a/n: This is basically the whole words flow series repackaged in ‘standard structure’. It’s all paragraphed without all my normal non-standard grammar (wow, it sounds kinda oxymoronic).
Some of the writing is different - plot is the same, but writing is different!
Between bullet-fics and paragraphed layouts... which would you guys want to see more of?
You slammed your laptop shut. Nothing was coming to mind.
No. You want to laugh at how good you’ve become at lying to yourself. Many things came to mind. Problem was that nothing was good. Barely decent.
12 titles. 6 blockbuster movies. 3 on-screen adaptations. That’s everything under your name. Writing has always been your passion. Until - it stopped. And suddenly - it’s not.
At least it’s not anymore.
When did it begin? Since when has your writing become nothing more than numbers and figures on lined paper? How long has it been since you’ve scratched ideas on coffee shop napkins with the busy chatter of students surrounding you, instead of sitting in front of your lighted screen on Saturday nights with takeaway?
It’s never been talent unlike what people said (unlike what your publisher wants the public to think). You wrote what you felt. What you experienced. Or what you wanted to explore.
But how were you supposed to do that when you’ve cut yourself off from the rest of the world?
Instead of a commercial hit; a shallow reflection of what people expected from you– you wanted something that felt like you. Maybe a romance… so real silent tears would slide onto the cold concrete jungle of Seoul. Or a tragedy… so honest it’d knock you off your feet and sweep you up to the clouds.
You wanted less pennies and more petals.
Your last editor - Bae Jinyoung, had quit when you told him of your intentions to publish your next title under a pseudonym. To begin anew with a fresh start. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t supportive of your idea since you two were friends first and business colleagues second; but it was rather because of the fact that the two of you were friends, that he thought he couldn’t do the right job for you.
“Justice for your work,” he'd said, as if Jinyoung thought he couldn’t do his job well enough, even though you knew he just lacked the confidence - being one of the youngest in the industry.
Hence why you were currently staring at blank walls; waiting for the new editor that Jinyoung had promised you to arrive. The door clicks open a few seconds before the clock hits noon and he arrives exactly on the hour.
Hwang Minhyun.
Long fingers wrapped around the door knob, and feline features peeked through. The ethereal aura around him unchanged.
“Minhyun… oppa?” You weren’t sure whether he’d mind the familiar form of address, though you were high school acquaintances - you wouldn’t say you were particularly close.
He was the image of serenity personified; there was always something almost inhuman about Hwang Minhyun. Something that made him hard to approach. Everything from his existence to the words that flowed from him.
You still remember that nagging envy in your chest the first time you’d proofread for Minhyun during writing classes.
“Have you ever thought of publishing your work?” you’d asked, awed by his writing style - the way his words poured out like waterfalls over a cliff; and sentences streamed into each other as if his work was the delta to an ocean of emotions.
Reading his writing was like feeling a wave crash over you. Cleansing. And yet, it was as dynamic and turbulent and violent as could be despite the gentle currents he swirled his words in. Minhyun was the one that should be sitting on your chair.
What he said had caught you off guard - it had somehow resonated though out the years.
“I don’t want anyone but those I choose to read my work.”
It had been a shock when you heard that he thought that way when the only aim you had was to make it big. To survive through your dreams. Looking back, maybe he intended those words for you too. A warning to treasure your work.
“Y/N? I didn’t know that I’d be editing for you when Jinyoung told me that a new writer was looking for help.”
Ah. Right. Not many people could put a face to your name. But Minhyun obviously could. Jinyoung probably didn’t expect Minhyun to recognise you and marketed you under a fake name. Panic unintentionally rose within -
“Um. If it’s not convenient for you-“
“I don’t mean that I don’t want to, Y/N.”
That’s Hwang Minhyun. Honey sweet voice. All the right words. But despite their firmness - he never came off strong.
“I was just surprised. You’re very successful, Y/N. Jinyoung usually refers me to the young struggling ones that have just started out - but I don’t think we’re going to have much trouble since I’m working with such a talented writer.”
Reassuring words meant to rid you of worry. You’ve received them numerous times this year from numerous editors that have never read your drafts before. Attracted to nothing but your name.
But for some reason. Minhyun sounds sincere, and you find yourself falling for his words.
Because Minhyun says it as if he believes what he’s saying.
“I think I know your problem.” Flipping through your newly printed draft - still warm from ink - Minhyun has a frown marring his handsome face. Regal features twisted in the unfitting position of a court jester.
"I always tell writers who are just starting out to stop trying to write a whole story all at once. In one sitting. To write small chunks whenever inspiration hits because they come in contact with so much each day. So they should just write down everything and come back to those snippets at another time… but you’re different,Y/N. You’re not a new writer. And you’re not lacking experience”
You read into everything he’s saying without much trouble. Minhyun says it so bluntly because he knows you’ll understand without harsher words.
You’ve been writing for too long. Started too young. You have too much experience. Your style is too recognisable.
“Tell me what to do then.” Despite your tone. Minhyun seems to know that what you say isn’t a challenge. It’s desperation.
A cry for help.
“For now. You need to stop writing completely. You’re not writing because you want to. This - work. It’s just that. It’s work. It’s not a piece I’d want to read.”
He hands it back. Places it on the desk as he slides it away from himself, back in front of you. Where it lays untouched. You don’t pay any attention to it.
“And I can tell it’s not something you want to read either.”
It wasn’t.
No other person has tried to understand your writing this way before. They’d simply read it as a consumer - never as another person trying to decipher your feelings. All of them had told you it wasn’t good.
But never why. Why wasn’t it good? Why they didn’t connect. Why it wasn’t enough. Because none of them could understand the reason those perfectly organised lines of words didn’t read right. Why they’d felt empty emotions despite the touching storyline and eloquent vocabulary.
"I want… I want pretentious words that cut deeper than spilled ink on paper.”
You wanted beautifully arranged words that were still relatable. Untouchable but close at the same time. To create a planetarium of sorts. Achievable and reachable. But seemingly out of the atmosphere.
"Does that make sense?”
“It does,” and he knows. He understands.
Minhyun takes your hand in his as if its the most normal thing to do, running his thumb down your knuckles until it reaches the disappearing dent on your pinky. A writer’s callous.
How long has it been since you last held a pen instead of clutching your laptop?
Walking out as if his job was done, your eyes widened at the words he left you with.
"You want less pennies and more petals"
You don’t see Minhyun until three days later. Having taken his advice, you’ve been bingeing the drama series you never finished, re-reading the comics of your childhood, buying the new editions released for their 20th anniversary.
None of them give you the inspiration to write; but appreciation comes much easier. It’s a lighthearted way of enjoying stories - plots, the artistry; and to not think of it as inspiration for your own work. Something you haven’t done in a while.
On Monday morning; Minhyun shows up like the genie’s collected pixie dust and sprinkled it into your eyes. Out of the blue and looking beautiful, the long winter coat he’s wearing flattering on his tall figure.
“Come on.” He presses the space bar to pause your show abruptly. “I’m taking you out for coffee. Take a jacket with you.” In the years that you’ve known Minhyun as a student, he’s never struck you - as well ... demanding.
But the way he almost manhandles you into your thickest coat and insists that the two of you walk in the face of cold wind instead of taking the bus is a welcome surprise. Especially when he expertly fixes your hair when it gets attacked by the breeze, or the way he slips your hands into his pocket when you complain of them going numb,
In the years that you’ve been apart, he’s somehow transformed from the shy good looking class president into a self assured man who knows exactly what he wants to do with his life.
And how to make your heart skip to a rhythm akin to the raindrops against the slanted windows of your attic.
Did he know that everything he does is heart fluttering?
The two of you finally reach a small cafe; delicate handwriting on black chalkboard menus, small round tables paired with hard chair, and glinting gold fixtures dangling dim lights. It’s by no means minimalist in it’s old world love affair, missing the contemporary modern flair of most coffee shops you frequent for their convenience instead of taste. You love it, but how did Minhyun even find this place?
I don’t remember him ever drinking coffee…
“Have you had coffee here before? My friend - Seongwoo - runs it.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice as Minhyun says it, and you’re happy that he’s found such great friends to share joy with. Found kind people to surround himself with. “He says that he makes the best in town.”
“He says?” A smile creeps its way onto your face. Maybe Minhyun hasn’t changed that much.
“I don’t like coffee.” A giggle escapes you, and you’re not sure whether it’s the grimace on his face as he mentions the bitter drink that brings you laughter, or if it’s the fact that some thing never really do change.
“Then why’d you bring me to a cafe?”
“Because I know that you like coffee.”
The rush of warmth you feel has nothing to do with the steam rising from the hot coffee that arrives at the table.
A set of perfect not-so strangers face each other, and the curtains to your abandoned show have raised again.
Minhyun takes you out to eat more frequently from then on, popping into the your office randomly. It starts on Monday, then Wednesday and Friday, growing into every other day of the week. It doesn’t take long before he’s in your office at least one meal a day; making sure you’re actually having three meals a day and you fall into a comfortable type of companionship, whereby he frequently spoils you by bringing you to new places
‘In search of inspiration’ is what he says, but they feel a little too much like dates for you to not worry about thinking any deeper. You needed to know where you stand, and whether you need to put your guard up. To know if you should stop lucid dreaming in broad daylight.
“Are you dating anyone right now?”
Is there any jealous girlfriend I should watch out for in my sleep?
“No.” Minhyun laughs, fennec fox-like crinkle of eyes. “There’s no jealous girlfriend you need to be careful of.”
“But why?” You’re not shy of asking. especially when the man across you is Hwang Minhyun. You’re sure he was aware of just how popular he was at school, he wasn’t a child. People knew these things. There’s no way he isn’t more popular now.
“There’s someone I’ve chosen, and I don’t want anyone else.”
Which sounds a lot like something you’ve heard before -
“I don’t want anyone but those I choose to read my work.”
The way he says it, looking into your eyes as if they were an ocean he was trying to measure the depth of makes you grip onto the edge of your sweater to control the slight tremble in your hands.
Opening. Closing.
Trying to hold something that wasn’t there. You grip a little tighter onto soft jersey.
Trying to stop the urge to write.
“Y/N?” Minhyun rasps on the other side of the line, voice husky, and a nagging feeling develops in you when you realize he must’ve caught a cold. “I don’t think I can make it today.”
The line goes a little dead as you pull yourself together, working out the right words to say. It’s almost like you’ve put your ear to a seashell and you’re in a saltwater room fishing thoughts out of the water. Underwater caves sparingly empty of the nouns you’re looking for, and the verbs you want to use.
Somehow, you’ve gotten so used to having Minhyun by your side that the sudden loss of companionship will mean a strangely lonely week.
But why should you feel that way? It’s only a day or two.
“It’s fine; just focus on getting better.” You begin playing with miscellaneous objects scattered on your work area, twirling pens around your fingers, peeling off post it notes and sticking them back on top of the stack. Little things that normally bothered Minhyun. But what difference would it make today?
“Thanks. This is so embarrassing, I’m always telling you to take care of yourself and I’m the only one that falls ill.”
“Really, what am I going to do?” You joke, trying to lighten up the mood you’ve dampened. You mean it as in ‘what am I going to do with you?’ and Minhyun knows it too, but it doesn’t stop him from saying the words on his mind anyway.
“You can promise me to wearing warmer clothes, going out to eat instead of ordering takeaway, and don’t get sick as well.”
“I won’t.” You lie swiftly, answering perhaps - a little too quickly - for it not to be suspicious as you rustle through the newspapers and envelopes you kept by the door. Treasure hunting for a Chinese restaurant arranged into numerals.
“I really am sorry…” Minhyun trails off again and you cut him off to tell him to rest when you hear how much his voice is cracking.
“Honestly, just sleep. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”
You’re lying down with your hand-rest as a makeshift pillow - and surely there’s going to be a imprint on your cheeks - when a sharp knock wakes you from a carb-triggered nap.
Three curt consecutive knocks that you’ve become way too accustomed to.
“Minhyun-oppa? Is that you?”
I thought he wasn’t coming over today?
“Yeah…” A sniff responds from the other side of the door, the slight cold he’s attending to revealed in his nasally tone. “I’m coming in.”
“Sure, it’s not locked.” In your own disoriented drowsiness, sleep still in your eyes, even someone as handsome as Minhyun is being registered as a blur.
It’s no surprise that you completely forget about the state of your room.
“You promised to take care of yourself.” His nose crinkles at the familiar scent of jjajangmyeon, immediately recognisable as soon as he entered your office, before his gaze falls to scan what you’re wearing (or rather - what you haven’t hung behind your chair).
“I didn’t go out.”
So I didn’t need to wear a coat.
“You probably didn’t even wear it when you went down to pick it up food earlier.”
Bingo. Minhyun knew your lazy habits too well.
“It’s no big deal. Look, I’ve let you in my office. You’re probably already spreading germs and I’m gonna end up ill tomorrow. So you should give me a long looong extension for when I need to hand you my first draft and just stay and take care of me since I’ll be sick because of you and - why are you looking at me like that?”
Pulling out the chair across you (what you now instinctively refer to as his chair); Minhyun sat, leaning his face on his palm as he tilts his head in that 45 angled way of his.
He has to know that he looks good like that. No one could ever hide anything from him if he interrogated them when looks at them this way.
“You called me oppa.” Furrowing your brows. you thought back to when you answered the door in your sleepy state. Caught unawares.
“Yeah, I did… do you… do you not like it?”
“No. It’s just you haven’t called me that since the first time we met.”
You pause. Deciphering the steady gaze he holds, un-betraying of how he feels towards the new form of address. “I can just call you Minhyun if you prefer that.”
“You can call me anything you chose, Y/N.”
minhyun oppa minhyun oppa minhyun oppa
You wanted to hide somewhere. Duck below the cold wood of your desk, lock yourself in Seongwoo’s stupidly coffee themed toilet, or even just trap yourself in that tiny fridge in the office.
You didn’t expect to feel this way about Minhyun when he came back into your life. Rushing in as a plum rain flood.
Just saying his name sounds like a confession to your ears. You must’ve already known that you’d fallen in love with Hwang Minhyun. But to hear your own confirmation was crazy.
Addictive. Strange. And utterly crazy.
You’d always loved words. Characters. The way they rolled off the voice in your mind as you internally read them out. But those three syllables.... How could someone’s name have this effect on you? How did this happen?
You’ve somehow been seduced by his showering of easy affection, and the words he said in that sweeter-than-honeyed-tea voice. To wear warm clothes, eat healthy foods, and don’t get sick. Words that gave you strength and showed you love.
Minhyun looks at you curiously, his gaze soft and focused as you get lost in driftwood thoughts down the flowing stream of having your heart stolen from right across you. Just as always, there’s never judgement in his eyes. Never any assumptions.
He remained a strong cliff of support against the crashing waves of the expecting world.
You didn’t only fix my writing. You fixed me. I am okay because of you.
you feel drowned by love as shy hands run down the waved line of your back; pushing your body flush against his and -
you love him you love him you love him
“You’re writing...” Minhyun looked up from the stack of papers - it’s the third? Fourth? Time you’ve handed him something - but the first time he’s said something instead of simply annotating. “You’ve got some of your old flair back lately. It’s incredibly stylized, but we can make it work.”
It’s a definite departure from your normal work - but since you’re releasing this as mobile novel under a pseudonym, the two of you thought trying out something new would be fun.
And you missed fun.
“Found inspiration again?” He always says that as if it’s some inside joke. But you supposed it was when ‘searching for inspiration’ somehow translated to going on a date these days. You just weren’t sure if he thought the same way.
“I guess you could say that.”
There’s a dumb smile on your face, and you’re entirely aware of how stupid you look because Minhyun is giving you a wide smile back and his eyes sparkle and you can see your own dorky face reflected in them - and god, you love that - before he looks back down at your work.
Red pen in hand, Minhyun writes small notes over your thousand-paged love song for him.
“Can I tell you something?”
He looks up from the draft, curiosity unbidden. warm and welcoming, still blissfully unaware of your love.
Is he? You wonder. Can he not tell from your writing?
“Anything.”
“I think I know why my writing is better these days.”
He urges you to continue, by putting down the draft to look at you, “hm?”
And there’s a look in his eyes that says that he knows too. And you hope he knows that it’s him. That he hasn’t misunderstood your stupid love for him as something else even more unexpected in a way that only Hwang Minhyun would misunderstand.
“I write best when I’m in love, and I used to be in love with writing. But these days I’ve found something I love even more.”
“That’s great.” The pen in his hand is dropped and he’s reaching closer to your own. Holding it as he runs his thumb along your knuckles like he always does without knowing what it does to your heart. Sending it into overdrive. "What do you love more? What have you found, y/n?”
“I found a muse for my writing. A siren to pair to my song.”
Pulling your hand out of Minhyun's, you prop yourself up.
“Hwang Minhyun, I’m in love with you”
And you push yourself to reach him - to kiss him from across the table. Too scared to wait for his response to your confession.
Only when you feel him sigh against your lips and angle his head to move eagerly against you does the tension seem to leave your body. For what feels like eternity, you let your hands run through his hair, to trail down strong shoulders and grip on his arms while Minhyun holds you firmly against him. Supporting your face with long fingers and tracing the contours of your jawline.
It’s all careful close lipped touches until you feel him pull you up onto the table and you’re about to open your mouth for more; because it’s been so long - and you crave this connection - this affectionate touch - and because it’s Minhyun - when he drops you on his lap and pulls away.
Scribbling onto your draft in fervent hurry.
“Wha-“
“You’re a liar.” A playful smile teases on his lips, feline features embracing their fox-like nature as his eyes transform into half-crescents.
“Huh?” You weren’t lying. You loved him!
“It didn’t feel like I was being drowned by love when we kiss at all.”
Blushing, heat flushing from your chest up. You finally realise what he’s on about.
Oh. The story.
“You were rain in a drought."
So he did know it was about him!
The bright expression on his face wasn’t enough to make you forget this embarrassment so quickly.
Why would he pretend to not know?
You take it back. You take it all back! He wasn’t the siren to your song - some tragic hero that needed a pair - he was a nine-tailed fox that used winsome words to seduce lost souls. A predator who’s prey was too unaware and willing, and you were just a lamb in wolf’s clothing!
“Y/N. Can you say that you love me again?”
You looked up from his chest only to see him hiding his face behind the paper- held up to leave only his eyes uncovered. The tips of his ears burning red. “Why should I?” You’re still a little mad from before.
“So I can say I love you back. I was caught off guard the first time so I could’t say it back properly.”
Oh right. You’d cut him off with a kiss before letting him reply.
He’s lucky that you forgave easily.
“Minhyun-oppa.” You used the stupid form of address you used to loathe. The one that you let Minhyun tease you about.
Your very first confession to him.
“I love you.”
“Y/N,” Minhyun reminisces back to his days of texting you to ask about assignments and staying up to wait on your replies. How he had first fallen for fancy words on draft paper against hard wood desks and chalkboard-dust rooms. Tiny letters a river of stars, dancing on milky way lines.
Fallen for a girl who realised her dreams with a lover’s mindset.
The one he let go of too early - didn’t know how to chase - only for fate to kick in at exactly the right time; and he gives you a soft smile.
The type that melted snow caps and formed streams in spring. The ones you write about to sell daydreams to young girls.
Have you ever thought about how all of the knowledge you've accumulated is not all the knowledge you have access to?
Like stored in your brain somewhere is everything you've ever read, every emotion you've ever experienced. Every sense that you've had access to, conversations you've been a part of.
Every song you've ever danced to, every face you've ever seen or loved. Every time you've accomplished something or felt afraid. Every step, every memory.
Every star you've ever pointed at, every stranger who's smiled at you, every time some has said that they love you.
It all still exists somehow in your brain. We just can't keep it forever or call it up at will. But its there.
Story Ideas - What In passage to Do When Your Muse Goes On Abolishment
Sometimes it's hard for come up with ideas for stories. Or them have a prompt excluding a try conclusions, yet you don't know what to do with it and you have a deadline. How do you come up with ideas? ANIMA researched excellent methods to come up with new ideas or ways against break a diarist nitwit. <\p>
Freewrite - Type whatever words flow into your mind. No need to write ko or correct sentences. Don't look at the whitewash, hatchment paper, don't go back and edit, holy let the words flow without your mind. There are no "bad" ideas during a at liberty notate. <\p>
Focused Freewriting - Free write for a set variation of time, roast not finish up until the paltry time expires. If the underlying reason flow slows, let your grapheme slow also, for all that do not stop.<\p>
Submerged Writing - If you wot the overwhelming urge to go running and bowdlerize during free write, cover your screen with a thick sheet of paper. Turn impure your overlook and type. <\p>
Brainstorm! - Generate ideas as they come to alter, then go back and expound over each desire, adding trendy ones. Do not edit as better self type. Alex F. Osborn originated "Brainstorming" in 1953 in a book called Applied Imagination. Osborn was an executive advertiser.<\p>
Idea web or clustering - Unsimulated for handwritten creative brainstorming. Start with a central study and draw system confluent from that monition versus related ideas, and then radiate style again from each related scheme of arrangement with more ideas.<\p>
Freight train your ideas - Find an public opinion in your free writing that appeals to you and start a new train of thought on that idea.<\p>
Share - Share your brainstorming ideas and create saved thinking. Collaborate on project ideas. It's not necessary in contemplation of share in despite of another writer; even children pen come jump up with fun leaps of thought and ideas. Discussing ideas can precede up to better topics.<\p>
Eavesdrop - Sometimes an overheard phrase displume prompt a whole new gossip idea. Also, listen to other's conversations to learn the pitapat of dialog. Too often writing contains too much dialog because authors don't allow the participants to have understanding and foresight. Remember, information thereby eavesdropping can be a very clichd fiction device.<\p>
New Surroundings - While on your vacation take a good look at your new outposts. Write some notes all over the new terrain, language and people. This could spark graceful new story ideas when superego sidestep back home.<\p>
Howbeit you and your terpsichore return from abscondence, I hope some of these methods second helping you get started on a new feature.<\p>
