#if you get paid in likes and nobody gives you any feedback how much longer will you do that kind of work for free

[jlf23tumble]

"and shocker they don't get paid to do a shit ton of work to find vintage t-shirts for free" HS fashion archive gets paid for their posts but LT fashion archive doesn't? I always thought they posted because they were their fans and then they become solo Harries like most former "big" larries.

[mawofthemagnetar]

Hi, is there any advice you could give to beginner writers? Your works really inspired me as a writer for whom English isn't a first language and i wanted to say thank you so much for that, even if it wasn't intentional. I wanted to try writing something a bit more serious than short fanfiction and i figured you'd be the best person to ask about that. Sorry if it's a bit too weird ^^"

Anon, I'm truly and deeply flattered, and thank you so, so much for letting me know this. This isn't weird at all, and don't apologize for asking!

As for your question, uh...

So, the thing is, I've never, ever taken any sort of formal training for writing or English. I did okay in school, but as far as writing goes, I'm entirely self-taught.

The most basic piece of advice I can give is: For the love of god, use your enter key to break up paragraphs and make sure everything is roughly grammatically correct. That's the single biggest thing to keep in mind.

Aside from that, here are the only real pieces of advice I have:

Write for yourself.

And write the specific content you want to read.

I know that's easy to say, but the thing is, it's incredibly easy for fic you think is killer to get ignored, and at the end of the day you need to be your own target audience. If you ONLY write for numbers or comments or reaction, you're going to go insane and want to quit. Now that's not saying that feedback isn't important- it's critical, and it's a huge help. But having a story you really, REALLY want to see to completion is such a powerful motivator, at least for me. It's the only way you'll have enough steam to keep going for longer works. So, when I walked into the Hermitcraft fandom, I looked around, saw that nobody else was giving Keralis the nightmare monster treatment he deserved, and dove in with both feet.

Another thing:

KILL SECRET RULES.

Full send. Every time. Write something and full send it, slap that shit on Ao3. Obviously edit and spellcheck, but don't get bogged down in "is this good enough". No, it's not perfect. Because nothing created by human hands is EVER perfect. If you agonize over every line you'll hate yourself. So when you have something roughed out, give it a day to rest, give it a polish, and then drop it like a lead potato. It's fanfiction. We're not getting paid. It's for fun!

So who cares if the fic is short? Who cares if the fic is weird? Who cares if it's something odd or strange or whatever? Don't give yourself minimums and requirements and regulations. Let the words do what they will.

Both of these things tie into my biggest single tip, which is:

START WRITING AND DON'T GIVE UP.

The thing is, fanfic is a fantastic way to sharpen your skills. There's an old anecdote about two classes of university students in a pottery class, and how one class was graded on number of pots produced and one was graded on a single pot at the end of the semester. The class that cranked out pots like there was no tomorrow had better clay pots at the end of the day, because they'd put in the time to actually practice pottery instead of stressing over theory!

So just...start. Just open a word document (or a google doc if you're not a piratey pirate like me) and just put some words down. The more you write, the easier it gets.

If you don't have an idea for a story, look for some prompts- or just start asking questions. This is sort of how I come up with plots:

Grab a hermit. Grab your favourite hermit. Your protagonist doesn't have to be a nice person, or a good person, or even a hero at all, but if they're a blorbo it really helps.

Let's say it's Zedaph. Now let's put that fucker in a situation. Think of something you're interested in! For me, I have an extreme obsession with aircraft and aircraft disasters and the wilderness. So, okay, let's do a pilot AU. Now I get to dress Zed up in a pilot costume! (Keralis can be his co-pilot!) It's fanfic- you're allowed to spoil yourself! And then, from there, we make decisions about our story- does Zedaph crash his plane? How do they find rescue?

Plotting a story, at least to me, is about putting these bitches in a situation and then asking questions about how things will turn out based on how these characters act.

So, in general, just... go for it. Your first stories WILL suck. Christ knows mine did. You don't have to post them! But you can. And you might be surprised- because as you grow as a writer and a creator, people will look at everything you've made with very different eyes than you have. Even the old stuff you come to cringe at is often loved by someone, somewhere. (This is why you should orphan old works instead of deleting them, trust me!)

But when you go for it, there's another thing you should keep in mind:

Take breaks. Rest. Take time off. It's not a job and it shouldn't feel like it! Go for a walk. Take a month off. Look at the daisies. Spend time with your family. Real-world experience is valuable to a writer, helping you understand sensations and situations. Reading other people's works is invaluable too, helping you get to grips with stories and plots and all the machinery of narrative. So take time to exist, and take time to consume, and take time to rest.

Take time to be.

To sum up, writing is a game of mental leapfrog where you shuffle puzzle pieces around in your head until they click into some kind of shape. The perfect is the enemy of the good and secret rules will make you insane. The actual act of putting words down is something that absolutely gets better with practice. And you're not a machine, so don't treat yourself like one.

And anyone can write.

I'm not some authority on writing. To be frank, I'm kind of clueless. I don't know the technical terms for things, I'm not an English teacher, and I'm not a professional. This is just my general, overly long thoughts on the matter.

I hope this was even slightly helpful. Go for it, dude. I believe in you!

Oh, and one more thing...

Listen to some Pendulum while you write. <3

[x-childish-x]

(part 1) hello, can i request an Anakin x jedi reader where the reader is more like a mother figure to Anakin? after order 66 happened, both obi wan and reader sneak onto padme’s ship to find Anakin. after Anakin force chokes padme, reader runs into Anakin’s arms and tries to convince him to turn back. it starts to get angsty since reader is on the verge of tears and Anakin is a softie around her. after reader tries to convince him,

I Believe In You

Pairing: Anakin x fem!reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Warnings: ANGST, jedi!reader, violence, major character death, stabbing, fighting, crying, force choking

Word Count: 1,138

A/N: Hello lovely! Sorry it took me so long to get this out! I really hope you enjoy this! Thank you so much for the request and for your support! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

Summary: In Anakin's mission to join the dark side, you join Obi-Wan in one final attempt to save the boy you viewed as your son.

(gif not mine!)

"You're with them! You brought them here to kill me!" Anakin's deranged scream filled the air as his hand outstretched to Padme.

You watched in horror as Padme gasped for air, Obi-Wan yelling at Anakin to let the pregnant woman go. Your heart ached, debating whether you should run and help Padme or Anakin. You knew Palpatine had been feeding lies to Anakin, that he believed you had turned against him. You knew Padme was innocent. Simply caught in the middle of all the confusion and chaos. Nobody deserved this. You wished you could go back in time and force yourself to notice all the signs before.

Yet, you weren't dumb. You knew that Anakin had turned to the dark side. That there wasn't much hope in saving him, and the council had been correct to fear this. But you couldn't help but hope that maybe you'd be able to do something. That's why, the moment Padme dropped, you didn't hesitate in bolting forward, dashing into Anakin's arms and slamming against his chest.

"Ani!" You cried, forcing the boy to look down at you. You yanked back from his chest, your hands moving up to cup Anakin's cheeks, "Oh Ani, please, Ani... it's not too late."

"No, it is... I've done unforgivable things," Anakin mumbled, one hand coming to rest around your waist.

You shook your head, trying to keep tears out of your eyes, "No... It's never too late to choose the light. Please. We can help you. I will help you. I can help you, just like I always have," You gently stroked his cheek, absentmindedly, how you always did, "I've never given up on you Anakin, I never will. I believe in you. I know you've made mistakes, but I know you can make the right choices, and I know that we can fix this. Please, come back with me."

Obi-Wan watched in pure astonishment. He always knew about the close bond you and Anakin shared, yet he was always surprised to see it in person. The way that Anakin absolutely melted into your touch, all malice went from his body. No sign that he had just tried to kill the woman he loved romantically. No sign Anakin was involved in the massacre of the Jedi. He was no longer the boy who killed younglings. Obi-Wan was instead seeing the young boy back on Tatooine, afraid to leave his mother behind.

And, of course, Anakin was afraid. He did not want to lose you like he'd lost his mom. You'd stepped in and had been his mother, for all intents and purposes, during his time at the Temple. Yes, the council frowned upon your connection, but you couldn't help taking Anakin under your wing and stepping in as his mother figure. You often stepped in as a mother that many younglings looked for, for a few years. Yet Anakin had stuck to you. Always coming to you for advice and help, enjoying the mother-figure you provided for him. You had just never expected things to end up this way.

"Anakin, please," You whimpered, tears finally spilling over and down your cheeks, "Don't do this, let me help you."

A soft and small whine left Anakin's mouth at the sight of you crying. He hated this, but he knew what he had to do, "You were always like a mother to me. I’m sorry I’ve failed you," Anakin removed his hand from your waist, gently wiping off a few of your tears, "I’ve disappointed you. It’s too late to turn back.”

Furiously you shook your head, "It’s not too late! Come with me and Obi-Wan, we can try and fix things, make the right choices! I believe in you, Anakin!"

Anakin shook his head, tears quickly rising and spilling down onto his cheeks, "If only I believed in me as much as you believe in me."

You had no time to react. Your eyes widened horrifically as searing heat enveloped your torso. Your grip on Anakin's cheeks fell to his shoulders. Obi-Wan's horrified scream filled the air as you looked down between Anakin and you, the glow of his blue lightsaber protruding into your stomach. Your gasp felt like a scream to Anakin's ears, your confused cries like daggers to his heart. Your grip suddenly changed from one of comfort to one of fighting to stand up.

The sight of Anakin's blue lightsaber coming out of your back was enough to make Obi-Wan feel feral. He wanted to lunge at his former Padawan, make him pay for destroying the ones trying hardest to help him. Yet, Obi-Wan refrained, with tears now streaming down his cheeks too. He watched in pain as you tried to cling to Anakin as if he could give you life as if he could reverse the damage he'd done.

"Ani.." You choked out, your face contorted in pain, "It's o-kay... I f-forgive you."

Tears streamed down Anakin's cheeks as one of your hands shakily cupped his cheek, stroking it once more like you always did, prompting him to deactivate his lightsaber. You collapsed to the ground pitifully, a snarl leaving Anakin's mouth as his gaze fell upon Obi-Wan. 

The ground was cold and inviting despite the lava raging around you. Your breath was shallow. Your vision begins to blur as you fight to keep a grip on reality. You never expected Anakin to be the one to kill you, yet you couldn't find yourself to be mad. You'd gone up to Anakin unarmed, getting too close for comfort, and now you paid the price. 

Memories flashed through your mind as the reality of everything seemed to slam into you. All the times you comforted Anakin after he had a rough training session. Or the first time you'd taught him how to flip and proceeded to teach him more. They played out like a movie before you, flashing in vibrant, beautiful colors that only contributed to your fading air. All the times you helped teach Anakin how to do his wraps and master new spins. He was your boy, and from the beginning, you had believed in him more than anyone.

"You turned them against me!" Anakin cried out, "Look at what you made me do!" 

"You have done that yourself!" Obi-Wan shouts back.

You fought desperately to move, to beg Obi-Wan to not kill Anakin. You fought to tell Obi-Wan that Anakin could be saved, but you couldn't. You couldn't move. You couldn't do anything besides stare at Anakin's blurry figure. So, mustering all your strength, you muttered one final phrase to the boy you once looked upon as your own son before you allowed the force to consume you.

"Ani.." Your voice snapped both men's attention to you, the younger softening at the sight of you, "I be-b-believe in y-you, Ani."

[taeescript]

29 + 1 (Part Two)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (squint harder than before for taehyung x reader) 

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin; a dash of enemies to lovers au 

𝔴𝔠: 7.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: language; a plethora of drunk people, maybe a sext, and a ton of lying (possible implication of impending smut?!) 

𝔞/𝔫: this part came out longer than i thought it would be but *shrugs* feedback and thoughts always welcomed. enjoy (:  𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: DailyHive is real; this is not associated with it 

part one || part three 

The bright pop music that is blaring from the speakers does little to slow your animated talking. Bodies are packed into the small local bar, and students on summer break fill booths and form a snake of impatient, drunk (and horny) people. A slow trickle of the brazen has started to fill the dance floor as the evening morphs into the night.

  You whip your hair into a ponytail and dab at the sweat that is beading your forehead. You definitely should have worn that sleeveless top rather than this thicker t-shirt dress.

  “So, is he like your sugar daddy or something?” Taehyung asks, “Also drink.”

  Friday nights were usually spent at home, snuggled under the blankets in your pjs binging another rewatch of Friends. After work today, you could no longer hold onto your secret and invited Taehyung out for drinks. His girlfriend, Fei, was supposed to join but had been held back for overtime.

  You tip the shot back with no chase.

  “You’re a monster,” he comments as he bites into his lemon piece.

  The two of you had made a bet at the beginning of the evening: you each chose a pop song and each time it played, the nominee had to take a shot. That was your fourth of the night, and to say there was a bit of a buzz is an understatement.

  “It’s all throat technique, Tae,” you say with a bit of a slur, “Hit the back and swallow. No innuendo intended. Also, why the hell haven’t you had any to drink?”

  “You picked ‘Peaches’ for fuck’s sake.”

  “I told you I don’t listen to pop music. It was the first one playing.”

  “And shouldn’t that have told you something? Justin Bieber of all people?”

  “Shut up. It’s your song.” You nod at the pink-faced barista for another round. She slaps your order in front of the two of you without so much a glance.

You don’t even know what song is playing, but you feel quite satisfied watching Taehyung make a face as he downs it in one go.

  He clears his throat after the liquor has burned its way down to his stomach. “Back to my question: is he your sugar daddy?”

  You bark out a laugh. Was he? Perhaps the fact that he paid for fancy meals at lunch? Those have been his one o’clock meetings for the past two months.

  “I don’t know. I’d rather he buy me a car or pay my rent if anything. A casual 1k a week wouldn’t be so bad either. We just sit in his office and eat in secret, Tae. He’s ‘training me in the art of culinary cuisine’. I think it’s just so I don’t embarrass him by stuffing a shrimp cocktail up my nose.”

  “You do know – ”

“Yes, I know. And I would never. It’s a metaphor. It’s just that the position ‘intern’ is quite loosely defined at DailyHive, don’t you think?”

  Taehyung rinses his mouth with water before speaking. “So let me get this right. Mr. Kim calls you into his office, says he’s going to take you as his guest to the biggest tech event of the year, treats you to lunches and doesn’t ask for anything in return? No secret midnight meetups or shady business deals…”

  You shake your head.

  “Damn,” Taehyung says, resting his arm on the bar table, “Forget sugar daddy. He’s just daddy.”

  Sticking your tongue out, you gag visibly at his comment. “Do not ever call him that again, Tae; ev-er.”

  He laughs and watches you pensively. After a moment’s thought, he says, “Nobody has ever called me Tae.”

  “What do they call you then?” you reply, wrinkling your brows together. A cute brunette across the room catches your eyes and for the briefest of seconds, you wonder what a one-night-stand would feel like.

  He shrugs. “Just Taehyung.”

  The brunette waves in your direction. You are about to return his wave when an equally cute brunette runs up to him. He promptly kisses her before swivelling her around to join his group of friends.

  “Sorry. Do you want me to stop? I just assumed since we were out of the office…”

Oh Fate, how cruel you are. Life of twenty cats and solidarity, here you come. Maybe dogs. You feel like you could be more of a dog person.

  “No,” he stops you, “You can call me Tae. Whatever you want.”

  You turn your attention back on the also cute brunette in front of you. In all honestly, despite his youthful god-like countenance, he looks slightly out of place at this college bar with you in his upstanding business attire and dorkishly adorable thick-framed glasses.

  “Sure. How about Tee-Tee? Or Hyungie? The TaeMan?” You wiggle your brows with the suggestion.

  “God help me.”

  The two of you clink your shot glasses together even though neither of your songs are being played.

  His Apple watch lights up to indicate an incoming message. He relays the text to you, “Fei’s done work. She’s on her way now.” You can’t help but notice a shift in his previously excited demeanor.

  You nudge him with your elbow. “Aren’t you excited? She’ll need a glass of wine or two to destress after work. I might be projecting onto you for this part, but you’re buzzed. So after we get her to unwind I’m sure the overwhelming power of pheromones will get you lucky tonight.” You wink at him to emphasize your point.  

“She’s not a big drinker. She’s probably just going to come and ask to leave in five minutes. Bars like this aren’t really her thing either,” he states. He then unbuckles his watch and tucks it away into the pocket of his pants. Undoing the cuffs of his shirt, he rolls up the sleeves and continues to regard you solemnly. “Okay, next round is one me. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to switch songs?”

  You notice how nice, long, and slender his fingers are. Plus the thing of girls liking when men have visible veins on their forearm? That had never really caught your attention until now.

  “She’s a bit of a bitch,” you say and immediately regret, “Shit, sorry. That just slipped out. Alcohol.”

  He offers you his water to drink.

  “I mean, she’s a little…uptight at times? But people can be completely different in and out of work. I can only imagine how stressful it is in her position. Working overtime until 9pm on a Saturday night seriously sucks,” you say to try and mend your wrongdoing.

  “Fei in the office is basically Fei at home,” he says softly, “It’s always work with her.”

  “We support career-driven women, yeah?” A smile is offered from you to him.

  He finally lets out a small one and nods. Out of the blue, he reaches over and covers your hand with his. Staring intently into your eyes, he says, “I know she makes you do her reports and occupies your time to do her coffee runs as well. You can say no to her. She may be my girlfriend, but you’re technically my intern, and I will stand on your side no matter what.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks, Tae,” you say. His sincerity has caught you off guard.

  At that moment, the sound of clicking heels pierce its way into your eardrums through the noise of the even busier bar. Taehyung quickly retracts his hand.

  Fei arrives, not a hair out of place in her tightly pulled bun. Her lips are painted a striking red against the paleness of her skin, and her manicured nails dig into the forearm of Taehyung when she reaches them. Even though she is wearing an otherwise drab office business suit, the curvature of her body draws quite a few glances from the younger men in the crowd.

  “It’s like a zoo here,” she sneers, turning away from a sacrificial lamb who had been bold enough step out of his circle of friends to greet her with a sleezy “hey”.

  “Hi, Fei. Busy night?” you greet her first.

  She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. I don’t know why you weren’t there. Isn’t it the intern’s job to complete reports?”

  Again, a loosely defined use of “intern” at DailyHive.

  You return her smile with a crisp one of your own.

  She turns away from you and regards Taehyung, who looks as if he had been the sacrificial lamb instead. “Teddybear, let’s go home. You know this type of place isn’t my vibe. I’m getting a headache already.”

  You raise an eyebrow at his pet name.

  He turns a little bit pinker, if that is possible under the current alcohol-induced glow of his cheeks, and says, “Um, sure. Y/N, are you going to be okay getting home?”

  Waving him off, you show him your phone. “30% left. I’ve got pepper spray in my bag and enough booze in me to not run from a fight. I’ll call an Uber home soon, don’t worry.”

  Fei has already begun to fight her way through the squirming, dancing bodies. Taehyung glances quickly at her and turns back to you once last time. “Text me that you’re home safe.”

  “Will do, boss,” you smile at him warmly.

  He lingers for just a moment more before running after his impatiently waiting girlfriend.

  You turn back to the bar and order another beer for yourself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is perhaps the biggest perk of being single.

...

On the opposite side of town, sinking deeply into a soft lounge chair is Seokjin enjoying a rare evening out with his best friend. He has swapped his usual attire for a more relaxed fit of a white oversized crewneck and techwear bottoms. A heavy, exorbitant fur-lined long leather coat hangs on the coat rack beside the door to their private VVIP room. He swirls his glass of Chateau Lafite before sipping delicately.

  Outside, only a handful of patrons sit quietly engrossed in their own conversations. It is a relatively empty night at the high-end lounge. A lady sings sultrily on stage with the smooth background of a saxophone as accompaniment.

  Junho has poured himself another glass while he is talking to Seokjin. Seokjin had since slightly tuned out his friend’s rather elongated rendition of another celebrity sighting to occupy his mind with another individual.

  “Earth to Jin? When did you get so lightweight since I’ve been gone?” Junho waves a hand in front of Seokjin’s nose.

  Seokjin blinks to refocus.

  “The mansion I bought last year or the one I bought last month?” he reiterates. Sensing that Seokjin truly had no idea what the topic at hand had been, he tries again.

  “Where should I do my birthday party this year, man? I thought the mansion from last year since it’s closer to the city, but I feel like it’s been reused too many times. It’s not completely furnished yet, but the property I got last month is significantly bigger and I can probably host more people.”

  “The new place then,” Seokjin answers half-heartedly.

  Junho grumbles something intelligible.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Junho sighs, “Tell me what’s new with you. How’s that little project of yours going? I still can’t believe you won’t let me know who you’re planning to take to the Gala.”

  Seokjin had refused to release even the slightest detail about you to Junho. Letting him know that Seokjin had agreed to one of his plans would be enough to inflate Junho’s ego for at least a little while.

  “It’s been going...”

  Junho waits for more of Seokjin’s answer, but his friend’s attention has been turned to a received text.

  10:17pm “Safe and sound, Teddy Bear.”

  10:17pm “Or should I say Taeddybear? 🥴”

10:18pm “That last beer done me rael godo.”

  10:18pm “Real good**”

  Seokjin raises a brow at the unknown number. He responds back.

  10:18pm “Who is this? I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

  Junho crosses his legs and sits back with a sigh. He presses the button to request for an attendant.

  10:19pm “You know who… Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you for saying you’ve got my back. It’s definitely appreciated.”

  The response doesn’t do much except to further pique Seokjin’s curiosity.

  “Sorry,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “Rogue text I think.”

  Junho shrugs. “Is that right? Seems to have caught your attention.” There is now a manner of indifference to his voice.

  “It’s going well, by the way – answering your question. I mean, all things considered. It’s not like I have to teach her how not to stuff a cocktail shrimp up your nose.”

  His friend snorts. “I’d be concerned and against this person if it’s who you’re planning to bring.”

  Seokjin’s phone buzzes again.

  10:21pm “Pray for me when I wake up with the worst hangover of my life. I’m going to bed now.”

  A moment of silence.

  10:21pm “I hope I didn’t piss off Fei tonight for stealing you for the evening.”

  10:22pm “Okay I’ll shut up now. Please don’t tell me you’re reading this. You should be getting some 😼💦.”

  The emoji makes Seokjin choke, liquid sputtering from his lips.

  Junho cusses. He angrily dabs at the speckle of red wine that has landed on his pearly white top.

  10:23pm Download attached image. “Just in case, here’s a little something to get the night started 😉”

  “What the hell man?” Junho gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the previously called attendant had arrived in time to escort him.

Seokjin barely notices that he is alone in room as he taps the download button. It isn’t until he has returned home and is looking at the picture one last time before bed that he realizes who his mysterious texter is.

  The employee nametag clipped to the collar of your workday shirt hanging on the arm of a chair can only be found when zoomed in past your painted toes and naked feet.

... 

You cannot hide your nervousness when you arrive at your “lunch meeting” the following Monday morning. All weekend, you had cursed yourself for not better checking who the recipient of your texts were before pressing send. Never had you thought that in your drunken stupor you would mix up “The Devil” in your contact list with “Taehyung Kim.” Curse you and your lack of friends beginning with the letter “T”.

  You balk before, a hand poised in perfect position for a knock. Maybe he didn’t download it? And even if he did, it was just a troll feet pic. You had made sure that it was as pg-13 as possible before you had sent it.

  “Hi,” you greet sheepishly when he has given you the go to enter.

  In a smart plain blue button-up and round frames that are almost certainly for the aesthetics, the CEO of the company and your boss sizes you up and down.

  “I know we’ve gotten to know each other better these past few weeks. But you’d think it’s still common courtesy to at least make eye contact,” he says. You look at him wide eyed without a word.

  He rolls his eyes but does not gesture to your usual seat. In fact, you don’t spy a take-out container in sight. He instead stands up and picks up his phone, walking to the door. He notices you have yet to move.

  “Let’s get moving. You’ve only got a 45 minute lunch.”

  You scramble to match his speed and catch Taehyung’s eye as you grab your jacket at your desk. Taehyung’s gaze follows you as you hurry to leave in pursuit of Seokjin’s coattail.

... 

The restaurant is a popular vegan establishment with a plethora of greenery crawling up its high ceilings and a window-framed overview of the city’s skyline. Waiters and waitresses who may just as well be walking New York Fashion Week serve you brunch mimosas on a golden plate; they attentively wait to the side in case you ever run out of water.

  Common topics are rare between the two of you. Initially, you respectfully kept quiet and only answered questions when asked, but you have never been one for awkward silence. Yes, it’s awkward only if you make it awkward; there is just no denying the hanging suspense that curls your toes each time. Recently, you have started with simple inquiries regarding the company, who they might meet at the Gala and everyday mundane topics.

  “You’re probably wondering why we’re out of the office,” Seokjin says. He continues shortly after taking a bite of his meal and ignores the look of your surprise at his initiation of a conversation. “My office has been getting stuffy with the warmer weather so I thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air. How’s the food?”

You nod, making small sounds of contentment as you chew on the Avocado Lime Tartare. Mmm… tart-y.

  He takes a deep breath in, stalling the incoming conversation. “It’s my friend’s birthday this next weekend.”

  “Oh,” you say, “Happy early birthday to him.”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “Well… An extra happy early birthday to him.”

  A sigh. “Are you free next weekend?”

  Your chewing comes to a halt and you blink once at his question. Next weekend is the weekend before the Silver Gala. It is also the sole weekend before your birthday the following Friday after the Gala. You had hoped to spend it with Taehyung and maybe even Jimin who had promised to be in town on a long overdue vacation despite your chastising to visit your parents first.

  He senses your trepidation. Quickly, he explains himself, 

“He’s having a birthday party Saturday night. He has a place about an hour north of here. I can have somebody pick you up if that’s more convenient. I don’t have a birthday present for him and thought it’d be nice for you to meet him.”

  “You’re giving him me for a present?” you ask, incredulously.

  He bites his tongue. He never anticipated how awkward this conversation could go.

  “You’re going as my plus one. He really wants to meet you; in fact, he insisted that you be there. He’ll be at the gala too. I have something else planned for his birthday present,” he adds hastily, “Besides, you’re less than qualified as a present.”

  Musing silently to yourself, you wonder if in any situation should a human be qualified as a present. Despite that, you hate yourself as you agree on the spot.

  The rest of the lunch passes by quickly in dull silence. As Seokjin pays for the meal on the company card (and hands you the receipt for reimbursement), you note that there has been no comment made on any strange photos texted to him over the weekend.

  Perhaps being nonchalantly implied as a human birthday gift to a stranger is your karma for sending weird texts to your boss.

  Seokjin stays inside the car as he drops you off at the office after lunch, already preparing for his next business meeting. You nod your goodbye and step onto the pavement through the courteously held open door of the limousine.

“Y/N, try a soft pink. Fuchsia is not your colour,” he tells you as the door is closed.  

He then leaves you standing in front of the large office doors, staring at your chipped, week-old purple toenails.

... 

“I’m not exactly expecting a package in the mail or a dress laid out on the hotel bed – ”

“You guys are staying at a hotel?” Taehyung says over the phone.

  You are standing in your bedroom, an hour before when Seokjin is supposed to pick you up as an offering to his best friend. There are two dresses laid out on your Hello Kitty bed covers: a simple black dress you had worn once when you were a little bit more in shape and your prom dress.

  “No, I’m at home. But I mean, let me play into this movie metaphor.”

  “You suck at metaphors.”

  You have your phone propped up on some pillows so that you can see Taehyung as you debate your fashion decision. He is in a relaxed white tee, hair messily framing his face after a shower and a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You watch as a droplet of water runs down his face from his still-wet hair. He nonchalantly licks it off from the side of his mouth.

  “As I was saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get me something. He made it seem like it was a big deal. Like doesn’t the male lead usually surprise the female lead with a big bouquet of flowers and this over-the-top expensive dress which she wears and makes the male lead fall head over heels in love with her?”

  He chews silently on a kernel then probes, “You want Mr. Kim to fall in love with you?”

  “No,” you hastily correct, “It’s a metaphor. I think you’re the one who sucks at metaphors.”

  There is a beep on your phone to indicate you have another incoming call.

  “Tae, I’m going to have to call you back. My brother’s calling me,” you tell him. The black dress; your old prom dress is way too early 2000s. Black never hurts.

  “Okay. Have fun tonight. Pretend that it’s your birthday party. And then I’ll meet you for brunch tomorrow, my treat? You can tell me all about it,” he says. “Also the black. You look cute in that one.”

  “My party if I was 30, rich and successful. Oh wait, I’ll have one thing in common soon; that’s a start. Thanks though. I’ll call you tomorrow morning once I get up,” you say, then switch the call over to your brother. You had missed the flush of his cheeks as you busily swipe your phone.

Sticking the prom dress back into your closet, you rummage around the meager display of shoeboxes for a pair of high heels.

  “Hey, Jimin,” you greet over the phone.

  “Jesus, I do not need to be accosted by my half-naked sister,” he yells over the phone.

  You turn rapidly, seeing that you had accidentally continued a video call from when you had hung up on Taehyung. You throw a pillow over the camera in your haste to cover yourself up.

  “I was going to ask why you’re dressed like that but on second thought, I think I’ll leave your sexual exploits as your own secret.”

  Despite how disturbed you feel about this comment, his cheerful voice makes you smile.

  “So little sis, the weekend before the big three-oh!”

  “Please stop reminding me.”

  “Where do you want to meet tonight? I just got off the plane, but I can be ready to meet in about an hour. I booked a hotel close to the airport.”

  Shit. You forgot to tell Jimin. These heels will have to do.

  “Um… I, uh…”

  “What?”

  You clear your throat and begin to undress in front of the mirror. You have a sudden conscious thought that the dusty treadmill in your living room seems to be staring daggers at your back. 

  “I’ve got plans tonight.”

  “Plans? I wasn’t even aware you had friends here.”

  “Ouch, Jimin. But yes, I have friends. In fact, I am meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow if you want to join. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

  “He?” Jimin repeats, “Should I put on my big brother boxing gloves? Give him a good talking to in case he’s interested in my baby sister?” Pause. “Was that who you were calling before?”  

You bite your answer back, not feeling the need to go down that rabbit hole.

  “He’s just a friend; A co-worker really,” you say, “He’s also unavailable. And before you suggest anything, his goalkeeper is technically one of my bosses so I do not want to try and shoot past her thank you very much.”

  Jimin laughs. “I wasn’t going to suggest anything. Well if you’re busy tonight, tomorrow morning works for me. Give me a call. I’ll spend the night in watching some good ol’ Netflix and enjoy this vacation time.”

  “Sorry again,” you apologize.

  “Go out and have fun,” he says, “You deserve it.”

  The two of you finish off the call with the usual goodbyes. You have forty-five minutes to dress the part of a sparkly birthday surprise for the co-founder of the company you work for. Throwing on your favourite throwback music, you get to work.

  Once satisfied, you snap a picture and sending it to Taehyung making special care that you have picked the right individual this time.

... 

The mansion is bigger than you could have ever imagined, and the amount of people present are…

  “You’re telling me I can do whatever I want tonight,” you ask Seokjin in the car.

  There is no denying that Seokjin knows how to dress for an event. In a velvety black and white suit, contrasted by his blonde hair which he has elected to temporarily dye for the evening, he looks very much the posh CEO magazines brand him out to be. You are glad you elected for the simple black dress as standing beside this Renaissance statue in a floral pastel yellow dress would be like planting dandelions in Kanye’s sculpture garden (if he ever wanted one).

  “The majority of people won’t recognize you after tonight. They’ll also be too drunk to even register anything you tell them,” Seokjin says.

  He cannot believe that you chose a simple black dress. Did you really not own anything remotely feminine besides the most generic clubbing outfit? Even if you had wanted to make an appearance as a hooker, at least make it an expensive-looking one. Maybe he should have bought you that Versace dress he spotted in the window the other day. Instead…

  “Take this. Your earrings are too gaudy for this event.”

  You touch the sparkly black cats you have put into your ears. Their eyes are made of crystal, and you thought it looked quite fetching in the light. Opening up the box, you see a dainty elegant pair of teardrop earrings that may or may not be of real diamonds.

  “Only Junho will know who you really are and then you can enjoy the rest of your night. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being held here against your will.”

  Putting them on, you note that even this simple change in attire has elevated the entirety of your presence. You felt as luxurious as this gift.

  “Thanks, Seokjin,” you try the first name basis he had insisted upon for this evening, “Not going to lie, I had imagined that maybe you’d send me a dress in the mail or something, but this is still very nice.”

  He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Like in the movies? Please, I run a start-up company. I’m not a millionaire and I don’t think you would appreciate my handouts.”

  You don’t respond, making your second note of the night on the Prada label on the cuff of his suit. “To clarify, I don’t introduce myself as your plus-one tonight.”

  “No. I don’t want you associated with me,” he curtly states. He watches as your smirk twitches and he hits himself mentally in the head again. “It’s to protect you. There are bound to be tons of paparazzi tonight at a party as big as this. I don’t want you to find yourself in the tabloids tomorrow morning. Just be smart.”

  The car pulls to a stop after inching its way up to the front door. People mill about outside in extravagant brands, holding glasses of champagne. The man of the hour is somewhere inside the building, charming his way into new business deals as well as making new friends.

  “Stay close to me. You can leave after we meet Junho. It is his birthday after all,” Seokjin offers a hand as you step out of the car.

  You take it, looping yourself into him so that your hand rests on his forearm. You are only 13 days younger than Junho, and yet this striking contrast in lifestyle hits you like a landslide while the two of you walk up the stairs and into the mansion.

  Inside, it is dim with disco lights flashing to the beat of amped party music. Upon entrance, the two of you are offered glasses of liquor (you take a swirling iridescent drink) to which you are then ushered to where the birthday boy lounges.

  Junho has an even more youthful face than Seokjin does. Where Seokjin’s features exude class and charm, Junho appears mischievous and looks to have stepped out of every girl’s bad boy dream.

  You stop Seokjin with a tug and make him look at you. “Tell me: do I look like a passable birthday offering?”

  Seokjin rolls his eyes and pulls you along with him.

  “Jin!” Junho hollers loudly across the room when spotting his oldest friend. There is a doll-like female magnetized to his side. “This is Clara, my date for the evening.”

  Seokjin shakes her hand and greets them. The female cannot seem to pry her eyes away from this handsome new stranger. He introduces himself chivalrously to her as Junho sides up to you and grips your hands in his. His breath smells strongly of mixed drinks, and you know that in about fifteen minutes the entire night will be a blur for him.

  “You must be Y/N!” he says excitedly, “Jin didn’t tell me that you were coming! What a surprise!”

  “I am,” you greet back with a large smile. “Although I’m also surprised. Seokjin told me that you had insisted I came.”

  Seokjin grits his teeth, annoyed at Junho. Would he ever learn when to keep his big mouth closed?

Laughing loudly, Junho grabs two drinks just as a waiter passes by and hands them to you. “Insist might be a strong word,” he says, drilling another hole unknowingly, “I honestly thought I’d have to play part-time wingman tonight. But I’m glad he’s got someone by his side.” He jabs you a little too hard in the ribs. “Next week’s gala is going to be fun! Okay, now there’s only one rule tonight: there are no rules!”

  The four of you clink your glasses together, while you do your best to hide an embarrassed smile on behalf of the birthday boy.

  “You bet I’m going around as your trophy wife tonight,” you whisper in Seokjin’s ear when Junho looks away.

  He whirls around to look at you, the tip of both your noses impossibly close together. He can taste the acidity of the wine when you breath out with a wicked smile. He barely has time to stop you as you peel yourself away to mingle with the crowds.

  Seokjin is about to follow you but Junho pulls him away, flamboyantly introducing his handsome best friend to a group of international models. He turns on his brightest smile, but his heart thunders in his chest at you calling yourself his wife.

... 

You twirl around in your dress, nobody noticing the small splash of champagne on the front of it in the quickly changing lights.

  “He bought this for me last week. Says it reminds him of the first night we met. Our eyes met across the waters in Tuscany where he was on a business trip. I’ll let you on a little secret, but I was his mistress for a little while.”

  Seokjin cannot make out the words you are saying to a small but growing group of people around you. He stands across from Junho, but looks over the latter’s shoulders to watch as you do another spin.

  “A little while, Charlotte? Are you still his mistress?” an older lady with an exuberant amount of jewels hanging off her body whispers with a keen interest in your expertly spun story.

  Charlotte Dior Laurent, an identity you are pretty sure is an amalgamation of French brands from the top of your mind. You continue to personify this character however.

“Don’t worry. He’s left her since. I know I know, my friends all say the same. ‘He’s already been divorced three times. How can you be sure he won’t leave you?’”

  At this point, you are in way over your head at having told this story to at least two other groups and a multitude of other renditions to whomever you have met tonight. But there is something powerful about liquid courage as it courses through your body.

  The lady lays a hand on your arm. “I don’t want your heart to break. You are still young.”

  Looking up between the heads of your audience, you catch Seokjin’s eyes. They are fiery and it sends a strange sensation up your toes to your abdomen. You give a titillating wave at him in which he does not return.

“He says I’m special and different. How can you say no to that?” you exclaim with exasperation, fully committing to the poor damsel just oh-so in love.

  There is a look of genuine concern on the lady’s face at your statement.

  Before you can dig yourself a deeper hole, you place your empty glass on the table and excuse yourself. You do not know if it’s the drinking on a relatively empty stomach or if the room is really much warmer due to the multitude of bodies, but you head out to the balcony.

  On your way out, you notice that the clock reads twenty minutes past midnight. This gives you a shock at how fast time has passed. Perhaps you should go find Seokjin if you are to get a decent amount of sleep before meeting with Taehyung and Jimin tomorrow. Speaking of Taehyung…

  You pull out your phone and see that there are two unread messages. The first is from Jimin, confirming that he is indeed invited to brunch tomorrow morning. The second is a response from Taehyung.

  11:09pm “Wow. You have me a little lost for words. I had imagined you’d look nice in the dress but… You really are beautiful.”

  Smiling, you type in your response.

  12:21am “Thanks, Tae. You’re up late.” You take a picture of the earrings Seokjin had gifted you and attach it to the message. “What do you think of these?”

Barely have you returned your phone into your bag when it buzzes again. This time you receive an attached image. Taehyung seems to be sitting in front of a monitor, as his face glows with a blue light and contorted into a pensive furrow of his brows.

  12:21am “A little different from your usual style. Are they new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear those.”

  12:21am “Fei’s out with some friends tonight. She likes when I wait for her to come back before I sleep. To make sure she’s safe, I guess.”

  12:22am “Pooey. I should’ve brought you as my plus-one 😩. Also, Seokjin bought them for me for tonight. He says my other earrings are too gaudy.”

  12:24am “First name basis 🙃”

  12:25am “How is your night going? Having fun?”

  You are about give Taehyung a call for a detailed recounting of tonight’s escapades when someone speaks out from within the shadows.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” He walks into the moonlight. You flush, meeting the eyes of this particularly dashing gentleman, the phonecall immediately forgotten.

  Oh, Alcohol, you make even the smartest of people do dumb shit. And right now, your effects are even worse on this idiot.

  Your mouth hangs slightly open as you watch him puff out smoke from his cigar and offer it to you. He brushes up beside you, his fingers trailing up your hand which grips the balcony. You cannot seem to break away from his gaze.

  “Lung cancer has an increasing incidence rate particularly for females due to smoking. Are you sure you want to be condoning this type of behaviour?” Seokjin interjects himself between you and your Tuxedo Mask, pushing the outstretched cigar back towards its owner.

  There is a small stare down amongst the two men before the latter quietly exits the stage. Your eyes continue to linger on him even as he walks towards another female alone in the night enjoying the outdoor breeze.

  “You’ve just ruined by chance. I could have seduced then blackmailed him with the story of his illegitimate child to play Black Widow,” you whine.

  Seokjin takes the glass that had somehow magically appeared in your hand during the short walk from inside to outside on the balcony.

  “How many have you had since we came?” he asks.

  You sigh wistfully, still in your dangerous daydream. “I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” You turn your attention back to him eventually. “What are you doing here? Did you see me with him and get all jealous, hubby?” you tease.

  He scoffs, drinking from your glass and pulling a face. Once again, there is that twist and jump within his chest, but he attributes it to whatever nasty concoction he had just ingested. He pours its contents over the railing and into whatever shrubbery lies below. “You seriously went with being my trophy wife?”

  You shrug. “Of sorts. You’d better be right about people being too drunk slash not caring about me enough after tonight to remember the things I’ve said. ‘Cuz you’ve been divorced three times, had me along with another as your mistress, I think you’ve sired a few illegitimate children and all in all, a Games of Throne life. Damn, maybe I made you a little too badass.”

  “You’re having water for the rest of the night,” he says.

  You glare at him, contemplating on making a remark about his equally flushed face but decide against it. Instead, you lean onto the balcony and give a cat stretch. A large sigh escapes from you.

  Wordlessly, he shakes off his jacket and places it around your shoulder all the while averting his gaze on the unblemished skin of your upper thighs that had been exposed from your previous movement.

  Your blood feels like liquid fire coursing through your veins. Feeling overheated even in the evening breeze, you give him back his jacket. You note his reluctance to meet you even as you throw what could be a thousand dollar jacket in the air to him. “So what’s it like to live like this every day?” you say in wonder. You feel said breeze return and lean over the balcony to catch its chill.

  “Like what?” he asks. The warm summer night’s breeze blows through, settling his hair in a childish tousle.

  “Like rich,” you say. You sigh again. “Believe it or not, I’m the same age as your birthday boy best friend.

  And everything feels absolutely unreal right now. If I hadn’t agreed to come here tonight with you, I’d probably be at another dingy bar knocking back shots with my brother and friend.”

  “Are you a secret alcoholic?”

  You glare at him. “No,” you state matter-of-factly. “As I was trying to share, this type of lifestyle is something I could ever only imagine. I’m not ungrateful about spending time with them, but at the end of the night I’d go home, sweaty, drunk and gross, and then simply pass out. My bank account might be a couple hundred bucks lighter. Come Monday I’ll be working my ass off just to earn back what I had spent. Then cue the repeating cycle.”

  Resting your chin on your palm, your other hand sweeps your hair back behind your ear.

  “It’s amazing the difference a few life choices can have.”

  Seokjin remains silent beside you. Truthfully, he is at a loss of words. The moonlight plays across your face and caresses your nose down to your lips. You are arching your back once again to pull away the soreness that comes with wearing high heel the entire night. It is just a simple black dress but on you it made you look –

  “Well, you’re Mrs. Kim tonight,” he starts.

  “Charlotte Dior Laurent,” you correct him.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Okay… Ms. Charlotte Dior Laurent. Tonight you get to live like the rich, as you’ve put it. As a rich person, what would you like to do?”

  You ponder his question a few moments for the answer. “Hmm…I think I’d like to play golf. It’s a rich person’s sport. I want to play it on a private golf course, wearing cute golfing outfits and talk about million-dollar deals with a client without a care in the world. I want to order sangria by the gallon.”

  He laughs out loud. It takes a while for him to be able to speak again, but when he does you feel as if the night has been illuminated a few degrees brighter. “I personally don’t have a private golf course, but Junho does here in his backyard if you’re up for it. I can’t promise cute golfing outfits so you’ll have to do with your wine stained dress. And if you’re really up for it I can pretend to make business deals with you, that’s my job anyways.”

  You grin, taking the hand he has offered you. “Call.” The two of you shake upon his suggestion.

As he is leads you by the hand towards the dim gates of said golf course, you tug at him gently. “There’s something missing…” you say.

  He shakes his head and pulls you back in towards the party room. 

“I’ll see what they have at the bar.”

... 

As the hands of the clock continue to spin past another hour, the summer night takes a chilly turn. Seokjin has lent you his jacket but even that cannot stop your fingers from becoming numb. Your hands shake even as they tightly hold the golf club. Seokjin watches you in silence as you prepare to hit the golf ball, a beer in one hand and a few opened bottles littered on the grass beside him. The club hits the ball with a resounding “cling” but does little in propelling it a few centimeters.

  “This one doesn’t count,” you announce, “It’s too dark to see anything here.”

  Seokjin takes a swig as you readjust your position. You sway in the wind and the last tendrils of your hair come undone in its half up half down hairdo. Your hair now whips wildly around your face when another gust blows through.

  “Shit!” you exclaim, missing the ball again. “Why is golfing so hard?!”

  You throw your club down and trudge to Seokjin. The six pack the two of you had been sharing has officially been depleted. Seokjin offers you his half empty bottle. This time, you are the one watching as he goes to your spot and effortlessly swings his target into the darkness.

  He smirks from the spot.

  You grumble. “You’ve had years of practice. Not fair.”

  “You’ve got to do better than that, Mrs. Johnson,” he says, teasing you.

  Your grumble becomes more audible. You place the now empty bottle on the ground and cross your arms against your chest. Since telling him of your other American alias from tonight, he has not ceased to remind you of your strange choice of name.

  “Just so you know, Mrs. Johnson can afford both an affair and the consequential prenup,” you huff.

  “It’s still a stupid last name.”

  “It’s an American multinational corporation with an income in the billions, okay?”

  “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. Now come on, I’ve got one last ball. Take a swing.”

  Groaning, you shuffle over. You wish you had not suggested golf. You had never been good at sports anyways – bad hand-eye coordination.

  He stands beside you this time, scrutinizing your every movement with hawk-like eyes. “No, not like that,” he says, “Have a wider stance and bend your knees. Better centre of gravity gives you a better swing. Also hold it with a neutral grip.”

  You readjust your positioning following his instructions.

  “Index finger down the center. Good. And three knuckles on each hand. No, that’s two. Okay your hands are just weird now. Three. I said three.”

  “Stop standing there and show me then, Mr. Know-It-All,” you say, your patience in this makeshift lesson also coming to an end.

  He walks closer to you, reaching out for the golf club. He retracts his hands in seeing that you have yet to let go. “You got to – ”

“You can touch me. I did tell you that Mrs. Johnson can afford an affair and prenup. Besides, I’m not going to be able to learn anything if I can’t even see you in this dark.”

  He comes behind you and puts a foot between yours to guide your stance. Wrapping his arms around you, he fixes the placement of your hands to grip the shaft of the club in the way he had previously instructed.

  Perhaps it is the mixture of wine, champagne and beer offered tonight, but being enveloped in the warmth of this embrace intoxicates you. The tingles that are sent down from his soft breathing on the base of your neck, make you shake like a leaf in the wind.

He inhales the sweet undertones of your perfume. The tendrils of your hair brush against his collarbone, sending a sensual kiss onto his skin. Unconsciously, he draws you closer to him, shielding you from another gust.

“Now you just want to swing,” he says, the words a mixture of a whisper and guttural grunt. His chest rumbles with it, passing the vibration through to your back.

  You remain as still as a statue and lean ever so slightly back into him until your entire backside is pressed upon him.

  You can’t stop yourself as you ask him, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

...

[saltminerising]

Running An Art Shop With Minimal Crying 101

Hey y’all, not sure what compelled me to write this Now but I wanted to put together a list of helpful ‘good business practice’ tips for artists who want to start selling commissions on FR and want to build up a good reputation and make bank. I’m not sure if I’d feel comfortable throwing this on the forums personally so here you go, y’all have to look at my stupidly long possibly helpful brutally honest post cuz I don’t know where else to put this.

I’ve been doing art on FR since I was a young teenager in 2015 and through that time I’ve definitely learned some lessons the hard way. I’ve taken on more than I could handle, I’ve let commissions rot for months because I got overwhelmed… you know what I mean. Here’s some of what I’ve learned over the years that’s helped me run a consistently successful art shop for well over a year now.

I don’t have a tumblr and I don’t know how to add a ‘read more’ to a submission, so happy scrolling <3 I apologize for causing some people a very minor inconvenience

-Do not take prepayment for either more than three commissions at a time, or more than the number of commissions you think you can finish within a month or two, whichever is smaller. This is especially true if you’re like me and you have ADHD. Trust me, the more commissions people have already paid for you have piled up in your to-do list, even if they’d only take you 20 minutes each, you will get more overwhelmed and discouraged and people will wonder why it’s taking you so long. Even if you aren’t getting concerned PMs, a lot of people are just too anxious or polite to ask for updates. (On the flipside, if you commissioned someone and haven’t gotten any word/updates in a while, you’re not in the wrong to ask how things are going and when you can expect an update.)

-Full payment upfront is something I definitely recommend for smaller pieces (headshots, sketches, etc) you can finish in one sitting. However- if you’re doing a ref sheet, a rendered fullbody, etc, and you’ll be spending multiple sessions on the piece and getting feedback for it multiple times- split it up, take half upfront and half either after the sketch is approved, or before you send them the final unwatermarked version. I’ve done dozens of commissions like this and never had a problem, personally. There’s a low chance of a customer backing out on you if you’ve already started and sent WIPs because, y’know, sunk cost, and on the other hand it is reassuring to customers (especially if your shop is new) that if you drop off the map, they paid $20 upfront and got at least a sketch, instead of paying $40 upfront for an unfinished piece.

-In the same vein: if you’re doing a large piece like a rendered fullbody, ref sheet, etc, more communication is always better than less! I always stay on the safe side here. Some people will tell you they just want you to go apeshit and do whatever you think will look cool, other people might have much more specific ideas of what they want and how closely your artwork needs to match the image of their character in their head. Send them the sketch and ask them if they want any changes. Send them the lineart and ask if it looks good. If you’re working on a time-consuming painting that will take you weeks to finish, please please please, communicate! Send updates! Your customers will feel a lot less anxious about how long you’re taking if you keep them posted (plus this is just a personal thing but I love seeing peoples’ artistic process, it sparks joy!!)

-If, once again, you’re like me and stuff like painted fullbodies take you so much longer than other commission types- the worst thing you can do is underprice. Let’s say a detailed, shaded dragon fullbody takes you, for instance, 8 hours, maybe longer because you get burned out and can’t finish it in just one sitting, but you don’t think people will buy an $80/8kg fullbody. Do not lower the price you think your art is worth. If fullbodies take you really long compared to other art, or you get unmotivated, just… don’t offer painted fullbodies, or scenes with multiple characters, or whatever. If there’s a form of art you’re capable of creating but it’s faster, more fun, and gets you more money to do smaller things, just do more smaller commissions instead of taking the big ones. This one was a lifesaver for me.

-Once again in the same vein: It is okay to say no. Just because you are physically/artistically capable of drawing a detailed scene of multiple dragons with complex apparel, doesn’t mean you won’t get burnt out or bored. For me, larger pieces take exponentially longer because I just get bored and don’t want to work on them anymore. If someone asks if you can draw something that will require so much of your personal time and effort to go into a single piece, just say no. Sometimes I’ll say yes to some big commissions because I think the character is cool and inspiring and I want to draw them; otherwise, I will admit, I’ve said no to big commissions because I personally found the character boring as hell (though I wouldn’t phrase it that way). And that’s ok! 

-If you are going to be really busy in the near future, stop taking commissions. You have finals? Don’t say “sorry if things take forever, I have finals”… just don’t take the commissions while you’re busy. If you have too much on your plate, commissions will just stress you out more, and nobody likes to draw motivated by stress. There’s nothing wrong with temporarily pausing your art shop. Put your mental health first. And if you aren’t able to get commissions done on a regular basis because of mental health, or because you don’t give enough of a shit about other peoples’ characters: don’t do commissions. I don’t mean this in a bad way; I’ve been in that spot before and it’ll just cause more stress and guilt than it’s worth. 

-NO PARAGRAPHS. That sounds hypocritical of me writing this lol but do not put long paragraphs in your art shop, ever. I promise nobody will read it. Put your rules, and any other information, in bullet points that are one or two lines. Keep your rules clear, simple, unambiguous and short, or everyone will ignore it and I won’t blame them. Put titles and subtitles wherever you can. If you have a block of text longer than probably five lines, it will be ignored by most people. I have decided not to buy art from people because I didn’t want to have to dig through blocks of text for information.

….so yeah I think that’s about all I can think of at the moment. time to sit back and get yelled at for not being able to shut the fuck up and get to the point lol, hope you (yes you) have a great day c:

[euphoricsunflowers]

coup d’état — son hyunwoo/shownu

a/n: i might make this a series! depending on if you guys are vibing with it so p l e a s e give me feedback if you’d like more royalty!reader fics.

word count: 1.9k

content: power bottom!fem!reader, service top!shownu, slight degradation, i guess slight edging as well, ✨Neck Kisses✨, we really go from soft to mean like so quickly it’s wack.

summary: him lying atop your silk blankets and propped up on a few pillows with cum covering his tanned stomach is an absolutely euphoric sight. you can leave taking control of the kingdom for the morning if it means gazing at him like this a bit longer.

(GIF by @focusongyeom)

“princess?” he murmurs softly, pulling your attention away from your book. not that you were too focused on it, because that book was boring as hell, but your father demanded you take up reading as a hobby. and nobody could disobey the king, not even his precious daughter.

“yes, hyunwoo? what is it?” you ask. he eyes your slightly messy bedroom, making a mental note to clean it up at some point before he’s reprimanded for not doing his job right. as your personal servant, he really had to do everything for you. not that he minded, because the king paid him quite better than before when he was just another kitchen servant.

“princess, i do apologize for interrupting your personal time, please forgive me,” he bows. you don’t seem to even want his apology, but he gives it anyway, “i am here because your brother’s coronation is tomorrow evening, and your father conveyed me… you plan to not attend?”

“ah, so that is what this is about,” you mumble disappointedly. hyunwoo didn’t want to make you upset, “please, hyunwoo, if you are going to attempt to persuade me, do not waste your time. i will not be attending, and that is final.”

“i… that is what i thought you’d say. i am not going to attempt to convince you to do anything,” he says, fidgeting from the nerves. you being at all upset at him is the last thing he wants, “i am only… curious. what is the reason for your decision?”

“my brother gets everything, hyunwoo,” you mutter sharply, “he becomes king tomorrow night. why? how is he more fit to rule than i am? because he is a boy? i do not wish to sit through a ceremony congratulating my brother on being born with a penis.”

your crude language makes him chuckle. you must be spending more time with the commoners to be left to humor like that, but he doesn’t mind. not that it’d matter if he did, but he didn’t, “do you wish to rule instead? to be queen?”

“i… i do not know. i do know that my brother is not qualified for the job and, though i suppose he’d be an improvement over my father, he’s only going to drag this kingdom down further,” you say before making a face that hyunwoo can’t use to discern what you’re thinking, “my father is not exactly… popular… among commoners such as yourself, correct? do you wish to see my brother take his place?”

“unpopular is an understatement, my princess,” hyunwoo knows that you’re incredibly under informed about what your father has done to the people of the kingdom on purpose, because you were always outspoken and sharp with your words. you would have caused an uprising with the people if you spoke up, being as popular (compared to the rest of your family) as you are. you were so unaware of how easily you could sway public opinion and possible start a coup and take over yourself, “i believe you’d make a fine queen.”

“i will, but just… not one that can do anything,” you mumble, “do you know of prince minhyuk lee?” hyunwoo shakes his head, “he is the second oldest prince of the kingdom north of us. i am supposed to be married to him as soon as possible, and should his older brother die, we would be the next king and queen of his kingdom.”

“is… that the life you want?” hyunwoo asks, motioning for you to come closer, and you do. you stand right in front of him, and breathe out a heavy, heavy sigh.

“no,” leaves your lips, and once it does, the rest just comes rushing out, “prince lee is… fine. i have nothing against him, but i just… this is my kingdom. i will not just be used as an appeasement for the prince and his kingdom.”

“forgive me if this is too informal, but you seem awfully determined,” he laughs awkwardly, trying to calm the tension in the silence, but it doesn’t work, “princess? are you alright?”

you finally meet his eyes, before asking, “will you… it came down to it, would you be on my side or my father’s?”

“your’s. that does not really say much, considering my… extreme negative feelings towards the king...,” he whispers, worried someone else might overhear, but it’s just you two. it’s as if you’re the only two in the whole world right now, “but i live to serve you, my princess. that means trusting you and standing by you through any choices you make. and if… overthrowing the king is really what you want… then make it happen. i will always follow you.”

“could i— could we really do that? just the two of us?” you seem so hopeful, your eyes twinkling with that kind of determination that he can’t help but try to harness.

“my princess, there is a lot you don’t know, especially about your kingdom… and about your father,” hyunwoo mumbles, “and i do believe that the people would support you.”

“would this mean… killing my family?”

“i suppose it is not completely necessary, but that is a feasible outcome,” hyunwoo doesn’t attempt to hide the fact he could not care less for your family, especially your father. sure, your brother was going to officially be king tomorrow, but hyunwoo had no reason to believe that he’d do anything to fix this kingdom, “i will be beside you the whole time, princess. my loyalty is unwavering, and i will do anything you ask of me. if you are serious about seizing the throne, then all i ask is to not abandon the people who help you once you finally get the power.”

“i promise, hyunwoo, i will not be like my father. i want my people to be treated well. they don’t deserve the hell he’s put them through,” you reach out to hold his hand, and he hesitates. he’s always been able to hide his feelings, disguising them as devotion and loyalty to the royal family’s princess, but that’s all a lie. he’s love you for years. you were the only one who was kind to him when he first met you.

he was maybe 16 when he started working in the royal palace, doing some janitorial work probably. he distinctly remembers when you had met him. he was a bit less restrained and polished back then, but you didn’t seem annoyed. you just smiled to at him, offering him your hand to help him up when he fell. he’s known you for so many years, there’s not a single person on earth who wouldn’t fall for you given the circumstances, it just happened to be him.

“then you have me. as long as you live, you will have me,” he whispers, his hand taking hold of yours. you squeeze his hand a bit, closing your eyes.

“could… could you do something for me?” you ask, and he nods instantly, without a second thought.

“of course, my princess, what is it?”

“i know we kind of just… discussed overthrowning the monarchy and all. i know that is so much more important than what i am about to ask of you, but for one night, would you pretend i wasn’t a princess?” you ask, and he recoils slightly.

“what… do you mean?”

“instead of being the princess, i would like, instead, to be something else tonight,” you whisper to him, but he still doesn’t get it, so you resort to your last ditch effort. you lean in to kiss him on the lips. it’s soft, but faint, and god his lips feel perfect, “treat me like your lover tonight. leave the coup d’etat for the morning.”

“princess—?”

“call me y/n. i do not want to hear you call me princess until dawn, my pretty boy, understand?” you ask, and he nods. he doesn’t really understand. he doesn’t understand a lot about what’s going on right now, or why you’re all up on him, or why he assumed you wouldn’t be this… dominant. your lips on his neck was the last thing he expected to come of this moment, and he moans embarrassingly high when you bite down just a bit, “oh fuck, that was hot. i didn’t take you for a sub, hyunwoo.”

“i-i’ll be whatever you want, prin— y/n,” he stutters cutely and blushing endearingly.

“but, you know, the fact that you are not inside me right now is honestly a national tragedy,” and that’s all the motivation he needs. he’s on top of you in seconds, this time the one kissing your neck, but he doesn’t seem to have the same effect on you that you have on him. he felt weak in your hold, melting from just the pure intensity in your kisses, but you only smirk— he can barely see it but he knows you are— and it irks him, “c’mon, hyunwoo, i’m getting bored, hurry up.”

your nightgown is easily ripped off, mostly because he’s incredibly muscular under that suit he has to wear. he undresses rather quickly as well, before getting back on top of you.

“you are breathtaking, my lover,” he smiles cheekily, pressing a kiss to your stomach before bringing two fingers to his lips, coating them in saliva, and getting to work. he presses them into you gently, and the sounds you make have him hypnotized.

“did i not just tell you to hurry up? or are you that dumb?” you groan, but the insult only makes him whine softly, and his whole body reacts, “huh, do you like being degraded? my stupid little servant.”

and, to be honest, hyunwoo was not little or small in the slightest. he was above average height and he was somewhat muscular, if a bit thin, but something about the way you say it makes him crumble to pieces, “your stupid little servant,” he echos.

“i doubt there is a thought in that head of yours,” you smile patronizingly, “you just do as you’re told, hm?”

“y-yes! i’ll do whatever you want me to!”

“then fuck me, hyunwoo, i do not have all night,” you mutter, wrapping a hand around his neck. he pulls his fingers out, spits as much as he can into the palm of his hand, and coats himself in it so there’s at least some lubricant, and then he just goes for it, mindlessly thrusting in and out slowly, before going faster, “c’mon, be useful and make me cum.” you whisper, a bit harshly, but it only makes him go harder, bringing his hand down to massage your clit as well.

once you do cum, he’s already so close. he wants to ask, because he feels like he should, but god he really can’t right now. as you come down, he can feel it almost breaking, but you stop him, and he cries out pathetically. he sounds like an animal that’s been wounded.

“does my dumb little baby want to cum?” you ask, but you know the answer. of course he nods desperately, and you smirk, “then pull out and jerk yourself off. i want to see the cum on your stomach, maybe i’ll even take a picture.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiest @rosethefae @staranonthoughts @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @mellowriting

[carrotmakar]

Bad Reputation

Pairing: Frat!Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 11,573

Summary: You meet Tom at the coffee shop that you work at, and you never think you’ll see him again, but the world seems to be on your side.

Warning(s): mentions of sex, I think the word hell is used (i don’t think there are any other bad words), some self doubt by the reader, frat!tom (yes, that’s a warning hehe), mentions of tom being a boxer oops, it wasn’t edited (my wife was gonna help me edit it bUT i started overthinking and decided to just post it :))

A/N: This is officially the longest one shot I have ever written. This is for @t-holland2080 ‘s summer writing challenge. I never thought I was going to get it done, there was a lot of writing and deleting and questioning, but here we are! I hope everyone enjoys, and as always, feedback is highly appreciated!!

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*

You were stressed, to say the least. Today had been a busy day and it was only getting worse. Working at the coffee shop on campus had its perks, sure. Like having some extra cash and getting free coffee. But it also had its downsides. It was always busy. Some days, like today, even more so. A lot of the students were absolute jerks and couldn’t bother to wait more than thirty seconds to get their drink when it obviously took longer than that to make, and every one of them always had something snarky to say or a loot to throw you to let you know just how ridiculous it was that you couldn’t snap your fingers and the drink be done.

To say you were having a bad day was an understatement. You had opened the store, today being one of the only days when you had no classes, so you could work for longer, which meant that you had gotten up at five this morning so that you could get ready and be at the shop by six. Every person that you had greeted seemed to be in a hurry, hurtling snide comments at you over and over. It seemed to be the busiest day of the week, even though it was nowhere close to the weekend.

And to top it off, another customer just walked in. Thankfully, he took his time walking up to the register, spent a little while gazing at the sweets arranged in cases around the room. When he finally did make his way to you, he flashed you a bright smile. 

“What can I get you today?” You ask, going through the motions.

“Hmm, can I just get a regular coffee, love?” He’s still got that heart stopping smile on his face, and you can’t help but give him a real smile back.

“Sure, will that be all for today?” You ask, wanting to put the order through so that it will get done faster, just in case he is in a rush. It’s just a black coffee, so all you have to do is pour it into a cup, but you’ve had multiple impatient people get upset over it taking you “too long” to pour it.

He wants to say no, wants to say that he wants your number too. He thinks you’re beautiful, and he secretly really wants to tell you that. He wants to let you know that he saw you through the shop window and that he only came in here because of you. He wants to tell you that he secretly hates black coffee but it’s the cheapest option and he had to buy something to talk to you. 

But he says none of those things, doesn’t want to come off strong. He’s never seen you before, after all. He doesn’t know who you are, if you’re the kind of girl that would want to even give him the time of the day. If you’re the kind of girl that gave any boy the time of day.

So he settles for saying, “Yeah, that’ll be all,” he looks at your name tag, “y/n.”

You tell him the price and go to pour his coffee as he swipes his card. Once you’re done, you struggle to put a lid on it; trying, and failing, to not get coffee onto your hands.

You quickly wipe the slight spill off of the cup, not wanting him to get anything on his hands, and then hand him the cup, thanking him and wishing him a nice day.

Once he leaves the store, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. He was cute, really cute actually. And he looked like a nice enough guy. You don’t know how you’d never seen him around before, knowing that there’s no way you had, you’d remember a face like that.

*

Apparently, you wouldn’t remember a face like that. Not until he ordered coffee from you, anyway.

You went to your English class the next day, hoping that the lecture wouldn’t make you want to rip your hair out. When you sit down in your normal seat, a place near the middle, but a little closer to the back, you see him.

You can’t believe you had never noticed him. You had noticed every other person that he was sitting with. They were all the guys that came into class late every Friday morning because they were too hungover to get to class on time. They were the frat boys.

Did that mean…? No, it couldn’t. He didn’t look like the rest of the frat boys.

But he fit right in, really. He was perfectly in place in their group. Honestly, it looked like they all watched what he was doing, following whatever he did, almost as soon as he did it. It was like they were waiting for his instruction. You had heard the rumors, they only did that with the head of the fraternity, Tom Holland.

But no, that would mean that he was Tom Holland. 

Even though you heard continuous rumors about the way that he partied, got blackout drunk, slept with random girls, and then never called them again, you had never once seen the infamous face of Tom Holland.

And nobody questioned it when you told them. You weren’t the kind of girl that would know who he is. You’re not the kind of girl that goes to parties every chance they get and hooks up with the first guy that you can get your hands on.

If your assumptions were correct, however, he had been right under your nose this whole time, you had just never paid attention to him.

*

He had been looking for you, had been trying to find your face in the sea of others the entire day. He had absolutely no luck doing so, though, seeing as apparently, you were nowhere to be found.

He even tried to ask about you, but according to everyone that he knows, you don’t exist. And if you do, you don’t go to school with him. But he’s determined. He will see your stunning face again, experience your heart warming smile one more time, at least.

For the time being, however, he’s trying to push the thought out of his mind, knowing full well that he has to focus on whatever his English professor is going to drone on and on about today. 

Once he had turned in slightly in his seat to see where Harrison was, though, there was absolutely no chance that he would be paying attention to anything but you.

You were right there, you had been right under his nose this whole time and he had spent so much time trying to actively ignore everything to do with English that he completely overlooked you, the prettiest girl that he had ever seen. 

Your eyes were downcast, looking at the notebook that you had brought to class. Yeah, you seemed like the type of girl that would rather hand write notes than type them. 

Your cheeks and your ears were tinged pink and he couldn’t help but wonder what made you blush, but then you looked up and met his gaze, and every thought left his mind. He could do nothing but stare back at you like a fool until Harrison finally walked in, sitting down beside him and nudging him with his elbow.

“Who’re you looking at, mate?” The blonde asked.

“Nobody.” Tom quickly replied, not wanting to have to listen to his best friend nag him about being enamored about a girl that he had only talked to once. And it wasn’t even a real conversation, he just ordered coffee from you, there was no flirting, there was no getting to know each other. The only things that either of you had learned was that he ordered just black coffee when he drank it and that you worked at the campus coffee shop.

You tried to sit through the rest of class as if you hadn’t just, maybe, held full eye contact for like a whole minute with the head of the biggest frat on campus. But really, he’s all you could think about. You were usually pretty good at not getting distracted during class, at not having to worry about whether or not you missed something because you were lost in your own head. But today, you probably zoned out and missed over half the lesson.

This was crazy, right? No person should be this intrigued by a person that they’ve only talked to once and seen only twice, should they? 

If it was crazy, though, you were completely embracing it. There was something about this boy, something about Tom, that was messing with your mind. You weren’t the kind of person to believe in soulmates, but you did believe that the universe brought people together. You believed that there was a reason for everything. Which means that there had to be a reason for Tom to have walked into the coffee shop that you worked in, on the day that you needed a little brightness the most. There had to be a reason that he was in your class, that your paths had crossed yet again.

*

He never paid attention to the things happening around him while he was in class. He had never before paid the slightest bit of attention to the people that would filter in through the doors. But ever since he saw you in his English course, he started paying attention. And he realized that he had two other classes with you, his history course and his biology course.

He saw you every time that you had class with him, but he never had the guts to walk up and just talk to you. He had never had that problem before, usually going up to any girl he thought was attractive and sweet talking her into the palm of his hand in a matter of minutes.

Something about you was different, though. There was something about you that made him almost scared to just walk up to you. The fear of rejection when thinking about you was high, and that wasn’t something that he had felt in a long time. 

It was almost like he felt that you were too good for him. He felt like you were too innocent, too pure to be bothered by him. 

He was the resident fuckboy on campus, and there was no way that someone like you, someone that he had never seen at a party, or at any other social event, would want to be around him. 

There’s no way that he’s anywhere near good enough for you. He thought that if he walked up to you and asked you anything, you’d scoff in his face and then walk away. 

So, he doesn’t go up to you. He doesn’t talk to you. Doesn’t ask about your day, about your favorite subjects, about what your dreams are. And he sure as hell doesn’t ask you what he really wants to, for you to go on a date with him.

*

It had been a few weeks since you had seen him last, always making sure to get to class super early so you could sit closer to the front, not wanting to be too distracted in the classes that you had with him.

You have to admit, though, that you had spent many hours in your dorm room, debating on whether or not you should go out to one of the frat parties that you knew Tom would be at. Ultimately, you decided against it, knowing that you’d just make a fool out of yourself, showing up to a party in which you weren’t invited to see a boy that probably hasn’t thought about you since you gave him his receipt.

You had all but given up on him, realizing that the chances of ever even talking to him again was slim to none, and hoping for anything more than that was absolutely ludicrous.

So, pushing him to the back of your mind, you walked from your dorm to the library. For the first time in what felt like years, you didn’t search the faces that you passed by, you didn’t hope that one of them would be him, and you didn’t feel disappointed to not run into him.

You made it to the library just in time to say goodbye to your favorite librarian, Joan, before she left for the day. She wished you a good evening and then went on her way, shooting you a warm smile as you entered the rows of books that could all be used for reference on the essay that your English professor had assigned.

He hates essays. He really, truly does. He would rather do literally any other type of assignment than an essay. But here he was, walking into the library to search through numerous research articles just to find a sentence or two that he could use for his 5 page, minimum, essay that was due in less than a week.

He trudges over to the shelves, knowing which books that he needs to grab, but not really looking forward to doing so.

Right before he gets to the aisle he's about to wander down, he sees you. The girl that he’s been paying more than enough attention to since the day he walked into the coffee shop that he had never been to before. The girl he had been too scared to go up to and just simply talk to.

Until now. 

He finally had a reason to go up and talk to you. He hated essays. He was complete trash at them. He always failed them no matter how hard he tried.

But you didn’t. You always did great on your essays. He knew you did, not because he was paying a weird amount of attention to you, it’s just that after he realized who you were, he started remembering some of the times that you had been there, but he just didn’t notice you. Some of these times were when every single time the professor would pass back essays, he would ask for yours back for ‘example pieces.’

So he cautiously made his way to you, walking slow to see if anyone was with you that would pop up. Thankfully, nobody did, so he walked the last couple steps to the table you had chosen as your study area and put his hands on the back of the chair opposite of you.

You look up and a wrinkle automatically comes between your brows, one that he can’t help but want to smooth with his fingertips. 

“Can I help you?” You ask after he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just standing there.

“Um, yeah. I- you have Professor Stephens for English, right?” He tries to keep his eyes locked on you, but he can’t, can’t help but let his eyes wander over your features. The way that your eyebrows are furrowed and your forehead continues to be pinched, still confused as to why he’s here. The way that your cheeks seem to be a natural rosy pink. The way that your lips look so effortlessly full. 

“Yeah, why?” He’s beginning to think that this was a bad idea. He had been right when he first thought it, there’s no way that someone like you could even want to be around someone like him. But it was too late to back out now, so he continued the plan that he had conjured up with the two brain cells that he had left.

“So, um, feel free to say no, of course. No pressure or anything.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Just, you see, the thing is, I’m awful at essays. I try my best and still fail, and every time we do one, the Professor always keeps yours for examples when he does them next year. So, basically, I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna help me write mine?” 

You look taken aback for a moment before agreeing, nodding your head and telling him which dorm was yours.

“Um, do you maybe want me to give you my number so that you can text when you’re available?” You ask him, and he tries his best to not let his face light up too much, but he definitely feels his stomach flip at the thought, even though you’re not even doing anything but trying to make study plans with him.

He says a quick thank you and a goodbye before promising to text you the next day as soon as he was done with his frat duties.

Why you had agreed at all, let alone so easily, was a mystery to you. What could he possibly want out of this? Yeah, he seemed like he worked a lot harder and paid a lot more attention than the majority of the other frat boys, but he was still one nonetheless, which means that he had to be up to no good.

Did he want you to just write your paper for him? Was that why he was asking?

A small part of you wants to believe that maybe he asked you because he had been feeling the same way that you have been. But that’s crazy. He’s the most wanted frat boy on campus, there’s no way that he’d want anything to do with you.

He was just trying to get his paper done. Whether he was trying to get you to do it or if he just wanted help like he said, you weren’t completely sure yet. But you knew one thing, you had to clean your dorm before he came over.

You rushed back to your place, throwing things where they belonged and hanging up the clothes that you had neglected for days. 

You’re not entirely sure why you’re freaking out so much, trying to get your dorm as close to spotless as possible. It wasn’t like you needed to impress him. You were a uni student. You weren’t expected to be perfect, to be spotless. Yet, you still felt the need to make sure everything was perfect for him.

And that’s when you remember the cute little cafe that you had been dying to go to. Every review said that it was perfect for studying, and that the food there was amazing. 

So, when Tom texted you that evening to make sure that you had his number, you responded telling him that when he was finished the next day to shoot you a text and then meet you at the cafe.

You’re relieved when he agrees, that place being a lot less personal, a lot less intimate than your dorm room, making you feel much more comfortable.

*

The next day, he texts you around noon, telling you that he’ll be able to meet at two at the cafe that you had suggested. 

He’s more excited than he should be, especially since this is just a meeting for you to help him with the most atrocious thing that English professors can assign. But he can’t help it, it’s you. He gets excited every single time that you glance in his direction.

He rushed back to the frat house, taking a thorough shower and picking out a nice button down and a pair of dark jeans. The outfit was nice, he dressed to impress, but not like he was going to a formal dinner or anything.

This was just a study session. Nothing more.

The thought wasn’t getting his emotions in check like it should. Hell, he shouldn’t even have any emotions going into it. He had talked to you a grand total of two times. He shouldn’t feel like he had been pining over you for an absurd amount of time when he had known of your existence for approximately a month.

He shouldn’t feel like he had been pining over you at all. He was Tom Holland, for goodness sake. He wasn’t the guy that caught feelings. Everyone knew that. 

But there was something about you, something about the way that you smiled at him, that made him want to be better. Something that made him want to throw away his reputation and start fresh, to not be seen as the boy with a new conquest every day, to be seen as the boy that’s looking for a girl to fall in love with.

Could that girl be you? He has no clue, but there’s something about you that’s begging him to find out.

So, he makes his way to the cafe, taking enough time to not seem too eager but still getting there almost fifteen minutes early.

You were already there as well, though. You had been just as anxious, if not a little more. You had spent hours getting ready, making sure that you were perfectly put together, not a hair out of place. You also spent at least an hour getting your supplies together and then checking, and rechecking everything to make sure that you wouldn’t forget a single thing.

You had arrived at the cafe half an hour early, wanting to make sure that you were there and everything was in order before he arrived. You had half expected him to be late, leaving you more time to calm your nerves. Your expectations were proven wrong, however, when he walked up to the booth you were sat at nearly a quarter to the hour.

“Hey.” He greets, sitting down a notebook, a few writing utensils, and his laptop. “Thanks again for agreeing to help me.”

“Hey! It’s no problem.” You assure, not wanting him to think that this is a burden for you when you’d rather sit around with him and work on an essay than sit at your dorm all alone, especially since you had been so caught up in him as of late.

“So, um, where do you want to start?” And so began the study session that the two of you had been looking forward to. You got so lost in the material, explaining to him what certain aspects of the essay should pertain, letting him write a paragraph or two and then tweaking them slightly, allowing him to do the same, that you didn’t even realize that the diner was about to close until the waitress came to inform the two of you.

He looked just as surprised as you felt to see that the two of you had been there for almost eight hours. 

You both said a quick goodbye and set a time to meet again to continue with the studying, the time conveniently being in a few days, giving you enough time to get most of your essay done so that you could focus on him more.

After he said his final farewell, he made his way down the street, heading back towards the frat house. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way that your smile has been permanently etched into his brain. How your laugh is the most precious thing that he’s ever heard, and he’ll continue to do everything in his power to keep you laughing as often as possible. 

You’re not in a much better headspace, thinking constantly about the way that his smirk is overly annoying, but also so hot that you want to kiss it off of his face. How his nose is slightly crooked, but in a way that accentuates his features in the best way. 

You had asked if he had broken it before, not being able to help your curiosity. This had left to him laughing, throwing his head back, and telling you that he’s had more broken noses than he could count. He’d been boxing for most of his life, and that’s just the kind of thing that happens, knuckles get bruised, noses get broken.

Something about that had made you swoon even more. The thought of him boxing got your heart racing. You had no clue why, you’d never been a fan of any form of violence, but something about picturing him in a boxing ring had your stomach tying in knots and your face heating up.

You fell into bed that night with a smile on your face, feeling more excited than you should have to see him again.

He laid awake in his bed, across campus from you, thinking of the same things. When he’d see you again, if your conversation would venture more towards each others’ personal lives instead of strictly on the material. 

It’s safe to say that neither one of you got that much sleep that night.

*

The two of you decided to meet at your dorm room this time, seeing as how you had spent hours studying the time before and weren’t even done when the diner closed. This way, he could stay and study as long as necessary. 

He was pacing around his room, three hours before he even had to leave for your dorm, trying to find out what in the world he should wear. He thought about asking one of his frat brothers, seeing as the majority of them had a pretty good taste in clothes, but he knew that they’d all take a dig at him if he had to explain why he was so worried about his outfit choice. 

He wasn’t embarrassed of you, not in the slightest, he just didn’t want to make a big deal out of something that wasn’t even a thing yet. If you ever did agree to actually go out with him, though, he would take all the jokes and the comments from his frat brothers that he had to. He’d be too happy to care what they had to say, even if you only agreed to one date and then never wanted to see him again.

He ended up settling for a pair of black jeans and a hoodie, wanting to be comfortable for the long study session, but not wanting to look like a bum. You had also mentioned to him that your building tended to be a lot more chilly than others around campus, and advised him to either wear a sweatshirt over or to bring one with him.

Although he’d never admit it to you, there was a part of him that was already trying to figure out a way to get you to come to the frat house for the next study session. It was abnormally cool in the house as well, but he wasn’t planning on telling you that. If you didn’t bring one on your own sweatshirt, he would give you his. 

Because, no matter what all the boys thought of him, or what he let his reputation get to, he was the kind of guy that yearned for the domestic things in life. For waking up next to the girl he wants to spend the rest of his life with. For waking her up with kisses and then making her breakfast. For her to be wearing his clothes and for him to be able to come up to her and randomly love on her.

He had never had the chance to be like that with someone. He had come to college, joined a frat, and thought that he had to be the guy that had a new conquest every night. And he had been completely fine with it, content even. Until he met you. And something about the way that you made him feel in the brief time that he was around you in the coffee shop made him realize everything that he was missing.

He was missing you. 

And you were all he could think about anymore, because he wanted his life to be complete, and he knew that with you, it would be.

How you could be this intrigued by someone after literally interacting three times is unknown to you, but you had to admit to yourself that you are. You’re so intrigued by him that you find yourself thinking about how it would feel to fall asleep next to him, or how it would be to walk into the kitchen in the morning to find him fixing something and just wrap your arms around him without a care in the world.

You shake the thought from your head, realizing that there’s no way it could ever be a reality, so why fantasize about it?

What you focus on instead is the study session the two of you have in just a few hours. You had cleaned your room before the first session the other day, but you had been deep cleaning since last night, trying to make sure that everything looked decent and presentable. You didn’t want him to think that you were a slob.

You were glad that you had remembered to remind him to wear or bring something warm, seeing as today was one of the cooler ones in the building. The thermostat that you kept in your room reading a chilly 64 degrees (17 degrees Celsius). Why it was so cold in your building, leading you to dress warmly, only to go to a lecture where the room felt like you were sitting on the sun, you would never know, but you never complained or requested a dorm change because you genuinely loved the one that you were in, regardless of the temperature.

With a quick glance at the clock on your bedside table, you decide to get dressed. You put on a hoodie and a pair of leggings. You decided to just put your hair up in a bun. It was just Tom, after all. This was just a study session. Nothing more. There was no need to get all dressed up. It’s not like this was a date. You were just helping him with his English essay. Within the next week, this whole thing would be over and you’d probably never see him again besides in class, much less have an actual conversation with him.

*

“Hey,” you mumble as you open the door for him. You’re still slightly nervous about what he could be thinking. 

Will he think your room is a mess? You had cleaned the entire place, going over everything at least three times, but the thought still crosses your mind.

Will he think that the amount of books you have in the oak bookshelf to the left of your bed is weird? Would he think you were too nerdy? Who were you kidding, he probably already thought you were a nerd, he had noticed how the professor asked to keep your papers. At best, he had to think you were the teacher’s pet or something. That’s probably why he even asked you to help him. He probably figured that you would put in a good word for him, that you would let Professor Stephens know that you had helped.

“Hey.” He replies, sounding almost as nervous as you felt. Could he possibly be? Why would he even be nervous? The only thing that you could think of that he could even be slightly nervous about is the impression that he makes on you, if you were impressed or not. He had no need to feel like that, though.

You wanted to tell him that, but you couldn’t. There was no way in the world that you could possibly just come out and say it, let him know that he looked great.

“So, where are we starting today?” You ask, trying to steer your mind back on the right path.

“Um, I was actually maybe thinking that we could just read over what we had worked on since last time, if that’s okay? And then give each other notes that we have if there are any?” You look over at him and see that his hands are slightly tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, giving him cute little sweater paws.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You pull your eyes from his hands, walking over and plopping down on your bed, looking over at him expectantly.

He seems a lot more nervous than you had initially anticipated. He seems almost as if he’s scared to come sit next to you. There’s something about that thought that makes him seem even more endearing than he already was.

“You can come sit, you know?” You say, smiling at him to let him know that it was alright.

He gives a nervous chuckle that sounds more like a cough and you can’t help but to laugh along. There’s something about hearing his laugh that makes your chest feel a sudden rush of warmth.

He slowly makes his way closer to the bed, still approaching with caution and you can’t help the smile that’s glued to your face.

“So, what’s your story, Holland?” You blurt, not thinking about what in the world you were doing. You didn’t even stop to ponder the possibility that he wouldn’t want to talk to you about his life. There was still the completely possible idea that he actually only wanted to be around you to study. Although, you can’t help but have an itch in the back of your mind that keeps telling you that isn’t the only reason that he’s here.

“What do you wanna know?” He takes you by surprise with that, with the fact that he seems to be willing to tell you any and everything.

“Anything.” you breathe, watching him settle into your bed. You had situated yourself to where you were sitting against the headboard, and he shuffles to lay on his stomach, opening his laptop beside you.

“Well, um, where do I start, I guess is the question.” He looks over at you and you just give a shrug, so he continues. “I could just start at the beginning. I’m Tom, as you know.” He chuckles, running a hand through his chocolate locks, and you can’t help but follow the path that his hand takes through the tendrils of hair, over his neck, and back to the bed. “I have three brothers, all younger. Sam and Harry are twins. Sam’s really into the whole culinary thing, and Harry’s a photographer. They’re really good at what they do.” You can tell by the way that he talks about them that he's really proud of them. “Paddy’s the youngest, still can’t believe how big he is every time I see him. It seems like only yesterday he was a little baby that I could carry around everywhere.” The look on his face seems as if he’s guilty for leaving his brothers when he went to college, and you immediately want to assure him that it’s okay, but you don’t feel like it’s the right time.

“I’ve got a dog named Tessa, she seems to miss me a lot, gets really lovey and excited whenever I go back home for the holidays.” The smile that breaks out on his face makes your heart swell. “Mum and dad are still together, raised me right, taught me how to treat people and how to make the right choices. If we’re honest, I don’t think that they’d be too proud of who I’ve become.” he meets your eyes and gives you a sad smile, and you want to lean over him and envelop him in a warm embrace, but you don’t think that would be the best move.

“What do you mean, why wouldn’t they? You seem like a pretty good guy, Tom.” You’re not lying, you think he’s a great person. You see no reason why they wouldn’t be proud of him.

He chuckles, looking up at you and wondering if what he’s about to say next is the best thing to do, but he decides that he might as well. “I am a pretty good guy, when I’m around you. But when I came here and joined the frat that I did, I thought that I had to be a certain person.” He looks away from you, not wanting to have to see the way you’re going to react to how he really is. “And, for a while, I really liked who I was, you know? I thought that was who I was supposed to be, and it kind of felt right. The whole partying every weekend and taking a different girl home each time I went out thing was fun for a while. And then something changed. Something in my life shifted and I figured out that it wasn’t really that fun. That there were other things that I could do. I don’t want the reputation that I have.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair again, still refusing to meet your eyes. “I’m surprised that you haven’t heard about it. You’d probably run for the hills if you did.”

You chuckle, and his eyes immediately shoot to meet yours. “I know about your reputation Tom. I have since before I even agreed to help you.”

“Then why would you agree? You had to have known the kind of person that I was. There had to have been at least one person that warned you away from me.” He genuinely can’t believe that you knew about his reputation, about all the things that everyone said about him, both true and false, and still decided to be around him.

“Yeah, there were quite a few that warned me about you, but I don’t listen to what people tell me to do. And I definitely don’t listen to what people have to say about others. I like to find out for myself, which is exactly what I did, and I’m glad that I chose to do what I did. If I had listened to them, I wouldn’t have found out how great of a person that you are.”  Without putting any thought into it, you reach down and run your fingers over his palm, letting him know that you’re there, that you know who he really is and that you don’t think what everyone else does.

He looks up at you, looking a bit startled, and confused, but he makes no move to pull away, just relaxes even further into the bed as you continue to trace random patterns into his hand.

“Hey, this may sound weird, but I haven’t been sleeping well lately, too nervous for my brain to shut down, so do you mind if we maybe, um, take a nap? Or maybe just me? I don’t know, I could lay on the floor or something, I just feel really calm right now.” A blush rises to his cheeks and you can’t help but agree, grabbing your stuff and placing it on the floor beside your bed.

“You can stay up here, Tom.” You murmur, not wanting him to be too far.

He nods an agreement, helping you shuffle under the covers before doing the same. You hear him sigh in content behind you and the smile that spreads across your face stays there as you drift off into the most peaceful sleep that you’ve had since Tom walked into the coffee shop.

*

Weeks passed, and you were still keeping up with the study session, you finding it a lot easier to get things done when Tom was around, and him still needing the occasional push in the right direction on certain assignments. You had both found that it was just simpler to stay study buddies than try to get through it on your own.

You had become a lot closer with Tom, the weeks spent together really letting you get to know one another quite thoroughly.

And, if you’re being honest with yourself, which you hadn’t loved doing lately, you had developed quite the crush on Tom. You suddenly saw what everyone would ramble about when talking about him.

He was sweet, caring, funny, and a lot smarter than he gave himself credit for. When you had told your select few friends about him, they had immediately warned you away from him, told you that he didn’t really need a study partner, he just wanted to get in your pants.

All those speculations had gone away, however, after you explained to them that you had gone the initial week without him trying to make a move whatsoever. At first, they had been surprised, but then you just ended up getting the occasional offhand comment about how it wasn’t all that hard to believe. “I mean, look at him and then look at you.” was one that was used quite a bit. And you hated to admit it, but it really got to you. So much so that you had decided not to make the first move yourself. 

You had grown up being told that women could do anything that men could do, that it was okay to make the first move no matter what the situation was. But there was something about your so-called friends that made you question that in an instant.

Maybe they were right. They did seem to have all the ‘evidence’ that they needed. How could he possibly have the reputation that he had and not have made a move yet? The only plausible explanation was that he simply found you unattractive.

But then your brain would drift back to the conversation that you had shared a few weeks prior. He didn’t want to have that reputation anymore, didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be the guy that he was before starting college, before joining the fraternity that made him into a completely different person. He didn’t want to be the womanizer with a brand new girl in his bed every night.

Those thoughts set the peace back in your mind. Maybe he really was different. He certainly was around you, he had been since the very beginning.

You had made him want to be different, want to change and be known as the guy that wants to fall in love, not as the guy who wants to sleep with as many girls as possible. You changed it all for him and he couldn’t help but realize that he may be falling for you. 

He had been completely enamored by everything about you since the moment that he had first laid eyes on you, and in the short time that the two of you had been hanging out, he had come to grow extremely fond of your personality. Of the way that you saw the good in everything and made him feel as if he wasn’t the crappy person that everyone assumed he still was. Of the way that you made every room brighter, no matter what.

He hadn’t felt as strongly as he did for you in as long as he could remember, and usually feelings would scare him, but there was a certain aspect of the way that you made him feel that took all the fear away, made him feel completely secure in admitting that he had feelings for you.

Not that he could ever admit them to you. No, he was nowhere near fearless enough to come out and let you know how he felt. There was no way that you could possibly like him back. There’s no way that you could have just ignored every bad thing that he had opened up and told you about. There was no way that anyone could love him despite all of that, let alone you.

You were sitting in his room at the frat house, typing away at a project that had been assigned for English, when he looks up at you. He studies your features for a moment, how perfect they all look. How the crease you get between your brows when you’re trying to concentrate makes you somehow even more beautiful than you already are. How the way your tongue sticks out and runs over your full lips makes you look almost angelic, how your hair frames your face perfectly, making him want to run his hands through it.

“We’re having a party here tonight.” He blurts, making you look up from the screen of your computer and give him your undivided attention.

“Oh, that’s fun, do you need me to be gone by a certain time or something?” You ask, slightly bummed that you may have to leave earlier than usual tonight. You’ve gotten used to spending most of the day with him and then going your separate ways at almost midnight every time that you studied together.

“No, no. not at all!” He spits, wanting to smack himself for being so bad with words. Of course he didn’t want you to leave. He wanted you to be around him as much as you were comfortable with. He could spend every day and night in your presence and never get bored. “I was actually wondering if, um, maybe you’d want to go?” 

You almost chuckle, thinking how ridiculous the offer is. He knows you, knows that you’re not the girl that goes to parties, much less parties at the biggest frat on campus. You don’t laugh, however, because you see the hopeful look in his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know, Tom. I’m not exactly the party type, you know?” 

He scoffs, “What makes you say that? Everyone’s the party type.” 

You give a slight eye roll at that, “That’s not true. I’m nowhere near what would be considered the party type. I’m the girl that stays in her dorm or at the library studying, not the girl that goes to parties on the weekends and gets wasted.” You look down at your hands, realizing yet another reason why he wouldn’t like you. Why would he want to be with someone who’s never experienced that aspect of his life? “I mean, props to those girls that do that, it just isn’t me.”

He leans over towards you and hooks a finger under your chin, lifting until your eyes meet his again. “Please? I promise you’ll have a good time. I’ll make sure of it.” Your cheeks heat up at this, your mind immediately going to the gutter. You shake the thought from your mind, surprised that you would even think such things.

 It’s not like you and Tom would ever do something like that anyway. He had explained to you multiple times that he didn’t want to sleep with people that he didn’t have feelings for anymore. He didn’t want the meaningless sex anymore. He wanted something that actually meant something. And even though it would mean something to you if something were to happen, it would be meaningless for him, so the chances of anything occurring if you agreed to go to the party was zilch. 

So, you find yourself nodding, agreeing to go. He looks extremely shocked, like he had every doubt in his mind that you would ever say yes. 

If only he knew how you felt, then he would have been aware of the fact that there’s no way that you could ever say no to that face, to the puppy dog eyes that he gives you when he asks for something that he really wants. And he hadn’t stopped giving them since the initial question had rolled off of his tongue, so he must really want you at that party, so of course there was no way that you were going to miss it.

*

Frat parties are weird. They’re kind of gross too, people spilling drinks everywhere, dropping cup after cup into other people and on the floor. You were glad that you had decided to not get dressed up, the room felt like it was a thousand degrees. You had settled on a pair of black denim shorts and a slightly cropped top that came down to just above your belly button, wanting to fit into the atmosphere without looking like you were trying too hard.

You had gone home around thirty minutes ago, getting ready before heading back. By the time you had returned, Tom was nowhere to be found, and you weren’t planning on actively searching for him. You’d let him do his own thing, and maybe catch up with him later.

Another thing you noticed, after pouring yourself a drink and settling against a wall near the corner of the room, was that frat parties are loud. Not just the music, that’s continuously playing, no breaks that would make people want to leave to do something else. There was something about the way that every song made the occupants of the party roudier and roudier. After a few songs had played, almost every person in the house was screaming along at the top of their lungs. So yeah, frat parties were loud.

As you scan the room, you realize that this could maybe be thrilling. If you had someone that you could have asked to come with you, if you had someone to dance with. You had a few friends, sure, but none of them would ever be caught dead at a party like this one. They were all like you, they’d rather stay home and get some peace on a Friday night than go out to a party. 

Were you really like that though? The girl that you had thought you were before, even just three hours prior, would’ve never agreed to this much less be enjoying it.

The last thing you notice before joining the crowd, a girl grabbing your hand and leading you to dance with her, is that, just maybe, frat parties are fun.

He had been pulled into a game of pong by his brothers. He hadn’t even noticed that you were here yet, but the second he sees you dancing with a few girls that he’s never even seen before, all the air is knocked from his body. You look ethereal. The light sheen of sweat making the dim lights reflect off of your body, casting a light around you. The way that the strands of hair that have come loose from your updo stick to your forehead and neck make him want to fix it for you, run his hands through your hair, no matter how sweaty it would be, and redo the ponytail that you had been sporting.

There’s a churning in his gut, and at first he doesn’t realize why. But then it hits him, hits him like a freight train. He wants to be the one dancing with you. He wants to make you smile like you’re smiling at those girls. He wants to be the one that riles you up and makes you dance and have the time of your life.

So, without finishing the game, he makes his way to you, ignoring the questions and shouts to come back from the boys. He walks up to you without a care in the world and wraps his hands around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You tense up for a split second and he feels like an absolute idiot for just coming up behind you like he did, but then you lean back into him, turning your head slightly to the side to murmur a “Hey, Tommy.” into his ear, and his entire head goes blank.

Tommy? He could get used to that.

“Hey, love. You look like you’re having fun.” He fights every urge in him to not kiss into your neck, to not leave the marks that he’s been dying to for weeks on end. 

“I am. I really never thought this would be my scene, but it’s a rush.” You giggle, still dancing to the music, his swaying along behind you, still holding onto your waist.

“Told you that you’d like it.” He breathes, still resting his face in your neck. You can feel his warm breath fan over the expanse of your skin and it sends shivers down your spine, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the smirk that you can feel appear on his face lets you know for a fact that he felt it. “Hey, do you maybe want to go upstairs? Take a breather?” 

At this, you turn to face him, “Tom…” you say pointedly, knowing what people will think if you head upstairs together. You can already hear the things that people will say. “Is that the best idea? You know what people are going to say.” 

He flashes the puppy dog eyes, and he immediately has you, but you can’t let him know that, so you continue to put up a fight. “Tom, the rumors aren’t going to be pretty.”

“I won’t let anyone say anything bad about you, darling. I don’t wanna do anything, just wanna take a beat, cool down, spend some time with you.” You smile, wanting to just give in to him, to let him lead you to his room that you’ve been in way too many times before, but you’re still a little worried.

“People are going to say things regardless of what you do. And it isn’t just me they’ll say things about.” He leans down, pressing his face back into your neck.

“Please? I really want to just be with you, I’ll fight anyone who says anything bad if I have to.” He promises, making your smile grow.

“There’s no need for violence, come on, let’s go to your room.” You finally agree, letting him take you by the hand and push through the crowd.

You slowly make the trek up the stairs to his room at the very end of the hallway, stepping inside and letting him close the door behind the two of you.

You flop down on his bed, laying on your stomach and looking around the room that you’d already scanned countless times before. The books on the shelf are calling out to you, but it’s not the time. This is a party, not a study session. You let your eyes roam again, landing on the family photo that you’ve admired more times than you would care to admit. He looks so happy, posing on a golf course with his brothers and dad, Tessa sitting at his feet.

“You’re gorgeous.” He blurts, not thinking of the consequences that could come from his words.

You can feel your cheeks heat up from the compliment, your ears beginning to burn. “Thanks, you’re pretty gorgeous yourself.”

“Thanks, love.” He chuckles, and then the room falls silent for a few moments, your head resting on the bed, eyes closed and trying to get your heartbeat to slow down. He’s still standing by the door, leaning on his desk and playing with his fingers.

You continue observing the room, noticing for the first time that there was a little hole by the bathroom door. You wonder how it got there. Your brain is shuffling through a few options of how it could have appeared when Tom clears his throat and catches your attention.

You turn your head, locking eyes with him again and quirking your eyebrow, sending him the message to continue, to just spit out whatever he has to say.

“I walked into that coffee shop that day and ordered a coffee. I was in a hurry and I needed to make it to an important meeting at the house, but I saw you through the window. You looked so stressed, I didn’t just want to bombard you with yet another order, so I took my time by looking through the pastry cases, letting you have a second to breathe.” He pulls out the chair by his desk and plops down in it, looking too nervous to continue standing. “I strolled on over to the counter, ordered the simplest thing I could, and patiently waited for you to get it. I saw that you spilled some on yourself and wanted so badly to take your hand in mine and kiss it better. I don’t know why, it was just an urge I had.” He chuckles slightly, as if realizing how utterly ridiculous the action would have been if it had actually been carried out. “After that day, I couldn’t get your smile out of my head, couldn’t get the way that your eyes lit up to stop replaying in my thoughts.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around the room before landing his eyes back on yours. “I looked for you for a while, asked about you, but to no avail.”

You chuckle this time, you’re not surprised that he couldn’t find you by asking around, you didn’t associate yourself with many people. 

He flashes you a smile and then continues, “Everything about you makes me smile, I don’t know what it is about you, but you’re the best person I’ve ever met. I can’t keep you out of my head no matter how I try. You drive me crazy in the best way possible. I caught feelings for you. I feel so hard and that scares me to death at first.” He sighs, looking away from you again. “I don’t usually do the whole commitment thing, as my reputation suggests, but thinking about the things that I could have with you makes me want the commitment, makes me want to be domestic and lovey with you.Don’t get me wrong, it’s still terrifying.” He locks eyes with you again. “You just have this way of making me feel like everything’s going to be alright.” He cracks a smile before continuing with, “I think that the world could be ending and you’d make me feel like it was fine.”

You’re smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. Tom Holland, arguably the hottest, most popular boy on the entirety of campus is into you. And not only is he into you in the way that everyone had thought he would be, he actually wanted something real with you. He didn’t just want to have you in his bed for one night. The way that he was explaining it, he wanted you in his bed every night for as long as he could have you.

You have to take a second to catch your breath, his confession leaving you feeling as if you had just run a marathon at a full sprint.

Once you calm yourself back down, you let everything you had been dying to say fall out of your mouth. “That day at the coffee shop, all I needed was one thing to make me smile. I just needed that one thing to let me know that it was going to be okay. And then you walked in, and you didn’t just make me smile for a minute, you made me smile for the rest of the day. I looked for you too, searched every group of people I walked past. I didn’t ask anyone because I doubted anyone that I know would know someone that looks like you.” You chuckle awkwardly, trying not to put too much thought into what’s coming out of your mouth. If you did you would immediately psych yourself out and that’s definitely what you needed.

“I caught feelings too. I really tried not to, if we’re being completely honest with each other. I never thought that this would be me.” You look down at your hands, playing with the silver band that you keep around your finger. “I didn’t think that I would be that girl, you know? The girl that falls for the cute frat boy, even though they were repeatedly told to avoid him.” You smile despite yourself, still twisting the ring mindlessly. “I fit the cliche perfectly, don’t you think? The nerdy girl with barely any friends that meets the boy that needs a little help studying and then falls for him.” You scoff at how predictable the whole thing was, it was almost laughable. Honestly, it was, and you’d be laughing along if it wasn’t your life. 

“But the thing about it is, I was fine with being that cliche. I was fine with falling for the boy I’m not supposed to because it wasn’t just any boy, it was you. And I haven’t been able to get your stupidly perfect face out of my head since the minute you wandered into the shop. I can’t stop thinking about holding your hand when I see you tracing seemingly random things with your fingertips. Can’t stop myself from wanting to lean over and kiss you every time that I’m helping you study and get a little pouty because you want a break but we’ve only been working for like five minutes so I say no. Can’t stop myself from thinking about how sometimes we nap together and wake up tangled in each other's arms, and how we could do that every day.” Your cheeks begin to burn at the things that you just let slip out of your mouth, but you’re quickly distracted by the embarrassment as you feel the bed shift under Tom’s weight.

He settles in beside you, taking your hand in his and running his thumb over your knuckles. You look up at him, wanting to see his reaction to what you had just said, and as soon as you see his face, you’re floored.

He has the biggest smile splayed across his face, and you can’t help but mimic his expression, glad to see that he wasn’t repulsed by what you had to say. Which, honestly, it wouldn’t make that sense if he was, but there’s always a possibility.

“Y/N, I know we haven’t known each other for that long, and yeah, we’re definitely the cliche, but would you maybe wanna be my girlfriend?” Tom asks, a hopeful look in his eyes.

You want to say yes. You really do, more than anything in the world, but your voice of reason is asking you why someone in him would really want to be with you. Sure, he said that he didn’t want to be that guy anymore, but that’s literally who he is. Why would he really just throw all that away all of a sudden? 

“No offense Tommy, but you’re not exactly serious boyfriend material, and I’m the girl that wants to have a serious boyfriend, to have a relationship that’ll last. I want to be able to take my boyfriend home to my mom and dad. I don’t just date for the hell of it, Tom. I date for real.” You say, fighting an internal struggle with yourself. So much of you wants to just say yes, but he has to know what you want in a relationship. “And don’t freak out when I say this, because a lot of guys do. But, really, if you’re not dating someone to see if they’re the person that you’ll spend the rest of your life with, why are you even dating them? That’s how I view relationships.”

“I get that, it doesn't freak me out. I used to be like that, used to want a serious relationship.” You give him a look, the way he’s wording his sentences not helping his case. He gets the hint and rushes to continue what he was saying. “I just lost myself here, but being around you made me realize that the part of me that wants to be in a serious relationship, that wants to be domestic was still in there.” He’s getting more nervous by the second, you can tell by the way his fingertips are tracing patterns into your hand. You give his a quick squeeze in reassurance. “I don’t expect you to believe me right now. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe me either if I were you, but I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you that I can be the guy that you want. Screw my reputation, forget what everyone thinks about me. I just need you by my side, I don’t care what anyone else has to say.”

You smile, feeling your chest swell with his words. There’s not a single part of you that doesn’t think he could prove it to you, so you don’t hesitate to agree.

“Fine. prove it to me Holland, and then I’ll think about being your girlfriend.”

*

Ever since that night, he’s been even more perfect than he already was. He really meant it when he said that he’d prove it. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t show you that he could be everything that you need and more.

He walks you to class from wherever you had spent the night before. If you had slept over at the frat house, he would let you shower there and wear some of his clothes if you hadn’t brought any of your own with you - or if you just wanted to wear his clothes - and then he would walk you back to your dorm so you could finish getting ready. If the two of you had slept in your room, he would always make sure that he woke you up by nuzzling into your neck, then letting you get ready while he checked to make sure you had everything you needed for the day. 

Once you were ready to head out the door, he’d grab your stuff for you, slinging your bag over his shoulder and either grab your hand or throw his arm over your shoulders. He’d walk you all the way to class and then leave you with a kiss on your cheek.

During those that you have together, though, he walks in and you sit near the back. You moved where you normally sit so that he can whisper in your ear during the lectures without bothering anyone else. You had ended up needing to invest in a voice recorder so you could catch the content and listen to it later.

The classes that you shared that took place in the early mornings were by far the worst, for you anyways. He seemed to not have a problem with getting up at the crack of dawn to get ready. But no matter how tired you were, he was always there to make sure that you were well put together. And, after he ensured that the voice recorder was on and running, he would let you lay your head on his shoulder and get a little more sleep.

On the nights that you’re not too worn down from classes, he’ll take you out to dinner. He always lets you pick the restaurant and then takes you to a new scenic destination to watch the sunset. 

You still spend a lot of your time at the library, still having to study even though you’re spending a steadily increasing amount of time with Tom. Any time that you need to sit at the library to study, he’ll tag along if you want him to, even if he doesn’t need to study. He’ll sit across from you, knowing how you like to have an ample amount of space to spread out your materials, and read a book.

Even when you didn’t go out anywhere, just stayed in and spent time with each other, everything was perfect. Everything was completely perfect.

And what really took you by surprise was the fact that he didn’t even seem like he was trying very hard. It seemed like acting like this with someone that he cared about was just second nature. It was really pleasant, knowing that if you did say yes, it would be like this all the time.

One of your biggest fears going into this was that he would be perfect until you said yes and then completely change, do a full one eighty and make you regret your entire decision. But the way that he acts comes naturally to him that you don’t have a doubt in your mind that it will stay the same if you agree to date him.

*

A few weeks later, you’re sitting on his bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone as he sits at his desk, working on another essay. You had finished yours a few hours prior, so you were waiting for him to complete the rough draft so you could read over it.

“Yes.” You blurt, not thinking to elaborate.

“Hmm?” He wonders, not even looking up from his laptop, fingers still clicking away at the keys.

“Yes.” You say, a little louder this time. His fingers stop moving, coming to a rest on his keyboard.

“What do you mean , love?” He asks, not wanting to get his hopes up as to what you could be talking about.

“I’ll be your girlfriend.” He jumps up from his chair, a smile breaking across his face. He bounds over to the bed and picks you up, spinning you around and planting kisses all around your face.

You giggle, trying to wiggle your way out of his grip to no avail. After a few moments, he lets you down. He clambers onto the bed beside you and puts a hand on each side of your face, smooshing your cheeks.

“I love you, in case it wasn’t obvious.” He says, looking at you like you’re the reason that his world spins.

“I love you too, Holland. Couldn’t imagine life without you.” And it’s true, although you’d only known him for a span of a few months, he had completely changed your life.

And suddenly, you’re really thankful for a busy day at the coffee shop.

*

Permanent Taglist - @spideygirl2003, @jackiehollanderr, @scarletsoldierrr, @thewayilookatbacon, @parker-barnes-af, @lost-in-the-stars03, @kisses-holland, @josiemara, @god-knows-what-am-i-doing, @fanficscuziranout, @akila-stilinski @babebenhardy @write-from-the-heart, @slytherinambitious, @miraclesoflove @tomshufflepuff, @quaksonhehe, @a-different-brand-of-beans, @dummiesshort, 

Tom Holland Taglist - @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts, @thorsangel, @perspectiveparker, @sucker-09, @tom1year, @averyfosterthoughts, @the-crazy-fanfictionist

People who wanted to be tagged in this piece - @sleepybesson, @xoxohollands

[thrillridesz]

loving you ▫ hyunjae

➳ pairing: idol!hyunjae x female reader ➳ genre: angst ➳ word count: 3.2k ➳ requested?: yes a/n: unedited! also hope this was good lmao it’s my first full angst fic so fingers crossed XP do let me know what you guys think!! any form of feedback is greatly appreciated!

“Mommy, how much longer?”

Your 5 year old daughter peers up at you with lidded eyes, already starting to get bored and worn out from the prolonged wait under the summer heat. She leans against you, her little hands grasping your bigger ones, a small yawn escaping from her lips. You reached up to run your fingers affectionately through her soft hair, feeling her hum quietly.

“Just a little longer, sweetie. Just a little longer,” you whisper and she nods, starting to drift off to sleep. Looping your arm behind her back and holding her close, your eyes swept the vicinity cautiously, highly aware of the confused stares being shot in your direction.

The park was teeming with people but a majority of them weren’t your usual park goers just going about their own business. They were fangirls and fanboys and throngs of them. It was easy to identify who they were with their huge, professional looking cameras slung around their necks as well as the huge multi-coloured banners they carried with them and the wearable fan merchandise they wore. The atmosphere was lively and full of vibrant energy with excitement practically radiating off of them as they huddled around a makeshift stage and a long table coupled with chairs that were set up on the park square. Although the summer heat was sweltering, it did nothing to dull their mood as they waited for the arrival of their idols. It was a small meet and greet session of sorts on a hot summer’s day but it did not deter fans from showing up.

As they waited, some were beginning to cast you odd looks as you sat on a nearby bench with your daughter in your arms, seemingly holding a ticket stub in your hand. It was a ticket for the meet and greet session later. From the looks on their faces, you could tell they were wondering how a lady like you with a child in tow would even find the time to come to a meet and greet, especially in this weather but you paid them no mind. Staring at the ticket blankly as you hugged your daughter who was fast asleep closer to you, you couldn’t help but feel your hands begin to tremble.

Suddenly, a piercing squeal broke the tense atmosphere in the park, a girl pointing shakily at a huge,black van that had rolled up some distance away, behind a barrier that separated them and the stage from the fans. As the crowd rushed forward excitedly, you felt a sense of foreboding within you instead, feeling so far from excited or even remotely happy.

You could look from a distance as the van door slid open and out stepped the members of the music sensation, THE BOYZ. With unparalleled talent and dashing good looks to match, these boys were instant heartthrobs, capturing hearts everywhere they went and quickly gaining popularity amongst the public. As they emerged from the vehicle one by one, you felt your heart begin to beat faster as you grip on your daughter’s hand tightened. When he finally stepped out, trailing behind the rest of the members with a smile on his face, you felt your heart flutter despite yourself.

There he was. Lee Jaehyun or better known by his stage name, Hyunjae.

It had been a little over five years since you had seen him in person but he still looked the exact same as how you had remembered him, with that bright trademark smile of his that would light up any room he is in. Watching his cruise by the fans and across the park to take his place along with the others on the wooden stage felt surreal, as if you couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“Mommy, who are they? Are they who we’re waiting for?”

Your daughter asked in a sleepy voice, rousing from her slumber from the loud noises and squeals emitted by the fans. You smiled down shakily at her as you held her small face in your hand.

“Yes, they are.”

Hyunjae would have given almost anything to be back in the dorm room to catch up on some sleep.

Grimacing a little at the brightness of the sun shining down relentlessly on the earth, he tried his best to maintain the smile on his face. Feeling Kevin nudge him a little, he straightened and flashed the crowd a dazzling smile despite his fatigue as they posed for pictures. As much as he’d have loved to be asleep and enjoying himself in good ol’ slumberland, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of joy and pride in his heart whenever he stood before the fans. It was thanks to them that THE BOYZ even got to where they were today. Words couldn’t have expressed how grateful or happy he was to have them yet sometimes… Hyunjae stifled a yawn as he listened to the host making his introductory speech; he wished he could’ve had a bit more time to himself. His eyes swept the crowd curiously and as he looked up to stare into the distance, he saw a certain someone that made his heart still.

No way.

The figure was approaching slowly from behind with a small child in her hand. Since practically everyone was too preoccupied with the ongoing event, nobody had noticed her but he did. He most definitely did. He hadn’t seen your face in years but he recognised you the moment his sights landed on you. A 100 years could pass and he would still have been able to remember you. Hyunjae tried not to let himself be distracted by how beautiful you looked under the sun, the sunlight giving you a seemingly glowing look. There was a sense of dread in him but he couldn’t help but be enamoured by your beauty, especially after years without a single interaction. As his eyes drifted down and he spotted your child, he felt his heart fall with a sloppy splat and chills started to set in, so much so that he could feel cold sweat running down his back even as he stood under the sun.

“Hyung, are you ok? You look a little pale.” Kevin whispered, his eyes crinkling with concern in them as he placed a hand on his back reassuringly. Following his gaze, the latter couldn’t help but gasp.

“That’s…”

Hyunjae gritted his teeth nervously.

“Yes. It’s y/n, alright.”

You could hear the fans talking among themselves behind you as you handed the staff your ticket stub for the fanmeet. Trying your best to ignore them, you gripped onto your daughter’s hand nervously while the guy stamped your ticket.

From the corner of your eye, you could feel Hyunjae’s gaze on you. It felt hot and searing, as if his gaze was literally boring holes into you. You felt your daughter lean into you as she started to notice the reaction of the crowd behind you, with their curious looks and loud whisperings. Holding her close to you, you kept a firm stance as the guy handed you back your ticket. As you proceeded to approach the table where the boys were seated for the meet and greet, the guy held out a hand, stopping you. You peered at him quizzically, your arm holding your daughter closer almost protectively.

“I’m afraid only one of you can proceed with the meet and greet.”

You felt your mouth go dry as you asked, “W-What?”

He gestured pointedly at the single ticket in your hand.

“One ticket per person only.”

You looked at him wide-eyed as your daughter’s little hands held onto you.

“I… I can’t possibly leave my daughter alone here!”

The guy shrugged, like he couldn’t be bothered.

“Sorry, that’s the rules. I just work here, no can do.”

You looked down at your daughter who stared up at you innocently, not realising the situation you have on your hands. You couldn’t possibly leave her alone in this crowd, not with people pushing and talking over everyone else. Is this going to be all for nothing? Gazing at the single ticket in your hand quietly, the staff tutted impatiently at you.

“Lady if you want to proceed, please do. Don’t hold up the line.”

“The girl can stay by my side right here,” a voice spoke up and the both of you turned.

Kevin had a small smile on his face as he gestured at the empty space next to him, seeing as he was first in line.

“But-”

“I insist.” He said in a voice that indicated whatever he said was final.

Reluctantly, the guy waved you in and as you walked towards Kevin, you felt like you were on edge as if you weren’t sure what to do. Do you thank him? Do you talk to him as if it was the old times when you could hang around them freely?

“It’s been awhile, y/n.” He said warmly as you sat down on the seat opposite from him. Looking to your right, you watched as Hyunjae turned away quickly. He wasn’t very far - Only a couple seats away.

“Yes, it has been.” You replied shakily, trying to keep your cool.

Kevin peered at you with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Y/n, I may not be able to understand how you’re feeling right now-”

“And you never will.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a little alarmed at your remark. A look of embarrassment flickered across his face.

“Ok, that was wrong of me to say, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

You were silent for a moment before you said, “I don’t mean to lash out at you.”

Kevin smiles reassuringly at you.

“It’s ok.”

“Mommy, who’s this?” Your daughter who was standing beside him chipped in.

Before you could reply, he grinned at her.

“I’m Kevin! What is your name?”

Suddenly shy under his gaze, she replied in a small voice with her head down.

“I’m Chaeryeong.”

“Chaeryeong, that’s a really sweet name. Are you as sweet as your name implies?”

Growing red in the face, your daughter covered her face and turned away. As much as you hated to admit it, seeing the two of them interact was extremely heartwarming and you couldn’t help but allow a smile to tug at your lips.

Kevin chuckled as he turned to you.

“She’s cute.”

You nodded. “She really is.”

“She’s… His. Isn’t she?” He said, in a lower voice but more serious now.

You clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“She is.”

“How have the two of you been?”

“We’ve been good. Thanks for asking.” You said in a neutral tone, deflecting his attempts at a conversation once more.

“That’s excellent to hear.” He could only smile in return.

The girl next to you was beginning to leave her seat, signalling it was time to move along the line.

“It was great meeting you Kevin.” You said hastily as you moved on towards Sangyeon who wore an extremely surprised look on his face as he observed you. Turning to Kevin, you noticed the widening of his eyes at the sight of Chaeryeong.

Bracing yourself for yet another awkward conversation, you were prepared to move when you felt Kevin hold onto your hand. Swiveling to look at him, he shook your hand firmly.

“I’m here for you anytime.”

As he let go, you felt a piece of scrap paper in your hands with a number scrawled haphazardly on it.

“I don’t need it.”

“Then feel free to throw it away later. For now, just keep it.” He said gently before turning to the next fan in line with a cheery grin, effectively ending the conversation.

Before Hyunjae was Kevin, Sangyeon, Chanhee, Juyeon and Sunwoo. As you sat in front of them, the reaction you got was all the same. Pure alarm and surprise followed by an extremely awkward conversation. The questions had mostly been the same.

“How have you been?”

“Are you coping well?”

“How’s your daughter doing?”

All of which you deflected or avoided answering.

It felt like ages before you found yourself just right next to Hyunjae and in front of Sunwoo who looked uncomfortable with how things were. Although the two of you made small talk ( though it was more of Sunwoo trying to talk to you and you answering with one worded replies ), you could feel the tension between you and Hyunjae. His eyes drifted to you occasionally even as he engaged in conversation with the fan in front of him. As he laughed, you could tell there was no mirth or joy in his eyes but rather panic and fear. His hands were balled into fists in front of him and you could see the vein bulging on the top of his hand and you had to resist the urge to scoff.

Eventually Sunwoo got the message that you weren’t all that interested to actually engage in any form of small talk and he only remained silent, feeling beyond unsettled as he sat wedged in between you and Hyunjae. When the fan in front of Hyunjae moved, you stared intently at him as you took your seat in front of him. The smile he was wearing looked so forced that you wondered if he risked pulling a facial muscle somewhere.

“Hi, y/n. Long time no see.” He said with a charming smile on his face but he wasn’t fooling you. You could see the turmoil in his eyes.

“Long time no see indeed.” You replied coldly and he flinched at the iciness of your voice, his smile wavering slightly. “Is that really what you say to an ex lover you abandoned?”

The alarm and terror in his eyes was real and obvious, seemingly shocked at how straightforward you were and honestly, you didn’t just surprise him. You surprised yourself as well.

His voice dropped to a mere, meek whisper, in a fashion so unlike his usual boisterous and outgoing persona as seen on camera or with friends.

“I didn’t mean to, y/n. You know that. I had no choice.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to pound at his chest. You wanted to reach across and throttle him. Yet, all you did was take in a deep breath as you sat on your hands.

“No choice?” The bitterness in your voice made him look up at you. “No choice? You had every choice, Jaehyun. Every. Single. Fucking. Choice.”

He bit his lip anxiously, the regret and emotional grief clear in those dark eyes of his that you used to say that you could stare into forever.

“We were bound to prepare for debut soon. I had to end it abruptly.” Hyunjae pleaded softly, looking at if he was about to break down.

You raised an eyebrow at him before you leaned forward and instinctively, he leaned back but you gripped on to his hand, pulling him forward gently but firmly. You caught his gaze and said, “Don’t you dare shrink away right now. You will not be a turtle this time, retreating into your cosy little shell at the first sign of conflict. Be a man and face me.”

Hyunjae swallowed thickly and you continued.

“Scared? You should be. You left me to be a wreck, you abandoned me when I needed you most. You, Lee Jaehyun are the lowest form of life I’ve ever seen. I don’t care if you do not want to take responsibility but I just want you to know that the reason all of this happened is partly your fault. I want you to live with that knowledge in mind.” You spat out with as much conviction as you could but you could feel the bitter tears begin to prick at the back of your mind.

“Please don’t say that! I still love you dearly, y/n. Please, I really do. I was just really confused and career driven and I-”

“And you what Jaehyun? And you what?”

He stared at you with such tenderness in his eyes that you almost fell for him all over again. Almost.

“I missed you every day. I really did.”

You felt a choking feeling in your throat as you echoed, “You missed me?”

He nodded sadly, clasping your hands in his.

“I did.”

You were quiet for a brief moment as you tried to take in what he was saying. Did he mean it or was this another of his lies?

Only one way to tell.

Pointing to where Chaeryeong stood next to Kevin at the start of the line, your heart constricted in an almost numbing pain as you watched her giggle with joy while popping bubbles that Kevin was blowing, a huge smile on his face.

“Look at her, Jaehyun.”

“I-I…”

“I said, look at her!”

Slowly, he turned his head to where you were looking at Chaeryeong.

You watched as his eyes softened momentarily only to harden with denial and terror. Internally, you felt like something in you died once and for all.

It was hope.

It was subconscious hope you didn’t even know you had. It was a shred of hope you had that maybe, just maybe he would have at least been able to accept Chaeryeong as his own flesh and blood. That he could maybe acknowledge her.

Apparently however, fate had other plans. One look at the horrified look on his face shattered any form of expectation, hope and dreams of reuniting you had. You could hear the distant crack of your heart as it finally shattered into a million pieces. The ridiculousness of it all almost made you want to laugh out loud.

What was it you expected? Did you really expect him to drop everything just to come back to you and Chaeryeong? Give up his golden career for you and a child he had never even once interacted with?

“S-She’s a lovely child.” He croaked out, turning to you with a weak smile which quickly fell as he saw the look on your face.

“Y/n…”

“Yeah, she is and you know what? You can shove it and stay the fuck away from me and her with your nasty lies and disgusting self.” The tears were beginning to stream down your face as you withdrew your hands from his, feeling the warmth from his lingering touch disappear. He stared at you, realisation at his own reaction dawning upon him.

Frantically, he spluttered, “That was not what I mean! I was just-”

“Surprised? So overwhelmed with ‘love’? Or maybe you mean repulsed?” You bit out each word venomously and you could see Sunwoo shrinking further and further into his seat while Jacob who was sitting next to him watched you with concern.

“My greatest regret in life is falling in love with you, Lee Jaehyun. My greatest regret is being with you. My greatest fucking regret is ever meeting you.”

“Y/n!”

With that, you made a mad dash from the stage, grabbing Chaeryeong’s hand in yours and storming off. The crowd stared at you, confused and shocked at your supposed outburst. The tears were now rolling uncontrollably down your cheeks and from the corner of your eye, you could see Kevin standing up as if trying to approach you but the ache in your heart only intensified when you realised that Jaehyun simply sat where he was, seemingly shell shocked but never attempting to approach you.

“My greatest regret in life is falling in love with you, Lee Jaehyun.” You repeated to yourself through tears.

[lorei-writes]

How To: Comments

A brief guide to commenting under the fics by Lorei.

As some of you may know, I am a court overthinker. I know that human interactions can be scary - and honestly, sometimes so is commenting. However... I wish that anxiety did not stand in way of interactions between readers and the author. So, to cut this introduction short: from me, an anxious writer-overthinker, to you, any person who may need it.

Contents:

Few general truths.

Do’s.

Don’ts. 

All things I will talk about stem from my personal experience and observations. It may vary to some extent between writers, although I did my best to stick to the general trends and to mark where something is more of my personal opinion.

EDIT: As per usual, this is just the general “this will be most likely okay”. If you are doing things differently and it works out for you - great! No need to change that. This was written with people who may be anxious and/or overthinking the matter in particular. I also tried to remove myself from this as much as possible.

Few general truths.

Does my comment even matter?

Yes, it does, especially for longer series. It may be one of the few things pulling the writer through a crisis. 

Your comment notifies the writer that they are indeed seen, that their words reached somebody. If the story resonated with you in any way, letting the writer know that it did may boost their self-confidence, and perhaps even motivate them to keep on writing. 

The writer didn’t reply to my comment. Did I do something wrong?

No! In plenty cases, the writer may not know how to reply, simply as that. They may not have enough time, they may be too tired - just the ordinary, mundane life stuff can cause such a thing too. 

An important thing to remember here is that they still appreciate it, even if they don’t have enough resources to reply to every single person - or even any of them.

How do I know the writer even welcomes comments?

Unless it is specified they do not want comments (or a certain type of comments), assume those are always welcome. 

Do’s

Good will and courage is one thing, but... What could a comment even include?What things are appropriate? Ahhh, no, this is too hard...!

*catches your hand and pulls you back* No, no, no, don’t run, I’ve got you covered! 

First, remember that it is way more likely that what you want to say is okay than for it to be inappropriate. Worst case scenario, the writer will tell you that well, you missed the mark - but! Then you will have the knowledge on what to avoid doing. Your potential to cause plenty good is still way greater than that to cause harm. Not only that! You can apologize! We are humans. We all make errors. Never doing a thing in fear of messing up never leads anywhere. 

So, what things are generally okay*?

If the story made you feel something, say so! For example:  “This made me feel happy!” “I smiled too much because of this story!” “I’m crying, nooo.” “This is so sad!” “My heart has melted.” “This made my day!” “I love it!”

If you can’t find words for your state, emojis work too!  For example:   😭 ❤️ ❤️ 😳 💖 🥺 🥺 🥺 😍 💯✨

Of course, mixing up emojis with text is a great idea! The only thing you may want to be mindful of is that screen-readers do interpret emojis too - so you perhaps want to avoid emoji-[word]-emoji combinations (which overall, applies to the internet in general, btw). 

The story made you think about something? Elaborate! The tricky part here is that yes, you are sharing your thoughts, but you should also tell the writer something nice about their work. The rule of thumb seems to be that it is the story that is in the spotlight, not your experience - or, in other words, you are speaking of the experience in relation to the work, not the work in relation to the experience. For example: “I love your OC, they are so relatable! I don’t think I have ever seen a character which spoke to me so much. I struggle with XYZ too, so I’m feeling for them, I know it’s hard :(” “AAAAAA. The theme of red string reminds me a little of a certain superstition. Some people here think red bows are a good-luck charms. This is wonderful, I love it. 😭💖”

Now, this may seem a little self-centered. Allow me to explain why I insist the story is kept in the spotlight.  Imagine that you’ve spent your time on writing a story, however much of it. Let’s assume it’s about missing a long-deceased pet. Then, you get this comment:

“Nooo, this is so sad, I used to have a dog like that too 😭 His name was Teddy and we were best friends. We’d oftentimes sit together and sometimes I’d throw him a stick. Whenever I would cry, he’d come snuggle up with me, and he wouldn’t leave me until HOURS after I’ve calmed down. I miss him so much, I wish dogs could live forever 😭 “

Now, this makes the situation uncomfortable. You must remember that well, sometimes you may still be almost complete strangers to one another, and this much information puts a great emotional load on the writer. Is it still the writer’s space after such comment, or...? Yeah. It is a bit of a lapse in regards to well, knowing a person.

You are simply thankful and don’t know what to say? Express gratitude!  For example: “Thanks for writing <3 “ “I really needed to read this story.” “Thank you!”

Other things which generally are okay to include:

key smashes (as part of the comment, so that the author knows what you mean) For example:  “I’m wheezing ghesgeskgess” “ghoeigjeshes THANK YOU”

quoting the part of the work you especially liked + adding emoji at the end/commenting something under it

listing the things you enjoyed about the work

Of course, you can do some of those, you can do all of those, you can do just one - whichever suits you!

Don’ts

Okay, we know what is going to be fine. Now, what things to avoid? 

Do not give critique unless the writer clearly asked for it.

Critique must be consensual. Unsolicited advice is not. Sure, your intention may be good, but it leads to backhanded compliments and nobody likes those.

Example of what not to do:

“I enjoyed it, tho it was rater boring at first and it took me several tries to even get to the half of it.  Like, some things were confusing? [Explanation].  Overall, yeah, hard to understand and boring at first, but I liked it.”

Now you may ask - is the writer exempt from feedback?! And the answer is... Yes, honestly, yes. Unless they ask for it, yes. As long as they don’t hurt anybody - yes. Although then I suggest blocking instead of going on a crusade. 

FanFiction isn’t the same as published books. We don’t get paid for it. It is simply an act of sharing what you enjoy with the world, like a sort of perpetuum-mobile. FanFiction propels the reader, the reader comments and thus puts the writer in motion.

Now, you can say that something made you sad. You can say that something made you angry, or that it wasn’t what you were expecting. BUT. Make sure you aren’t demanding the writer changes those things. 

This stretches also to typos, grammar errors, etc. - unless you are absolutely sure the writer asks for this sort of feedback, assume it is unwelcome.

Also, from my personal experience: it happened to me once. I did not know what to reply and went on with my standard apologetic... Ekhem. I regret it. The person who commented knew less about the issue than I did.

EDIT: There is also another reason for this - most often, if a person wants to get feedback, they look for a beta-reader. Beta-reader is a person who reads the work before it is posted. Generally, they point out errors and inaccuracies. However, for it to work well, you need a certain sort of fit, both in how the message is delivered (some people do well with harsher criticism, some need to be more gentle with them), in the writing style, and so on. Another thing when looking for a beta-reader is that, well, you generally look for a person that knows more than you do, or is at a similar level. This isn’t to say that we know more than every single person out there - only that it’s hard to ascertain it at first glance and it’s generally better to talk about it before any critique is delivered. Communication is the key.

Do not ask when the next part will be posted/when your request will be completed unless you are sure the writer is okay with such questions. 

When this happens, many writers feel as if they were being pressured into working harder.

Do not write fleshed out paragraphs of what you think should have happened.

If you have an idea for a story - write it. Again, we write in our free time and do it for fun. This feels like being pressured or told what to do.

What may be more grey in regards to whether it is okay or not is theorising about what happens next. To me, personally, that would be okay, but you may want to ask your writer whether they are okay with this sort of things - for example, by writing a comment with a short theory and then asking whether it’s okay to do so? However, be mindful not to tap into suggesting or putting too much pressure on what must happen.

Do not write “Imagine that... [fleshed out scenario]” type comments.

Those are basically requests hidden as comments.

Do not compare writers to other writers (You are so much better than XYZ/ You wrote trope X so much better than XYZ).

This is pretty self-explanatory. We want to lift each other up, not feel better about ourselves because of putting others down.

Another slippery situation here: some people may mind being compared to published authors. Some may not. It is hard to tell, there is no strict rule here.

Hmm... I think it’s about it? ^^” I hope it was helpful ^^” Overall, if you avoid those major Don’ts, you should be good ^^”

[prorevenge]

Causing my group to loose out on paid internships.

I do a computer science degree at university. We had a group work project which is set out in two stages. It involves making an application with a report about it in the first. Then the second is to improve both the code and report based on feedback from module organiser.

I was with four others and we each picked a parts of the work that we would do. I was the groups most confident coder so assigned myself alot (~ half) of the code and no report work as I suck at it and hate it.

I do all my work for it and say this to the group, this is immediately met with "can you do my bit of the code too" type stuff. I willingly do so saying I will note this for the group contribution report. (A report that each member of the group has to submit saying how much each person contributed and our marks were based of this).

I ended up producing this entire application which was worth half the marks for the first stage. I contacted my module organiser and they suggested if people weren't pulling thier weight to leave the group (taking my code with me) and do the report. That would mean I would need to work flat out to produce the report. I didn't want that.

But then I got asked to do some of the report to about how the code actually worked, alot of the report was stuff about end users etc which they could do but they needed me to do this as they didn't know what the hell all my code did. I again (probebly for like the 5th time) said I would, but will note if for the GCR.

All in all I worked out that I had done ~60% of all the work for 5 people in the group. With all our work done we were ready to submit but all needed to do the GCR. There was talk amongst the others of all writing that we each contributed 20% of the workload to "make us look better as a team". I flatly refused. They exploded calling me with every name under the sun, swearing at me. I explained that half the marks for the project go to the code and half to the report. So I said that we have each done 1/5 of the report and that I had done all the code bringing my total to 60 and thiers all to 10. They weren't happy. I sent this off with those values. And thought that was that.

My module organiser then emailed me asking if I had any proof of this as I put myself alot higher than everyone else did. They all put me at 0% apparently and themselves at 25%. Essentially out casting me from the "team" and trying to give me no marks for all my hard work.

This is where the revenge comes in.

I emailed him back linking him to the github I used to share the code with the team (github is a source control that shows who made changes to the code) and showed him that all the commits were done by me Proving that I did all of it. And thankfully we did the whole report on Google drive so I could also see the history on that document and send him screenshots of all the alterations made by me proving that I wrote ~20% of the report also.

He added it all up and made a special exception for my group. Saying he would give me most credit for the work. The way that he calculated our marks was: He marked all our work normally. I got most of the credit so got the highest mark. They all did 6 times less work than me and therefore deserved 6 times less of a mark.

I think I ended up with a 65 and they all get 11 for the whole coursework section 1.

Now this course is 100% of the marks for the module meaning they just got 11% for 50% of a whole module. Which is a biiiiiggg fuck up.

Section 2 is fixing the feedback the teacher gives and improving your report and code. So turned out I fucked up a bit on the code only getting about 50% of the marks with like a massive issue in it (dumb me) but my report sections were near perfect. Spelling mistakes and formatting etc. There were a few glaring mistakes from the report but other than that not bad.

When they found out thier marks they started calling me up and emailing me and messaging me almost for about 3 hours, I was happily rowing at the time (teacher sent an email explaining that they had lied and he had proof about it so corrected the marks according).

At this point I quit the group, and decided to work on section 2 by myself. TAKING ALL OF MY CODE WITH ME. Removing thier access to all of it. I of course asked my module organiser first and they said it was fine as it was my work and if I was no longer in thier group the others couldn't submit it.

I fixed the error in the code in about 2 weeks. Then did the whole report from scratch almost and added a load about the fix taking me about 7 weeks.

I ended up submitting 2 weeks early for the deadline and got 100% on the whole section 2. Which is basically unheard at university, especially by your self for group work.

Later that day I get an email from a plaugurisum and collusion officer. Not someone you ever want to get an email from. Basically says I'm summoned to a hearing as an external body looked at both my group (me, myself and I) and my old groups coursework and thought it was very similar. I get the whole project that my group handed in and my own back as evidence so I can look and prepare my answer. So this is a virtually meeting (yay, virus). I email back asking if I can have my module organiser present too. They say he has already been invited. Perfect.

I email my module organiser ask if he supports me in this because basically they can punish all of you or 1 group (never nobody). He says yes he supports me in this. Perfect.

I prepare for this meeting by going though the hundreds of commits I have made while they had access to find the one that is most similar to it. I find a PERFECT match, 0 differences, not even a single character. Through the thousands of lines of code.

So I turn up to this meeting there is the VP of computing there (guy who could basically do whatever the hell he wants to us). My old group when asked to present thier answer as to why this has happened go on about how they did all of it by themselves blah blah blah. You get the point, this goes on for about 10 mins. Then I am asked to present my argument. I ask if I can share my screen. VP: "yeah... Okay..." puzzled. So I share it. Show me downloading a fresh version of what they submitted, and a fresh version of one of my commits on the github, and running it through the universitys own comparison software (which I also asked for). I narrated this to explain what I was doing just to be clear. Took a while but came up as I knew it would 0 differences. Everyone was stunned. One of the group members uttered "but...". I just laughed. And was quickly asked to hang up as I was no longer involved.

Turned out they had cloned one of my commits and not been able to fix it atall so just submitted it and hoped for the best.

Then one of my friends who is friends with one from my old group asked what grade they got and they said that they failed the whole module and would have to retake it over the summer costing them and everyone in my old group thier placement year jobs, after all who wants someone who failed a module so badly working for them. This ment that they all lost out on being paid ~20k each for the years work. Which goes a long way for a uni student. While I happily get mine.

TL:DR Old group tried to screw me over, so I screwed them out of 80k total.

(source) story by (/u/notABadGuy3)

[allfandomxreader]

He Dies in the End

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader

Words: 1000ish

Warnings: Death

A/N: It’s been a hot minute since I wrote about Tom but here we are!! This was my favorite piece I wrote for my creative writing course so I turned it into a little tom fic, now that I’m reading it, it’s kinda shit but oh well. Feedback, as always, is appreciated!!

not my gif

Main Masterlist // Marvel Masterlist

You shift almost soundlessly, trying your hardest not to rub the chair and wake Tom. Your body feels stiff, it yearns for your shared bed. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept soundly. Lately, you’ve been living your lives trapped within four walls of the hospital room. He looks peaceful though. You try to ignore the tubes that plague his arm. Tom made a joke a few weeks ago saying they’re the only thing giving him life. You wish that wasn’t true.

From beyond the door, Dr. Cox almost enters before you hold up a hand to stop her. Tom hasn’t been sleeping well either, it’d be a shame for him to wake up now. You stand on wobbly legs and make your way towards her. He doesn’t even stir as you close the door.

“How’s he feeling?” She asks, tucking the clipboard under her arm.

“Sick,” You sigh. She only purses her lips. You attempt to comb through the tangles and knots in your hair out of awkwardness but eventually give up. You know she’s seen much worse than a young woman with unkept hair and exhausted eyes. “How did his tests go?” She doesn’t need to answer; her frown says enough. “How long do I have left?” You’re almost disgusted by the meekness of your voice and that even in the time of his passing you’re making it about yourself.

“I don’t think he’ll make it through the night.” Her words alone make you dizzy, your legs more unsteady than before. You have to lean against the wall to stop yourself from collapsing. “Is there anyone else I can call for you? You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m not alone. Not yet.” She reaches out and squeezes your shoulder before turning back down the hallway, presumably to check in on her other patients. You can only hope she can give them better news.

You don’t need to close the door quietly, but you do anyways. Tom’s already awake and staring at the ceiling, you asked earlier if he wanted to watch something on the small TV, but he refused, you’ve both grown sick of the few channels the hospital provides. You’ve watched at least half a season of soap opera reruns; you’d give anything to go home and watch a football game with him. Two months ago, nobody in the world could’ve paid you enough money to sit through one.

“What’d she have to say this time?” His voice is hoarse and filled with exhaustion. Looking at him now, you notice things you’ve missed while being here. Tom’s skin has become ghostly, his normally vibrant brown eyes have dulled, and his body has lost all muscle definition. You feel sick just glancing at all the scabs that litter his arm.

“What she always does, still looking for progression. The nurse will be back in a few hours to take some more blood for your tests.” You sigh, letting yourself pretend those were her words, that the conversation wasn’t to prepare me for a goodbye. You’re not sure if it’s to protect him or you.

“You’ve never been a good liar,” His lips quirk into a faint smile, “There aren’t going to be any more tests, are there?” All at once, it feels as though all the wind has been knocked from your body and you’ll never be able to breathe right again. You shake your head, eyes dropping to the floor, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Slowly, Tom reaches for you, scooting to the edge of his bed giving you just enough room to slide in beside him. You’ve never had to worry about hurting him, he’s always towered above you and could’ve easily thrown you over his shoulder without a second thought. But that was then, and now you can only focus on trying not to crush his frail body.

He traces lazy circles on your shoulder as you nuzzle closer to him, he sighs in what sounds like contentment. You toy with the cheap fabric of the hospital gown as the two of you lay in silence. “I’m tired,” Tom whispers.

You wish you could talk about something the way you used to. His stories from set or the secrets he wasn’t legally allowed to share with anyone, but he always made an exception for you. You’d listen to him talk for hours, now, you’re lucky if he’s awake for more than one. Your old routine feels like a lifetime ago when really, it’s only been a few excruciating weeks.

Tom opens his mouth to say something more before he erupts into coughs. You try to rub soothing circles against his chest, to do your best to offer comfort or relieve any pain the best way you can. You can tell he’s in pain despite the drugs pumping through his body and the smile he always adorns. He’s trying his best to make it hurt less for you even when he’s the one dying.

When the fit passes, he settles back into his rightful place holding you a little closer and just a little tighter than before.

You find yourself memorizing anything you can. From the rhythm of his heartbeat to the way he traces three circles on your skin before reversing his thumb’s direction. A week ago, you would’ve told him to keep fighting, to trust the doctors, that everything would be okay. But you know he’s tired, you also know the only reason he’s still holding on is because of you.

“You can sleep now,” You whisper, he doesn’t say anything back, you’re almost certain he didn’t hear your words.

“I won’t wake up.”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, “I know and that’s okay.”

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to slow and become uneven, it almost feels like you’re back at home, like he’s had a long day and happened to fall asleep before you did. He stopped drawing circles but never let go of your hand. You didn’t need the machines to tell you when his heart stopped beating, you could hear it for yourself.

You’re left alone in a world that should’ve been full of so much more. So many moments you’ll never get to experience, adventures that will never be taken, sights that will never be seen, songs that you won’t get to hear him sing. The moment he slipped away, you knew that you did too.

Forever Tags: @superfrankie111​ // @rueinn // @lemonadeorange73​ // @simplechicwithacrazedheart​ // @youshutthefuckupville​ // @captainpeggy40​ // @alexdamereysmith

Marvel Tags: @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy​ // @delicately-written​ // @smexylemony

[writing-in-the-tiny-house]

The Gift of Beta Readers

The Gift of Alpha Readers

If you wish to become a patron of Writing in the Tiny House podcast, please visit www.patreon.com/writinginthetinyhouse today!

The following is a transcript of this episode. For the complete transcript, please visit the show’s website.

[00:00:00] So you did it guys. You have written the next best thing and you are so eager to get this out into the world that you have revised it, you have combed through it, and you have all of these things ready, but nobody has read it yet. So what do you do next? Well, let's find out today on Writing and the Tiny House.

[00:00:26] Hello. Hello. Hello. And welcome back to the show. Welcome to Writing in the Tiny House. I am your host Devin Davis, and I am the guy in the tiny house who is here to show you, you busy adults working a nine to five like me, that it is completely possible for you to write that work of fiction that you have always wanted to do.

[00:01:06] And you should. I just recorded 20 minutes of audio and didn't actually record any of it. So we're starting over and it's fine. Because now I get to say the things that I didn't save very well the first time, and it's okay to start over. We're still learning some of this new recording equipment and that's okay too.

[00:01:26] But many of you know, because I announced in last week's episode that I have been working on some smaller things as a way to get my writing more available, to get my writing into the hands of people who are eager to read it and to do it faster than I could do if I were to just write a book just because the time to produce a book is much longer and there are a million different ways to share your writing with other people.

[00:01:57] So I have been working on some smaller things and I am working on them in conjunction with Krissy Barton from Little Syllables Editing. She is going to be the editor on call or whatever, the editor in this whole project of writing a collection of short stories or novelettes. And so with this, I am writing these smaller works, and I'm going to be releasing them on a schedule, provided all of this works out okay. Right now we are on track with this first thing. And so I expect everything to be okay. And I think that this is something that we can reproduce right now. All of this is tentative stuff though. Like this is not gospel truth yet, but in doing these shorter things, I still need to go through the different steps of writing and revising and cleaning up these smaller works of fiction as I would have to do with a book.

[00:03:07] But because the thing is shorter, all of those steps don't take as long to do, which is kind of cool. It's fun to blaze through some of these different steps a little faster, and to get that progress done faster, to arrive there more quickly. And with this, I also hope to have myself on a regular releasing schedule, which means that there is kind of a stopwatch going for each of these projects.

[00:03:35] And for this first one, I am hoping more than anything. And I am taking a leap announcing this on the podcast that this will be ready for sale by the end of October. I'm going to post it on amazon.com and it will be available to purchase there. It'll be affordable. Don't worry about that. But I wanted so badly to share my writing and I think that I'm going to do it.

[00:04:00] So what I'm doing is this collection of short stories ties into the larger books that I am also in the middle of that I have set aside for the moment. So the world that all those things take place in these smaller short stories will tie into that same world. And this collection is called Tales from Vlaydor, and this is Installment One, which is entitled Brigitte.

[00:04:29] And so, yeah, so we did it. We've written a manuscript. We've gotten, you know, a few revisions under our belts, but if you are like me, perhaps you don't outline things very well. I surely don't, I don't like to outline. I like to write and then make huge revisions to what I've written because I don't like to outline, but for this first installment, I did not get any feedback to begin with on the story itself. I wanted to sit down, I wanted to write the story, revise a couple of things just because I wanted to present it in a good way to a small group of people. So I sat down. I wrote the thing. I revised it a couple times. I sent it through Pro Writing Aid, which by the way, Pro Writing Aid is amazing.

[00:05:19] Especially if you are using Scrivener as your word processor, because it integrates into Scrivener. It was the easiest thing to do. I recommend sending anything you are working on through Pro Writing aid before you let anybody read it, just because the edits were easy to do. And because Pro Writing Aid made it easier to read.

[00:05:42] Everybody seemed to have a better time. Pro Writing Aid does not replace a professional editor, but it is a very good tool to use along the way. So I wrote the thing, I sent it through Pro Writing Aid, and then I gathered in a way, a group of people that I would want to get feedback on this first draft, I guess we can call it a first draft. On this first revision, I guess.

[00:06:09] And this is what we do, this is how we approach this. So I needed to get feedback because first of all, I needed to know if this was a story that anybody wanted to read. I wanted to know also if this was a story that people would be willing to buy, and I needed to know if after reading this, they would be interested in reading more.

[00:06:35] And if the results were such that, no, this story idea is not a good idea. You need to switch to something else. I didn't want to spend so much time and energy on something that nobody would want. And so I would sooner scrap the whole idea and start a fresh with a new story idea rather than try to simply make something work.

[00:07:04] And so, because I'm writing to market because I want this to be sold. And so I want there to be a certain audience appeal. I wanted to make sure that I was on track and on base with the very foundation of this story. So that's what I did first. And I recommend you doing the same thing with your shorter works of fiction also, or with your novels.

[00:07:29] So here's the deal. I'm sure that you have heard the term beta readers a million different times if you are engaged in the writer, community. Beta readers are basically the people who are doing product testing for your book. They get your book and you need to know that the book is working for them as books need to work for readers. Does it keep their attention? Is it easy to read? Is it entertaining? Can they keep track of characters? Can they keep track of places? Do they have a good experience? Are they surprised during the surprising parts? Are they scared during the scary parts, all those things.

[00:08:10] That is what beta reading is for, but there's a big step before that. Some people call it alpha readers. Some people call it, I don't know other stuff, but. I had this concept and I needed to make sure that the concept was okay. So I selected a few of my close friends and another person that I'll get into in order to share ideas.

[00:08:36] So I wrote this novelette called Brigitte. It is about 9,000 words long, and I included just some questions at the end as a prompt, as a way to help people give feedback. And I recommend that you do the same. In a novel I recommend actually that you include things like that in sections of the book, rather than just a big, long list at the end of the book, just as a way to get the gears moving so that people can be inspired or understand how to give feedback, just because, especially in this most recent round of feedback, I have found that so many people read just to be entertained and they don't read critically. And that is fine. And so the little bit of help for that is really good for them. And it's good. It's good to hear all sorts of feedback. I've also found that for many people. So with this story, the vast majority of the feedback was positive.

[00:09:45] People liked the story. It was pretty middle of the road, which is okay. But people liked the story. They thought that it was easy to read. It was easy to get to the end. They weren't confused by people or names or places. And so I took that as a good affirmation or confirmation that I was on the right track with this, and I should move forward.

[00:10:14] And that is great. With many of the people though, the feedback was simply, Hey, this is great. I like it. I would want to read more of things like this. And that feedback is valuable for a specific reason. If that is all they're saying, this is great. I want to read more. While that feedback is not going to help you iron out the kinks and dings and dents in your manuscript. And it's not necessarily going to help you with your craft. It can show you that producing work like this. There are people who want to support your craft. And that is very valuable. So even though the tools aren't there, even though the feedback isn't there to help you get better as a writer, it is really cool to know that people are there to support you as a writer.

[00:11:12] And like I said, that is valuable too. However, with a lot of people, they responded to the questions. And I liked that and I took notes and I paid attention. With those questions though, I found that with many of them, I didn't require seven people to answer each of those questions just because the same answers for many of those questions ended up showing up like seven different times.

[00:11:41] That's okay. We live and we learn. However, there were a couple peers a couple people that read it, took notes, re-read it. And then had a really long conversation with me about how it went about, what was working and what wasn't working. And I'll come back to that in just a second, just because people who are willing to put that type of attention and energy into my work, those are people that I hold near and dear. I mean, everybody who is supporting my work is held near and dear, but those are the people that I will go to with the first ideas, with the baby ideas that I need to grow from, the really underdeveloped things that need to grow that are still vulnerable and still scary and still underdeveloped. And working together we're able to come up with some cooler things for the next revision of this story. 

[00:12:47] With this, and I recommend this thing until the day I die. It is important to send your work, especially if you are writing to market, it is important to send your work to someone you don't know, or to many people that you don't know.

[00:13:02] When you are ready for that, you will know. I sent this first revision. I will likely try to find another person that I don't know to read this after this next round of revisions, but here's the reason why. The feedback that a stranger gives you is really hard to take, but it is super honest and it's usually really direct and it's really easy to understand, and that matters my friends.

[00:13:30] These people are not preserving a friendship. And so there is no holding back when it comes to what isn't working, what is confusing, what seems silly, but seems banale or stupid. I mean, what other words did this nice person include? But the points that this person brought to my attention were good points. It was clear that I had not conveyed so much of this story clearly.

[00:14:01] And like I said, because we weren't already friends, there was no reason to pretend like we were friends and try to sugarcoat anything. Most of the stuff that this person told me was really good and really valuable feedback. And so what I was able to do is take the key points from her feed back and talk about them with these other friends who were interested in helping me develop the story.

[00:14:29] So they didn't have to worry about stepping on eggshells. They didn't have to worry about offending. I got to say, oh, this other lady said this and this and this. And they're like, oh yeah, I guess that makes sense. And then we were able to discuss together ways to make it better. So with these conversations, some people tend to kind of freak out about it because they don't know how to have a critique conversation. So with these conversations, it is you and somebody else. And maybe a third person who are trying to improve a specific work. They're trying to make things better. If you or someone is coming to the table just in the attitude of saying this sucks. You need to leave it alone. You need to throw it away.

[00:15:16] Then you're not going to have this conversation with that person, but everybody has the common goal and the common understanding that this work is not finished and we are joining forces to make it better. The way that this conversation unfolds is much of the time the person will have notes. The person will have some ideas, but they don't really know how to get started about it just because Cohesion and hoping that everything links together and thoughts and different things like that.

[00:15:50] But this conversation is not going to be a dissertation. This conversation is not going to be like baring of souls. This conversation is largely brainstorming, which means a lot of the ideas and a lot of the topics don't have to mesh in the most beautiful way throughout the conversation. It's okay to jump from topic to topic.

[00:16:15] It's okay to say, oh, are we done with this? Because on the next page, this completely different problem is there. Let's talk about that now. And through those, I had two friends who were very interested in helping me improve this work of fiction. And that is exactly how the conversation went. They put aside an hour, we had a phone call and we talked about all the things that didn't work.

[00:16:42] And we talked about the things that this stranger critique partner brought to my attention, and we were able to iron out things and bring up some different ideas and some different approaches that I should try to incorporate into the next revision of this work. And that happened to me twice and it was beautiful and I felt enriched at the end and they were excited that they were included with this.

[00:17:11] And it was a really good thing. So I guess the takeaway here is when you are searching for feedback, it is important to help by supplying a list of questions. If it's a person who's already experienced with giving feedback, they likely won't pay much attention to those questions, but a lot of people don't read fiction critically.

[00:17:35] And so they they may need a little help with that. And that's great. Also, if you find those friends who are so engaged and so interested in helping you develop your craft, make sure to keep them near and dear. Take care of those friends. And lastly, If you have the people who say this is good, I want to read more, and then don't say much more than that. That means that you're on the right track and that what you have written is good. And while it may not improve your craft, it shows that there are people in the world who want to support your craft. So that's the quick take home for today. 

[00:18:24] Thank you so much for tuning in and listening to this episode. If you wish to become a patron of this writing in the tiny house podcast, go topatreon.com/writinginthetinyhouse. And I will have links to that in the show notes of this episode. Go ahead and follow me on Instagram. My handle is @authordevindavis and on Twitter my handle is@authordevind. And have fun writing. We will see you next time guys. Bye.

Check out this episode!

[beybladeimagines]

Loved the headcanon post for the Bladebreakers in their 20s. Any headcanons for my fave team the All Starz in their 20s? Like if they choose a different career or so on? Keep up the great work!! ✌

MAX: You can find Max’s details right here.

MICHAEL: I think Michael would hang on to blading for a hot minute, even if he wasn’t as into it as he initially was. When you think about it, Judy had a pretty strong grasp over all of the All Starz - so much so, that many of them began to question their own self worth and became emotional when Judy, in her own way, didn’t think they were good enough. When people are exposed to this kind of manipulation, they set out to please their manipulator as much as possible in order to avoid negative repercussions - in this case, potentially missing out on a promising future, not meeting their personal goals, or being seen as weak. However, as Michael grows older and sees how the team is distancing themselves to follow their own path, he’ll slowly follow suit.

I can see Michael doing a lot of things. He might try to pursue baseball professionally, but because he’s spent a majority of his time blading, he might lack the extensive amount of experience and skill necessary to really make it big. Michael is also extremely charismatic and gives off some skater vibes. I can picture him getting into a COMPLETELY different hobby, like skating, because there isn’t any negative association attached to it. When he skates, he doesn’t have to think about being seen as the best, he doesn’t have to try to impress anyone, and he certainly doesn’t have to be exposed to any more manipulation. Yeah, he loves baseball, but it reminds him too much of what he had to undergo for so long. I can see Michael getting so into skating, that he creates his own custom boards and eventually works in a skate shop where he helps set people up with their own parts and bases. I think the reason he’s so into that is because he gets to do something productive and he gets to expose people to the very hobby that is slowly making him whole again.

RICK: Rick has always been Judy’s favorite and her constant praise motivated him to be quite the ruthless and successful blader. Even though his team didn’t win the championships, it still didn’t stop him from being celebrated back in his city or scouted by other managers looking for talented bladers. I imagine that Rick still sticks to the blading scene for quite some time. After all, it was through blading that he went from a nobody to a somebody. Additionally, it was through blading that he got to meet Max - someone who essentially made him more comfortable working with others. He owes a lot to blading, as it made him change his perspective, it inspired personal growth, it allowed him to represent his community so that he could bring their identities to light, and it’s making him mad money. 

However, if Rick wasn’t pursuing blading, I can see him working at a recording studio. Rick loves music. He loves being in fast paced and loud environments. Sounds seem to soothe him, even if the music is metal. But let’s think about this too: In the anime, we always see Rick giving some kind of advice, even if it’s slightly backhanded and rude. Rick doesn’t mind giving feedback and he has a good ear for sounds that just feel…right. He knows exactly what pitch someone’s voice should transition into, he knows what instruments to add or remove, and he knows how to modify lyrics so that the message is far more clear. Granted, his feedback is straightforward, brash, and a little intense, but once he hears that new solid sound, everyone in the room will begin to praise him for his insight. He does have a gift and it really comes out in the recording studio. I don’t see Rick having his own band or making his own music, per say. But I do see him helping others out and mixing beats.

EMILY: I think Emily has always admired Judy. To her, Judy was this iconic, cut-throat woman who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. Judy reflected this unashamed confidence that Emily strove to mimic and to find within herself. We often see Emily by Judy’s side. She’s either siding with her ideas or immersing herself in the same kind of work that her heroine is doing. Although Emily blades, much of her time is placed into research. Honestly, had she not shown such an interest and skillful ability to attain and analyze player data, Judy might not have paid her much mind. I think Emily knows this, which is why she strives to be so proficient in the research world, because she wants to be recognized by the very woman who really put her on such a promising path. With that said, I don’t see Emily blading anymore as she’s grown older. I see her transitioning strictly to research.

Would she still be with the All Starz? That’s a tough one to answer. Part of me feels like Emily would want to stay, but because her team is essentially disbanded, her current information isn’t exactly needed. I can see Judy recommending her to other facilities - not because she doesn’t value Emily, but I think she’d want her to get more recognition and experience outside the nest. Emily needs to hone her observational skills. She needs to know how to analyze people who she HASN’T basically grown up with. I imagine this line of work makes her feel incredibly lonely. Emily already feels like she needs to isolate herself, because of how hard she works. She likes to tell herself that she’s fine and “never liked being around people anyway,” but she misses the dynamic between her and her team. Would she reach out to them? Probably not. But if she ever saw them again, I think she’d linger around a little longer than usual.

EDDY: Eddy has always found some kind of support from his fellow team members. He chimes in with them on roasting sessions, he hangs out with them during down time, and he’s used to seeing them every day because they all practically live in that research/training facility. He always told himself they’d be together forever, because they’ve endured so much and went through so many lengths to become superior bladers. And yet… He realizes that many of his teammates became disenchanted and even traumatized from their excessive exposure to training and self imposed ideas of worthlessness. Over time, Eddy too begins to fall out of love with blading. It just didn’t feel like the initial sport he fell in love with. If anything, he only ever enjoyed himself when he went against Michael or Steven, because they never made him feel inferior.

I can see Eddy going back to school, since he has more time with it. I can see him getting a scholarship for basketball. He appreciates every second of college, because he finally gets a breather and finally gets to live a normal life where he isn’t being groomed to be perfect. Eddy feels like he’s missed out on a large chunk of living normally… So, he enjoys the little things, like not having curfew, or being able to indulge in junk food and not having to appease a diet, and even doing something as dreadful as homework. At least with homework, he knows what he’s doing wrong and can actually strive to make himself better without getting mixed signals. Eddy takes pride in being able to represent his school, because he knows his school has given him something that makes him feel fulfilled, validated, and passionate about. 

STEVEN: Steven has gone on a JOURNEY when it comes to blading. He started off strong and as a normal part of the team, until he received his injury. As I always say, I imagine that injury gave him some perspective and completely changed his mentality on blading. While sitting on the sidelines, he saw how easily he was replaced. He tried to tell himself that he’d be welcomed back with open arms, but he always knew that Rick would be a more permanent addition to the team. Yes, his TEAM welcomed him back, but Judy and the facility were a bit more hesitant. It destroyed him to see how quickly his career crumbled. When he healed again, he didn’t have much of an interest to return to blading or football. However, I do imagine he continues to have a high interest in both sports, but is aware of how devastating an injury can be to one’s prosperous future. I think he’d strive to get into sports medicine to make sure no one else endures the same fate.

Sports medicine usually requires a degree. I can see him going back to school. Not only that, but he’d actually take the experience seriously. Every day, he thinks about how his own life had changed. It’s hard for him to forget just how frightened, anxious, and frustrated he felt. He never wants anyone to have to experience that same level of uncertainty and confusion, and that serves as his motivation to get his education. Steven is actually amazing at the healing process. He remembers every detail of what worked for him when he was recovering and he passes that knowledge onto those he encounters. Steven still has physical trauma, so that interferes with his ability to stay active for long periods of time. But this doesn’t stop him from working out. Steven goes hard in the gym in order to maintain his physique (and to release that pent up rage that still has yet to be shaken).

[the-blueish-trashcan]

He’s in Charge; Chapter Nine

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: [None]

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter, but I feel like it would have been strange to cut it off anywhere else. In this chapter, we learn a little more about the other staff members of the studio, and just what’s been going on with them. Not really much else to it.

Chapter word count: 3,378

{First part} {Previous part} {Next part}

Chapter Nine; Red Pen

Henry went home on time the first day he received Joey’s feedback, though it did take him a majority of his time to sort through it all and make the proper corrections. By early the next afternoon, he had been brought the Joey-approved script for the next short by a nervous-looking writer who refused to speak. Despite the interaction, it meant the animator could finally start setting up to get the next one done. Right on top of the packet was a note from Joey himself addressed to Henry, telling him that all of that day’s work was to be brought to his office and left on his desk. This struck Henry as odd more than anything. It wasn’t something Joey usually asked of him, but considering the amount of “corrections” on everything lately, it seemed to fit right in. He shrugged it off and got to work.

Around two, Henry caught the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the hall towards him, turning just in time to see a tired-looking Bertrum rounding the corner. When the man saw Henry, though, he smiled and shuffled closer.

“I can’t stay long.” He voiced, leaning down to briefly put his arms around Henry’s shoulders. “There’s been complications with some of my designs I have yet to figure out, but I will.”

Henry hummed slightly, leaning back into him. “What happened?”

“Simple malfunctions proving to be… not so simple. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was sabotage.” Bertrum sighed. “If it weren’t for you, I would have abandoned this job by now. I can find much more cooperative clients incredibly quickly.”

Henry’s eyebrows came together. “You mean I’m holding you back…?”

“Heavens, no!” Bertrum shifted so his hands were resting on Henry’s shoulders, gently squeezing. “All I mean is, I really do want you to work with me. I thought that perhaps once I finished this hellish job, I would be able to really talk you into it.”

“Trust me, your offer is more and more tempting every day. Look at this!” He gestured to the script he’d been working with. “I got sketches back yesterday that looked just like that.”

Skimming over all the red markings, Bertrum nodded. “I did as well. I’ve begun simply ignoring Drew’s comments altogether, they only complicate what I’m trying to do.” There was a moment of quiet between the two. “He’s the one ruining my work, isn’t he?”

Henry started to nod slowly. “More than likely…”

Bertrum chuckled. “My hatred for that man grows exponentially with each passing day.” His hands left Henry’s shoulders and he bent to press a very light kiss to his cheek. “I hope to see you more soon.”

Henry smiled as he was kissed, nodding. “I hope so, too.” Bertrum left then, giving Henry the chance to zone back out and into his drawings.

After working through around half of his script, he sat back in his chair, setting his pen down to flex his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he stood, hardly noticing that his back popped repeatedly as he did so. He stretched and sighed, then started towards the break room. It was only as he was thinking of making a pot of coffee that he saw the time, blinking at the clock. It didn’t feel like it was already past five. Shrugging, he went to the timeclock and punched himself out, then went back upstairs. 

Back at his desk, he thumbed through all of the storyboards he’d worked on, making sure they were in the proper order. He nodded to himself approvingly, pushed his chair in, and made his way to Joey’s office as instructed.

The room was dark when he got there, and felt like it hadn’t been left open in a long time. There were papers scattered all over Joey’s desk with some on the floor, checklists of some kind that Henry didn’t bother to read. Around where his chair would normally be, Joey had set up several cork boards on rollers much like the ones down in Bertrum’s workspace. Instead of being covered in blueprints, however, Joey’s were taken up by more lists Henry didn’t feel he should read in detail. The names of many staff members were written in large black print, making them hard to miss at just a glance and in a few places, Joey had even pinned small pictures of some other staff. From what Henry could tell, they were the voice actors and actresses the boss had been sent headshots of before they were hired. A chill went up the animator’s spine when he saw them and he suddenly got the urge to leave. He set his drawings in the middle of Joey’s desk and exited the office, closing the door tightly behind him.

*****

By Wednesday morning, Henry had nearly forgotten about the scene in Joey’s office already. It only came back as a faint memory when he saw the storyboards marked in red on his desk. He let out a sigh as he sat down to look them over, but seeing a few marked with a check instead of a million comments made him smile. The animator set aside the note telling him to leave the boards in Joey’s office for the night again, looking through the rest. Many of the other remarks Joey had made to his work he wrote off as something that could be fixed in the final product.

The only time Henry broke himself away from his drawing was around noon, when he went to the break room for a cup of coffee to keep him going. It was there that he spotted the same nervous writer that had given him the script playing darts by himself. He gave Henry a glance and moved his chair out of the way to the counter, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him at first.

It was as Henry was about to leave that the writer spoke up, bearing a very similar accent to Wally. “Hey, Mister Stein? Has… Mister Drew been as hard on you as he has us?” His tone told Henry he was obviously uncomfortable asking.

Henry raised an eyebrow, turning to the man. “What, with his comments? You’ve got no idea…”

“We can hardly get anything done, he cuts the scripts down so much that… I don’t think they’re any good. I snuck four or five pages in that one I gave you the other day.” He finished his sentence by throwing a dart, hitting near the middle of the target.

“No, I get it. He’s been practically doing the same thing to the storyboards, he doesn’t like me putting so much detail into the shorts… That’s not what I signed up to do.” 

“Me neither. I put in my two-week notice the other day, I was told to take it right down to accounting so I’d get taken off the payroll. Otherwise Mister Drew would just throw it out.”

“He won’t let people quit? That’s… Wow. And he’s just going around threatening to fire people, what does he expect?” Henry shook his head, sipping his coffee.

“I dunno, but I’m getting out of here as soon as I can and I were you, I’d do the same thing. You’ve got skill, you could work for Disney.”

Henry hummed slightly. “Yeah, I hear you…”

“That’s great, ‘cause no one else seems to!” He threw the last dart, turning to Henry. “I appreciate you talking with me, Mister Stein, but I don’t wanna keep you that long.”

“Of course. Now, I’m sorry, my memory isn’t the best, what’s your name?”

“At least you’re asking, I’m Louis. Good luck with Mister Drew.”

“Thanks, you too.” Henry offered him a smile, then made his way up the stairs again, ready to settle in for a long drawing session.

*****

“I can't believe Joey would pull this shit! And right now?! Right before a deadline? Are you kidding me?!” The voice of Sammy Lawrence bounced down the hall the next night as he and Jack approached Henry's desk, causing the animator to turn and look, confused.

“What's going on?” He questioned, pen still in hand. 

“Drew fired half the band!” Sammy snapped. Jack put a hand on his arm, patting it. 

“Wait, didn't he to that a while ago?” Henry tilted his head.

“Oh, no. No, I don't mean that. He fired half of the half that was left! As if we can spare any musicians, we were barely making it work as it was!” Sammy's face started to turn red as he kept speaking. 

“I have to admit, it's pretty strange he didn't even give us a notice. Almost nobody showed up this morning, then Joey came in and said that he had to make some cuts. That's it. No ‘I’ll put notice out soon’, or ‘sorry for the inconvenience’.” Jack explained.

“I can't tell you how badly I want to shove his wheelchair down the stairs. He can't keep doing this! We don't have a music department anymore! Six people can’t make an entire score!” Sammy threw his hands up in the air, a snarl pulling at his lips. 

“Sam, take it easy. Yelling about it won’t change the mind of someone that isn’t listening.” Jack reasoned, causing the director to nod.

“I know, I know. Look, Henry, I know you’re probably swamped with work as it is, but… Please, just for an hour, come help us get at least your piano part recorded. That way me, Jack and whoever else is left have an easier time getting this done.”

Henry bit his lip. “Won’t that make things harder, having to put audio tracks together?”

“Polk’s pretty good at what he does, I’m sure he can handle it. If, you know, he’s still around.” The lyricist shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

“You don’t honestly think Joey would get rid of our only projectionist, do you?” Sammy scoffed.

“I dunno, he got rid of our last janitor.” The remark caused both the animator and the music director to give him quizzical looks. “I figured you two knew. Wally hasn’t been around in a few days, nobody’s seen him since Monday. I didn’t think he was being paid enough to make a difference, but seems like Joey went and canned him anyway.”

“Are things really so bad here he had to fire the cleaning staff…?” Henry asked.

“And yet he’s got an amusement park being built in the basement. Just perfect.” Sammy rolled his eyes, then gestured to Henry. “You can see why we need you now more than ever, we have no idea who’s going to be next. Knowing Joey, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cut you and tried to make the cartoons himself.”

“At this point, it wouldn’t shock me, either. I’ve… actually already had Bertrum offer to hire me for his team so I wouldn’t have to work here. Every day, I’m more and more tempted to take it.” Henry placed his pen down, standing.

“I’ve been considering quitting lately myself. Nothing here is stable, especially since it’s pretty clear now no one’s safe from Joey’s wrath.” Jack glanced up at both other men as they started back down the hall. 

“I feel the same, I just didn’t want to leave you here alone.” Sammy returns the look. “We could always team up. You know, permanently. If anyone were to hire us, make it a package deal.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s such a bad idea, Sam.” Jack beamed. 

“Maybe it is time to move on…” Henry started to muse. “I don’t know if either of you are aware of what’s been going on with me and Joey, but it’s getting to be too much. I feel like he might… seriously hurt me someday.” He admitted.

Sammy shook his head. “That’s just not right. You’re supposed to be partners. Equals. I heard he threatened you, I don’t even know if that’s legal.”

“Shouldn’t be, anyway.” Jack added. 

The three walked in silence for a while, until they’re nearly to the steps to the music department. “Say, Henry…” Sammy began. “Do you sing? Joey fired the lower-register vocalist, if we can get that recorded today too…”

Henry shook his own head slightly, frowning. “I don’t really sing, no… I don’t have the right kind of voice for it.”

“Damn. That’s a shame Jack, you might have to do it yourself.” Sammy lightly nudged the shorter man.

“Hm… Maybe not. I think I know somebody that may work for us. I’ll run and see if I can pull him away from his work for a few seconds.” Jack shuffled off ahead of them, clearly on a mission of some kind.

*****

When Jack rejoined the animator and the director on the orchestra floor, he had indeed managed to drag someone with him, somewhat literally. He held the worried-looking man by the wrist, pulling him along behind him with a smile on his face. 

“I got him! It took some convincing, but I’ve got our temporary vocalist!” Jack exclaims.

“W- vocalist? That’s what this is about? You said it was an emergency, I told you I don’t like singing.” The other man tried to argue. He stood shorter than Jack only by a few inches, but that made the deep voice he produced that much more shocking. His red-brown hair looked as though he’d attempted to slick it back, but instead, it stood out in every direction. From where he was sitting at the piano, Henry could see his blue button-up was half untucked from his slacks, one of his suspenders hanging off of his shoulder. His glasses balanced on the end of his nose. It looked like he hadn’t slept in a week and the longer Henry looked at him, the easier it was to see that he was shaking all over. 

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “This is an emergency! We have exactly six people left working for us and no singers. Well, we have Susie, of course, but we need a different kind of voice right now. That’s where you come in, Cohen!”

The other man jumped hard at the action. “W-wait, why so few? What happened?”

“Fired or quit, I suppose. Leaning more towards them being fired.” Sammy interjects from behind a music stand, a violin in his hands. 

“That… isn’t right. That’s my department, if they got fired, I’d be the first to know. I give out the pink slips.” The sentence is directed to Jack. 

“Well, regardless of what’s going on, right now we have six people to work with. Come on over here and I’ll get you the lyrics. You’ll only have the piano to go by. Can you read sheet music?” As the lyricist explained, he lead Cohen to the alcove by the piano where a microphone hung from the ceiling. 

“I… think so. I haven’t had to since I was maybe seven.” He answers.

“It’s okay, I haven’t either. If you need help, I’ll show you.” Henry offers.

“Uh, thanks. I don’t believe we’ve met?” Cohen offers his hand for Henry to shake.

Henry takes it, giving it a few solid shakes. Cohen is, indeed, trembling all over. “Henry, hi.”

“Oh, hello. Right, you’re the one with the difficult paychecks. You’re in animation. By yourself, right…? You can just call me Grant.” Grant attempted to offer a smile.

“Oh…” Henry laughed awkwardly. “I’ve… been fighting with Joey lately, I guess my pay’s reflecting that, isn’t it?”

“Just a little, not bad… Er, not too bad, really.” His smile turned to a slight wince. It was then that Jack handed him a few papers.

“Sorry to interrupt fellas, but here’s the lyrics. We’ll run through the instrumental once for you to follow along, second time through, you'll jump in.” He turned to address the room. “Ready?!” His enthusiasm earned a few half-hearted cheers from the other musicians gathered, then the music kicked up. 

*****

Later in the evening, Henry’s work was once again interrupted when he caught the now-familiar sound of heavy footsteps, turning in his chair as Bertrum stepped up to him. He was dressed in a grease-stained tank top, telling Henry he’d been working construction that day. While his expression softened at the sight of Henry, he still didn’t look happy. 

“What’s the matter?” Henry tilted his head.

“Drew, what else?” Bertrum scoffed, leaning against the wall. “He shut me down today.”

The animator’s expression turned confused. “What?”

“I am no longer being paid to design, prototype and build an amusement park for Joey Drew. He shut my whole operation down today.” He repeated.

“Oh geez… Bertrum, I’m sorry…” Henry set his pen down and stood, opening his arms to the taller man.

Sighing, Bertrum pulled him close, arms around his back. “I’m more relieved than anything. I simply don’t want to leave you in this madness.”

“I know… I can’t just leave. It’s not so much Joey, it’s my friends. Everyone’s struggling in their own departments, Sammy’s already asked for my help…” 

“The ship is sinking, Henry dear. If you and your friends have sense, you’ll jump off before it goes down.” Bertrum let go then, his hands resting on Henry’s shoulders.

“That’s what everyone’s saying…” Henry looked up at him, frowning. 

“I know you’re nervous about leaving. I hate seeing you in a situation like this, you just let me know when you’re ready for a new job. There’s a spot for you by my side. I’ll let you be tonight, but come visit me tomorrow?” 

Henry nodded. “I will, it’ll be nice after this week.”

Bertrum bent down and pressed a kiss to Henry’s forehead, just briefly. “Goodnight, Henry.”

“Goodnight.” Somewhat dismayed, Henry watched him leave. He made the attempt to get back to work after that, but found himself unfocused. After a moment of tapping the back of his pencil on the paper, he gathers them together and stands, making his way to Joey’s office. As he does, he notes that most of the lights are off in the inner parts of the studio and one of the clocks he passes does, in fact, tell him that it’s nearly time to clock out.

He’s not even halfway down the hall when he catches the familiar voice of Norman Polk coming from behind Joey’s door, but judging by how far away he is, Norman must be shouting. Cautious, Henry gets closer, stopping outside the door. 

"-two-dozen people in that orchestra, we had three people cleanin' up after your sorry ass, and hardly six of any of them are left! What the fuck have you been doing?!" Norman's voice shouted.

"Mister Polk, I'd like you to keep your voice down, please. There's a perfectly good explanation for all this." Joey responded, more muffled.

"You didn't fire all those people! Your li'l accounting puppet said he had no idea you'd done it! You know what that tells me, Drew? You know what that says?" Norman had not lowered his voice.

"Mister Polk, if you'd like to keep your own job, I would suggest you bite your tongue and go home for the night." Even through the closed door, Henry caught the dangerous tone of his voice. "Otherwise, you may deeply regret what you're doing."

There was a sound of someone hitting the desk, and it only could've been Norman. "This isn't over! I sees what you've got set up here, I sees that stuff drippin' from your eyes! I can feel you're up to somethin' nasty, you can bet your life I'll figure out exactly what!" As soon as he finished, the door to Joey's office flew open, causing Henry to jump. Norman's face was twisted into a deep scowl, his eyes falling on the animator. He slipped past, mumbling an "excuse me" as he went.

With the door open, Henry peeked into the office, worried. "Sir…?"

Joey was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, black smears coming off on the fabric. The whites of his eyes were just barely fading back to normal. "Put the papers down and leave." He commanded. Henry shuffled into the room and did so, rushing back out without another word. In his mind, he could not get to the time clock and punch out fast enough.

[7-wonders]

As Above, So Below Ch. 12

Summary: Your average, mundane life as a college student is flipped upside down when the man you thought you knew as your next-door neighbor turns out to be the God of the dead. When Michael lures you down to Hell, everything that you thought you knew about the world is proven wrong.

Word Count: 2878

A/N: This chapter’s sad, not gonna lie :( But it’ll get better, I promise! Feedback is always appreciated and my inbox is always open!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12: Wish You Were Here

Madison rushes through the doors of Cedars-Sinai’s emergency room, carrying an unconscious (Y/N) in her arms. The journey from the Below to the surface had somehow not killed (Y/N), which Madison had been extremely worried about.

“Help, please!” She yells out, a swarm of doctors and nurses converging around her. Madison places (Y/N) on the hospital bed, almost immediately getting shoved out of the way so the medical professionals can start checking vitals.

“What happened?” A nurse breaks away to stand near Madison.

“I don’t know, she’s been sick for a few days but said she was getting better. Then I came home today, and (Y/N) was passed out on the floor of the bathroom. She was really pale, and barely breathing.” Madison stutters out.

“You’re her roommate?”

“Yeah, one of them.” She mentally gives herself a pat on the back at her acting skills, which are more than believable. “We live next door to the Murder House, so this was the closest hospital to us.”

They had been walking without even realizing it, following the doctors working on (Y/N). The nurse places a hand on Madison’s shoulder, stopping her from walking through the double doors leading back to the restricted area of the hospital.

“I’m sorry, you can’t come back any further. We’ll take good care of your friend, though.” Madison nods, looking the nurse in the eye and performing a quick Concilium spell on him.

“You’ll contact (Y/N)’s other roommates, their information should be on her phone. You’re going to give (Y/N) the best care possible, and an anonymous donor has already paid off her hospital bill. You never saw me, (Y/N) showed up here alone.” Madison commands, watching to make sure the spell takes effect on him before breaking the connection.

He shakes his head slightly, blinking in confusion before walking away and allowing Madison to slip out of the hospital. She doesn’t have to use a Hellmouth traveling back this time, since she’ll be making the journey back home alone. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody’s watching, Madison backs into an empty alley and wills herself to descend to the Underworld. It’s not at all surprising that Zoe finds her the second she stumbles into the hall, having only been gone for twenty minutes in Above time. She wraps her arms around the small girl, Michael’s screams of pain echoing through the castle.

“He locked himself in his office immediately after you left, we’ve heard yelling and crashing since then. I’ve never seen him like this before, Mads.” The lights flicker with another yell, verifying that he’s not okay.

Madison’s never seen him like this, either. The only time his emotions even came close to this level was when Satan had influenced him a couple of hundred years ago to help him with the end of the world, causing Michael to be temporarily stripped of his powers and banished from his kingdom and Olympus. He wandered the Earth alone for a month, desperately trying to figure out how to get back in the good graces of the Olympians. While that was despair, this is completely different.

This is heartbreak.

“I’m going to go and check on him, make sure he’s okay.” Madison kisses Zoe’s forehead, holding her tightly before letting go.

“Is he going to let you in?”

“He doesn’t really have a choice. I’ll break the door down if that’s what it takes.” She walks quickly towards the God of the Dead’s private chambers, heels clacking loudly on the marble floor.

The charm that normally keeps the main door of his chambers locked is broken, Michael not having bothered with reapplying it after he made his way here. His office is locked, but he’s obviously in there. When Madison knocks on the door, the noises abruptly stop.

“Michael, I know you’re in there.” She sighs, leaning against the door and wiggling the handle. “Let me in or else I’m going to bust the door down.”

Nothing.

“I’m being serious, and then I’m going to make sure that you have to rebuild the door from scratch by yourself.” That gets his attention, and Madison can hear him shuffling around again.

The door swings open by itself, and Madison quickly walks through before Michael decides to change his mind. The sight that she comes across has her stifling a gasp; Madison’s seen a lot of things in her long life, but never has she seen this. Michael’s usually-pristine office is a complete wreck. Books have been torn apart and thrown everywhere, paintings are slashed, and the couch cushions are ripped open. The bookshelves lay toppled on their sides, and Michael’s prized desk is in splinters. The blond man sits in the middle of the carnage, head in his hands as his shoulders shake. It’s jarring to see him like this, so uncomposed and not at all in control of his emotions.

“Michael.” Madison says gently, falling onto her knees next to him. Her hand hovers above his shoulder, but she doesn’t dare lay it on him yet.

“Did you get her to a hospital?” He asks quietly, but Madison can still hear his voice shake with tears.

“The best one in the area. They’re going to take good care of her, I made sure of that.” They both sit in silence for a while longer, but Madison can tell that her presence is having a calming effect on Michael’s emotions.

“She’s never going to be able to come back here. She’ll die if she does.” He’s stating the obvious, but Madison has a hunch that he’s still trying to come to terms with the situation.

“Why’d you let her go?” Madison asks.

Michael looks up, watery eyes shooting Madison a half-hearted glare. Tears are still making tracks down his face, which is red and slightly swollen from all of the crying. His hair’s a mess, and she can tell that he’s been yanking on it.

“I couldn’t let her die.”

“I know, but why? If (Y/N) died down here, there’s a good chance the apocalypse wouldn’t even happen. Now, we don’t know-”

“It’s not about that anymore, Madison!” Michael yells, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “I love her. I never want to see her hurt, or in pain, or even slightly unhappy. If...if being down here harms her, then I have no choice but to let her go.”

“And now…”

“Now I’m never going to get to see her again, because we’ll have to fight Satan for the duration of her mortal life. I’m trapped down here until we defeat my father.” Michael laughs bitterly, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Well, now I know how (Y/N) felt when I first brought her down here.”

Madison wants to reason with him, to let him know that she’s going to do anything possible to reunite him and (Y/N), but she can’t hide her shock when Michael breaks into a fresh round of tears. In that moment, they’re not gods. They’re not a king and his advisor, or two people working together to run an empire. In that moment, they’re just two friends, one of whom is heartbroken. Madison pulls Michael against her, letting him cry in her arms for the remainder of the night.

Piecing together everything that happened before you landed in the hospital is tough, and it’s certainly not helped by all the drugs the doctors have you on. Luckily, you haven’t had to do too much thinking. If you’re not sleeping, your friends are constantly at your bedside. They tell you stories about what’s been happening outside the walls of the hospital, get you whatever you need whenever you need it, and provide comfort when you just want someone to hold your hand. They try to steer the conversation away from your sickness whenever you ask about it, assuming that it’s still too traumatic for you to hear. It probably is, and you just don’t want to realize it.

The doctors still aren’t sure how you developed such an advanced stage of sepsis, or even how you were still alive when you stumbled into the hospital three weeks ago. All of your organs were shutting down, and you had lost a heart rate three times while you were in a medically-induced coma in the ICU for that first week. Your medical staff is only mildly shocked at how well you’ve recovered, and they jokingly call you their ‘medical miracle’ whenever they see you. You recovered so well that you even got discharged today. You’re grateful to be alive, and even more grateful that there’s no lasting side effects to being so sick, but you’re still confused about one thing: why is everyone saying that you came to the hospital alone?

When you had tried to ask about where Madison was, everyone was confused. There was no Madison, they told you, even after you insisted that she was the one who had brought you here. They were only more concerned when you started talking about what had happened before you got sick, listening as you told them about being kidnapped by Michael and dragged to the Underworld. If you were lucid during that time, you wouldn’t have even mentioned anything, but the morphine took away the filter you normally had. The doctors told you that vivid hallucinations are common with sepsis like yours, and that it wasn’t all that surprising that your mind had dreamt up such fantastical scenarios. Besides, the timelines that you were giving everyone didn’t match up. You described being in the Underworld for weeks, if not months, but your roommates told you that they hadn’t seen you around for a mere two days before you turned up in the hospital.

Even after they told you that you only hallucinated your experiences, you still believed what you saw. Michael may have had to stay behind to prevent Satan from seizing his throne, but surely he or Madison would come visit you to make sure that you were okay? As the days passed, though, there was no sign of either of them. You saw or experienced nothing even remotely supernatural; one night, after being particularly frustrated that nobody was believing you, you had tried to practice your magic so you could show your friends that you weren’t hallucinating. Unfortunately, nothing happened. You spent an hour focusing as hard as you could, willing yourself to use one of the Seven Wonders that you had already mastered.

Nothing moved, set itself on fire, or grew. You didn’t have any powers, and you just ended up looking like you were stretching your arms for an extended period of time. It was, figuratively, the final nail in the coffin that led you to believe that you really had just hallucinated the entire experience of being in the Underworld. Still, even now that you’re back at home, you can’t stop thinking about it. Everything just seemed so real. From the people that you met, to the magic that you learned, to the kisses you shared with Michael. They were tangible experiences, or so you had thought before waking up in that hospital bed with a bunch of wires and tubes attached to you.

You’re still pretty weak, but the cabin fever that accompanies a nearly month-long hospital stay has made you desperate to get outside and experience some fresh air. Your roommates, bless their sweet souls, had gone out and bought a porch swing so that you could be outside without it being too strenuous for you. That’s where you sit now, after taking a couple of hours to shower and take a nice nap in your own bed. Breathing deeply, the sunlight warms your sun-deprived skin while the wind whistles lightly through the trees. It’s incredibly peaceful, and you find yourself starting to nod off while rocking yourself back and forth on the swing.

The distant sound of the traffic passing by on the freeway doesn’t bother you, surprisingly. What does bother you is the dog down the street that won’t stop barking. You can hear it through your music, and it’s only getting louder. Even turning the volume on your music up all the way doesn’t help, so you huff and open your eyes in order to see how cute the dog that’s interrupting your impromptu naptime is. A black labrador runs down the street, a red rubber ball in his mouth. You smile at the sight, but a voice at the back of your head tells you that you’ve seen this dog before.

“...Cerberus?” You say quietly, feeling ridiculous at thinking that you know this random dog.

Although the dog doesn’t respond to the name, the very sight of another human on the street has him changing directions and running up the sidewalk towards you. He’s a sweet dog, immediately sitting down in front of you and laying his large head on your lap. You reward him with hearty scratches on his head, massaging his floppy ears.

“You’re such a sweet boy!” You coo, smiling when he drops the ball next to you. “Where’s your owner? Are you lost?”

“Nope, not lost.” A feminine voice calls from the abandoned yard of the Murder House.

You look up, squinting at the glare of the sun as you attempt to see who this dog belongs to. When the figure finally steps close enough to be more than a silhouette, your eyes widen and your jaw drops.

“Madison?” You don’t really believe that this actually is the Madison of your hallucinations, and you’re fully expecting her to give you her correct name. Instead she smirks, climbing the steps of the porch and leaning against the wooden railing.

“Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.” You squeal, Madison’s eyes widening when you go to stand up. “Don’t get up, I don’t want you to overexert yourself!”

She sits down on the swing next to you, and this time she’s the one to initiate a hug.

“You’re real!” You hold her tightly, tears filling your eyes while Madison chuckles.

“Why wouldn’t I be real?”

“They told me all the stuff about the Underworld was just a hallucination, and that those are common when you almost die.”

“I’m too iconic to just be a hallucination, babe.” She smirks, studying your face. “I’m so glad you’re okay, (Y/N). I really thought you were going to die.”

“I did, too.” You snort. “Why didn’t you come and visit me?”

“I did, but I cloaked myself so that mortals like you couldn’t see me. It makes things easier and causes people to ask less questions.” She shrugs.

“How’s Michael? Why didn’t he come with you?” Cerberus’ ears perk at the sound of his master’s name.

“He can’t leave the Underworld yet.” She explains gently.

“So Satan’s still at-large?” Madison nods, taking a long drag from the cigarette that dangles between her fingers.

“For now. We’ve weakened him, but we’re still trying to find a way to permanently get rid of what consists of his soul. Michael’s...hanging in there. It’s been rough for him, knowing that he was the cause of your near-death.”

“I want to see him.” You demand.

“(Y/N), you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Do you remember anything from right before we left?” You shake your head, trying to think back to that day.

“All I remember is the fever. I couldn’t even see your faces because they were blurry, and it sounded like everyone was talking underwater.”

“Well, we figured out why you got so sick. Nothing living can survive in the Underworld.” You furrow your eyebrows, looking at Madison in confusion.

“That doesn’t make any sense. How am I supposed to be the Queen of the Underworld if I can’t actually live down there?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. For now, though, you can’t visit Below.”

“So I can’t be Below, and Michael can’t be Above?” Madison nods, and you can almost feel your heart clenching in pain at the thought. “I’m never going to be able to see him again.”

You can tell that Madison wants to reassure you that this won’t be the case, but even she knows that it doesn’t look too promising right now.

“He misses you, a lot. We all do. Things are the same without you.”

“I miss you guys, too.” You smile, wondering what everyone is doing right now.

“Listen, I really want to stay but I can’t. Michael doesn’t even know that I went Above, and I need to get back before he realizes that I’m gone.”

“You’ll come back though, right?” It probably sounds pathetic, how scared you are at the thought of never seeing Madison again, but she just smiles reassuringly and grips your hand tightly.

“Of course I will. I promise.” She stands up, Cerberus following her movements and looking up at her obediently. “Don’t die or trigger the apocalypse while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’ll try my hardest.”

Madison leans forward to kiss your cheek before disappearing, a strong gust of wind and her crushed cigarette butt the only signs that she was here in the first place.

Tag List: @nana15774 @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw @sebastianshoe @pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @dolceandchalamet @everything-is-awesomesauce @langdonslove @ccodyfern @consultingsnowqueen @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @hplotrfan @omg-hellgirl @gallxntdean @storminmytwistedmind @venusxxlangdon @langdonsdemon @kahhlo @americanhorrorstudies @antichristwrites @xxxmaterialistic

[bigskydreaming]

Hi, you seem to know comics well, do you know if reviews on Amazon, Comixology, Goodreads etc. help comics writers? I know they help other book writers but is it the same for comics? How do they know if fans like certain books or not? What if a book gets 2 star average does it get pulled back? Nobody really likes Nightwing now, the reviews on those sites are bad but DC doesn't seem to notice, are people hate buying then?

It does and it doesn’t, lol. Like, there are key differences between novels and comic books, and reviews are a big part of that. With novels, reviews DIRECTLY impact a book’s success, because these days, online retailers like Amazon are the juggernauts of book sales. And with Amazon at least, just as an example……the number of reviews a book has is directly linked to how visible or searchable that book is on their site. Their algorithms are pretty much built around reviews as the definitive factor, and in a storefront with literally millions of books like Amazon has, with titles often shared between books because you can’t copyright a title…..strong visibility is crucial to a book succeeding. And so, the more reviews you have, the higher the algorithms boost your visibility, the sooner your book appears in the list of search results based on title, author name, keywords, all of that. 

So bottom line with novels is if you want to support a particular book or author, REVIEW THEIR BOOKS. Particularly on retail sites as opposed to on Goodreads, or at least not just on Goodreads. Reviews are by far the single most crucial thing you can do to help a book do well.

With comic books its a little different, because comic books are work for hire (well with the exception of creator owned titles like Image books). The difference that makes is most evident when it comes to royalties. 

With novels, at least traditionally published novels, a publisher buys the right to publish an author’s book with an advance - a sum of money based on their projected profits for the book, and/or enough to outbid any other publishers vying to make a deal for that book with the author. The advance is usually split up into two or three payments, more if the book deal ends up being for a book and its sequels or later projects of the author, but regardless, with a lot of books, the advance is the only payment the author ever gets. Because part of the book deal is that the publisher keeps all profits from the book up until the advance is paid out….and then after that point is when the author starts to get royalty payments, aka further profits that are directly from a book’s sales. 

So if a book never earns out its advance, the author never ends up getting royalties for that book….though the flip side of that is that even if a book never earns out its advance and makes as much as the publisher expected, the author still gets to keep the rest of the advance, the unmatched part. (However, books not earning out their advances can and does usually affect the author’s future book deals).

But with comic books, its an entirely different arrangement. Because comic books like for Marvel and DC are work for hire, the writers don’t own the intellectual property rights to the characters or franchises they’re writing, so the payment structure is different. For the most part, writers are basically kinda like salaried employees….they get a set page rate, for every page they write on those books, but that’s usually it. The exception is when comic books perform particularly well, Marvel and DC have it structured to basically like….give bonuses. (Or at least this was true about five or so years ago, when I last was discussing this sort of thing with friends in the industry). The last I can say for sure, it was something like for any book that breaks over 50,000 units sold in a month, the writer would get royalties for that book, based off the individual sales for that month and any other month it continued to break 50,000 units sold. That number may have changed since I last heard.

BUT. Also with comic books, there’s the trade paperback collections to consider….as those make up a huge amount of the profits for Marvel and DC. And so while there’s not a whole lot that individuals can do to affect whether a single issue is successful enough to earn a writer royalties……reviews for trade paperback collections on sites like Amazon work the same way as they do with novels, in terms of boosting visibility and thus directly impacting how well a book does. And so even books that aren’t all that profitable month to month, in terms of single issues, can be an entirely different matter when it comes to the story arc collections. A monthly title can underperform in the direct comic book marketplace…..but go on to sell extremely well in its trade paperback edition, and thus seemingly affect a writer’s career even months after their initial story seemed underwhelming in terms of how profitable/successful it was.

However, the other element with comic books is the tenure of writers, so to speak. How long they get to keep writing a comic book. And profits are largely the biggest contributor to this, but aside from that, word of mouth can and does affect this too. But how much, and how consistently….that’s anyone’s guess. It really just depends on the people involved on the publishing side of things, and how much they’re looking to take reader feedback into account on certain titles or writers. As opposed to having like, longterm plans they’re determined to power through on, expecting it all to pay dividends in the end.

And so a huge public outcry like the negative responses Tom King received for certain issues of his Batman run CAN play into how long a writer stays on a title, as I do believe that had at least a little to do with King’s Batman run being cut shorter than planned, ‘conflicting schedules due to a movie project’ excuse notwithstanding. (LOL cuz I smelled bullshit there. The timelines involved with a writer’s part of movies are just….so massively set to a different scale than comic books, I call BS that there was such a sudden and unexpected time crunch as to make it impossible for King to finish just the last twelve issues to what he’d been calling his magnum opus. Nah. Not buying that official party line, sorry.)

But anyway, point being, public outcry can and does affect writers staying on a title…..and inversely, sufficiently positive public response can lead to writers getting to stay longer than planned on a title, or lead to them getting other similar projects in the future, or even unrelated books in general. But like I said, this is kinda a case by case thing and not any kind of guarantee….and then you have situations like Heroes in Crisis, where the response was pretty hugely and vocally negative…..but was never really going to affect that much, as it was a finite miniseries with a specific singular premise, and most of it was probably already in the bag by the time the first issue dropped. Or even if not, like…..once those first one or two issues come out, even if they’re universally panned by critics and readers, at that point, there’s still really not all that much a publisher can do other than power through to the finish, try and tweak a finish to be more palatable, or just pull the series without releasing the rest of the issues….which tends to piss off readers, concern shareholders, and overall just erode confidence in how well the current leadership of the company’s creative division is like…doing their jobs. 

So they really don’t like doing that, which is why sometimes Marvel or DC will see a series through to its finish even in spite of horrible reception….its not because they’re oblivious to the negative response its getting….its that sometimes there just is no good alternative in their eyes.

I think that pretty much covers all of what you were asking, one way or another, but let me know if I missed something.