and his work, because he loved his work—why, he only posted them online in hopes that the director of the soap would see and slap himself for not thinking what Hayato thought. His work was poetically manifested in HTML, and it just absolutely shows how much Hayato put himself into it. In his own words, his own soul was recombined with his favourite soap opera of all time.

He did care when they look down at his favourite soap opera of all time, though. This is stupid. Lover's Ending Paradise is the most nonsensical, overrated piece of shit ever made in North America. Why do so many people like it? The dialogue is a bunch of shit, the characters are a bunch of shit, and everything else about it just screams shit! – Blogger JJGA8059 had commented.

Hayato snickered as he remembered that poor loon, and the mysterious news cast about a bloody apartment down in the suburbs. But again, he couldn't be bothered by that stupid idiot now. Gokudera Hayato had only one thing to care about, and that was Lover's Ending Happiness: The Fan Masquerade. 'Those who submit their best projects about Lover's Ending Happiness will get a chance to come to L.A.'s most prestigious restaurant and dine with our favourite characters of all time! That's right! John's dad and Beth's baby! Hahaha, how silly of me. Of course Beth's baby can't be there, little one hasn't even been born yet. John's dad is awesome and alive though, so he gets to be there!' The annoying voice of the talk show host annoyingly echoed in Hayato's mind.

He knew he had to win. John's dad was his idol. The man had been featured in almost all of his stories either as a princely character or a super hero that saved all of humanity and its octopi.

Tap.

Double tap.

I'm-really-getting-into-this tap.

Backspace it all.

"Tch!"

Hay Gogh was stumped in the making of the most awesome motherfucking fanfiction story ever.

10: 00 AM blinked by his electronic alarm clock, and Hayato's eyes couldn't be more weary.

He felt defeated, like a poor, hapless little thing. He reached out, pressed a button on his laptop, and the document that held his many hours of hard work disappeared.

He needed helped, and so, he laid out a plan on the piece of paper he innocently found on the floor.

1. Close the story for now, you need rest.

2. Calculate your options for plots, and plans on how to kill the editors if they don't approve of your masterpiece.

3. Smoke.

4. Eat. Pee.

5. Feel awesome and write some more.

6. Search the internet on how to properly make yourself awesome to write this motherfucking shit because you don't have time left and you need to meet up with the tenth because he'd be really disappointed if you, the right hand man, won't be by his side for at least six hours a day.

Hayato blinked on the last one. "Was I possessed?" He mumbled as he couldn't quite comprehend the complexity and weirdness of the last number. Did he really write that down?

"I was possessed? So I'm cursed. I'm cursed. Oh God, I'm fucking cursed." His blood ran cold as he ran for a pencil and hastily wrote the next number on his to-do list.

7. Drink holy water. Go to the shrine. Or church. Get a fucking priest and make him clean the whole apartment in holy water. Leave and never come back.

Satisfied with his list, Hayato immediately set out to the first number. Rest.

10:05 AM

Hayato had mysteriously gotten his sofa sold in less than five minutes to a hippie dude that smelled of manure and flowers, while he was trying to rest.

Blinking, he grabbed the list and promptly began to calculate.

10:15 AM

The teenager smirked widely as he read the notebook he filled with his reckoning and computations (for his L.A. Editor murder spree). It involved airplanes, baseball-nut dying, guns, and dynamite. Good old dynamite. Oh, and it involved John's dad spending a night in Japan.

He felt very happy now, and so he threw the notebook at some drawer in his desk, and began to optimistically do the next number.

10:21 AM

He choked in smoke.

10:26 AM

It took him five minutes to cough enough, drink water, and read the next step.

10:35 AM

Hayato ambled out of his modest restroom, oddly feeling satisfied. He had peed a ton. What man wouldn't feel satisfied at that? Especially since he ate quite a lot, and almost died a couple of minutes ago.

His calm eyes soon saw his desk table, littered with cartons of food and packets of smokes.

Then, he saw a cockroach, guiltlessly crawling all over his papers and laptop.

"Holy fuck."

10:38 AM

Hayato blew an errant hair out of his face as he examined his burning desk, the empty bottle of disinfecting alcohol in his hand, and the thrashed papers and electronic gadgets (that just happened to smell like ethanol) on his bed.

Well, at least the cockroach's dead.

He surmised that he could live without a desk for a while.

10:45 AM

Hayato couldn't feel more irritated as he stared at the bewildering blank space on his laptop. His story is short half a plot.

Grumbling, he grabbed the burnt paper that held his list, read the sixth number, and began to search.

10:46 AM

Ecafkcid, one of the most known advice bloggers in the internet, had miraculously made a post on getting rid of stumps so that you could write!

Grateful, Hayato quickly clicked the link, and read. It was surprisingly short, concise, but helpful. It only had one paragraph.

Stress

In writing stories, stress is one of your main enemies. Having stress would mean you have too much to think about. Too much to think would mean stumps. So get rid of that accumulating stress, be it sexual frustration or honest stress about Lover's Ending Happines: Fan Masquerade! But hey, I guess we all know that you won't be having the former kind of stress! Hah! What kind of a nutjob would you be to be even in this part of the internet? Sexual frustration. Yeah. That makes me laugh. Who the hell even makes fanfiction nowadays and be so totally serious about it to search about this? God. You must have no life at all. Anyway, think "refresh" and do "refreshing" stuff, and that stress about getting molested by your imagination will be gone in a jiffy! Happy writings!

Hayato, bewildered, glared and seethed at the blogger's meaningful advice. "Dickface," he said through gritted teeth, and angrily closed the site. Mister Ecafkcid would find a present wrapped in red for him soon. Very. Soon. Just 'cause that irritated Hayato for some reason.

But nevertheless, mister Ecafkcid does have meaningful advice, and stress does seem like the cause of his stump.

Gokudera Hayato sighed, rubbed his temples, felt like he just did a marathon and still failed to destroy Yamamoto's guts (in short: He felt terrible), and laid back on his chair.

Refresh.

Refreshing.

"Water is refreshing," he mumbled, and promptly ran to his shower.

11:00 AM

Gokudera Hayato sneezed and slightly shivered.

Forgetting about the fact that you don't have hot water, and the fact that running right into the evilly cold shower wasn't a good idea, was a really terrible idea.

But the teenager was young and strong, and so he didn't took notice about it at first. He had sat through the agonizing 14 minutes of cold-as-hell waterfalls, just to feel refreshed. He even used some of Bianchi's lavender soap. He came out of the shower feeling sick, and smelling sickly sweet. Ugh.

"What else is refreshing?" He muttered to himself as he put on a fresh shirt and jeans. All that came to his mind was cold. Cold drinks, cold food, cold places, and the like. Hayato grumbled, thinking that he has nothing else to do anyway, and grabbed his wallet and walked leisurely out of his apartment.

Shaved ice it is.

11:10 AM

At the park, on the pavement etched with pink and blue melting ice and syrup, Hayato stood, fists shaking in wrought anger.

Beside him stood a very oblivious Yamamoto and an unwanted woman he recognizes as Haru Miura.

"Gokudera?"

"YOU FUCKTARD!" Gokudera grabbed him by the collar, and glared so much that he wished, prayed, hoped with all his might that Yamamoto Takeshi would just burn under his gaze. "The hell was that about?!"

"You mean the shaved ice?" Yamamoto blinked, earning a ten times more of a scathing glare. "Well you looked really out of it, so I tried to nudge you, but then you jumped and your shaved ice went to the floor."

Gokudera twitched. "I KNOW THAT!"

"Hahi! Stop shouting at Yamamoto-san!" Haru, in turn, shouted at him, stomping her booted foot on the melted ice to express her sincere anger. "Why were you even eating shaved ice anyway?"

"Because I'm stumped you stupid woman!"

"Haru is not a stupid woman!"

"Not in my book!" Gokudera spluttered. "Why are you even here?"

Takeshi blinked. "Stumped in what, Gokudera?" Hayato failed to response. He was much too shocked at what Haru screamed, "Haru's here with Yamamoto-san doing her movie for Lover's Ending Happiness!"

Again, Hayato blinked. Then he laughed. Madly. Slapped his knee and bent to his stomach even.

"What's so funny?!" Haru screeched indignantly.

"Like hell you'll ever win the masquerade! So just give it up!"

"Eh Gokudera, you know about the masquerade so you must like Lover's Ending Happiness too, right?" Yamamoto asked. "Did you think of anything to do yet? Because Haru and I are stumped too. Haha!"

"Of course I know what to do! I'm making a fanfiction so great that John's dad would beg me to kill their script writer!"

Yamamoto nodded understandingly, patting him on the back as he propelled both Gokudera and Haru away from the crowd that started to form around them over the past few moments. "Great, great! You can be our director."

"Why the fuck would I do that?!"

"Haru doesn't want him! He'd just put parts about destroying children's lives and female abuse!"

"I would not—Hey, that's actually a great idea."

"NO IT'S NOT!"

But Hayato did not listen. His ingenious mind soon towered over him, and he laughed silently. Oh yes, he—Hayato Gokudera, Hay Gogh—can see it now! Cow's flying, baseball-nut's nuts crying, dog's eating turkey and China ruling the world!

He laughed silently to himself. He hadn't felt so inspired in weeks. Such inspiration affected him greatly. He walked hunched, laughed darkly and quietly, and he rubbed his hands together like an evil mad doctor.

"Y-Yamamoto-san," Haru murmured as she desperately clutched on to Yamamoto's side.

"Yeah?" Takeshi replied reluctantly, as he and Haru watched Hayato warily—from a distance of five feet.

"Haru read somewhere that there's this disease that angry people contract immediately at sudden times," she strained to whisper at his ear. "It ruins the victim's spinal chord—" They both stared at the hunched Gokudera, "—it makes the voice horse—" Gokudera still laughed darkly, softly, and maybe even raspy. Haru gulped. "—And it ruins their brains!"

Takeshi and Haru stared at Gokudera. Haru was almost at tears. The disease was said to be a fast killer. Then, the two stared at each other. Then at Gokudera. Then at each other.

Then they ran to the mad doctor/fanfiction-man, grabbed him by the feet and dragged him to where the sun don't shine—Dr. Shamal's clinic.

Hayato knows because they keep on screaming the stupid perverted doctor's name and because he himself kept on shouting the worst imaginable cusses at them and a lady fainted.

Chapter 3 END

A/N: About Gokudera having an advise column, that's from the really funny fanfiction called Dear 59 kun by fan-nerd! If you don't mind BL, then I suggest you read it, it's really good and it did made me laugh quite a lot.