#but there are also no bookstores that sell fiction and they just sell school books

[lnkedmyheart]

Since when did having a personal library become the same as hoarding???

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

-

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run. 

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

-

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you. 

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst. 

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

-

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

-

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth: 

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?" 

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven. 

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks. 

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music. 

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart. 

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

-

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

-

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

-

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

-

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

[bogkeep]

Hello. I have two silly questions to ask you. Does your town really not have a single bookstore? Even sillier question, does it at least have a library?

I've always just assumed countries like Norway had a library in every town, no matter how tiny, so everybody could always read. As I learn more about the world, I do believe that's a bit like assuming everyone in Texas wears cowboy hats and rides horses everywhere.

Have a nice day!

hi!

the tiny industrial town in sweden where i live temporarily for clock school does not have a dedicated bookstore!! it was driving me up a wall when i got there and i just wanted to buy a regular workbook for class!!!! according to my maps they HAD one but it got permanently closed. i found that one of the big supermarkets sells some books and some basic stationery, but i wouldn't call it A Book Store. thankfully there's a bigger town just a 40 minute train ride away, and it has multiple book stores :D and whenever i take a trip to stockholm i visit scifi-bokhandeln, an absolutely decadent comic book + genre fiction store >:) that's a special treat.

there IS a library (and a library bus! i see it some mornings on way to school), i took a peek inside it early on in my stay, but it was very small and the comics section was practically non-existent </3 i haven't bothered getting a local library card (idk if i could without a legitimate swedish id of some sort, either.)

my norwegian hometown (the big one, not the population 50 village in northern norway. that one has nothing much of anything) has lots and lots of book stores and a big wonderful library (with skeletons and medieval church ruins<3)!!! the latter is now on libby as well (they were connected to a different app previously and it was so wonky and bad and they never had any books i wanted??) so i still get use of my library card, even far away in the strange and barbaric lands of sweden. i never knew how good i had it until i moved away.

i ALSO believed every town that can be called a town in scandinavia would have a bookstore, like what kind of place hasn't??? welp. maybe times are changing and it's not so easy to keep physical bookstores anymore.

[olderthannetfic]

YA/G-D anon back for some clarifications:

YA as a demographic wasn't really "a thing" until the early 2000s. There were books that were published with the intention of being read by teenagers and young children, but the strict distinction we have now (Middle grade, YA, Adult) wasn't necessarily in existence yet in publishing, mostly because it wasn't viewed as being a viable investment for publishers to make money. Purchasing and publishing novels, after all, is expensive and time consuming. So, while there were some novels well-known to be made for or accessible to teens and kids, publishers didn't make much of a distinction between the two: what we would now consider MG and YA. YA as being a useful space for teen books was encouraged by everyone but publishers, however. Educators wanted it. Librarians wanted it. Booksellers, as well. Publishers were slow on the uptake. These books for teens and kids were usually published to sell to libraries and schools with little hope for huge profits. If YA books were shelved separately, it was likely because of choices made by specific booksellers, librarians, teachers, and parents. Authors like Sarah Dessen published books in the 90s that were unquestionably YA and sold to teenagers, but these publications are now considered due to the successes in books we now call MG, most notably Harry Potter. Rowling's books sold so well publishers were beginning to embrace children, and later teens, as actual demographics to market to.

Remember: historically, books intended/appropriate for young readers have always existed but were not actually marketed as such from ground zero (the publisher, again). This is why things like Anne of Green Gables in any store with direct publisher influence, like B&N, is shelved along with adult books and other classics. Others like Judy Blume's Are You There God? are now considered MG, and some like Speak (1999) are considered YA. Upon publication, they were marked as being intended for a young readership, so they were also recommended for teens to read, but it couldn't be called YA--because it wasn't an established demographic for publishers. The sweet spot publishers were looking for was something that was read by teens and adults. Teenagers aren't a large enough demographic to rely on for sales even though things like Harry Potter showed that it's possible for certain books. When Twilight was published in 2005, this was a turning point. Teens and adults were reading the same things. YA finally proved to be profitable to make into a proper demographic from publishers. This is why, even today, YA novels arguably have more stylistic similarities with books like Twilight (2005), The Uglies (2005), City of Bones (2007), The Vampire Academy (2007), and Looking For Alaska (2005). By 2008 when The Hunger Games came out, YA was in full swing, so it was profitable for publishers to acquire more YA titles.

It's not that books for teens and kids never existed, of course not. However, there are now clear distinctions and cut-offs based on age and theme that publishers strategically employ because they actually can now. YA is profitable now in a way it never was in the past because adults read it, too (resulting in current publishers' refusal to abandon the adult readers of YA despite the G-D not being for them, technically.) YA books today were just lumped together with children's books. Now, we can divide them as MG or YA. In fact, many books casually referred to as YA are now categorized as MG.

YA didn't exist prior to the early 2000s in the way we understand YA today: books with a clear demographic of teenagers or 12-18, shelved separately from MG and adult fiction, with an ISBN telling booksellers it should specifically go in the section clearly labeled YA that is reported directly from publishers, and authors receiving large advances for said YA books (think Children of Blood and Bone). If someone noticed books in a library, school, or bookstore being labeled YA prior to this, it was likely a push by individuals to make sales or convince people to read them. It usually had little to do with publishers, so when people say YA started in the early 2000s, it's technically true because publishers didn't acknowledge it as a genre-demographic that could make money. Children's books (now MG and YA) prior to this were often grouped together and published as something to sell to libraries and schools, not something that would have a huge return on investment, like today. It's not really ahistorical in the context of the publishing industry, unless you're speaking about YA as a general term meaning books intended for teens. Those have always existed, but when people talk about YA, today, we're talking about the specific genre-demographic that has series like Shatter Me, The Fault In Our Stars, The Hate U Give, Six of Crows, An Ember in the Ashes, etc. This is important to note because there are clear publishing definitions that divide YA and MG, and if you look, many of the books colloquially called YA before the 2000s, will likely be labeled as MG today with some being formally considered YA, as well (think The Outsiders). I recall the Harry Potter books being called "YA" when I went to bookstores at one point. Now they're MG. Things have changed in how we categorize books with time. In another fifty years, maybe Ne Adult as a demographic will actually take off, and books currently categorized for adults that are just campus novels will have a new place (categorically) to call home. Who knows.

Tldr: No, it's not really ahistorical to say YA didn't exist prior to the 2000s in the sense of how we currently define YA. If you define YA books as vaguely anything that's intended for kids and teens, yes, YA has always existed, but that muddies the waters because for those books today, many are currently labeled as MG, and many as YA.

--

Yeah, seriously.

I read the shit out of Christopher Pike in the 90s, but that's when I was like 12-13, and a lot of the other fans I knew were also that age (yes, despite the constant sex and violence). Despite how "adult" it is, it really wasn't being pushed for older teenagers but for the edgy end of that tween market that ate up Goosebumps and V.C. Andrews.

I think some bookstores just stuck Pike in the horror section, though Goosebumps was definitely in the children's section a lot of places. I don't think the children's sections usually even had a sign saying 'teen', though the shelves were roughly divided by age. (Obviously, it depended on the store/library/etc. in charge. Some had better curation and labeling than others.)

It's not that I didn't want More Like Pike, but there wasn't some obvious category to go to to find such things. He was kind of his own brand and section given that he had like 994872942794629 books.

[feminisedlad]

How might one get into "reading for a living" because that's a dream job

it is not a dream job, its called publishing and i make less than 40k a year LOL.

to be less arch, im an editor, and i work in editorial which is the 'flashy' department (lmao), but it's a pretty stressful job. obviously it's one i enjoy because no one would stay in the industry unless they got some reward for it. but still. i say 'reading books' is my job but thats probably only like 40% of it. a lot of my day to day work involves nagging people for deadlines, having meetings abt whether XYZ feature will cost extra, researching marketing trends, etc. YMMV if you work as a book designer or some other dept, i know they have different rules. this isnt to bitch but i think publishing has REALLY good PR among english majors and these are things i wish someone had told me before i sunk money into a publishing degree. BTW: dont get a publishing degree. experience > MA in publishing

so like, i cant in good conscience recommend the industry -- its sort of like going to grad school except with worse pay (the phd candidate gets a stipend; the unpaid intern does not.) but if you already have prion disease and you want to go into publishing, heres what i got

publishing advice below:

first things first, you need book experience. you can get this through the obvious ways (working on ur college lit mag, unpaid internships, copyediting freelance work) but i feel like that prob goes without saying. so what ill say is: if none of those options work, you could always work at a bookstore. lots of the editors i work with actually got their start by saying in the interview, "i worked at barnes and noble and noticed that [category] sells well. i love noticing which books resonate with people" or what have you

i will say that i work in nonfiction publishing, which has some differences from like, editing queer YA fiction. one of those jobs is more competitive than the other. and the industry standards are pretty toxic (if your author misses his deadline and sends the manuscript at 6pm, tough shit, you have to work late to make sure the book doesn't miss its pub date. if you're not thinking about all your books constantly, you must not really care. etc.)

that said one of the best things i can recommend is looking into publishing jobs in different departments. most people are competing for editorial department jobs (things like acquiring and signing books, and being the main point of contact for an author.) but if your passion mostly lies in editing or making things pristine, managing editorial departments often hire production editors who still read through all the books, but their day to day work is more like proofreading, checking barcodes, and other printing related tasks.

theres also finance. finance publishing jobs are never anyones first choice, but on the plus side, you wont have to tell the author why his advance is late. thats the acquiring editor's job. and also lots of people pivot to editorial after they have some years doing finance, design, production, etc.

i will say there are way more remote publishing jobs now than ever. theyre all super competitive but you should apply anyway. if youre entry level, look for "editorial assistant" type roles. some of these actually pay really well: to give an example, harvard hires copyeditors and editorial assistants at a rate which is more than my yearly salary. i mean, its harvard. you gotta look around. but there are more options besides the big 5 publishers. academic publishing is its own field! work at your favorite journal/database! work at JSTOR or wiley!

i dont think theres anything else i would add, other than just random shit talking abt industry standards and quirks of the industry. i dont want to sound whiny because i realize im lucky to be working in my field -- but, i think people oversell publishing as one of "the only career options for english majors."

to be totally honest, most people could make double or triple my salary from being a project manager or corporate editor. so if you enjoy reading and editing, there are better options to you than trade publishing. if you enjoy the act of connecting with authors and making their vision a reality, you might enjoy publishing. or you might not. idk!

[asecretvice]

Rereading 'And this your living kiss' and it really makes me want to take Cas's class haha! Which got me wondering whether you might have any recommendations how to ease into reading poetry or learning more about it as someone who has been out of school for a while? I find the way you talk about poetry in that fic incredible and I reference it all the time when speaking about fan fiction in general, because not only do you flesh out these characters so beautifully, you also write original poetry from a character's viewpoint and it's analysis?! It is honestly super inspiring. I'll stop gushing now haha :D

(Also sorry I might have unfollowed/refollowed you a few times earlier since my tumblr was glitching...)

Oh my goodness, thank you so much! This is very kind of you. That you feel inspired means so much to me ^_^ [And no worries about the following stuff. Tumblr is as tumblr does, lol.]

And now I have wonderful news for you--there are several avenues you can take when easing back into poetry! I answered an ask a while back in which someone requested recs, and much of that still holds true: seek out anthologies; look into different countries' most celebrated poets; peruse exemplars from various poetic movements, etc.

But how to get to those things? Let us count the ways!

The Library. I don't know where you live, but hopefully you have access to either a public or university library (many of which allow non-students to get cards as well). Different types of libraries have different aims when it comes to curating a collection, but either way if you head to the 811s and thereabouts (if they use the Dewey Decimal System) you will have a ton of stuff to choose from. Again, go to the anthologies so you can read a wide variety of poetry. Then, mark every time you read a poem that stirs something inside you. Then by the end of it you'll have a ready-made list of poets to explore more in depth. At the same time, you've really widened your horizons. If there's already a poet or two you have in mind, a library will likely carry a collection or even a complete collection of their work. Reading the complete collection of a poet can be just as illuminating an experience as reading a wide-reaching anthology. You see a poet grow before your very eyes, can feel the themes as they evolve in their clever hands, watch as they experiment and find their unique voice. I prefer physical books when possible, but libraries also have one or more ebook subscription services, such as Libby or Hoopla, that you can access as well if that's more convenient for you. And, if you're unfamiliar with libraries you may not have heard of interlibrary loan before--this is when a library will look outside of its own system for a book, so even if none of their branches carry it, they will find someone in the country who does and then bring it to their library for you. The best part about this is that these services should all be free to you. Unfortunately that is not true of every library, but most try their best, because freedom of and access to information is their mission. That makes the library the perfect place to explore things you don't necessarily want to invest your resources in.

Of course, if you do have some resources don't neglect to check out your local bookstore. If you're lucky, you have access to some independent bookstores! I mean, if you've only got access to a big chain go there too, but in my experience unless it's a huge store they only carry what will specifically sell because it's a classic likely to be assigned by local schools, or the odd book that has big prospects. Which is totally fine! But what an independent bookstore can give you is a more personally curated collection. If you're lucky, you can find little gems in addition to what will conventionally sell. Regardless the owners/managers of such a bookstore will have a working relationship with lots of different publishers and their salespeople, and will have a more interesting spread. There are websites, such as libro.fm and bookshop.org, which support independent bookstores for your online book and audiobook shopping needs.

The internet, especially The Poetry Foundation. The organization behind the website also publishes Poetry Magazine. You will find most popular poets on this website, often with an accompanying bio. This will give you a decent overview of whoever you're looking up. Sometimes when you click on a poem it will lead you to the page of a digital upload of the magazine--which is amazing, because then you can keep turning the pages and read everything they published in May of 1952, or whatever. Also when you're on the front page of the website you can read articles and interviews etc about poetry. A small caveat about this, and any other poetry journal or anthology. These poems are chosen by editors and other people who fancy themselves good arbiters of what is the best kind of poetry. Sometimes they're right; sometimes they're wrong; sometimes it's simply a matter of taste. People are inherently subjective, poetry is very subjective, and therefore all sorts of biases can be in play. Another factor to consider is that a lot of poetry from the 20th century on is still under copyright, whether under a trust or the author/author's family. Therefore some of the selections of poems that the site has for someone isn't necessarily what they'd choose, but what they're allowed to host on their site. Another source to really consider is wikipedia. I know, I know, but it's great at two things: a) lists and b) sourcing. Look at lists of your country's poet laureates (even states/provinces and cities can have them too!). Look at winners and nominees for major literary prizes. Pick a poet, scroll down to the bottom, and see what categories the wiki elves have put them in (eg, "Poets in such and such movement") and see who else is a part of it.

People. Don't underestimate the people around you. Friends, family, even coworkers. The most random people might have an opinion--or a wealth of knowledge--that surprises you. Ask them, even, if they remember what sort of poems/poets they were taught in school. If nothing else, it will tell you what's stuck with them all this time. And hey, wherever there's someone whose taste you trust, may as well mine them for more recs!

Books about poetry. Okay, so you've got several avenues you can take when looking to read poetry. But you mention learning--so let's talk about those resources. I would say there are a few different angles to take here: anthologies, histories, biographies, and workbooks. I know I've already mentioned anthologies, but it's worth mentioning here again because not all anthologies are alike. They're edited by different people and have different goals. Sometimes the goal is to give as wide a spread of a certain thing as possible; other times it's to be very narrow in scope for deeper exploration. Likewise, sometimes they will have a lot to say before a certain poem/poet is introduced, and sometimes they stick with bare bones. Flip through an anthology before committing to it to see if it strikes the right balance for you. How much context would you like? Histories is kind of a wide range...they overlap a lot with biographies and more academic ventures. These are the type that might focus on a pair or group of poets who had a relationship of some kind (friendship, antagonism, student-teacher, etc). So you know, you can find a book about the Pre-Raphaelites, for example, and if the author(s) know what they're about you'll get tons of amazing context for the point in time, the social fabric they lived in, their influences, and why they changed the world, basically. Biographies are that, but more focused on one person. I really enjoy biographies about poets because in my experience the author set out to write the book because they really love the poetry and find the person behind it interesting. Sometimes they have even been a student of the poet in question. I think it's really great to get so much historical and personal context, because you can read the poetry in so many more ways. (I don't know what your educational background is, but are you familiar with the various types of literary criticism? There are so many lenses to choose from, and all useful in different ways. If you're interested in hearing more about that, let me know!) Workbooks are ones that are designed to help you write poetry. Even if you're not interested in pursuing writing for yourself, it can teach you a whole lot about reading it because it gives you a greater understanding of its underlying structure. Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Travelled does well with introducing poetic elements, providing examples, and setting up exercises for you to try yourself. I hope at least some of this has been helpful to you. Thanks again for your ask!

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Alex Recommends: June Books

What an eventful month it has been! From family parties to house hunting, June has been full of future planning and more than our fair share of stressing about it.

We've had some pretty hot days where I've wanted to do nothing but sit in a cool room and read. However, I've had far too much work to do to relax. The dissertation research is slowly coming together now and I'm actually quite excited about the data collection part. Obviously I'm super anxious about it all too and worried about how I'll juggle it alongside the new job.

Speaking of which, I am just a few days into my librarian career. Everyone is really friendly and helpful so far and it seems like a great place to work. There's so much to learn and it will probably be a while before I'm confident in all parts of it but it's getting off to a good start.

As it's Pride month, this month's recommendations are themed accordingly. There's a really great selection here, full of inspiring, adorable and unique stories that I know you'll love. June is a month for celebrating our true selves and love in all its forms, so I hope you take some of that beautiful spirit from these books.

-Love, Alex x

FICTION: The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur.

Tansy is dedicated to her family's bookstore and has little time for romance but her family keep asking about her love life. So, she invents a beautiful girlfriend called Gemma, inspired by the woman on the cover of the romance novels that Tansy loves. Imagine Tansy's shock when the real life Gemma shows up at a family wedding. Gemma van Dalen is the heir to her family's publishing company but in order to inherit, she needs to marry. When Tansy's aunt reveals plans for selling the bookstore, Tansy realises that she needs a large injection of cash to keep hold of it. That's something that Gemma can help with. Let the marriage of convenience commence! I'm not sure I've read a contemporary marriage of convenience romance before but it certainly gave it a slightly different flavour than the love stories I'm used to. Perhaps it's because regency romance is where I've mostly encountered farces and relationships like this before but I couldn't get away from that historical vibe, despite it being very much a contemporary novel. There are some real high stakes involved in the narrative and some serious villains that I loved to hate. On the flip side, there is also a cast of loveable queer side characters who I would love to meet again.

NON-FICTION: A Trans Man Walks Into A Gay Bar by Harry Nicholas.

When his long-term relationship with a woman ended, Harry realised that he was in fact, a single gay, trans man. Would the gay community accept him? What would he learn in his next foray into dating while stepping into the light of his true self? This moving, coming-of-age memoir celebrates self-exploration and the embracing of a new culture that can come with that. Harry is very honest and open, as he discusses the realities of being a gay, trans man. There's a scene in a pharmacy where he is denied the morning after pill because 'the girl has to come in herself' that I think illustrates the ignorance and lack of education about what trans people go through. The book is so real and informative without being preachy, which is a fantastic feat. A must read for Pride season!

MIDDLE-GRADE: Away With Words by Sophie Cameron.

Gala and her dad have moved from their home in Spain to Scotland to live with her dad's boyfriend Ryan. Gala never wanted to leave her friends or school behind and she's struggling to settle into her new life. Then she meets Natalie, a shy girl with selective mutism. Like Gala, Natalie collects other people's words but Natalie uses them to write beautiful poems. As their friendship blossoms, Gala and Natalie begin to write positive poems for their classmates. However, someone else is leaving much nastier poems and Gala and Natalie are the prime suspects. Can they find out who is really behind them? Away With Words is a beautiful, gripping story about the power and wonder of words and language. It's about feeling alone and isolated in a place that you don't understand but finding your own comfort and strength within it. I loved the mystery aspect so much and the gorgeous idea that words are physical things. I also loved the ambiguity around whether the words really contain the colours and feelings that the girls associate with them or whether this is just how they see them. A truly unique, imaginative tale that champions outsiders alongside some stunning, magical imagery.

YA: Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko.

After the death of her mother, Coley and her father move to Oregon. That's where she meets Sonya and her friends. Although she and Sonya have an instant connection, Coley is afraid that a romance would end just like every other love she's ever had. Sonya has never had a girlfriend before, so is Coley really who she wants? It's not until they both accept their feelings and open up to each other that they can find their true happiness. This book is set in the mid 00s and as someone who was this age at that time, I can attest to the fact that the teen experience depicted here was very recognisable. It's a very heady, intense ride that tackles internalised homophobia, grief and the differences between toxic and healthy friendships. Despite its intensity, it's a clean romance, making it ideal for all tastes and age groups.

FANTASY: Bored Gay Werewolf by Tony Santorella.

It's fair to say that Brian is struggling with adulthood. He spends his days working a regular restaurant job alongside his friends Nik and Darby and his nights browsing Grindr and hiding his monthly transitions into a werewolf. Then charismatic fellow werewolf, Tyler headhunts Brian to be a part of a new movement aimed at taming the werewolf's wild instincts. However, something sinister appears to be lurking underneath it all. Bored Gay Werewolf follows a likeable, relatable and thoroughly flawed protagonist with a very snarky voice and sense of humour. The book touches on gay prejudices and assumptions but it is predominantly a criticism of capitalism and how it brings out the worst in people. There is a lovely twist at the end that sets it up to be a new queer, paranormal series that I'm really excited about. I can't wait to see what's next for these characters!

[leschanceux]

headcanon from the tea room!; how does your muse use a public library?

as a precursor to this headcanon; dillon has always been interested in learning things and reading as many books as he can get his hands on, with a particular affinity for non-fiction books. his father had an encyclopedia set in his study ( one of those massive collection-type encyclopedias with multiple books for each letter covering literally everything ) and dillon would spend days and days lying on the floor with one of the books and just read it cover to cover. he's more of an academic reader than a getting lost in a good story reader; for him, reading is all about knowledge and learning, and he gets his pleasure from reading that way, but he fully appreciates the power of a good story and he'll encourage other people to indulge in those too.

- do they just go to browse the in-house catalogue, or do they use it for interlibrary loan & extended research?

dillon ( who does actually work in a bookstore ) loves to read but his focus is more non-fiction, and he finds a different interest or a different rabbit-hole to follow pretty regularly, he'll peruse both the library's in-house catalogue but he also regularly uses the interlibrary loan facilities and research materials to find out as much as he can about different subjects from different places. luckily, his library's interlibrary loan system covers libraries from all over the world - as long as you have a title or a specific subject, the books will be sent from anywhere in the world to that library for you to pick up. these facilities help dillon in his day to day life, but it also helps him to have read a broad range of books on various topics for work, because then he can recommend several titles to customers if they ask about a specific subject.

sometimes this helps when deciding which books to stock in his bookstore; for example, when he went through a plant phase, he borrowed a lot of books on subjects like the medicinal uses of plants, or the language of flowers, or even flower arranging, and they went down quite well with the customers when he ordered a limited amount of stock for his shelves, but other focuses like the history of certain types of machinery are more niche, so they're less likely to appear at the store. it's a balancing act, and dillon can sort of judge by now what would sell better ( unfortunately, even magic bookstores only have a finite amount of storage space, which sucks ).

- do they take children to events, such as story times or guided crafts? how about teenagers? do they encourage their children to keep going & using resources after they're "graduated" out of story time? are there other support structures in place for children, such a literacy programs?

dillon doesn't have children of his own, but he does have a couple of niblings ( the children of his siblings; his nieces and nephews ) and he definitely takes them to the library when he's looking after them and encourages them to join in with events and interacting with the library. their local library has literacy programs like a reading marathon in the schools' summer break, where the kids have to log each book they borrow and read, write a little synopsis and they get a prize at the end depending on how many they've read. his niblings are good readers themselves; they do enjoy the story time activities when they're small, but they also enjoy workshops geared toward teens as they grow, like the poetry writing sessions or that one write your own comic session that the library offers.

- do they themselves go to events, like open art studio nights, computer/digital literacy classes, community DIY/crafting, or the more traditional book clubs?

dillon's more likely to host a bookclub at the store than attend one at the library. he's been to a couple of events at his local library when there've been things that play into his interests, like a night where they hosted authors from various cultures who'd written books around the same subject, but on the whole, he's not really that kind of person --- though he does keep an event schedule for the library up on the store's noticeboard for his customers, just in case they're interested in such events.

- are they the sort to stay in the library & read their mini hoard, or do they prefer to check out things to take home for a time? what sort of things do they check out (books, DVDs, manga, ebooks, audiobooks vs power tools, fishing rods, museum passes, mobile hotspots, & seeds to be planted?) (yes you can check all of these things out depending on the library)

dillon definitely prefers to take his hoard home with him, just so he can take his time with the materials he borrows and get the most out of them. he also has a favourite reading corner at home with a cosy chair and a lamp that's angled just right and the facilities to make a drink or snack while he reads, so he definitely prefers to go home to read through the pile of books he comes away with.

as for the things he checks out, they're mostly books, but he does also like to borrow audiobooks to listen to while he does the store's stock-check or some cleaning, and he'd definitely borrow museum passes or ingredients ( like seeds ) for potions or magical rituals if his personal stash is running short.

- how do they feel about "human libraries" - programs where you can sit with a human "book" & learn about different cultures, backgrounds, & life experiences? what sort of human would they "take out on loan" & why?

dillon absolutely adores human libraries. as someone who regularly comes into contact with people of different cultures and species, and one whose life has been dedicated to learning so much about as much as he can possibly learn about, he'd spend absolutely ages with those people who are willing to be "loaned" out to tell their stories to other people. he'd spend a couple of days thinking of questions to ask them first, then go along and sit with them and just listen to everything they're willing to tell him.

he'll do his research if he knows the person he'd like to "loan" out in advance, but if he doesn't know what culture they come from, he has a set of more general questions about cultural practices or observations. it's easier when he knows in advance who he'll be meeting, of course, but not knowing is not something that would stop him from utilising such a wonderful resource.

- does their library host D&D events? if so, do they partake or socialize, or do they skip that night in favor of other community events?

dillon already lives in a magical society so they don't have d&d specifically, but they do have something similar that involves creatures like dragons or different bird kingdoms than species like fae or warlocks ( because that's who lives in his society ).

he does attend these nights at the library, but not regularly because that's creating a ficticious storyline and he's not really into that sort of thing. but the concept of it definitely intrigues him and it'd give him the opportunity to create a character that maybe utilises some of the knowledge he's gotten from books, like the plant phase.

- does their library have a mobile outreach service? if so, have their used it themselves or partnered with it for work & community events?

yes, dillon's local library has a mobile outreach service; they actually do book deliveries for people who are stuck in their homes for various reasons ( temporary or otherwise! ) and for schools to make sure that everybody in their community has some kind of access to the library services. and yes, dillon partners with them - he'll take in library books from people to be returned, if they can't make it themselves for whatever reason; he partners with the library to bring some of their events into the store if the times at the library itself is inconvenient for a certain amount of people ( so if 20 people said that they couldn't attend a class on how to start a novel, he'd contact the library and arrange for a repeat of the workshop at a later time for those people, if the library are willing and able to do that! ). he knows the library staff very well at this point, and to be able to join in on spreading a love of books is an amazing feeling.

[userholland]

between the lines | frat!tom

finals week is here and you’re an emotional wreck, to say the least. not only is your schedule jam-packed, but there are things going on in your life as well. you need to cram, you need to meet due dates and frankly, you could use a drink to get through it all. the night you go to a frat party, you see a cute and familiar face that you have to see every time you go to the small bookstore and he’s behind the cash register.

PAIRING : frat!tom & college!fem!reader

GENRE : college, book shop, love at first sight, dramatic love confessions, wedding date, & a long (too long tbh) slow burn

WARNINGS : tom being sarcastic but cute, lots of fluff + corny dialogue, toxic parents and divorce, a light/tasteful make-out, cursing, drinking, trust issues, both reader and tom being bibliophiles (annotations & recommendations blah blah), etc.

WORD COUNT : 13.9k

A/N : mostly, inspired by an another great idea @venomsilk gave me <3 🧸🌤 🍰 dedicated to her. this is for her valentine’s celebration (a few months late, oops. but school / mental health checks happened so respectable hiatus on this fic) and i was so happy and excited to write it tbh ! i've been more into the romance ya novels lately so i really wanted to give this fic a lot of love and filled it with inspiration from books i've read. pls rec me some bc this summer i want beach reads. anyways adore and appreciate my venomsilk besthie so much. bear with me in this fic, but hope everyone enjoys ! also this header is originally from here! i just added the shredded border

𑁍 masterlist 𑁍

Books. They were a common comfort you turned toward in times of stress, sadness or simply something to make the time go by on the bus ride to campus.

The small bookstore, that you often went to on the weekends, was unique. Most books were donated or found, then there was a small selection of brand new editions on the circular table when you entered the shop.

From the tall shelves filled with fictional adventures to the big, voluptuous, and green plants decorated around the front window, everything about this place was perfect. But, the dark, curly-haired cashier with a soft smile was a bonus to your shopping experience.

Every time you approached the counter, heat would suddenly radiate from your face and your heart fluttered when the boy rose his head to meet your eyes. Sometimes, you caught him reading a classic novel, other times, he was taking his time to finish homework when the store didn’t have but one or two people browsing.

His name is Tom, once overhearing one of his co-workers call him Tommy. You didn’t know anything about him, but it fit his charming yet approachable appearance. He wore a bunch of flannels with the sleeves rolled up and a solid color tee to match underneath, the occasional baseball tee or henley if the temperature in the store was too warm.

You didn’t mean to giggle the time you walked up to him and his cheeks were bright pink from how hot it was inside compared to the coming winter chill changing the fall weather.

Once or twice, you wondered if he remembered you. It sounded egotistical, questioning your importance to some stranger, but you couldn’t help it. He gave you recommendations or comments on the books you purchased, persuasive enough to burn a bigger hole in your pocket for decent literature.

The way he smiled and giggled when you had small talk, all from asking each other how your days had been. If it was a selling tactic he used; it was working.

Some days, romanticizing simple interactions like this made life less lonely and stressful. Tom was simply a crush; just another cute guy you could think about when you think about your future and the little fantasies in between your daydreams. It was nice for a bit and then you snapped back into reality, concentrating on your studies and looking forward to getting a degree. 

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

Tom took advantage of the lazy afternoon shift between his classes.

There were little to no customers, free time to study and complete silence unless he turned on the music over the speakers throughout the store. While the minimum wage didn’t seem worth it, Tom much more preferred working at his Aunt and Uncle’s bookstore than to getting ripped off from writing English essays for his “so-called” fraternity brothers. 

As he sat at his post behind the register, comfortably wearing his black Carhartt jacket, with his head lowered so his brown curls hung down. He unknowingly pouted as he made bright-red corrections on his rough draft for one of his final papers. Even though Tom had three to four other final papers of his own to do, he was doing essays for other people. 

His final paper for his Advanced English Romanticism class was way more important and frankly, all he wanted to do was pass with high grades, but earning money for next semester’s tuition by easily bullshitting Shakespeare’s literature theories or creating basic fictional, short stories for people who were barely sober 12 hours out of the day made his eyes wander to the rough drafts in his worn backpack.

The ink imprinted his, sloppy but small, handwriting on the side of his hand, and the end of the pen had a few bites when he was re-thinking his sentences and paraphrasing.

Suddenly, the bell above the entrance door rang, not phasing Tom to look up since people came in and out, but he glanced up when he noticed the familiar color of the jacket you wore. He had seen you a few times, wearing that same navy blue jacket with a red and black stripe going down the sleeves. 

A gloss filmed over his bright-brown eyes but looked away once you walked toward the back, admiring the books placed perfectly around the best-sellers table at the center of the store. You were the same, pretty girl who wandered around the stop for an hour, maybe two, seeking a book and nothing else. 

Each one that came to Tom’s counter was a different genre from a worn-out classic or a fairly used historical fiction– it intrigued him so, he’d list a few recommendations. After a bit of, what he considered, flirting, you left with a big smile until two or three days passed and there you were again, searching and reading in between the numerous aisles.

“Think fast!”

Tom already flinched, but a soccer ball thumped against the side of his head and he immediately pressed his palm on his temple.

“Jesus…” Tom hissed under his breath, his eyes giving a dirty look toward his friend, “A ‘hello’ would have sufficed.”

“What? You’re not happy to see me?” Harrison grinned, holding the ball under his arm.

Tom quickly retorted, “Why are you bothering me at work?” 

Harrison tilted his head.

 “Because I cherish every second we spend together…” He smiled before rolling his eyes, “What do you think? We have a meeting at the house in twenty minutes. C’mon, no one is even here, it’s your family’s store and you can leave when your manager is on his phone in the back office–”

Tom opened his mouth, but no words came out. His eyes shifted to you, past Harrison’s figure, watching as you flipped through another book on the same shelf; a hardcover version of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Basic, but not a bad read. Tom thought.

“Who’s that?” Harrison asked, “She’s pretty.” He glanced over his shoulder, but you had no idea that the two boys were glaring as you concentrated on the text.

“No one.” Tom said in an annoyed tone, messily pushing his books and paper into his worn-out backpack.

The rosy pink tint of the apples of Tom’s cheeks made Harrison slowly smile, “Oh, Tommy. You’re squirming. Is she an ex? Hookup? Maybe TA?”

Tom sighed, “If we leave now, I’ll still help you with your sports management paper tonight.”

Harrison nodded, “Geez, she must be someone if you make that threat.”

You couldn’t help but lift your head at their commotion, watching Tom lead the way. Harrison trailing behind with his duffle strap on his shoulder and spinning the soccer ball in his hands, but your glances connected as they passed. Being the brother he is, Harrison announces, “He has a thing for you! Big ole crush! Do you have his number-”

Tom pushed on Harrison’s back hard, forceful enough to get him through the door. He wanted to avoid you noticing the bright tint red painted on the apples of his cheeks from the embarrassment he couldn’t escape.

Your heart was in your throat, a warmness spreading throughout your body from the attention. Half-smiling, you looked back down at the book in your shaking hands. While it wasn’t your first choice, this happening made you want to buy it to remember this moment.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

The feeling of falling shocked your nerves, jerking your head up to make sure you were still in your seat. You hadn’t noticed you fell into a catatonic state, blankly staring at your laptop with little to no brain function. The brightness of the small screen gleamed against your face, making you blink your eyes a few more times before hearing the multiple cracks break in your back.

This was being a university student. More specifically, an English major.

As much as you loved a hardcover book, money thought differently. Instead of flipping through thick pages with a smell that comforted you, those same texts flashed on whatever device you could afford it on. 

The biggest misconception of being an English major is that you like to read everything and anything. Completely wrong. You liked to read the books that were like a warm hug after a rainy, cold day or made you weep until mascara burned the corners of your eyes. 

The details you paid attention to within the novels you kept close are the reason you loved to read. But, classics and sonnets that you were forced to analyze to write papers about what they mean bored you mindlessly, wondering why picking English was even an option when it’s just reading a language you know.

You turned to your tall bookshelf, perfectly placed in the corner of the room, and books of various sizes overflowed it like a garden. Some rest on the top of it after you ran out of room on your shelves.

Each had their own story as to how they were placed on the old wooden ledges; buying them brand new from bookstores, finding worn-out classics from the thrift store or they were collecting dust in your parent’s attic. But, lately most had come from the Joel & Anne’s bookstore–you blamed Tom.

Just as you wanted to pick up The Picture of Dorian Gray, a notification popped up in the corner of your laptop’s screen. It was a brief email from your professor, granting an extension to the midterm paper due for those who requested it and you couldn’t have been more revealed.

Thank God, you thought.

The pace of your heart slowed down, the cracking of your spine as you straighten your back at your desk.

Falling on top of the fluffy comforter of your bed, your body’s muscles relaxed. The tension disappeared from your chest as your heavy eyes fluttered close. In and out of sleep, the buzz of your phone caused your head to quickly rise. Half-awake, you leaned up to grab it then plummet back into the soft sheets.

“Since there’s an extension for your paper, does that mean I’ll see you at the Delta Epsilon ABC party tomorrow?” Your best friend, Lillian, texted.

“ABC?” You typed with a furrow brow.

“Anything But Clothes.” She replied with a tongue emoji.

Reluctant, you wanted to say “no” and take the extended due date seriously, but from how stressed out the paper was making you, a party didn’t sound like a bad idea.

You sealed your lips while typing, but once you sent “What should I wear?”

After Lillian pitched a few last-minute ideas, you exited from your text messages then placed your phone on the bedside table. Rubbing your dry eyes, you get back up to turn off your lamp and other lights. 

As you stroll to the desk, you trace your finger over the trackpad of the laptop to exit from the email. Surprisingly, you forgot about the already-opened browser of the book you’ve been hunting down for your paper. You were so exhausted, you spaced out in those few minutes to probably forget about it.

Shakespearean plays were the subject of your paper, researching for hours on end about this ancient man’s entire collection and existence. His missing years, his creation of words we still use today, anything that pinpointed a significance in the English language was stored somewhere in the paper your fingers cramped to write for the past week.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

Tom downed the last Red Bull from his mini fridge, compressing the aluminum can in his hand then throwing it in trash. There it sat with the other empty cans and overflow of crumbled drafts.

He couldn’t remember the last time he blinked today yet his fingers were typing any of the words coming up in his head. The sixty bucks he was being paid for it was his only motivation to finish the last lines about the rise of the Roman Empire.

Shockingly, it wasn’t as difficult as told to him– but usually, it’s the people who don’t pay attention in their classes that find it hard and in their way. At least if he did it, there were rewards other than a high grade.

As Tom pressed tab to indent, he thought of how you smiled at him. He hoped it was him and not Harrison being cocky from what he said. He pondered what would happen if he stayed, walking back to you and saying that his attraction was true. But, Tom was more confident in his mind and he couldn’t actually imagine seeing you after how embarrassed he felt from Harrison’s announcement.

“Hey!” Harrison said as he knocked on Tom’s open door, expecting nothing but what he saw– Tom’s ass glued to his desk chair and the bright, white screen of his laptop staring back at him.

Tom turned his head, rolling his eyes at the blonde, blue-eyed devil, “Come here to make any of my other of my secrets known to the public?” He continued to jot down any last corrections on the paper he’d been working on for hours.

Harrison chuckled, jumping onto Tom’s bed, “It’s not like you were going to say anything to her if I didn’t, now she knows. ‘You’re welcome’ would be the correct answer, Mr. English smartass.” 

“See, you’re saying ‘you’re welcome’ when I didn’t ask for your help in the first place. She’s just a girl that comes to the store a lot and I just…” Tom shrugged, tossing his pen down, “I happen to notice her.”

“Happen to notice?” Harrison scoffed. “Dude, you were staring at her so hard at her that I thought your eyes were going to pop out. Blink once in a while so if this girl does notice, she doesn’t think you’re creepy.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “She’s not some girl, her name is Y/N.”

Fuck. Tom thought, now realizing how much he corrected Harrison out of habit.

Harrison instantly smirked, “So, you know her name too? What else are you hiding so I can brief her in on it… but more subtle this time.”

“H, why are you in my room at one in the morning?” Tom asked with furrowed his brows.

“You’re going to the ABC party, right? You’ll be there, participating for once, and having fun. Maybe getting high or laid will loosen you up. ”

“I can’t, I have these papers to finish for the guys who will be partying downstairs all night and if I’m lucky, I can get paid double if I ask them for their fee while they’re drunk.” Tom smirked.

“C’mon. One party! It’s a few hours out of the whole semester… Before you have to go back home for the holidays and do nothing but watch Christmas movies and read books for pleasure.” 

Tom replied with silence.

“Maybe you could invite Y/N. It could be a nice romantic gesture that your books talk about, right?”

“So, invite her to a party where everyone is wearing anything but clothes and shit-faced within the first hour.” Tom took a pregnant pause, “Yeah, I’ll pass on that.”

Harrison knew not to pry anymore, not planning to give Tom shit for wanting to do well in school. Unlike most of the trust-fund raised kids, Tom paid his dues from paycheck to paycheck. Maintaining high grades wasn’t only for his pride, but his academic scholarship that discounted his tuition. 

He admired Tom for his natural work ethic despite it interfered with his social life. Luckily the other brothers saw Tom as an asset, but it was for their own selfish reasons. Harrison was a month younger than Tom, but still felt protective of him as if he were an older brother.

“Okay, well. I have a ‘Beware of Dog’ sign if you want to use it as shorts tonight.” Harrison winked before leaving to his room.

Tom chuckled, but his smile slowly turned into a frown. The desperate need to earn cash for his two semesters’ tuition consumed him the past four months, realizing that this term was practically done and he had done nothing else but work.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ* 

You could say that having caution tape wrapped around your body was ironically hazardous. The plastic was constricting, too afraid to bend over or you may fall and never get back up. While it was cute in thought, you looked in the mirror from head to toe and knew this could end in disaster. 

With too many intrusive thoughts, you were about to change back into your grey sweatpants and grab an oversized shirt from the dryer. But, just as you took a last glance at your reflection, Lillian came right through the front door and sported a dress made out of bright green and white condom wrappers fastened together with tape and safety pins. 

It was totally Lillian.

You furrowed your eyebrow, “Did you walk all the way here wearing that?” 

But she ignored your comment from the stun of seeing you actually wearing a costume.

Lillian gasped, “You look hot! That caution tape was a good call.”

“I feel like this tape is going to fall off at any second.” You groaned, grabbing your college t-shirt from the basket on top of the dryer, but Lillian held your wrist.

“What are you doing?” She retorted. 

You sighed, “Changing into something that lets me breathe and walk.”

“Oh, don’t be a party pooper. It’s only a few hours.” She said as she walked to the mirror, fixing her strawberry-blonde waves. She pushed them from the front of her body then behind her shoulders, wondering if the prominence of her collarbones made a difference.

“A few hours of guys asking me what’s underneath this caution tape.” You mumbled under my breath, and she moved you in front of the mirror.

“Y/N, I made a promise to you at the beginning of the semester to make sure you have an amazing last year of college… and I always keep my promises.” She said, her head resting on your shoulder as the two of you glanced at your absurd outfits  in the mirror, “And you look too good to not go out...”

You chuckled, “Are you pouting?”

“Depends, does it guilt trip you want to go to the party more?” Lillian jeered, giving you a light squeeze around your waist.

You scrunch your nose, “Only a little.”

The two of you pre-gamed with a fruity, alcoholic seltzer, which barely gave any buzz, then ventured downstairs to the Uber waiting in front of your apartment building.

As Lillian snapped photos of herself from the lighting of the warm streetlights passing by, you noticed Joel & Ann’s bookstore in the darkness. It made you think of what Tom might have been doing tonight, wondering what his life was like outside the store.

You blushed thinking back at the fond moment of his friend shouting he liked you, keeping your head up for most of the day. As harmless as it was, it lingered in your mind and turned into scenarios of how you would enlighten that comment. 

Would you make the first move? or has he already and you didn’t notice? Overthinking didn’t help, but you needed to come up with something good to respond to it whenever you’d see him again.

Once you arrive on Fraternity Row, the Delta Epsilon house was anything but quiet. Everyone was following the rules of the party, wearing anything but clothes in different and creative ways.

A brunette passing by wore a makeshift dress, the sparkling Christmas wrap tailored with tape to fit around her slim body. Another guy wore paper-mache shorts made from Superman comic book pages— even a couple of girls sporting the same outfit idea as Lillian which didn’t make her happy.

You hold back a laugh, “Well, at least your wrappers are green. Hers are purple… and Trojan.” 

“Ugh, now I’m gonna blend in.” She pouted her glossed lips, “C’mon, let’s go see where the drinks are.”

The music played loud enough that you could feel the bass vibrating your teeth. Lillian hooked your arm around hers as she pulled you toward the bar set up in the corner of the dim lit room.

Everyone managed to commit to the theme of tonight, impressed by the sustainability people reached like wearing a dress made of streamers with your university’s colors or pants made out of cardboard beer boxes. The surprises and creativity seemed limitless tonight, but there was no one who caught your attention.

“Are you looking for someone?” Lillian asked as she poured brown liquor into her plastic cup, spilling a bit on the counter when she shifted the pour into your cup on the counter.

“Kind of.” You mumbled, “You know that guy at the bookstore that I talk about? Tom?”

Lillian giggled, “Oh. The guy you practically stalk.”

“I don’t stalk him.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve just never spoken to him other than giving him money for a book and your literature small talk.” She joked, but it sort of hit a nerve. You almost wanted to prove to her that you could talk to him, you were just nervous as to what to say past your total amount and tax.

“Okay, but you don’t have to put it that way.” You pouted, but she handed you a drink.

“Well, you can forget about bookstore boy, and we can have a little fun tonight. Cheers!” She diverted your attention to your cups, pushing them together before she took a long sip.

You watched her, but didn’t drink with her. Instead your eyes shifted around the excited crowd, but no luck in finding your crush with brown curls and shiny brown eyes to match. You twisted your lips and took a small sip of your bitter beverage, squeezing your eyes shut as it burned the inside of your throat.

“What is that?” You hissed.

“I don’t know, but it gets you loose.” Lillian jokes, hugging you quickly before she pulled you to where everyone was dancing… or what could be described as dancing. It was more like drunken movement between strangers while flashed by neon colors in sequences. 

Trying to dance with Lillian in a restraint costume didn’t help until there were two taps on your shoulder. You quickly turned around, acquainted with Tom’s blonde friend— just dressed in shorts made out of the big cloth from Twister.

“Hey! You’re the cute girl from the bookshop, right?” Harrison chuckled.

“Yeah! And you’re the best friend of the cute guy at the bookstore?” You confidently said, raising your eyebrows.

Harrison shared the same expression, “Cute?” He smirked, “I bet he’d love to hear that if he were down here… Hey, why don’t you do him a favor and try to get him down here to have fun.”

“Why? Where is he?” You asked over the music.

“Upstairs in his room, working on his papers… C’mon, I bet he’d be happy to see you.”

Harrison winked at you before turning back to the girl he was dancing with, tipping his head back to down his beer. When searching for Lillan, you saw her dance with some of your shared friends by the unlit fireplace. 

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

With the door cracked open, Tom listened to the muffled music below as well as the occasional conversation passing by to find an empty room. The bright light from the lamp on his desk shined against his paper. Although you remained silent, Tom took a quick sip of his to-go coffee and blinked his tired, dry eyes a few times. 

After two light knocks, Tom assumed it was Harrison, once again, asking him to come downstairs, but instead his heart shot up to his throat when he saw you standing in his doorframe. He was even more surprised seeing caution tape wrapped around your body like a tacky, shiny dress.

“Hey! Hey, nice to see you… especially with your new look.” Tom jeered.

You giggled, “I could say the same, never really see the bottom half of you.”

The two of you shared a warm laugh before Tom shyly asked, “What- What are you doing here?” 

“My friend sort of invited me at the last second, then your friend told me that I should come up here and try to urge you to come downstairs… possibly in a costume.” You trailed.

Tom licked his lips, “I appreciate it, but I’m working on some papers tonight. I want to get them done before tomorrow morning”

“A few papers over a party in your own fraternity?”

He hummed, “Well, papers I write for ten dollars a page. Paid in cash or credit… usually.” Tom smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

“Do I even want to know the other options?” You joked, slowly walking further into the room.

His blush was hard for him to hide, so he lowered his head down to hide the rosiness on his cheeks when he stood up to stretch. As Tom reached his arms over his head, the end of his shirt lifted a bit and you could see his v-line that disappeared past the band of his Calvin Klein boxers. 

Making you blush in return, you rub the back of your neck and look at some of the posters lazily taped on his dull, baby blue-colored walls. Shockingly, not one model from Playboy or Sports Illustrated was staring back at you in a tiny string bikini, rather there were posters of his favorite bands, a few classical authors by his bookcase and distressed movie posters of The Empire Strikes Back and Jaws above his full bed.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess.” Tom tossed a few t-shirts on his bed in his hamper by the door.

He said that, but it was probably the cleanest guy’s room you ever saw. Besides the clothes scattered around, the bed was made and his desk was fairly organized. There was even a trash can–with a trash bag to line it.

“Mess? I wish my room looked like this half the time.” You jeered, walking over to his bookcase, “A bookcase says a lot about someone to me.”

Tom chuckled, leaning on his desk, “And what does mine tell you?”

You awkwardly sat down on the end of his bed, trying to cross your leg over the other. You tried not to show that the plastic coiled around your body was uncomfortable, but one wrong move and you thought that you may expose yourself to Tom at any second.

“You okay?” He asked, “I don’t want to assume, but you look very tense.”

“Wow, it’s that noticeable.” You joked back, Tom chuckling in return. “Yeah, it wasn’t my idea to come tonight so, I got stuck wearing this.” You added, running your hand over the material.

He could see the pout on your face, maybe even a bit of embarrassment, so he suggested, “Do you want to change? I can give you something to wear. Not as much plastic, but more comfortable.” He joked.

Your face heated as you stood up, watching him pull clothes from his drawers. He grabbed a dark-blue Tottenham sweatshirt with a faded logo and baggy, gray sweatpants with your university logo embroidered by the hip.

“Here, hope these are okay.”

“Trust me, anything but this dress is fine.” You grinned, taking them from him. Your hand grazed his, making him gulp as you pulled the clothes to you, “Do you mind if I change in here?”

Tom raised his eyebrows, not realizing he wasn’t responding until he nodded, “Yeah! Yeah, I can just turn around.” He reassured, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes searched around his room, trying to fixate on any small object.

Like the vinyl player in the corner on top of the rack, something he bought out of being impulsive. At the time, his dad had given him some old records that he had found in the attic from spring cleaning, music that was popular when he was Tom’s age. Tom stopped listening to them after–

“Well, I certainly look the part of being a frat dude.” You jeered, turning for him.

“I think you look pretty...”

Way to sound creepy, Tom thought.

“Pretty nice!” He quickly added, trying to save himself from embarrassment.

You smiled at his shy compliment before glancing at the papers scattered around his desk, “So, what are you working on?”

“Uh, themes in Frankenstein. It’s actually my final paper.”

You arched your eyebrow, but admired how he had three different drafts and all of them were marked in red. As you leaned further down to read, Tom quickly shuffled the papers, “It’s not really my best. I’ve been through every book talking about Mary Shelley and her reason for this book... It’s pretty scandalous if you ask me.”

God. He was so dorky, it almost made him charming.

Just as you were going to say your joking comment, the music got louder downstairs and you two could feel the heavy vibration of the bass through the carpet.

“Is your paper the only reason you’re up here by yourself?”

“Well, technically you’re up here with me so, am I really by myself?” Tom shrugged.

You chuckled, “Don’t deflect.”

Tom licked his lips, letting out a long sigh, “I just need enough cash to cover tuitions, and saving up for grad school too. My family has gotten tied up in money and my friend, Harrison, said that he could help me be in a frat and I could make more connections. So, I’m not really here to have fun, more like just doing what I can to make some money and add to my resume.” 

“I know we just met, but… Can I give you some advice?” You sighed.

He naively nodded, his eyes turning glassy.

“You need to have some fun while you’re still in college.” You giggled, not meaning to sound mean, but you didn’t have to touch Tom to know he was a tense guy.

Tom responded with a nervous chuckle, “I’ve had… fun. I have fun. This party theme just isn’t really for me.” He protested.

“Well, I can’t disagree with you there.” You grinned, glancing at your now-cozy outfit, “Then what do you want to do tonight? What’s your fun thing?... other than reading the Mary Shelley scandal.”

His eyes searched around the room, then hummed, “It would be nice to have some peace and quiet… maybe work on my papers–”

You interpreted, “Okay, no, no. You’re not working on any papers, it’s about having fun. So, let’s go somewhere you think is fun.”

He smirked which made you think that he had a good idea, rather he said, “We can go to the bookstore.”

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.

You leaned against his desk, “Really? How?”

“My aunt and uncle own it.” He smirked.

“Ah. So, you’re like a bookstore nepotism baby. How lucky.” You grinned, cringing at your own jokes on the inside. But, it’s not like flirting was either of your fortes.

“Some kids get into movie premieres and have luxury cars, I have books and the cat that hangs in the front window until he goes back to his owners across the street.” 

“I always wondered if that was your guys’ cat.” You smiled.

Tom nodded, “His name is Milo and he loves eating our plants and sleeping on the classic novels.” 

You shared another light laugh before you said, “What are we waiting for? Get your jacket on.”

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

Once you took a step outside the house, the night breeze felt cool against your sweaty skin. The fresh air was a relief to your lungs once you walked out of the humid-filled frat house, like you had forgotten how clean it could smell outside. 

Although the bookstore was a few blocks away from campus, Tom made you comfortable as he made you. Both of you weren’t sure if there were feelings, but there could be since your interaction isn’t ending with you leaving him behind a counter.

Tall street lights guided the way, and the only people passing were stumbling from the few bars lining your college town. There was little small talk between you two on the way, but Tom stopped in front of a convenience store, one he frequently went to if he wanted something to snack on during his shifts.

He walked toward the door, opening it, “You want anything?” He asked.

You nodded, walking in as he held the door open. The two of you walked into the small store with white walls and bright lighting over all the aisles. He walked around the chips and candy, heading to the big freezer with the familiar ice cream brands around the case.

The two of you gazed over it, smiling at the variety of choices like two kids. You couldn’t remember the last time you picked from the freezer– probably before you were even given an allowance. You were seeing another side of Tom, one that was a bit goofy when the stress faded from his character.

“Which one do you want?... I think I’m gonna get a cookie sandwich.” He hummed.

“No way. The strawberry shortcakes with the oats? Or the gelatos? Way better options.” You giggled.

He chuckled at your wit, “Okay, you pick for me. I pick for you. Does that sound fair?”

“Hmm…” You smirked, sticking your hand out, “Deal.”

Tom smiled as he shook yours, both your fingers trailing when you pushed open the glass case.

“Okay. Turn around…” You said, circling your finger to signal him to face back.

The curly brunette rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face, taking a slow turn around with his arms crossed. He stared at the rack of colorful packed snacks, reading the brands and flavors.

You grunted as you shoved the sliding window, then grabbed an ice cream bar of your choice. Putting it behind your back, you tell him, “Okay, your turn.”

Tom smiled to himself, seeing you try to conceal your ice cream bar under the hoodie as you headed toward the counter. He could hear your exchange with the cashier before Tom grabbed an ice cream bar out of the freezer, quickly closing it and hiding his pick behind his back.

“I hope you got me something good.” You teased, facing him and your hands behind your back holding the plastic convenience bag..

He sweetly chuckled again, “I think I did okay… I think you should be worried.”

“Ah, are you hard to please, Tom?” You continued to jeer with him.

All he could do was turn pink, chuckling out of embarrassment like an elementary boy in school. There was a glimmer in his brown eyes and you weren’t sure if it was from the bright lights in the store, but it made your heart pang at how innocent and sweet he appeared.

The two of you walked outside, sitting on the bench under the awning of the convenient store. There was a space between you as the bags crinkled when both of you reached into them. Counting down, you pulled out your ice cream bars for one another and it left you both with smiles and light laughter.

“Great minds think alike.” Tom grinned.

Both of you held the same ice cream bar, still exchanging the treats and opening them. As you ate on the bench, there was silence– but it was comforting silence. Better than surround sound music and drinks being spilled everywhere, preferring the sound of crickets and watching some stray cats walk by the alleys.

You tried to prevent any drops of ice cream getting on the hoodie he let you borrow, leaning out as you bit down and it made him chuckle.

“It’s okay. It’s an old hoodie.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t want to be a slob.” You grinned, trying to ignore how nervous you felt.

“Here, I got it.” He said, leaning over to wipe your chin with a napkin.

You glanced into his eyes again as he came close, holding your breath.

“There, now you are a presentable member of society again.” He jeered, putting the napkin in his wrapper before tossing it in the bin next to the bench.

The two of you stand up together, pulling and adjusting your clothes before continuing the venture to the bookstore. Street lights shined down on the red brick sidewalk, and a few cars passed by as they headed toward the center of town as you both walked further out from the noise of the bars and partying. 

Chirping from the crickets was peaceful and the rest of the way was lit by the full moon, making you glance at the glowing orb high above the clouds and surrounded by the stars. The shine reflected off your eyes, smiling at the breathtaking sight but unknowing to you, Tom was glaring at you.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He trailed, not taking his eyes off you as he shyly grinned.

Tom wished he had spoken to you sooner, not knowing how to express right then and there how he had some sort of feelings for you. 

You turned back to him, “Are you okay?”

Embarrassed, he quickly nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Great.”

You grinned back at him, “Good.” you said before the two of you continued to walk to the bookstore.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

The soft warm glow shined on Tom’s back as his keys jingled when he unlocked the front door.

“You got it?” You ask him, watching him turn the key both ways until there was a click.

“Yeah, it’s pretty old so-” 

Tom pushed enough of his weight with his shoulder against the door, opening the seal the door created from how cold it was outside. He half-smiled before walking into the dark room and you followed close behind him.

With how many times you’d been in this store, you could bet Tom that you knew the layout better than him. You carefully stepped around the racks of books, leading to the counter before you heard a loud thump.

“Ow!” Tom hissed under his breath, instantly rubbing his knee from cutting the corner too hard.

“Are you okay?” You giggled.

“Lovely.” He groaned, rubbing away against his soon-to-be bruised skin.

He turned on the reading lamp on the counter, the warm glow against his freckled skin. You noticed how he was able to smile with his eyes, the crinkling next to them when he laughed or smiled. Although you didn’t mean to observe that, it was hard to not notice. He radiated some kind of shine in the way he carried himself– at least from what you gathered.

“So, I’m sure you have some weird stuff behind here, huh?” You teased him, squatting down to look at the shelves.

“Nothing weird, but I hoard books… without telling anyone.” He admitted in a low tone, scratching the nape of his neck.

There was a collection of books down here filling up two rows, most of them had bright tabs on the sides to indicate some annotations between pages. The books ranged from recent autobiographies and novels to ones with broken spines and the names of classic writers on the covers.

You came back up, “I think you have a problem.” You jeered, smiling at him.

“As if being interested in literature is a problem.” 

“...Touché.” You nodded, “Do you like working here?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He trailed, “It kills time, it’s quiet.”

“As opposed to going home?” You asked out of curiosity. He was sort of like a guessing game. One clue led to another, intriguing you as you went down this mystery path of a person.

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t go home anymore.” He nervously chuckled, “Haven’t been for a while.”

Heat burned his cheeks and neck, not realizing he was venting in the moment.

“Sorry to hear that.” You gently replied and sensed his discomfort as he looked down.

Tom hummed, “It’s alright. I feel less lonely here.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails before looking into your eyes.

“Well, now you have me so… it’s a little less lonely than that.” You smiled, scrunching your nose. “...and that may have been the corniest thing I’ve said ever.”

“Yeah, just a little.” Tom nodded, and a sweet chuckle followed, “But, thanks.”

He had a bit of a twinkle in his caramel-toned eyes, and his jaw was incredibly sharp. When he looked away, he’d clench his jaw and you noticed how tense he seemed.

Tom smiled, blushing a bit before he pushed the book on top of the counter toward him. It was an old copy of Pride and Prejudice that he found on a top shelf a few weeks ago. He re-read it three times, and each time felt like a different experience. He rarely annotated, but Tom genuinely loved reading this book and wanted to write down any thought he had about it.

“A favorite?” You asked him.

“Can you tell?” He chuckled, passing it to you.

You skimmed the pages, running your fingers over the different colored post-its sticking out. His handwriting was a bit small, but you could make out what he noted and you found it incredibly cute. You smiled to yourself as you read through them, and Tom hoped there was nothing embarrassing in there– not that there would be but he was already nervous around you.

Just as you got to the last page, a picture fell out and you turned it over to its front. The frame was cardboard with the Disney logo on it and the picture was of Tom and his parents. Sporting a Mickey Mouse baseball cap, he showed a huge smile and held a melting ice cream. His mom and dad were smiling too, his mom with her arm around his small structure and Tom gulped.

“Are these your parents?” You asked.

“Yeah, I was wondering where I left that picture.” He smiled, taking it from you.

You watched him grin at it, but the smile slowly faded the longer he glanced. It didn’t seem so much reminiscing, but feeling more sad. He didn’t want to get down on himself, but he put the picture underneath the counter.

“It’s cute. My parents never took me to those kinds of places growing up, but I was never the Disney princess lover either.” You pouted. 

He chuckled, “What? You didn’t want a Disney prince? Something like Prince Eric?”

You hummed, “You do resemble a bit of Prince Phillip.”

Tom furrowed his eyebrows, crossing his arms, “The boring one?”

“Okay, okay. Maybe Prince Charming… you look like you can treat a girl to a dance,” you teased.

“The one time I slow danced was at my prom in year 13 and I remember stepping on her feet most of the night.” He told, trying to deflect your compliment

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, please. Now you’re being dramatic like a prince.” You grinned at him. 

Hesitantly, you moved your hand toward his face and pushed back the curls laying on his forehead. Your fingers carded to the back of his head, feeling his soft coarse hair and his brown eyes sparkled. It was a bold first move, but you wanted to know if this intense crush was too good to be true.

All this passes through Tom’s head is “do it”, his instincts scream. Kiss her.

You brought your hand back to his cheek, and you brushed your thumb over his bottom lip before leaning in to kiss him. Tom slowly moved his hands up your sides, pulling you closer to him as the two of you continued to makeout. He lightly pushed you against the counter, your bodies pressed together as he tasted your cherry-flavored lip balm.

With your foreheads against one anothers, Tom pulled away to take a breath, but it caused you both to let out this warm giggle. Just as you were about to kiss again, there was a sudden knock on the door along with the doorknob jiggling.

You quickly ducked under the counter while Tom stood there, trying to fix his hair as well as rub the lip balm off his mouth. He saw his uncle walk through the door, turning on the lights and Tom’s embarrassment flooded his body.

“I thought we were getting robbed. The silent alarm went off a few minutes ago.” His uncle told him, pretty light-hearted once he saw it was Tom.

“No, it was just me.” Tom gulped, glancing down at you hiding under the counter.

“Good, good. Why are you here so late? Your mom told me you had some party tonight.” His uncle trailed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“It was getting… loud and I just left to get some air. Work on some papers.”

You could audibly hear his uncle sigh, then say, “Is this because of… the divorce?”

Tom sealed his lips, it wasn’t what he wanted to talk about right now– especially since you were unknowingly in the room. Although divorce was a common thing, it was different going through when you’re already grown up and that was Tom’s struggle. He knew his parents had underlying issues, but he didn’t think he would get sat down and told his parents would separate their lives then and now.

“I know, it’s hard. But, you have to talk to someone about this. We don’t want you… hiding away, missing out on opportu-”

“I’m not, I just… wanted to be alone.” Tom shrugged, trying to grin and bear it.

His uncle didn’t want to get more into it since Tom was still going through it, but he nodded.

“Alright, make sure to lock up when you’re done. See you tomorrow, kid.” He sweetly said before he walked back out, the bell above the door ringing. Tom was only left with a bright red face, and a sudden racing in his heart. It’s like he realized how lonely he had made himself to be rather than people avoiding him altogether. 

Coming from under the counter, you dusted off your shirt at first. You didn’t want to immediately face Tom, sensing there was a bit of awkwardness created. He rubbed the back of his curls, but you finally broke the silence.

“Sorry, my lip balm kind of… got all over your lips.” You joked, taking your thumb to wipe the smudge of gloss from his chin.

Tom smiled, but nodded, “Well, I’m more sorry you had to hear that, but it’s no big deal. I don’t know why my family has so many issues.”

“I think they’re just genuinely worried about you. I mean, you don’t seem much of the talking type.” You confessed.

“It’s ironic. They don’t ask about any of this stuff until I just don’t say anything at all. Maybe, I just want to be left alone and be able to think about how the only two stable people in my life just choose to not be with each other anymore.” He trailed, trying to humor himself.

You could tell he’d been hurt by people before, but this was something he was expecting. It was still shocking, but he chose to close everyone off. 

Tom thought if he didn’t have to talk about these feelings, they’d go away. But, by telling you, basically a complete stranger, how he felt— his hurt was more on the surface than he thought.

“Well, you don't deserve to feel this way.” You told him with honesty, rubbing his tense shoulder, “If I can promise you one thing.”

There was a bit of comfort in that. At least someone acknowledging his feelings over their own.

“Thanks.” He grinned.

“Please, you’re one cigarette away from being Holden Caulfield. I felt like I needed to step in now… because he was the worst.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “He witnessed worse.”

“Well, luckily he’s a fictional character. Meanwhile, you need to worry about how you feel, and not be so… scared of thinking the world is going to get you.” You trailed, running your hand from your shoulder to the back of his curls.  

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

A week and a half breezed by and all you did was hang out with Tom at the bookstore, the library, or his room at his fraternity house. Occasionally, Harrison would pop in, trying to tease him, but also try to get to know you since Tom cared about you. It was actually a bit cute the way Harrison would pinch at Tom’s cheek, trying to make him flustered in your presence. You could tell he cared about him too.

Once your finals were finished and Tom was paid for his essays, it was nice to hang around the bookstore without the added tension. You could hang out for hours and read books in the cozy corner of the store, near the cat by the window and the sunlight would kiss against your skin. Sometimes Tom would get lost in the mesmerizing scene–like being with you meant more than fate. Something like he read in novels.

The sun was starting to set when the two of you entered the pizzeria where Harrison worked. Both of you nodded your heads over at him behind the counter before finding a booth by the window.

“Look at him in his cute apron.” You teased, sliding into the booth.

“Trust me, he thinks it’s a magnet for girls. I wouldn’t let him know.” Tom chuckled.

Although you and Tom were having a fun time, you hadn’t talked about the kiss you shared. Not that it wasn’t on both your minds, but felt better left unsaid than having to figure out what’s going on between you two and ruining this blossoming friendship. It already took long enough to talk to each other outside the bookstore, neither of you wanted to taint that.

“So, do you have any plans for the weekend?” You asked him.

Before Tom could answer, Harrison slid next to him already sporting a cheeky smile and wiped some flour on Tom’s cheek from his apron.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh? Or just miss me?” Harrison winked at you, but Tom wiped the flour off his face.

“We just wanted to grab a slice.” Tom cheeks tinted pink, feeling as if he’s being embarrassed by his dad.

“Calm down, Tommy.” Harrison smiled, “You’re too easy to mess with sometimes.” Harrison jokingly retorted.

You giggled, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna go and order.” You tell them before getting up, heading to the counter.

The two boys watched you walk up to the counter, beaming at the cashier as you made small talk before ordering. Tom’s look glistened, sparkling when he kept his eyes on you and Harrison snickered at his doe-like gaze.

“So, you guys made out and nothing happened?” 

It was no lie that Tom regretted venting Harrison–moments like this reminded him of that.

Tom gulped, “I think what’s going on is fine.” He lied.

“Fine?” Harrison asked, “You’ve been crushing on her for weeks and she obviously likes you too.”

“You can’t know that.” Tom trailed.

“She’s been to the bookstore everyday to hang out with you, going out to dinner, spending time at the house and you know no girl likes hanging out there, look at the bathroom for God’s sake, it’s disgusting. No woman willingly stays there unless she’s basically in love.” Harrison explained.

Tom nodded in disagreement, “I don’t think she… likes me. I’m not gonna mess up just talking to her.”

“You’re not. You just need to figure out how to make the right move.” Harrison stated before quickly asking, “Hey, you got invited to Steven’s wedding, right?”

Steven was one of the alumni of the frat house and a close friend of both the guys. Tom was a “baby-faced” freshman when they met and was still teased to this day for looking so young.

“Yeah. I did, but I don’t know if I’m going. It’s kind of far.” Tom trailed, scratching his nail against the table.

Harrison smiled, “No, you should go and Y/N is your plus one. Bam, matchmaking.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Yeah because a two hour car trip would really make me less awkward and weird.”

“You need to be a little hopeful. It’s not like your strangers anymore. You guys hang out at the store for hours with no problems. C’mon, she’d love it. It’s a nice countryside wedding and lots of our friends will be there so it’s not like you’ll be the odd one out. Introduce her, and maybe find some romantic spot to makeout, huh?”

Tom thought Harrison was a bit in over his head, but trying to make him see the other side of his pessimistic thoughts. Tom liked you, you like Tom. The problem was finding the moment to say that outlook to each other.

He twisted his lips, “How do I even ask that?”

“You’ll know how to say it when the moment comes… which seems like right now.” Harrison smirked.

As you walked back with a table timer in your hand, already wanting it to vibrate with your order since you were starving. You slipped into the booth, noticing both boys getting quiet which made you giggle.

“Am I interrupting something private?” You teased them.

“Actually, we were talking about a wedding we’re going to next weekend.” Harrison immediately said.

Tom wanted to sink into his seat.

“A wedding? Aw, that’s nice.” You smiled, “Who’s wedding?”

“Our friend, Steven, is getting married and I think Tom wanted to ask you something…” Harrison insisted.

Tom’s eyes widened, but Harrison quickly said, “I gotta get back to work. I’ll bring your food right out.” He flashed a cheery smile, something Tom wanted to slap off his face if he could, before leaving you two to talk– more like Tom improving what to say.

The feeling could be compared to dropping a baby into the deep end, trying to teach them how to swim and all Tom could do is internally panic.

You thanked Harrison before facing toward Tom’s pink-tinted face, and you tilted your head with a cheeky smile, “Something to ask me?”

He sighed but nervously smiled, “Not to impose, but… I was wondering if you wanted to… go with me? To the wedding. I know it’s last minute and all, but I would really like you to go… with me.”

You giggled at his shy question, “I’d love to go with you, Tom. It sounds like fun.”

There was a relief in the air for Tom, not thinking you would accept so quickly and with an assuring smile.

“ Really?” He still asked.

“I don’t know why you assume the worst of me. Maybe being your wedding date will change that. Weddings always give people a bit of optimism” You chuckled, tilting your head at his shy expression.

A light chuckle left his lips, “Remember, optimism isn’t my thing. Then our personality equal us out.” He joked.

“Exactly why I’m the perfect wedding date. I make the conversations and you hold your drink and nod. It’ll be adorable.” You grinned back as heat radiated from your cheeks.

Tom can’t hold back his smile once you look out the window. His eyes traced your jaw then up your perfect cheekbones, trailing to your eyes as the streetlight reflected off the irises. He feels that moment again where he could confess everything he felt for you right there in front of everyone at the pizza place, a small amount of courage whispering in his ear to do it. Just to say it out loud.

“Here’s your complimentary garlic bread, love birds.” Harrison interrupted as he placed the plastic basket on the center of the table.

“Thank you for your incredible service.” You jeered at the cheeky blonde.

Tom laughed off his sudden thought, nodding at Harrison before you two started talking about the wedding plan since you were going now. The rest of the night was hanging out and eating together, talking about the future with classic rock playing over the old speakers in the restaurant.

There was a coziness that radiated the more you were vulnerable, even showing through being more relaxed while sitting in the booths. You felt like you could tell him anything and for once not have to think twice about what you revealed or said. No one could compare to Tom and you wish you could tell him that. 

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ* 

A breeze brushed past your face as you waited outside your apartment with your bags. You were sat on the front step, waiting for the two boys to pick you up on this nice summer day. Tempted to text them for a time of arrival, the door opened behind you and you glanced up to see Lillian.

“I went through the back only for your roommates to tell me you’re already waiting outside. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.” She jeered as she sat next to you on the stoop.

You sighed, “Sorry, I’ve been hanging out with Tom.”

She chuckled, “Of course. I’m not surprised. It’s been this way ever since you ditched me at the party-”

“I didn’t mean to di-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Lillian giggled, putting her hand on top of your knee, “I know you really like him.”

“I don’t… like him that much.”

“I can’t remember the last time someone could actually get your attention away from books or studying so, I like to call it fate that you met at the party.” She teased and scrunched her nose.

You rolled her eyes before turning your head, seeing the car come down the street and you quickly stand up. As you brush off the back of your pants, Lillian picks up one of your bags and the two of you slowly walk up to the curb. Once the car stopped, the two boys got out and Tom immediately greets you with his pearly smile.

“Hey Tom, Harrison,  this is my friend, Lillian.” You introduced them, gesturing your head.

“Hey there.” She greeted both of them, moving her hair behind her shoulders, “Don’t let anything happen to her.”

“We promise.” Tom grinned, lowly chuckling before he took your bag she gave to him.

After giving a goodbye hug Lillian, you slid into the backseat of the car. You sat on the left side so you could sit diagonally from Tom’s view, already creating terribly awkward scenarios in your head for what this two hour drive may be like.

What if we don’t talk at all? What if I’m in over my head? What if this isn’t real or what I thought? What if this whole trip was going to be a big mistake?

Tom was pondering the same, but he tried his best not to doubt his own feelings. Especially after the, what Harrison would call, pep talk he gave him on the way to your building. Nevertheless, it made Tom especially when he already knew he was being incredibly shy, but knew Harrison meant well.

“Alright so, I found out Cami Bernet was coming and I wanted to stay in her room so… It’s just the two of you sharing the hotel room, yeah?” Harrison announced, making you and Tom share a sudden glance.

“I don’t mind…” You trailed, your eyes shifting.

“Yeah, no problem.” Tom quickly added.

Harrison smiled at your reactions, “Don’t worry, there’s one bed and a pull out couch.”

Tom’s face beamed a light pink, making him turn his head toward the window. But, you did the same by turning your face to see the street passing by as you were leaving town. Harrison couldn’t help but smirk to himself at how antagonizing he could be yet trying to be a perfect matchmaker.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ* 

Toward the end of the drive, you laid down in the backseat wearing the cozy hoodie Tom stuffed in his backpack. With your head sunk into your pillow and your legs curled up, you looked as comfortable as someone could on a road trip. A few times, Tom glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were okay when there was a sudden bump in the road, but you also looked cute nuzzling your face into your pillow. 

Once you arrived to the hotel, you stirred in your daze as Harrison pulled in front of the huge front doors. Two valets walked up to the car, one on Harrison’s side then another by the trunk. As Tom got out, he quickly opened the back door and lightly shook your leg.

“Hey Y/N, we’re here.” He softly spoke, giving his hand for you to hold.

You blinked a few times, but lazily smiled as you wrapped your hand around his and pulled yourself up from the comfortable position you lied in. You pulled down your hoodie when you got out of the car, grabbing your bag on the floor while watching the valets take the rest of them to put on a luggage cart.

“Jesus, Tom. What’s in this?” Harrison asked as he gave Tom his duffle.

“A few books, some shoes…” He trailed.

“You brought books to a vacation wedding? How adorable.” Harrison teased him as he gave the valet his keys before entering the hotel doors.

You giggled, “What literary fix did you bring on a two day trip? Romantic novels, I bet.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s just my genre.” Tom chuckled, his eyebrows raised at his comment.

The entrance to the hotel was grand, to say the least. There were two large, revolving glass doors trimmed with gold that entered into the main lobby with renaissance art against the woven wallpaper. Both your heads tilted up toward the ceiling, admiring the pale murals along the lavish lights.

You could only hope to get married at such a beautiful place in the future, and you were pretty optimistic that you would find someone for that to happen.

Harrison faced the two of you walking toward him, noticing the way you glared at Tom and your eyes looking so bright. Although he was still looking at the scenery, your eyes were just on him. It made Harrison smirk, but turn back to the hotel front desk manager.

“Thanks.” Harrison grinned, taking the key card. He turned to Tom, “Here’s your key. Don’t be too loud and rowdy. This is a classy place.” He teased, seeing Tom already turn a tomato red.

You snickered, “Thanks, Harrison. You guys planned doing anything?”

Harrison nodded, “I’m meeting Cami by the pool then we’re gonna go back to her room before the rehearsal dinner. What about you guys?”

“I actually saw on their website that there’s a historical library on the second floor, a bunch of old collections.” You turned, “Tom? Interested?” You asked him with a beaming smile across your face.

Tom glanced at Harrison, who also was smiling, then back at you, “Yeah, of course. Sounds fun.”

“Wow, you guys really know how to get out of your comfort zone. Have fun with that.” Harrison, obviously sarcastic, stated before leaving to meet Cami.

Quickly, the two of you took the large, carpeted staircase on the second floor and followed the signs that directed toward the library. It wasn’t as fancy as the hotel, but it did look pretty old from the traditional style of the room.

You looked up at the high ceiling before heading toward the back shelves of familiar British authors. Although most of these titles triggered him back to all the essays he was paid to do his last year of college, he glared back at you completely mesmerized by the complete collections.

“Look, Williams works. All his romanticism in one set. I bet that’s like a dream to you.” You smiled to yourself, flashing back to your late night ramblings over the phone about literature. You never thought you’d meet anyone with a bigger opinion on themes of romance– and Tom was pretty convincing in his arguments. Truly adorable when you he went on his tangents, just wanting to listen to his soft voice all day.

Tom traced his fingers along the spines of the books before selecting one to read. He breezed through the pages, noticing the pictures within the text before he glanced up and didn’t see you straight on.

“Y/N?” 

“Over here!” Your voice echoed.

He followed the sound of your tone then seeing you sitting in a comfortable nook that overlooked the beach and pool area.

“I found the best seat in the house.” You jeered, pulling your legs to your chest with your back against the wall of the nook.

Tom joined you, sitting down on the cushion within the space and facing you from the opposite side. The natural sunlight came through the window beautifully, so much so that he was already in the reading mood.

You grin, “I bet a bunch of writers came here and just wrote their hearts out.” You said as you looked out to the calm ocean.

“Or where a lot of people hid from their brides.” Tom jeered.

You rolled your eyes, then crawled over to his side. You instantly curled up next to him, your head against his chest as the two of you glanced at the page of the book together. Tom didn’t expect you to get so close, but he wasn’t complaining. 

Within that time, you learned that Tom is the fast reader between you two. Dorky enough, you were a bit envious of that. Everytime he tried to turn the page to tease you, you’d quickly put your hand up to stop him and plea that he stop moving his eyes so fast. 

About thirty pages in, Tom hadn’t realized he was flying through the pages with how in depth he was of the text. He turned his head and saw you fell asleep, smiling down at you and not knowing the short car ride really tired you out. He didn’t move though, he wouldn’t dare to with how peaceful you appeared. He chuckled at your light breaths, napping against him with your hand at the center of his chest.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ* 

A few minutes later, you woke up in Tom’s arms and almost sprung up from the embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I passed out.” You chuckled, lifting out of his arms.

“No, it’s okay. I was just reading away.” He shrugged, showing that boyish smile that made your heart race.

The two of you came to the conclusion that you were starved, so you thought of the only bougie thing to do on a wedding weekend– ordering room service. Giddy and smiling, both of you went one of the three huge elevators in the hall and headed to the eleventh floor.

When you entered your room, your luggage was lined up by the door. Neither of you wanted to gawk, but it was probably one of the more fancier places either of you stayed in your lives.

There was a deep tub in the bathroom and robes hanging on the door as well as a king-size bed with an incredible ocean view and balcony. The sofa was in the corner with the mini-fridge next to it, making you curious as to what else they could offer.

“Do you think if we take from here Harrison will kill us?” You asked Tom, opening the small fridge door.

“Kill, no. Strangle? Maybe.”

You giggled, but saw a few sodas and healthy snacks. As you checked out the selection, Tom walked back to the bathroom and turned on the light. His eyes widened to a bottle of champagne on ice set on the counter. There was a tiny card next to the bucket that said: Happy Wedding Everyone! From us, to you! XO The Bride and Groom.

Holy shit, how much was Steven paying for this. Tom thought.

“Wow, that’s for us?” You asked peaking from the doorway.

“I say that we toast. It only seems right.” Tom trailed as he checked the label on the bottle.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as awkward of a night as the two of you dread. Thank God.

Tom already popped the cork, making you hurry back with a bit of a pout on your lip.

“Well, couldn’t find wine glasses but I did find hotel coffee mugs. Much more sophisticated.”

After pouring both cups at least half, the two of you sat on the balcony to admire the scene. The view from your hotel room was beautiful, as if it was a green screen. The sun perfectly setting below the shorelines and the winds blowing the tall grass in the dunes. It reminded you both that it was the summertime; a period of time to relax and destress from the fast pace environment of school and warm up from the previous harsh winters.

There was a freedom in the air, almost confusing from how much time you suddenly had.

“This is definitely the kind of view I want for my wedding.” You trailed, a bit mesmerized.

Tom nodded, “Really?”

“Yeah. A beach wedding is romantic… well, until it gets windy, but I know I’ll get my planning down.” You said before turning to him, “Where do you want to get married?”

His heart skipped a beat, “I’ve never thought about it.”

You scoffed, “Never?”

He nodded, “Never ever. My dad sort of said that it’s what the woman does and the man just nods and agrees.”

“God, your dad sounds like a joy… No offense.” You quickly corrected yourself.

“He’s always been like that. Then I wonder why they didn’t work out.” Tom tried to humor himself.

Your lips went to the side before saying, “Hey, that’s their issues. It doesn’t fall on you or anything. I personally think they did do a great job at raising their son. He turned out pretty okay.” You grinned, holding your cup with both hands.

Tom smirked, “I can agree with okay.”

When he looked at you, it’s like he had this crush on you for years. He thought for a moment that maybe if he believed in his gut feeling, there could be a chance with you. He couldn’t keep backing out each time he wanted to ask you that simple question.

You wondered the same just a few feet away from him. You didn’t want to think so highly of yourself in his perspective, but the thought of getting over this crush would make you feel nothing but regret.

Something was there. The word for it was unknown at the moment. Ultimately, it was now or never. 

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ* 

In the early hours of the day, you and Tom found yourselves in a rush to get ready. As you tried to do your makeup in the bathroom, Tom was in the main room looking in the long mirror while trying to perfect his black tie. He wore a nice navy blue suit with a white button up, feeling like he was playing dress up since he never went to many fancy occasions other than important fraternity meetings.

“How are you doing in there?” You asked him, contorting your face to make sure there were no creases in your concealer.

“I remember why I wear clip-on ties.” He mumbled as he pulled at the end of the tie, but the knot was too crooked by his collar.

As you put down the brush, you grabbed one of your earrings and tried putting it on as you walked out to see where he was at. You saw how he struggled to figure out what shirt to where, seeing the two other unbuttoned ones on the pull-out coach he slept on last night.

“Here, let me try.” You trailed, standing right in front of him so you could align the tie. Tom glanced at you, your eyes focused on the centering as your fingers moved the knot around to get it just right. He gulped with how close you were to him– the last time being when you two had a short make-out before being interrupted. If he kept thinking about it, the more red his cheeks would get and he tried to let his mind go somewhere else.

“There, that’s better. A wedding date has never looked so handsome.” You teased, patting down his tie on top of his shirt. He nervously chuckled, both of you sharing a shy smile before you touched his gelled curls to fix the stray strand of hair by his forehead.

“Now, how do I look?” You asked him, dramatically posing with your hands on your hips. You wore a knee high dress, a pale blue that complimented Tom’s shade of blue where it still matched.

“You look beautiful.” Tom complimented in complete awe.

Heat rose your face, genuinely flustered, “Good, we should probably head down there… before Harrison can think of any comments to throw our way.”

“You’re right.” Tom groaned.

Well, Harrison’s insinuated comments were well in his head anyways so, you two got a few of those before the three of you headed to the wedding venue outside by the beach. Harrison briefly mentioned Cami, not getting into too many details which was for the best (at the moment). 

The three of you took your white fold-out seats toward the middle of the left side, Tom and Harrison pointing out Steven’s family in the front row. You picked up the pamphlet that sat on the chair, the cover showing a professionally taken picture of the couple.

Smiling, you read through the brief summary of the ceremony and Tom kept giving you short glares. He really couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked, especially in the warm sun and beautiful setting around you all.

Once everyone gathered, the wedding started and eventually everyone stood up for the bride’s entrance. You saw her already tearing up, almost making you want to shed tears as well, but you held it together. It was nice to see this woman so happy and you didn’t even know her– you just knew she was happy.

All went well and thorough, everyone awing at the ring bearer and flower girls, but then the vows came and there was nothing but silence.

“I promise to love you today as much as I did yesterday, as much as I will tomorrow and years to come.”

Both you and Tom got shivers up your spine, relating those words. You glance down at Tom’s hand resting between his legs, watching him pick at his nails, and you carefully placed your hand on top of his wrist. He didn’t even realize he was doing it, a shy smile to show his bit of embarrassment. You quietly giggled, squeezing his hand before bringing your hand back to your own lap.

Tom let out a shaky sigh, gulping and thinking his tie was now strangling his throat.

The ceremony would end in a beautiful kiss before the bride and groom left back down the aisle. Everyone slowly moved over to the reception which was only a few feet away under a huge white tent. The cake was set as well as the food and free bar, everyone, including Tom, able to loosen their ties and even take off their shoes to dance.

“That was really nice. Anything like you want at your non-thought of wedding?” You jeered at Tom, walking next to him.

He nodded, “I took a few mental notes. But, my eyes may have been concentrating too much at what color pink the bridesmaid dresses were.” 

“I was thinking between a light flamingo or cotton candy.” You scrunched your nose.

With booze and food being passed around, all the wedding guests were having a great time. With the sun set and the fairy lights beaming around the tent, everyone was having fun and embracing the bride and groom’s special day. Their first dance together was sweet, applauded and wooed before the real party started. 

Hooked on A Feeling by Blue Swede began mid-verse, making everyone laugh at how random the song was. People linked together, swinging back and forth with happiness painted on every face.

“Do you want to dance?” You asked Tom, getting up from your seat and giving your hand out to him.

He nodded, “I’m good right now.”

“C’mon. One dance.” You pouted, “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

“Maybe later.” Tom chuckled, turning a bit pink. 

That was one thing he forgot before the trip– how to dance with rhythm in his step.

“I’ll warm you up and maybe makeTom realize he’s missing out.” Harrison jeered, stepping in to take your hand.

Tom dazed in pure awe of you sway back and forth with Harrison. He wasn’t envious, confident knowing that his bestfriend wouldn’t do that to him, but just being able to see you gracefully dance was like seeing an floating angel glide on clouds. Harrison spun you a few times, throwing your hand back in laughter just from the positive atmosphere.

A minute or two passed in the song, and Tom leaned his arm on the back of his seat, grinning at your smile, but you suddenly made eye contact across the room.

He blushed as you and Harrison walked back over, hoping he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself.

“It’s your turn.” You smiled, taking his hand and Tom got out of his seat. Harrison purposely cheered for both of you loudly, making a scene to tease Tom, but he was happy that Tom was happy. Brown Eyed Girl started playing when you both planted your feet and instantly grooved to the fast beat. Sure, the songs were kind-of cheesy, but it’s expected at a wedding and all you could do was embrace it.

You two merged into the dancing crowd, everyone happy and spinning around as well as kids jumping around between their parents. You wrapped your arms around Tom’s neck, both of you moving and swaying and people passed by singing some of the lyrics. Even Steven and his bride cut in, making everyone cheer for them and laugh.

Once the night calmed down, with kids and older folks heading to their rooms, slower songs played for the guests still enjoying their time. As nice of a night it was, you looked out at the beach from afar and Tom was nursing his drink next to you.

“Do you want to… go see if we can sit on the beach?” You hesitantly asked, wondering if it was cheesy.

Tom nodded, “Sure. Yeah.” He half-smiled.

You both walked together from the wedding tent, heading down the unlit path. Tom grabbed one of the folded blankets displayed in a bin for people who wanted to sit on the beach any time of the day. 

As you two got closer to the beach, Tom couldn’t help but notice everything going on. The moonlight, the leftover pink petals and rice in the sand, even dolphins fins going by within the waves.

No one could make this up as the most perfect moment to ask someone out. Tom cracked his knuckles, the two of you listening to the crash of the waves against the shore, before he stuttered out his words.

“D-Did you have fun tonight?” He shyly asked, not looking at you.

“Yeah, I had a lot of fun. I’m glad you invited me…” You trailed.

Okay, this was the moment. Tom thought, This is when you tell her.

He gulped, but you spoke before him.

“Are you okay?” You furrowed your brow.

Tom cleared his throat, “Yeah! Yeah, I just… I want to tell you something.”

You giggled at his sudden shyness, getting closer to him, “What’s going on?” You grinned, but a bit concerned. You couldn’t gauge if his tone was happy or upset.

He didn’t want to take a completely dramatic pause, but there wasn’t enough air in the world for his lungs to feel like they were working. His tongue felt dry, his skin felt cold, holding his breath until it just all slipped out.

“I really like you and… I haven’t been able to figure out how to say it. I read these books about love and what it is but, I couldn’t think of anything to say for shit.” Tom chuckled, his neck and cheeks heated, “But, now I know that I want to be with you and I’ve known that ever since you came into my life wearing some caution tape and gave you my hoodie… I think that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

He couldn’t believe he admitted it out loud, feeling a bit faint from letting it all out at once.

You chuckled in relief, “I like you too, Tom. We’ve spent so much time together and you’re so fun to be with that I’ve been tripping over myself wondering if you felt the same.” You thought your heart was in your throat and butterflies bursted in your stomach, “I didn’t want to be that weird girl who just thinks she’s in love with the cute guy at the bookstore she spends too much time at during the day.” 

Tom gulped, surprised by your response, but he had to catch his breath again when your eyes met again. The moment was still a bit awkward, not knowing what to say next, but you bite your bottom lip, “I think this is the part in books and movies where we kiss and ride into the sunrise on your beautiful steed.” 

He cracked a smile and leaned in, his hand against your cheek before your lips met. You would be lying if you said you weren’t dying for this kiss to happen. Like that end at any sappy romance novel you read for pleasure, they always ended in these kind of passionate and satisfying kisses. Although you didn’t think those type of scenarios were real, this was enough to make you start believing.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ* 

Your eyes fluttered open, surprised by the sound of the waves still crashing onto the shore and salty but gentle breeze brushing across your face. You two must have fallen asleep from how tired the night made you between the dancing and drinking, but you weren’t complaining instead smiling at the coincidence.

A few moments later, Tom would stir from his sleep. He didn’t believe how loud and close the waves were, but his eyes fluttered open to you sat up and looking out at dawn. The wedding arch still stood between the soft sand of the beach, both of you watching the glowing sunset begin its descent under the horizon. 

Another cold breeze set the relaxed mood even more as you two sat there admiring the start of the morning. Tom stretched his back, both of you comfortable with the silence between you two. Feeling refreshed and happy, you turned your head to Tom and the orange light made his brown eyes shine.

“Yesterday happened, right? It wasn’t just an amazing dream I had.” Tom joked, turning to smile at you.

“Truly real. Nothing fictional about it.” You smiled.

Tom placed his hand on your cheek, cupping your skin softly before placing his lips on yours. Your smile faded as your noses brushed together, your heart fluttering as you paced your sweet kiss. It was your happy ending that no book could write.

[xiaq]

Big Freaking Announcement

I’m not sure how to say this because I’m trying to temper my excitement with the knowledge that some folks might be disappointed (or even angry). I guess I should start with:

I’ll be taking Like Real People Do down from AO3 in 48 hours.*

If you want to go download it before it’s gone, now would be the time.

But why? You ask. Well, that’s the exciting bit.

As I was writing LRPD, it sort of ran away from me into something that was a lot less fan fiction and a lot more original fiction. And then I had so many ideas about future stories I could write (Martel and Okezie, Matts and his future queer partner), but I didn’t think I could write them on AO3 because, well, they wouldn’t be fic! I also, simultaneously, realized that academia was not the pretty pastoral walk in the park I expected. After talking to my therapist about what I actually wanted to do with my life, I reworked LRPD into a piece of original fiction and started sending out queries.

I’m DELIGHTED to report that I’ll be signing a publishing contract with NineStar Press. Not just for LRPD, but for a whole series of books about queer hockey players. I am so excited.

Some questions you might have:

Why are you removing the fic version?

That's required as part of the publishing contract for copyright reasons. If I could legally leave it up, I would!

They’re publishing all 150k words??

Yes, but LRPD will be separated into two books that, in their current form (as I undertake revisions) are about 80k words each.

When will it be published/where can I find it?

I don’t have a date yet, but it should be within 6-12 months and I’ll keep everyone apprised of things via Tumblr and IG. You’ll be able to find it at bookstores or amazon or directly from me if you want a signed copy!

Will you still write fic?

Of COURSE. Most of my fic is written purely because I love the source material, and it’s so immersed in that material (Sherlock, Bond, Harry Potter, TOG, The Mandalorian) that I couldn’t (and wouldn’t want to) scrub it. I like playing in these universes and I have no desire to stop. The awesome thing about potentially being an author full-time one day is that I can likely write more fic if I don’t have a standard day job (especially one like professor-ing) taking up the majority of my time.

Will you do a book tour?

Possibly. It depends on initial sales and some other things, but I’ll definitely do some signings in Austin/Dallas/Houston, etc. provided there’s interest.

Why would you Betray Fandom by scrubbing fic and then selling it?

I fully support writers scrubbing their fic and publishing it, provided they tell me where I can buy the new version and give at least a day's advance warning before they remove the fic online. I have and will continue to support fic writers traversing the line between fic and original fiction because I don’t see anything wrong with that.

I’m tired. God, I’m tired. I've been working 60-70hr weeks and trying to squeeze in 30 minutes of writing before I fall asleep each night since my weekends involve either More Work or Hiking/Climbing. I'm barely getting a chapter of fic finished per month. My schedule is definitely better now than it was 3 months ago, but I'm still super busy and have little time to write for myself. This is a chance for me to get paid to do a thing I love that will also, hopefully, facilitate me living a healthier, happier, life. I’m going to take it. *I'm going to try and remove the individual chapter content while still leaving the work up so I have access to all the comments because they basically sustained me through graduate school and I don't want to lose them. Does anyone know if that will work?

[robins-egg-bindery]

hi there, sorry if this is a silly question, but is having text printed by services like staples allowed? because wouldn’t that mean the company is technically profiting off copyrighted work? thank you

Hello!

Totally not a silly question, and definitely one I asked when I first started!

You are correct in that it is not permitted, because the company is profiting off of the work. While you are less likely to be caught printing at Staples versus, say, Lulu or Barnes & Noble Press (print-on-demand sites that have put out statements specifically calling out people trying to print fan fiction).

Unfortunately, whether you’re publishing your own fanfiction to sell on our bookstore or ordering a printed copy of your favorite fic for your bookshelf, using Lulu to print fanfiction is illegal.  Printing Fanfiction For Private Use This is arguably the most often misunderstood part of copyright infringement, at least for how it relates to fanfiction and self-publishing. There has been a recent uptick in fanfiction readers ordering individual print copies of their favorite works to add to their book collections. What it all boils down to is profit. If anyone other than the copyright owner makes a profit off copyrighted work, without the permission of the copyright owner, it is copyright infringement. And even if you are printing the work for private use, not selling it, we are still making money off it. Lulu makes a small profit off every book we print, which means even a book printed for your own personal use is not completely profit-less. What Is Fanfiction And Why Does It Matter?, 2/4/2021, Lulu

The same applies to Staples - Staples makes money off the prints you purchase at their store. I've never used Staples printing, but a quick look at their website tells me that their Simple Print option - pure B&W printing - is $0.19 a page. On average, an inkjet printer using moderately priced paper can yield about $0.10 a page. That's a $0.09 profit on your page which might not seem like much, until you do some quick math:

800 page book = 800/4 = 200 sheets of paper = 200 x 0.09 = $18 profit.

Now think about how many books you'd like to make. I myself have already made 60 books - not all of them 800 pages, but still. I plan to make many more! And then, if you want color printing - they're making more off of you, and moreover, the business never asked for that liability, re, breaking copyright laws.

THE GOOD NEWS: printing at home is fine! Printing at work, or school, if you have free printing, also fine.

But, I hear you saying, what if I don't have access to a printer at any of those places? You're in luck. There is ONE place I know of on this capitalistic hellscape of an Earth that offers at-cost printing.

YOUR LOCAL LIBRARY!

Most libraries offer printing ranging anywhere from $0.06 to $0.10 a page, or at-cost printing. I just checked my local library, and they actually offer 10 pages free! So if you were really dedicated, or doing a tiny book, you could go and print a couple signatures a day, absolutely free.

Hope that helps, & my ask box is always open for questions (or my DMs!) Happy Binding!

[thnks4thstrdst]

my brain’s queer movie summary below

basically was about the child (they were nonbinary or agender) of a bookstore owner who ran his okay finically store. however he did try to sell on the black market to get extra cash for his wife who was very sick and couldn’t work.

the child excelled in school and often helped at bookstore. a boy (queer- still closeted) who was also rather odd but his parents were very wealthy and in high social circle and kinda was crushing hard on the MC (child of owner). anyhow, something happened and there was something that happened to cause sea monsters to become real and basically they had to stop them. but the boy has just asked mc if they would be interested in going out. they declined the offer, tell him they needed to know him a bit more and then decide, confiding they were demi. and it had a major fight between the boy’s “friends” (he hated then but only did it to make his parents happy) and the boy and mc. obviously boy and mc won. both sets of parents after their character arcs vowed to make their children happy and spend more time with them. then in epilogue kinda thing, with 5 years in the future. the boy and mc were dating for about 3 years together and were writing books about what happened, as fiction of course.

and noted: MC does question authority and wonder why certain rules are in place. if they are stupid rules, they break them.

[nanowrimo]

A Step-by-Step Guide to Self-Publishing a Middle Grade Adventure Book

It can be so exciting to share your story with the world! While everyone’s writing journey is different and there’s no right way to seek publication, here’s a guide from middle grade author RJ Vantalos detailing the steps they took to get their novel published:

Back in November 2018, my writing partner (my fiance’s 11-year-old daughter!) and I wanted to craft a middle-grade fiction book during NaNoWriMo. We decided to write about a family that has magical powers that they use to save a romp of Sea Otters in Monterey Bay. 

That NaNoWriMo journey created the first draft of the book we just self-published called The Magical Mystical Mirror under our pen name RJ Vantalos. Why a pen name?

As artists, we want to focus on our art and write some great stories together. RJ Vantalos gives us the space to collaborate as co-authors in this adventure series under a single banner, without blurring the lines with other aspects of our respective lives. Besides, RJ Vantalos is just an awesome pen name and was begging to be put to use.

We wanted to share how we did it so that if you might have a book you want to self-publish, you’ll at least have one experience to guide you.

Know Your Genre and What Readers Expect

At the time, we wanted to write a middle-grade story that had some roots in our lives. Since we take trips to Monterey Bay often (at least before COVID), we decided to make that the setting of our story.

Since one of us is a middle-schooler who loves both Scooby-Doo and Nancy Drew, it was decided that she would guide what a middle-grade reader might want to read about. This was invaluable and allowed us to fill in a lot of the story as we took our trips to Monterey Bay Aquarium, Mission Carmel, and Cannery Row.

We also knew that we wanted to have some magic, mystery, and a “crime” to solve. That led us down the path of Fantasy/Adventure that’s a cross between Scooby-Doo and Harry Potter.

What this also did was make us realize that we needed to have illustrations for the book. The middle-grade chapter books we are fond of, such as Boxcar Children, Nancy Drew, to name a few, all had illustrations. 

So the first step in our process (after we finished our Draft 0 during NaNoWriMo in 2019) was to find an illustrator. You can skip that if you don’t need them. 

Step 1: Find an Illustrator

We needed to have illustrations for the cover and beginning of each chapter. That was an essential part of what a middle-grade chapter book must provide for the reader. We worked with a local San Francisco artist named Julia Geller who writes books as well.

We had to make sure that our draft was not going to change too much since the illustrations will be based on what’s in each chapter. That’s why we needed to make sure it all made sense. This brings us to step 2.

Step 2: Have Friends and Family Read It

Thankfully, we have a wide variety of friends and family in our target reader group, so they served as our “beta readers.” This is an essential part of creating a story that works for your readers. As we had them read the close to final drafts, we got a lot of great advice on how to refine the story. This refining process is a good way to know when you’re ready to hire an editor.

Step 3: Hire an Editor

Hiring an editor is a great way to ensure that your final book makes sense and does not have typos. Since we already had the structure of the book nailed down, we only needed to hire a line editor as opposed to a structural editor.

For what, we used Kerrie McLoughlin, who not only is a great copy editor but also has kids in our age demographic. Win and double win! 

Step 3b: Rounds of Editing

Editing a book is such an art and it’s also something that feels like it’s never done. After we got the edits from Kerrie, we went through them to make sure they worked from our perspective. Even after that, we got others to look at it just to make sure.

If you don’t have someone awesome like Kerrie, there is a marketplace for editors on Reedsy.

Step 4: Create a Cover

Julia also did the cover illustrations for the book but not the cover. For that, we used 100covers. At first, you might be tempted to try and do a cover or use an automatic cover generator from one of the self-publishing tools (more on that later). We’d recommend against that. 

One thing we found is that automatically generated covers tend to be a little off and that makes the paperback look a little weird. For eBooks, that’s not as true. We’d say experiment with it and see how it looks. The beauty of self-publishing is that you control the process and can iterate over and over again. Which we did.

One upside with having 100covers do your cover is that we got a lot of marketing images to use as well since we picked that package.

Step 5: Format the Inside of the Book

Since we have images in our book, we hired Formatted Books to do both the paperback and the eBook. This worked out extremely well. At first, we tried to use the Reedsy formatting tool to create the print version. This did an okay job.

The problem was with the images and how we wanted them to look. We wanted the images to be above the first page of the chapter. The Reedsy tool did this but not on all of the chapters.

If you have a book that is not image-heavy (or no images at all), then you could save a bit of money on formatting. Again, play around with it and see how it turns out.

Step 6: Setup the Book on Blurb

We used Blurb.com as our “publisher” for the print version. It’s an easy site to use and also allows independent bookstores to order books as well. This was an important part of our promotion plan. We LOVE independent book stores and want all our friends and family to be able to buy them there.

Of course, with Blurb, they can also buy it on Amazon and Barnes and Noble if they so choose.

NaNoWriMo Young Writers Program participants also get a special Blurb discount by using the code YWP30

Step 6b: Setup the eBook on Kobo

Blurb.com does offer eBook distribution but you have to create an eBook from your print book pdf. This did not work out for us.

The formatting of The Magical Mystical Mirror turned out awful when we ran it through Blurb’s converter. It also gave us an error that we could not use the font that was in the print version. That was the main reason the formatting went wrong. When the tool tried to swap the fonts, everything went sideways. That’s why we went with Kobo.

Kobo.com allowed us to upload the eBook we got as part of the package from Formatted Books. This worked out awesome.

Kobo is easy to use and is a great way to sell the eBook (and audio if we had one) all over the world. We first heard of Kobo from Joanna Penn, whose podcast and books on self-publishing we relied on for help and guidance. She’s even done NaNoWriMo several times!

Step 7: Review Print & eBook

We did several rounds of galley copies of the print book to double and triple-check it. A galley copy is what publishers call the first book(s) “off the press” that is used for final checks.

We did find a couple of typos and mistakes in the galley copies that we had to feedback to Formatted Books. It’s hard to find every typo or misspelled word when looking at an electronic copy. We’d highly recommend getting a couple of galley copies to look at before officially hitting publish.

Step 8: Hit Publish!

On both Blurb and Kobo, you can keep your book in “draft” while you’re reviewing all the versions. You’ll also have to set pricing for all of your versions and if you’re selling to bookstores, the discounted price. Both tools have good guidance on this and we would recommend looks at “comps” in your genre. “Comps” are books that are similar to yours.

Congratulations! You just self-published your book. Have a party to celebrate while you think about how to promote your book.

The Promotion Plan

We love independent books stores and a big concern of ours was whether or not they could carry our book. Thankfully, if you use Blurb, they can.

Our promotion plan is centered around local independent bookstores and creating demand for the book via friends and family. Of course, writing a blog post on NaNoWriMo does not hurt either!

Research All Your Local Bookstores

We used bookweb.org to find our local books stores. This only works for U.S. based bookstores. They have a great search feature that gives you a URL for the search results. This URL is what we’re going to email to all our friends and family along with instructions on what to tell them.

We know this is a bit “old school” but it’s important to us that we try and promote our local independent bookstores to help our local economy. We’re not sure how successful it will be yet but it’s worth a try.

Thanks for Reading This Far

If you made it this far, thanks for reading our journey to self-publishing The Magical Mystical Mirror. It was a lot of work but also a lot of fun. There is something magical about seeing and feeling a book you worked on. For us, it’s a matter of pride and a job well done that we had an idea and it’s now a reality.

If you’d like to read The Magical Mystical Mirror, why not try and pick it up at your local independent bookstore. The ISBN number is 978-1034384199. Tell them RJ sent you! If you’d like the eBook version, then try Kobo.

RJ Vantalos is the pen name of the collaboration between an entrepreneur and his fiance's middle-schooler daughter who one day said "why don't you write books for kids?" So we did! RJ wants all young writers, their friends, and their adults to create more together. It's through creation that we can all learn more about each other and thrive. RJ lives in San Francisco, CA.

[literaticat]

On average, do MG books sell fewer copies than YA? I know MG advances tend to be lower than YA, and I wondered if that was why.

Dog Man, Wimpy Kid, and Harry Potter are all Middle Grade series. They have sold, oh, about 150 million books between them over their lifetimes so far, and that's JUST on BookScan, not even counting library or institutional sales, or sales in other countries. The biggest YA series I can think of, Twilight (40M) and Hunger Games (25M), while having sold phenomenally of course, don't hold a candle to Wimpy Kid or HP sales.

Most Middle Grade books uh - don't do quite those numbers lmao, but if I were to average, those would be in there, and... they would skew things considerably north.

So - OVERALL, as a whole category, I suspect MG sells more books total, it's just that it's these HUGE books, and then the rest spread out more generously between more titles that perform steadily. But there are probably more individual YA titles that do really big numbers than MG titles that do.

IN other words - success in MG tends to be less "flashy" -- even taking these ginormous series out of the equation, there are LOTS of MG books that do really well in schools and libraries. They may never be NYT bestsellers, but they are steady, chugging along and doing well for years and years, and their authors are very happy and earn good royalties.

(These books, as we say, "backlist well" -- in other words, they continue selling long after their release. It is strong backlist sales that keep the lights on at publishers, and indeed, in many author's homes!)

Whereas YA is more based on the whims of the bookstore market, and tends to be dominated by "big" flashy front list books doing brilliantly, and then everything else just kinda doing meh. Fewer YA titles really backlist well.

YA books tend to have somewhat higher advances than MG books for several reasons. They are often more expensive (remember that little formula I put in the post earlier today?) -- and if we are talking about a book that seems "hot", and part of that formula is also based on selling a ton of copies in the first year -- typically the P&L numbers will look better for YA. YA books tend toward flash-in-the-pan, MG books tend toward slow-and-steady.

Anywhoo, I just googled it and yup, here's a PW article on it.

YA fiction units sold, 2020: 23,657,000

Juvenile fiction units sold, 2020: 185,673,000 - that does include chapter books and picture books, too, bc MG isn't broken out on its own, but anyway - clearly more.

[c4pricornc4ts]

Where are Your Parents? - Sbi Au Chapter five

Also on my ao3 

 Read the other chapters here: [1]  [2]  [3]  [4]

----------

Tommy scrunches his nose in distaste. “I wouldn’t want to leave either of you ever!”

Techno laughs softly. “Wilbur would love to hear that he won’t have you disappearing like me when you're older.”

Tommy giggles as Wilbur fusses over his clothes. Techno finishes packing a small bag for his trip to the mountains past town. Tommy didn’t like him leaving so much, but he knew it was what Techno wanted to do. He knew Techno left the orphanage to be free to go wherever in life.

He also knew neither of them planned to live in a questionably stable shed with a 10 year old boy to look after but here he was. He always tried to stay positive, but he wasn’t oblivious to how his brothers feel.

Wilbur puts a cap over his messy blonde hair and Tommy smiles at how happy Wilbur looks.

“Remember what I said, Techno.” Wilbur warns.

Techno pretends to be nonchalant and fake yawns. “Yeah, yeah, Toms passes out. I bring him back. If he seems fine, I let him run around town so you get a break” He teases the younger boy.

Wilbur sighs, and steps back from straightening Tommy’s suspenders. “Alright, I’ll see you both soon.”

Tommy grabs a basket and waits for Techno by the path while the older two talk.

Techno readjusts his travel bag and they start walking towards town. Tommy walks ahead of him slightly, excited to finally be out of the woods.

“Slow down Toms c’mon. I know you miss town but it’s not going anywhere.”

Tommy slows down. “What? I thought you were excited to leave that forest too?”

“You know I am, and I know you are, but I’m leaving for a few days so we should talk.” He swings his arm around Tommy’s shoulder, having to lean down very far to reach the ten year old’s shoulders. “I always miss you, you know.”

“If you miss me so much, why don’t you stay intown? I’m sure someone would hire you.”

Tommy watches his brother look straight ahead. “Well, you know how Wil likes staying in the forest?”

“Yeah…”

“And you know how you like to be in town?”

Tommy nods, unsure where his brother was going with this. “Yeah?”

“Well I don’t like the forest or the town. I’m not happy with anything unless I’m free.” He smiles at Tommy. “I like knowing that no matter how far I go, you two will always be there when I’m back.”

Tommy scrunches his nose in distaste. “I wouldn’t want to leave either of you ever!”

Techno laughs softly. “Wilbur would love to hear that he won’t have you disappearing like me when you're older.”

They reach the town and Tommy takes a deep breath at the sight of people other than his brothers. He missed the crowded buildings and stone streets. Before he can go and find the man who will let him sell newspapers, he has to get Techno's seal of ‘I’m not gonna pass out’ approval.

“Well…?” The blonde questions.

“Well… I think you’re going to be fine today, just take it easy for Wil’s sake. And go tell Phil thanks for saving you.” He laughs and starts walking away.

Tommy always wondered how Techno was so sure on where he was headed. He didn’t have any kind of map that the boy could see, he just seemed to know. He hopes one day he could walk into uncertainty with the confidence of his brother. He knows they aren’t really related, but he can’t help but realize he’s adopted traits from both of them over time.

Wilbur taught him about being grateful for all the little things in life, to be happy with who he was becoming and keep pushing to be better. Techno helped him understand that the world was big, bigger than any problem, bigger than him and his brothers. That you’ll never be able to face the world till you start within yourself.

One thing he hadn’t picked up from them is their general distaste for talking to people outside of their family. Though his older brothers were both very interesting people, Tommy always hoped he’d never get their attitude towards others. He’d find it very boring if he didn’t interact with new people everyday.

He turns another corner and shakes hands with the man who owns the newspaper printer. He tries to suppress a sigh when he sees some of the ink from the man's stained hands was now on his.

“Jim, Guess who’s back?”

“Your brother finally let you out of home-jail huh? Took ya almost the full week he told me you’d be out for you to convince him.” The man teases.

“He was really worried, okay? I didn’t want to be home that long either!” He huffs and holds his arms out for Jim to put a stack of newspapers into.

“You know the routine, but in case you forgot; money by tomorrow.” He ruffles Tommy’s blonde hair until it's a mess.

He cringes thinking about what Wilbur would say if he saw someone mess up his hair. “I know, it’s been a week not a year. I’m almost 11 and I can remember everything now.” He puts the newspapers in his basket and walks to the door, opening it with his unoccupied hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tommy notices the sky has been slowly getting cloudier as he continues to sell newspapers down each street. Stopping to talk with many familiar faces and answering questions about where he’s been.

He’s tapped on the shoulder and turns around while taking a deep breath, prepared to talk about the news yet another time this morning.

He’s greeted with one of Tubbo’s older brothers, Sapnap. With his familiar headband holding back his dark hair like usual. “Sapnap! How are you?” “I’m better now that I know you’re still kicking. Dude, you scared us! Maybe give us a ring next time you get grounded or whatever.”

Tommy wasn’t sure he was allowed to tell people he didn’t have a house phone… or a house. So he just laughed it off. “Yeah, sorry. I fell and hurt my head pretty badly, Wilbur didn’t want me to pass out so I stayed home for a bit.”

“Never heard of someone’s brother grounding them but hey, first time for everything right?” Sapnap laughs and hands him a dime. “For the paper. I’m glad you're better, come visit soon yeah? Eret and Tubbo have been busy with some kind of castle in the backyard. I’m sure they’d like your opinions.”

“Tell them soon, I’ve got something to do this afternoon.” Tommy was going to go thank Phil like Techno recommended. He owes the bookstore owner that at least.

“Alright, I’ll go tell them you’re alive and you know where we’ll be. Just make sure to come after school. Or you’ll be stuck talking with my mom again.”

“I like talking with May, but noted.” Sapnap waves and starts to walk away, flipping through the newspaper as he walks.

Tommy starts heading to the other side of town where (hopefully) Phil would be working in the store and not closed for the day. He sells the rest of his newspapers on the way, which wasn’t surprising since he was handed so few.

The clouds were growing closer together, Tommy walked a little faster to try and beat the oncoming shower. He hoped it would just be a quick afternoon rain.

“Mr. Phil?” Tommy pokes his head into the book store and calls.

“Tommy? How are you doing? Come in before the rain.” He sets down the box of books and sits in a chair behind the desk. Tommy sets his basket on the counter before resting his chin on top of his folded arms.

“I feel better now, I came to say thank you for saving me. Techno wanted me to say thank you for him too!”

They both turn to smile at the new customer when they hear the jingle of the door opening before Phil continues the conversation. “What about Wilbur? How’s he?”

“Well I’m sure Wil’s thankful too, he’s probably just um- embarrassed? I think he’s too busy being upset that he wasn’t there for me…” Tommy lulls his head to one side and starts fiddling with his sleeve.

“He’ll come around I’m sure. He’s just worried about you like a brother should. I hope you told him thank you too.” Phil tries to cheer him up a bit by being the second person today to mess up his hair.

“I did! Well, sort of.” He looks at the box of unsorted books and quickly changes topics. “Can I help you sort those? Please?”

“Well I’m not going to pass up free help. Come over here and I’ll teach you how.”

The pair walk over to the shelf in the back corner and Tommy picks up a soft paper book. Then looking up at Phil for an explanation.

“They’re sorted by title in this section. What’s the book name?”

Tommy freezes, he almost regrets being such a devil about school that they stopped making him try. Because right now it’d be really helpful if he could read.

“I- uh- cah? Cah-la?”

Phil steps beside him and takes the book from him gently. “Call is that first word. Do you know the next one?”

It’s two letters long and Tommy still doesn’t know. “I-I don’t know how to.”

Phil pauses for a moment, Tommy wonders if he is realizing that maybe a kid who lives in the woods doesn’t go to school, and therefore does not thrive well in a bookstore.

“Th-that’s okay Toms, it’s okay. This book is titled ‘Call it Courage’” He reads it slowly, pointing to each word.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, we can turn this into a teaching experience. We’ll read the titles together and then you can sort them.” He hands the book back to the boy and they walk over to a shelf labeled ‘Kids non-fiction A-E’

Phil makes a space and Tommy reaches up to put it on the shelf.

They continue like that for a while, Phil occasionally going to ring up someone’s books or when they both stopped to have lunch.

Tommy is about to pick up another book, when someone with a large dog walks in. He wasn’t a big fan of dogs, and has had too many encounters with mean ones on the street to be comfortable with this situation. He hides behind Phil and grabs his arm.

“The dog is on a leash Tommy, it can't get you.” Phil tries to step away from his grip so they can put away the final few books.

Tommy looks up ready to try and ignore the dog but he immediately makes eye contact with the animal and buries his face in the adult’s arm. He really wishes bookstores had a no pets policy.

Phil detaches himself from Tommy, much to his dismay. “I’ll finish up here, do you want to start heading home before the rain?”

It was only 3pm, he didn’t want to be back in the woods so soon. “Can I go to your apartment and leave after the rain?”

“Sure, but leave the door open so we can listen for customers. I’ll come up there when the store is empty.”

Tommy nods, waits for the dog to be in the opposite corner of the stairs and books it to the red apartment door. Leaving the door open behind him felt strange, Wilbur would scold him when he left their door open at the orphanage.

He’s not a big fan of Phil’s interior design choices, but their house didn’t even have furniture. So really who was he to judge?

He sits on the plaid carpet and opens one of the coffee table drawers. Looking for a game. He pushes a pack of cigarettes aside and pulls out a checkerboard and a small bag of pieces.

After he figures out how to turn on the radio, he sets the boardgame up. Checkers was the only one he really knew how to play. Techno would try to teach him chess but he never could get all the rules right.

So they stuck to checkers. Before they left, whenever one of them was hesitant to talk about what was bothering them, they’d go downstairs and pull out an old checker board and talk while they played.

It always helped Tommy figure out what he needed to say if his hands were busy. When Techno started getting upset over school he’d watch Wilbur smuggle a card game up to the older kid’s rooms.

So he uses it now, he plays a few games of checkers to distract himself from the dog downstairs. He lays on his side and moves the black and red pieces around, flipping them when they reach the end.

The rain starts to pour in sheets. Tommy gets up off the rug to go look out the window. The bookstore overlooks the street where he can see the roads begin to flood with the heavy rain. He leans on the windowsill and watches it for a while, his nose fogging the window from where he has it boredly pressed against the glass.

He gets really worried when he starts to hear thunder. It was already 5pm. Phil would be closing the store in an hour. He really didn’t want to walk home in a thunderstorm.

He especially didn’t want to sleep in the woods in a thunderstorm. The roof always leaked, and it's already so cold that he knows all that water would turn to ice very quickly.

Deciding that walking back in this was something he had to do, he thought it was better to go through a storm than have Wilbur assume the worst and never let him in town alone again.

He drags his feet over to the board game left on the floor, and starts to put each of the pieces back in the bag. He pauses when he hears the stairs creak, turning around to greet Phil once again.

“The rain’s bad Toms, I don’t think you’ll be able to get back home yet.”

“I have to or Wilbur’s gonna be worried about me. I’d rather walk home in the rain than have him out in this looking for me.” He continues to put away the pieces and folds the board.

“I can’t let you out in this, you’re a kid, it's dangerous. If it let’s up later we’ll walk back together again.” He can tell by the tone Phil actually feels bad for not letting him leave. So Tommy pushes the table drawer closed and doesn’t argue.

Besides, sleeping in an actual house during a heavy storm sounded very nice. It might be worth the lecture he’d get from Wilbur when he returned in the morning.

Both of them were sitting on the couch, with the first book Tommy had picked up earlier, ‘Call it Courage’ and they are switching off who reads each paragraph. At first it was difficult stumbling over almost every word, but when he got to sit back and listen to Phil read his paragraph, he knew that being able to read on his own would be worth it.

The boy in the story was afraid of the sea because he saw his mom fall victim to it. Tommy thinks he’d be scared of the sea too if he saw it, especially since he knows it could swallow him whole. He thinks he’ll stick to the river.

They hear more thunder roll by and Phil closes the book as Tommy watches the lightning flash through the curtains. Tommy was nervous about how loud the wind sounded.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to light a candle while you cook? What if the power goes out- and you’re trying to see the pan in the dark? What then Phil?” He’s sitting at the kitchen table now, up on his knees with both hands lifting him up so he was leaning over it precariously.

“There’s a candle in that cabinet,” Phil stops what he’s cooking to point to the drawer closest to Tommy. “If you get me one i’ll light it and well keep it in the middle of the table yeah?”

He picks out one after smelling all of them twice, and by that time Phil is already done with the food. Tommy walks it over to the stove carefully since it’s glass and the bookstore owner trades him the candle for a bowl of soup.

They eat and talk about the story they were reading and the whole time the rain doesn’t let up once. The wind is so aggressive Tommy stops mid rant to worry about Wilbur alone out there.

Phil notices and carries both their bowls to the sink. Leaving them for morning before grabbing the candle and turning to Tommy. “I have a guest room, you can sleep there and leave first thing okay? I can’t let you have a candle because that’d be a fire hazard.” He pauses to laugh at his own joke. “I’ll open the curtains so you won’t need a candle. Streetlights are enough.”

Tommy nods, the storm really wasn’t letting up and it was getting late. Maybe Wilbur will assume he went to Tubbo’s house. He pours a glass of water and follows Phil through a door in the living room.

The room is small, much like the rest of the apartment and has a double bed in between two bedside tables. The wood floor is cold beneath him so while Phil fixes the curtains and sets down his water and climbs under the covers.

“See the door to your left? That’s the bathroom and through there is my room. The storm should be over soon but if you need me that’s where I am.”

“Goodnight.” He’s sitting up in the bed, holding the blanket close to him while he watches Phil turn out the lights.

“Goodnight Toms, I hope Wil’s okay out there.”

While Tommy sleeps, Wilbur doesn’t.

[almostnoisydonut]

𝓣𝓸𝓹 𝓞𝓷-𝓒𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓾𝓼 𝓙𝓸𝓫𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼

Whether you need to find a job to fulfill a federal work-study requirement, or you’re looking to make extra money to get you through the semester, on-campus jobs are the ideal choice for students look for employment.

On-campus jobs are often a great choice for students looking for a part-time job. As any college student knows, life is busy enough as it is, with classes, clubs, homework, exams and extracurricular activities.

It can be difficult to balance school with a work schedule, and that balance is even harder to come by when you factor in the commute to and from work. Jobs on campus, therefore, tend to be a really good fit for college students. For one, on-campus employers tend to be more understanding about academic demands, and are used to accommodating staffing changes based on fluctuations in course load. In addition, you won't have to worry about scrambling from class in order to make it to work on time, and working on campus is a great way to meet new people. You’ll also make valuable connections with faculty and staff at your university.

Here are some of the best jobs to consider.

Being a campus tour guide through the admissions office requires that students become familiar with facts about their school as well as have great interpersonal skills. They will take prospective students and their families on tours of campus while giving details about different majors, activities, events, and the many other things that their schools have to offer.

If you can stand four- to eight- hour shifts in a hush of silence, working as a library attendant might be an ideal job for you, especially if you tend to spend lots of your time in the library to begin with. Library attendants generally have the responsibility of maintaining an environment conducive to work: making sure students aren’t talking loudly, or being disruptive with food or drinks, for example.

Also, most library attendants are able to get their own school work done while getting paid to oversee the library.

Students who excel in a particular subject may want to consider becoming a tutor. This on-campus job allows students to teach others what they are good at and help their peers have a better understanding of the subject.

If you are devoted to your academics, you can apply for these academic posts. There are two types of profiles - "teaching fellows" are usually graduate students, whereas, "teaching assistants" could be graduates too and they have less formal responsibilities like handing out and collecting assignments. There are almost no formal openings for this post, so ask your professor if you can help them out through the freshman year.

All universities have a bookstore on campus that sells course books, reference books, works of fiction, along school supplies. Not only does it come with the convenience of being on campus, but you may even get really useful employee discounts on books, stationery, or other supplies. You can contact the bookstore manager directly to inquire about job openings.

If there is a gym on campus, students can apply to work there. They may scan student IDs at the check-in desk, wipe down equipment, sell healthy food and smoothies at the gym café, and organize the equipment when the gym closes for the day.

Students can find these jobs, as well as other jobs, on their college’s job board. Work-study jobs may be arranged through a school’s financial aid office, with some schools assigning students to jobs and others requiring students to go through the campus job board. It’s best to look and apply for an on-campus job before the school year begins, because these jobs may fill up fast.

If a student does end up landing an on-campus job, they should strive to act professional while they are at work and treat it the same as they would a job in the “real world.” They can gain the skills they will need once they graduate, so they should take the opportunity to learn as much as possible, dress for the job, show up on time, and ask their supervisors how they can be helpful.

They shouldn’t do their schoolwork on the job or call in sick just because they partied too hard the night before, which could reflect poorly on them. They may want to use their supervisor as a connection for an internship or as a reference for one of those “real world” jobs.