#and they put that note in the fucking manuscript

[monzabee]

mr. big (social media au) - cs55

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where there he was, wearing armani on a sunday, your boyfriend, Carlos.

Pairing: carlos sainz x romance writer!reader (model used: random people i found on pinterest)

Warnings: none other than some cursing? carlos being an old money dream as always

Request: "For a smau, would love to see romance writer!reader with Carlos (he is just Disney prince vibes) where fans aren’t quite sure how they got together but the influence him on her work is greatly appreciated" by my lovely @percervall

Author note: OKAY JUST REALISED I AM A CARRIE AND BIG APOLOGIST, WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT (i might be freaking out about them, but i will always be a charlotte girl)!!! (might honestly turn it into a series because who doesn't love a satc x old money crossover???)

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, readersdigest and 438,927 others.

yourusername: busy, busy, busy bee.

user: thank you mother for feeding us with another hot billionaire novel

yourusername: you are more than welcome

user: how is she not only one of the best romance authors, but also a fashion icon??

user: can't wait to read what carlos inspired this time!!

carlossainz55: you are not wearing you glasses again, cariño

yourusername: why don't you come put them on yourself??

user: oh, they are so cute it's sickening

user: GIVE US THE MANUSCRIPT AND END OUR SUFFERING

view all 2,387 comments.

user: how did they get together again??

user: i think he ran into her at one of her book signings in madrid?

user: i thought it was when she went to the paddock for some good old r&d?

user: i heard somewhere that a friend set them up

yourusername posted a new story!

carlossainz55 posted a story!

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, goodreads and 682,928 others.

yourusername: life lately & "between love and loathing" out june 23rd.

user: we love the romantic getaway, and a new book!!

user: we're being fed in more ways than one, and i am not complaining at all!!

user: oh shit, we're about to read the best romance novel of all time

view all 13,726 comments.

carlossainz55: i'm so proud of you, you have no idea

yourusername: way to make me cry

yourusername: i love you though

carlossainz55: te quiero más

user: I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ARE THE OLD MONEY COUPLE WE NEEDED ALL ALONG AND WE DON'T KNOW HOW THEY STARTED DATING

user: it will remain forever a mystery

user: but at least we have content to keep us going through these hard times

carlossainz55

Liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 977,520 others.

carlossainz55: one of us made the pancakes, and one of us stood there looking pretty.

yourusername: hey, it was your turn to make breakfast

carlossainz55: and i loved every second of it

yourusername: even doing the dishes?

carlossainz55: especially doing the dishes

user: this is by far the most romance book thing this man has done

user: i still don't understand how they started dating, but good for them i guess

view all 35,726 comments.

landonorris: hey, i didn't get any pancakes, did you? @charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: didn't even know we were having pancakes, where are our pancakes @carlossainz55

landonorris: and cooking in a towel?? how is that sanitary??

charles_leclerc: he's breaking at least a dozen health codes

carlossainz55: i hate you both

yourusername: you are all a pr nightmare

scuderiaferrari: i agree

user: damn he got lucky

yourusername

Liked by f1wagss, carlossainz55, sarahjessicaparker and 736,928 others.

yourusername: and there he was, wearing armani on a sunday, carlos sainz.

user: SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

user: what kind of an iconic cunt slay is this

user: and just like that... they became the coolest couple on the internet

user: NEW NOVEL IDEA, SEX AND THE CITY RETELL WITH CARLOS

user: girl wtf

yourusername: no let her cook

yourusername: you might be onto something here

user: don't know if i want to be her or be carlos

view all 44,736 comments.

user: everybody say thank you mom for blessing us

carlossainz55: amor

yourusername: amor x2

user: oh she's working overtime god bless you

[usedpidemo]

Codependency (Ive Yujin)

On one side, there’s a mansion worthy portrait of you on the wall. On the other, wards and recognitions from numerous governing bodies with your name plastered in remembrance. The public knows more about the brand than the people behind it; that’s how business works. Unless your name happens to be Musk, Bezos, or Zuckerberg.

You’re nowhere near their level of wealth and influence—far from it—yet this entire building’s future rests on your shoulders. It’s not as easy as it looks.

You’ve always credited your guardian angel for keeping you from harm your entire life. It sounds religious, but from personal experience, it’s real. 

She’s guiding you from the secluded corner of your office.

—————

“And that’s how we’ll proceed with operations moving forward,” you say to the executives in the room—except they're not physically there. Their faces are projected on screen, joining from different countries, with some even joining from home. To be quite frank, you understand very little about your own presentation, and had your acting not been Oscar-worthy, there’s more that would appear absurd than believable. “Do we have any questions?”

For the most part, the top brass appear to be in unanimous agreement with everything that has been laid out. Not a single question, complaint, or rebuttal from anyone.

“Well done, officer. You seem to have a complete grasp and understanding of the situation,” says one of the chiefs, his ripe old age showing through his slow, strained tone. 

Another suit, much closer to your age—albeit barely (he’s in his mid-forties)—adds, “We expect an immediate turnaround, otherwise we may have to cut even more of our divisions off. Should this plan fail, we anticipate closure of even more of our departments, including yours.”

It’s not the most concerning thing you’ve heard this week, but it’s definitely up there–at least top three.

Nevertheless, you remain firm and bow to your superiors as you end the meeting. “Thank you sirs. We will do our best.”

As soon as the video call ends, you let out this deep sigh of relief that’s been repressed the entire time. Thank goodness you have an entire building floor and private office to yourself. 

“Well fuck me,” you mutter, seemingly speaking to the void, taking all the deep breaths you need, wiping the sweat across your head with some tissue. “Tell me I followed through on everything, right?”

“Yeah. Apart from mixing a few things, you mostly got it.” Yujin’s voice emerges from the far end of the room, covered in darkness, away from anyone’s view. The papers on your desk aren’t actually documents or paperwork. In reality, they’re pages of a manuscript with a few instructional, handwritten notes attached. It’s not even your own writing; they’re curated by none other than Yujin herself. “I’d say I wouldn’t have noticed, even if they were a little too obvious at times.”

“These conferences are fucking tiresome. Nauseating even,” you reply. Yujin opens up the blinds, and you stagger away from the immediate sunlight piercing through the room. Simply put, you just want to throw up after yapping all that incomprehensible jargon. “You know what—why don’t we switch places next time? I think you’d be better at this than me, like you already are with everything.”

An unusual comment for the director to make to his assistant, but it’s true. Yujin is so good in every department that it’s borderline farcical. She’s incredibly reliable to the point where you’ve basically deferred nearly every task to her, leaving you with the most boring parts of your job, which mostly comprises of company meetings and private calls. She’s a relatively new hire, having worked in your department for a little over a year, yet her rise up the ranks has been nothing short of absurd. 

“Please, let’s not get carried away,” she softly laughs, flashing a lovely smile you never grow tired of seeing—and you see her as soon as you walk into the building till you clock out.  “I’m fine with the research and paperwork. Regardless of what you want to believe, I think you sold it well.”

You slump back in your chair, somewhat bothered at just how unbothered Yujin is. How she’s able to take all your responsibilities that you should be doing, and without protest. One look at her features tells you all you need to know: that she’s happy to work for you. She could easily be in your position right now, putting you through this exact hell. She could be on that screen making those very threats on your job, in fact. Instead, she prefers to be your subordinate.

If that wasn’t enough of an example, she’s gathering the papers on your desk, putting them back together, good as new. Then she brings you a cup of water from the dispenser. She’s enumerating a list of other, just as unintelligible things that may or may not be important to your discussion earlier. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting in that chair, your thoughts wandering aimlessly, thinking about anything that isn’t work. It’s almost noon, yet your mind just wants to check out for the rest of the day.

“Um—sir? You okay?” Yujin waves a hand right in your face, snapping you from your tired daze.

You tilt up to her gaze, eyes weary. “Yeah. I’m just—tired.”

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll go and sort out the upper management on your behalf if you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t.” You rise from your seat, telling her, “I’ll take care of it. Go and have lunch,” as you point at your wristwatch, both hands closely pointed at the top.

“You sure? You should go have lunch too,” she replies, showing an alarming amount of concern that it’s almost comical. “Don’t worry about me.”

Shaking your head, you respond, flashing a light grin to reassure her, “I can talk to them at any time. T your break. I’ll call you when I need anything.” 

—————

Truth be told, you didn’t want to see her for the rest of the day, let alone seek her help. 

Yujin is only one call away. After all, she’s your assistant, down to working right outside your office. She’s working on whatever nonsense you’ve assigned her, showing no signs of slowing down. Meanwhile, you can barely call today productive; you’ve only completed two pages of a draft for next week’s presentation. In the time spent between slowly chopping away and stalking her from behind the door, her pretty profile a sight for sore eyes, she’s probably completed this week’s assignments and halfway through the next. She’s that efficient.

Hours pass, until the day finally ends at five. At exactly the top of the hour, she lets herself into your office, her pleasant attitude still in full bloom. “Already completed all the tasks for today. How about you?”

Yujin is not even trying to gloat—not in the slightest—yet it sounds like a punch to the gut. You can only slam your chin flat on the desk in despair, shooting a tired glare at her. She tries to muffle her chuckle, trying to keep herself professional, not realizing you’ve already seen through her facade.

“You want me to help you out? I don’t mind working an hour longer if you need it.” She’s peeking her head over the laptop display, examining for the proof of concept—or lack thereof. “Didn’t I tell you to leave this five plan strategy to me?”

This amount of confidence should leave you battered and deflated. And yet, there’s a sense of relief knowing Yujin will get the job done no matter what you ask of her. It’s enough to turn that frown into a faint, encouraging grin. 

“I guess so,” you tell her, putting down the screen. Getting up from your chair, you close the window blinds and block out the setting sun. “Maybe I’m just tired of deferring all my responsibilities to you, that’s all.”

Her smile looks innocent, demure even, it doesn’t make sense as to how irrevocably kind she is to you. As far as you know, your employees consider you as shrewd and as scummy as your superiors. Forget that you’ve been working here longer; they consider everyone that isn’t their fellow rank a corporate dirtbag who’d step over others the first opportunity they can. It’s a vicious cycle. To have someone like Yujin feels like an anomaly. 

“Don’t worry about it, that’s why I’m getting paid right?” she answers back, pressing her palms on your desk. “Just do what you can and I’ll handle the rest.”

You’re pouring an espresso into a cup, before offering the drink to her. “We should talk, Yujin,” you say, filling up a separate glass with your own. Your fourth shot. “You got a minute or two?” 

“Sure. I always have time for you.” Yujin sits up, taking the drink into her hand, crossing her leg. It’s nearly impossible to look anywhere else but on them. As if she couldn’t be any more perfect, in mind, character, and body. “Is there anything bothering you lately?”

Sitting across her with only a desk separating you, the words never come out. You’ve got plenty on your mind: the messy state of your department, the unreasonable expectations and demands of your superiors, the possibility of losing your job—and Yujin. She’s sitting right there, ready to hear you out, but you never find the conviction to confess your worries. The next few minutes are awkward silence, only broken by the occasional stir of teaspoon and the sip of coffee. It isn’t that she renders you speechless, though one would fairly assume as to why: she’s pleasant to look at, among other things. It also helps that her outfits have been getting skimpier over the past few weeks. Unsurprisingly, you let the flagrant violation of the dress code go unpunished. 

“Sir? Is everything okay?” Yujin leans her head forward, noticing that you’re lost in thought. She places her cup on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows instinctively rise. That glimmer of hope you showed moments ago disappears. What’s left is despair. “I think we might be fucked, Yujin.”

“Fucked? What do you mean by that?”

“We’re fucked. Like, we could be out of a job fucked.”

“Explain?” Yujin cannot comprehend it—then again, anyone else would react the same way. “Didn’t we give the board a five step plan earlier today?”

“We did,” you reply, finally mustering the strength to meet her eyes. “But here’s the thing: we don’t have the financial or human capacity to execute the plan. At least, in the time they demanded.”

“And? We did the research and even the hypotheticals!” You’ve never heard Yujin raise her voice even once—until now. “What could go wrong exactly?”

“They think we can course correct years worth of bad financial decisions in just a few months. That’s the problem. Either way, we’re fucked.”

“I don’t believe you.” Yujin forcefully rises from her seat, threatening to flip the desk. If she only had the strength. “After all the time I spent working on it, you want to wave the white flag and give up?”

You don’t really know how to answer her. At least, in a way that’s remotely graceful and easy to understand. 

“I’m sorry, Yuj, but no matter what—”

“I’m trying—so fucking hard—” she huffs, her fist clenching, trembling violently— “to carry your fucking ass so that we could keep our livelihoods. And not just me or you, but also the hundreds working for us! I know you fucking hate their guts because they’ve said nothing but terrible things about you, and even if none of that is true because I know you better than anyone else in this fucking building, at least have the decency to salvage whatever’s left instead of being a fucking coward for once!”

Yujin doesn’t notice that she’s been outright screaming into your face. You’re taken aback, utterly in disbelief at what she just aired out. If she wasn’t kindness incarnate, she likely would have pulled you by the shirt and choked you till you passed out. She blinks. The realization hits, and she begins to crumble.

“Sorry” is the only thing she can say, in quiet mumbles, slowly falling back onto her chair. Her hands cover the lower half of her face, completely mortified. Her eyes are on the verge of tears before giving out and crying waterfalls. Eventually, she lowers her head out of shame.

Even before entrusting her with such a demanding assignment, you knew there was nothing other than divine intervention that could save your job. This wasn’t what you signed up for, and neither did Yujin. For the most part, this was only to save face. Your face. The board of directors didn’t have any objections after all, and were mostly agreeable with every step of the plan. Either that or their old age is catching up and they hardly understood a thing at all. Like you.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t excuse you from criticism. This is on you, and you should be held accountable. Instead of rightfully performing your part, you weighed down someone else with your burden. It’s the wake-up call you need.

Yujin shouldn’t feel guilty saying all of this and having to apologize. She’s crying on your desk, still softly apologizing between tears, “Sorry—I’m really sorry—” and your heart fucking drops. 

It’s a terrible feeling.

“Yuj, please stop crying,” you mutter, caressing her shoulder. Seeing her look so defeated brings you more distress than anything, including the thought of losing your job. “I should be the one apologizing for putting you through all this. You’re right—”

“I’m so sorry.” She’s still asking for forgiveness, your words mostly going unnoticed. “I just wanted to—”

“You’re right, Yuj. I’m a coward. I’ll admit, I honestly wanted to resign the moment they brought this up. If they couldn’t do a damn thing about it, how else would I know? Seeing you figure out a way made me realize just how much I depend on you to save my ass. I should be the one saying sorry, not you Goddammit, Yuj. What would I do without you, honestly—”

She tilts her head up, her sniffling and sobbing unceasing, resting her head on your chest. “I’m sorry. What I said is still out of pocket and I wasn’t in the position to say—”

“Shush, Yuj. Stop apologizing for being right,” you reply, brushing her hair. “Look. We’ll go forward with your plan. You can write up the whole thing and I’ll present it your way. I won’t muck up in front of the directors, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna quit.”

“Really?” She lifts up her eyes, doe-looking and glimmering.

“Yeah. Might as well go down with a sinking ship, so please stop crying,” you say, smiling. “You made me feel like shit and I don’t like it.”

Yujin laughs. Heartily.

—————

Even though that should havd been enough to appease Yujin, in your eyes, it wasn’t. You had to make it up to her in other ways.

“This place serves really good food,” you tell Yujin, digesting the sights and scents of the relatively small eatery. Meanwhile, Yujin sits beside you, eating to heart’s content without a care. “I can see why you love it.”

“How’d you know this was my favorite place to drop by after work?” she asks, chomping down on the last stick of her barbecue. 

“I have my sources,” you tell her, playfully grinning, unwilling to admit that you’ve been watching from behind your car’s windows for some time now. 

“Don’t tell me it’s Wonyoung, boss.” Yujin pouts, flustered and embarrassed. “I swear to God, I can’t trust anything with—”

“It isn’t her, don’t worry,” you chuckle, amused at her red-faced look. 

“I really appreciate the offer,” she remarks, finishing the remaining half of her drink. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do for my hardworking assistant,” you reply, gesturing to the lone cook for the bill. The charges go up to the hundreds, with most orders belonging to her. While she’s chomping away at the end of a large meal, you secretly foot it on her behalf. How she maintains her figure while consuming this much food, you’ll never know. And when she calls for the tab, she’s told that it has already been paid in full.

“Now you’re just being extra,” she says, facing you, looking insulted by the kind gesture, but in a playful way. Appreciative regardless. “I already told you we’ll pay for what we each ordered.”

Looking at the stack of empty plates on her side—when compared to yours—some part of you believes that to be false. You don’t even have to say anything for her to realize she’s not one to fulfill her own word either.

“Okay—I would have paid 25 percent.”

You can’t place any blame on her. She laughs—at herself. She’s so charming, a pleasure to watch, that you would let her slide, had this not been your intention right from the start.

“Stop.” 

You end up laughing with her too.

—————

“Seriously. Don’t lie, you promise you won’t just suddenly quit on us?” Yujin asks, staring at you as you walk toward your parked vehicles outside the eatery. “This feels like a way to soften the blow.”

Both of you stop right in front of your cars. “Not at all,” you tell her, staring directly into her eyes. “What else do I have to do to prove that I’m not quitting?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean—you, suddenly asking me to eat out—” she rolls her eyes away, skeptical— “You’ve never done that.”

The cold nighttime air sweeps all over you. Chilly, you rub your arms together, partially regretting the decision to cover Yujin with your coat. She’s relatively unfazed, warm in your garment; even more surprisingly, it fits her perfectly like a glove. 

“I wouldn’t leave if it means I lose you, Yujin.”

It’s not the words you wanted to say. Every part of that sentence leaves your lips effortlessly. A little too effortless.It’s an unconfessed confession, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. Sure, she may interpret it as merely you being codependent on her when it comes to work, but there’s no way there isn’t some kind of other, deeper meaning behind them.

“Lose me? What does that mean?” She asks, even more curious. Of course, Yujin isn’t the brain of your operations for nothing. It isn’t surprising when she figures you out. “You like me, don’t you?”

Just like that, the tables have turned. You can’t deny your feelings any longer.

You gently nod. Perhaps the killing blow could be softer if you find closure, right here, right now.

She leans forward, both of you unable to do anything other than to stare into each other’s deep, longing eyes. The tension between you is the only source of heat in the midst of a cold, lonely night. 

By all accounts, the relationship between you and Yujin is strictly professional. Apart from a few trips abroad, you keep all conversations business related. Mind-numbing, confusing agency jargon. It’s a helpful practice in keeping your space; no matter how attractive she may look and saccharine she may sound, no amount of pleasantry can make company discussion remotely close to entertaining. You’d rather play with the blinds in your office. She’s doing her part too: clock in at nine, clock out at five on the dot. It’s a healthy routine. After hour talks between you are rare. It’s common practice to maintain a firm working relationship. It’s also just common sense. Good organization begins at the top.

Moments like these are strong reminders on why you avoid crossing that line. Yet you don’t stop—not when she’s the one making the first move. 

You kiss. Your lips stay a little longer than they should. The taste lingers. 

You find solace in each other's warmth, in a comforting embrace. She rests her head on your chest, her hands gripping into your shirt tightly. Deep down, you both recognize you’re on borrowed time. Whether through your promotion or your release, you won’t be together for much long. Countless hours spent together, so many occasions—the opportunities are being handed to you on a silver platter, only for you not to take the chance.

Not anymore. You won’t make the same mistake again.

—————

Driving her home was easy; finding your way into your room was half the battle. 

“It took us this long to share a room, huh?” Yujin huffs against your face, finding and capturing your lips even in an erratic, volatile environment. She’s pushing you against the wall, her palms having an iron grip on your cheeks, pulling you close and wildly kissing you. The entire trip up to your apartment floor has been nothing but shaky kisses and clothes slowly scattering from the elevator to your front door.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” you manage to mutter, holding her face away for a brief respite to answer, only to be forced back in once again. Any semblance of professionalism between you is abandoned for fiery, passionate lovemaking, future relationships be damned. 

The most surprising thing is how it isn’t as messy as it may look. See, despite the bite marks on your skin, the wrinkles in your clothes, and the rather loud, unceremonious manner you enter your apartment, you’re still in the process slowly unraveling. There’s a conscious effort to make sure neither side comes out completely in ruins. A silent agreement between you. 

Her hands lay claim to your shirt, threatening to tear you apart if you don’t do the same to her. She lifts her head when you quickly peel through her long skirt; you dive in and make it yours. The crack in her voice as she mewls tickles your ears just right. Slowly spreading her legs wide, pulling the panties down her well defined thighs. In response, she tugs at your shirt, popping a few buttons loose. It isn’t as easy as it looks to have Yujin pinned against the wall; she’s actively fighting, trying to seize back control. If she can’t have her way with you, at the very least she can rein you in. Only now do you realize the danger your little escapede.

With her slender legs wrapped around your waist, you can only do so much. Yujin can’t stop kissing you, leading your gaze to anywhere but her pretty, lust-ridden expressions. She wants this more than you do. Against your desires, you end up in the kitchen, propping her on the bar counter as lipstick covers your entire face. The brief respite when she catches her breath gives you ample time to unbutton the rest of your shirt before tossing it aside—something you don’t give her the decency to finish.

While she’s still staggering, lost in her own thoughts, you take her by the shoulder and leave a fresh mark on her neck. A distraction. More importantly, your fingers feel their way around the back of her dress, find the touch of metal—and yank. The zipper follows, the lengthy garment gradually coming undone, until Yujin pushes the rest of it off her shoulders and to the floor. Your eyes gleam like starlight as her bra reveals itself, taking countless mental snapshots at that moment. 

Not even her attempts to redirect your attention can pull you away. 

You push her down on the marble surface. The bar is big enough to fit you both. Joining her atop the counter, your gaze wanders down her divine figure—and you don’t know where to start. Everything about Yujin is designed to be as perfect as humanly possible. No one should be flawless.

“How can you be any more perfect, Yuj,” you mutter, eyes roaming everywhere, soaking in the immaculate sight before you. “How did I not want you any sooner?”

Yujin’s hand traces down your arm. “You could have just asked. My previous employers did. It was a regular part of the job for me.”

You’re shaking your head. Imagine that—an employer taking advantage of their employee offering themselves without any restraint. You would never—except you already did. Your previous assistant can vouch.

“Don’t feel sorry. I want this just as much as you do,” she adds, pulling you towards her face for a soft kiss, clearing all doubt. “Besides, you’re not that much different from any of them. Why stop now?”

“Not that different? Were they just as codependent on you as I am?”

Nodding in agreement, she laughs. 

“God fucking dammit.” 

You sigh. Yujin continues laughing. What a momentum killer. And the worst part is, it’s self-inflicted and completely avoidable. You should have just kept going, kept her speechless.

Still, it’s not the end of the world. You’re on top of Yujin; she has no intention of leaving you anytime soon. Most importantly, she’s unhooking her bra while you’re caught up in your feelings. “But—there’s one difference: I actually love working for you. I wouldn’t mind letting you use me.”

“You love working for me? Why?”

She’s biting her lip, grabbing you by the back of your head. “You’ll find out yourself. You know what to do.”

“What? How?” The word comes out panicked, desperate.

Yujin shakes her head, the smirk on her lips twisting, wicked. “You know how.”

At first, finding what she means proves to be a struggle. After all, Yujin’s not the mysterious type. She always tells you everything straight, condenses complex conversations into digestible servings for easy consumption. It’s not in her character. Yet, one look at what’s in front of you—her naked frame casually lying beneath yours, her hands running all over your bare self—the realization hits you like lightning, and you’re mentally punching yourself for being so dangerously oblivious.

You kiss her on the lips again. You can’t get enough. You’d happily stay in this position all night long. Except that isn’t what she wants. She wants you to go further. 

So you sink further and further down. The closer you get, the more she opens up. A sloppy trail follows your lips, from her chin, to her collarbones, to her chest and navel, and everything else in between. She’s soft to the touch, so flexible and malleable—every part of her, you make yours. Then you get to her core, her inner thighs spreading, and watch as it unravels before you, quivering, soaked, needy. You look into each other’s eyes, hers anticipating. There’s a craze behind your irises, as if some repressed need is crawling back to the surface. It’s slowly driving you wild.

Your name drips on the edge of Yujin’s mouth—a sign of impatience—before suddenly cracking at the point of impact. She rolls her head back, her voice reduced to an airy sigh as your tongue licks up her slit, her entrance, in a slow upward motion. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to devolve into a hungry, primal mess. Her thighs close in and clamp you down, suffocating you while you become more familiar with the sensation and taste of her dripping cunt. 

If only you could hear the full extent of her moans, turning a pitch higher with each passing swipe and slurp. You’re humming into her core, satiated and fulfilled with the taste of her slick in your mouth. Yujin’s hands stretch out for help, for stability as pleasure gradually overwhelms her. Propped underneath her thighs, your hands dig under to reach places that your tongue can’t. She grows erratics, restless, moved by your presence inside her.

“Fuck!” The profanity escapes her lips instinctually, like it’s always been a part of her. She’s writhing, jaw slack, her back arched over the bar, her hands now grasping on your hair, then on the edges again. On your side, the pressure her thighs bring leave you suffocating. It’s too much. You should be begging for your life; instead, you’re enjoying every minute, slowing your pace every now and then to savor the feeling. 

Despite her state, she’s caught you by the wrists. They do little in stopping your tongue from consuming every inch of her, and you end up pushing her forward. You grip her by her thighs and spread her wide. She can’t resist. Fresh air has never felt more soothing to the lungs. By the way you have her legs dangled up in the air, you’re threatening to pull a nerve. She’s screaming, crying out in desperation, 

Still, it doesn’t change the outcome. Yujin finally loses herself completely and comes undone. She cums—blasts jets of slick all over your face and mouth. The counter pools with the aftermath of her orgasm, and you lick it all up, sanitation be damned. 

When you finally emerge from the depths of her tight, drenched cunt, she remains a mess, stamina completely drained, body still trembling from her massive climax. You’d think after that, she would be incapacitated for the night, until—

“Wait.” Yujin deeply exhales, pulls you by the wrist. You aren’t exactly going anywhere. As if struck by lightning, she suddenly rises up. A shit-eating grin forms on her lips, as if the damage wasn’t enough to take her down. There’s a familiar look in her eyes—the gaze of a woman who needs more.

She flicks a sample of her slick from the spot on the counter and laps it up, still eying you with unceasing lust. You remember her words, the question to ponder: “You’re gonna tell me now?”

Yujin blankly stares. The question lingers for a little while. “Tell you what?” she replies, the tone convincing enough to feign innocence.

“Why you love working for me.”

She smiles again, a teasing look. “You’re halfway there.”

“What does that mean?” As you try not to overreact, your assistant turned one night stand tries to stifle her laughter. It almost goes unnoticed, until— “Yuj, you’re really getting on my nerves with all this vaguery bullshit going on.”

“It’s part of the fun, is it not? Do you want me to give it straight?”

“Yes! Like always!” 

Yujin leans close. One hand reaches for your pants, the other still attached to your wrist. She appears like she’s going for yet another kiss, when she stops right next to your ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me. Use me,” before drawing herself away.

On the surface, the stare you give her looks cold. Deep in your mind, the words resonate and ring louder and louder. Four words. “Fuck me—” “Use me—” The arousal bubbles up, manifests on your cheeks. The next few minutes can go so many ways, more than you can imagine. In your eyes, she’s still your assistant, a friendly, dependable worker whom you consider a close acquaintance more than anything. 

The thing is: you’ve already gone far past the point of no return. Her gaze is enticing—demanding—you to keep going. 

There’s no stopping now.

Yujin casually follows you to your bedroom, hand in tow. The rest of your clothes lie discarded in the kitchen—boxers, pants, and all. Gone are the nerves and hesitations; the attitude you have towards her is different. “Lay down,” you command her, voice steely, and she obliges, the bed flopping with the slight crash of her lithe figure. You won’t ever grow tired of staring at her naked body, regardless of it’s position. 

She lays flat on her tummy, observing you rummage through your large closet of suits, pulling a red tie from one of the drawers. “Not the first time I’ve had something wrapped around my neck,” she remarks, raising a curious eyebrow, crooked smile unyielding. “Stylish, just like you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your input.” You’re never this stern towards Yujin. You toss the necktie on the mattress before joining her atop the bed. “Turn around.”

Like the good girl she is, she obliges. That’s Yujin for you; she’ll always follow everything you tell her, no questions asked. On her fours, her plump ass glides face up, in complete view. Another temptation, another part of her to claim as yours. Regardless, you’re in no hurry; you’ve got the rest of the night.

With your erect cock in hand, you line the tip against her sopping cunt. She winces, moans at the contact. “Oh, fuck—” she whines, lifting her head up, her nails pressed into the sheets. As inviting as the call of her tight, wet pussy is to you, you make an organized effort to resist the immediate lull to fuck her hard.

Even holding her figure with your other hand proves to be a nightmare. Her body enraptures you in hypnotic ways. The arch of her back, the curve of her ass, the hourglass frame—it’s a feast for the eyes. You could take your sweet time and worship every little part of Yujin and she wouldn’t mind, but in the midst of your blinding daze, she’s calling to you. Again.

“Are you just gonna admire me or are you gonna shove that big cock in me?” She faces you with a mischievous grin. “I don’t mind both.”

Suddenly, you remember your position in this relationship. You grab her by the throat, face her away again. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear any more from you unless you’re taking this fucking cock.”

Showing a little resistance, she tries daring you, “Then f—fuck!”

Her jaw goes wide, frozen in place, her voice abruptly cutting as you undercut her with your cock. You’re no better; pleasure sets your muscles ablaze as you thrust into her inviting cunt. It shows in the deep groan spilling from your mouth. Little by little, you plunge ever so deep until you feel yourself buried to the hilt. That’s when you finally let out this breath of relief—but not for long. 

Her pussy clenches hard. Her heat proves to be suffocating beyond measure. If you don’t act quickly, she could end you in seconds. 

“O-oh God—”

You slowly, painstakingly pull back before throttling your hips into her. Taking these short breaths, every little move you make is precarious. It’s not that she’s resisting you—far from it—but it’s you resisting the urge to cum so soon. Your mind tries to think of anything other than what’s right in front, but even that proves to be nearly impossible. The ripple of her ass, the slight wobble of her breasts, the twisting grip of your hand on her otherwise soft skin—

“So fucking tight. Holy fuck, Yuj—” You manage to mutter before you’re reduced to groans again. 

All you can focus on is keeping yourself together while you’re slowly crumbing away. You find a rhythm in the midst of the madness, pounding away at your assistant’s cunt, your senses overrun by pleasure and the satisfying sound of your skin slapping skin. Elsewhere, your hands can’t seem to find solace in just one area. They’re everywhere; from her hair, to her throat, to the arch of her ass, to her hips, the imprints stay new, eventually creating a patterned sequence that immediately breaks.

You’re fucking these strained cries and prasies out of Yujin’s sweet lips, and it’s quite the mouthful. ’More,’ ‘harder,’ ‘so good—’ until it reaches the point where her voice is so worn from your chokehold that she can only speak in high pitched mewls. Another cycle you wish would never end. 

Slowing your pace, you reach for the necktie, gently tying it around her neck while preventing your rhythm from disrupting. “You’re such a fucking perfect woman, you know that?” you mutter in her ear, kissing the helix and indulging in the scent of her perfume mixed with sex and sweat. “Perfect listener, perfect assistant, perfect body—”

Pulling yourself away from her, you yank the tie along—your makeshift leash. Her body tilts all the way up, a sharp screech suddenly filling the bedroom. You’re not sure if its from the pull or just her moan. Either way, you have her in your grasp. Brushing her hair aside, you mumble, “Actually, I don’t know how to use a tie like that. I just wanted to remember what it’s like to be the boss. Your boss.”

It should have sounded flat, like all your other attempts at being convincing. And yet, she leans her ear backward, trying to recapture your lips. Teasing a little, your lips make what’s considered the most minimal of contacts, before you push her to her fours. You don’t intend to pull on the tie again, but you’re still holding on to it like your most prized possession—and it may as well be Yujin. 

“Of course,” are her first words uttered in a while that aren’t some combination of profanity and praise. 

Grabbing her by the midsection, the rhythm of your thrusts quickens. You feel it. The imminent collapse. And it’s not just the bed quaking and creaking from your sex. She’s pleading now; ’So close,’ she tells you, begs you to let her cum all over your cock. In any other scenario, you’d acquiesce. Here, with all the authority, you’re going to assert your power a little.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll let you cum all over me,” you demand, your hand climbing up to her chest, grabbing at her breast, folding her up slightly that her grip on the sheets transfers to the headboard. “I wanted you so fucking bad for so long.”

“Anything for you. Just let me cum!” she cries out, on the verge of falling apart. Dangerously close.

“Tell me I’m yours.”

“I’m yours!”

“You know what I meant. Say it again.”

“I’m yours! I’m yours!”

Hearing her declare that she belongs to you with such conviction almost upends you too. You almost give in, but narrowaly escape thanks to your utter resolve. The smirk on your face is priceless.

“Perfect. Now cum.”

Just like that, her body reacts at the drop of your command, as if it was hardwired into her. Yujin goes numb—fidgeting, cumming all over your cock—as you continue to pound into her cunt. A single word echoes, going quieter with every incantation: ‘Fuck,’ she whines, caught reeling in her orgasm and catching every breath possible. 

Eventually, it comes to a standstill, the only thing left is for you to crash. Lucky for her, you’re not that far off. You’ve let go of the tie, holding onto her shoulders instead. So now it’s her opportunity to turn the tables on you again.

“Fucking give it to me—oh I need it now, oh God—” Yujin begs, barely keeping herself upright in the aftermath of her climax.

And you just crash down on her, slamming her deep into the sheets, turning her around as you fuck callously, clamping her neck, her moans ringing into your ear. She has a leg wrapped arond yours—as if you had any intention of pulling out. You’ve spent enough time away from her pretty face; now you want to watch her take all your load deep in her pussy.

Yujin’s mouth melds in the shape of a moan as the pressure finally overwhelms you. Burying yourself deep in her, you’re still pumping, fucking your cock as you blast thick load after thick load in her warm, creamy cunt. The sensation leaves you breathless, hanging onto her for dear life as you wait for the moment to pass. Though it may seem like a couple of minutes, the feeling lingers far longer than you can imagine. She milks you of all your worth, drawing every last drop from your throbbing cock until your body can’t move any longer.

Eventually, your bodies wind up together, limbs tangled, wrapped around each other in a warm embrace. The comfort you both needed after a long day.

—————

You gaze down at a tired Yujin. Hours ago, you were the one holding onto her; now she’s the clingy one, wrapping an arm over you. “I really need to know, Yuj.” 

She mumbles into your chest. “What is it?” You feel her soft lips leave lipstick marks on your skin.

You’re brushing away loose, dark strands of her hair to get a better look of her pristine, shiny face. “Why do you love working for me?”

After the passionate night you just had, you still have the gall to ask such a frivolous question. The answer should be obvious by now.

She looks up, smiling—a pleasant, friendly gleam, one you immediately recognize as soon as you walk through those office doors. “Because you’re the first boss I’ve ever worked for that isn’t a total asshole. Also, you’re good at everything.”

You raise an eyebrow and frown. “That’s not—”

“You know what I meant, boss.” The smiling turns into teasing. You realize, then you laugh.

You should be basking in the afterglow of sex, but daylight peeking through your curtain says otherwise. You’re so tired, you can’t move a muscle, let alone grab the phone from the living room to tell the time. All you know is that you should be at work by now, and so should Yujin.

The ring from your phone can be heard loud and clear, even a room and clothing pocket away. As you try to lift your head, Yujin meets you halfway, kissing you before laying you back down.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll write up your leave of absence. Besides, I could use some time off too,” she says, inching her face close to yours.

The notion frightens you. Yujin, your most reliable assistant, never missing a day that isn’t considered a holiday, not by your side when you need her. 

And you need her now more than ever.

“Time off? When?”

“From now. Until you say we’re done.”

—————

(A/N: :bsadcorner:)

(Missing IVE's first proper world tour will always be one of my K-pop low points, even if I already watched and even shared an interaction with them. Goddammit, I can already expect the prices and perks for their next tour will be even more expensive than it already is. Sigh. Anyway, I hope they get their well deserved time off. Thank you for reading!)

[drvscarlett]

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department 

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys 

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine) 

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart 

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)

[greenlaut]

death of the divine ✸

as your flatter talk shivers down my spine i hear the Holy One exposing all the lies (Lord, forgive me, i know my flesh needs to die) x

baal / lucifer / michael from angels before man and angels & man by @nicosraf

close-ups + work progress under the cut

og sketches

cleaned up sketch (i can't perceive my own messy sketch's coherency ok)

1st version. didn't like how thick the lineart and the colour palette isn't clicking with me. is so i scrapped it. decided i want to do frame/illuminated manuscript thingy so i added frame and re-centered michael.

i kind of winged it for the final version, so i don't have progress of me picking colour palette or compositions. idk how i did it, i just did it, it was hard. i had a bad day so i blanked out the entire day to just lose myself in this illustration. and then uh. tada.

now some close-ups:

and some notes:

i know i want lucifer's skin to come across as "gold", so i keep picking his colour in the orange spectrum. bcs yanno--the sun (morningstar). naturally baal is more red leaning, which i think also suits his lion associated imagery well (because lion -> strength card (in tarot deck) -> red. idk, it's how my brain is)

originally michael doesn't wear an armour. i decided last minute to put him in one because fuck it; (1) armour cool and (2) i am a masochist ig

both baal and lucifer wear lipgloss. this is entirely dedicated to rafael's (the author. not the angel.) suffering. they share lipgloss by kissing, you fools.

michael has "jellyfish" hairstyle because. the front bob kinda reminds me how catholic friars/monks in certain schoolings cut their hair in that bob hair? yknow the one?? ya?? anyway it's for that imagery.

both baal and lucifer's legs are caging michael. bcs they're what ground him (vices/temptations) ahahahahaa

i actually asked rafael (author not the angel) and he said he imagined baal is a brunette, which is the same like i had in mind. except that baal asked that he got depicted as a wizened old man/wizard. so now he gets a beard and his hair is white. (he also insisted i gave him a stylish beard)

if u look closely at the jewelries the demons wore; one of lucifer's rings and baal's visible earring have gemstones the colour of michael's eyes

in return, michael's sash is the colour of the demons

baal has a ring with heliodor (yellow) for lucifer, and lucifer has a(nother) ring with red ruby for baal

baal's other gemstones are topaz and lucifer's are yellow jasper

both demons have pearl necklaces. they're supposed to represent michael('s wings ahahahahahaahaha)

my headcanon is that michael's wings are brown like sparrow's actually. BUT during the war, god gave him more power and authority and my understanding is that he got tempered into a perfect sword; so his wings turned white. when book 3 came out and they finally bang (I FUCKING HOPE THEY DO. RAFAEL. THIS IS FOR YOU RAFAEL.) his wings will turn brown againehehhehe

lucifer's coat has wing-like cut at the ends to represent his no longer existing wingsbye

michael is blue because one time i shared this imagery with rafael; michael wearing blue because of the same reason virgin mary is depicted in blue. god's favourites are in blue; fated to suffer and be left behind.

fin.

[sourcreammachine]

a little something fun about the transition from reddit to tumblr

i worldbuild. that’s me hobby. my notes app is all a load of random bullshit. i think of a world idea and then i do notes on it. i think of a fiction idea and i do notes on it. i think of any fun thing and i write nonsense notes on it

on reddit, whenever you shared that shit, it had to be presentable. you needed to be good at worldbuilding AND adept at photoshop. if it looks ugly, gtfo amateur. so i never bothered sharing, i mean, i shared a few things but at my low-medium skill level with graphic design n shit it always took me a lot of effort to do it up, and i never could be bothered to give the amount of effort it took me

so i kept it all to myself and my notes app turned into an unreadable apocrypha that made sense only to me. who gives a shit. nobody’s gonna read it

then spez spezzed everywhere and r/196 became #196. i can share anything i want here! the community is far more personal and personable, and text posts are okay here. it’s not that the bar is lower, but that the bar is more accessible. you don’t need to create a massive .psd every time you want to share some creativity, just share it! and i do, i write stuff for tumbr and put it out there and love doing it, and i’ll fucking do it again

but, my biggest projects, my most proud worlds, were all created when i was closed off, for me only. i’d love to share them to tumbr. but they’re fucking unreadable. even though it’s far more accessible i’d have to edit it into a readable, presentable format and guide people through it better, which it very much was not built to do. it’s like ancient manuscripts. you’d need a rosetta stone. it is not for human consumption. the FSA classes it as toxic waste

so yeah. i have some good shit waiting for you. maybe one day you’ll get to see it when i actually edit it and type it up, but don’t count on anything, because, ykno, severe chronic depressive

[avelera]

Headcanon: ADHD Hob and Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria

So I went down the rabbithole on ADHD and rejection sensitivity dysphoria (and found this lecture that legit made me tear up if you have or think you have ADHD, go listen to it here) and it got me thinking, as everything is wont to do, about Hob Gadling and how if he had ADHD, which I think there's lots of fun in-text hints at that at least allow that interpretation, what are some other ways that could manifest besides his ebullient and never-ending love of life in all its endless variety?

So as sufferers of ADHD know, it's not all fun and games. The flip side of living with a dopamine-starved brain that's always seeking out new experiences and seeing the world through that lens is that other emotions slam us hard too, like rejection sensitivity dysphoria aka, "the most minor criticism can feel like an actual knife in the chest, no I don't mean mildly bummed out, I mean full on fight-or-flight brain meltdown because someone told you a comma is in the wrong place in your manuscript (not that I'm speaking from personal experience yes it's that dumb)".

ANYWAY, so I'm thinking about Hob and RSD and specifically 1789.

Specifically the line, "It's just how it's done," referring to horrific practice of human trafficking and how Hob basically shrugs while, to his minor credit, looking suddenly uncomfortable and guilty, about the fact he actively profits from this industry, and the way he cringes in on himself when called out kinda seems to indicate that he knows it's a vile practice and isn't super comfortable with being reminded of his fact by someone he respects, like Dream.

A couple notes on that little exchange between Hob and Dream:

1 ) The face Ferdinand Kingsley-as-Hob makes in that moment is absolute textbook adult ADHD rejection sensitivity dysphoria. Namely, the point where you know criticism hits you like a knife in the heart, particularly from people you respect, and you just have to cover that flinch of literal physical pain with a careful poker face.

The way Hob's tone suddenly goes cold and with his very genteel, received-pronunciation manners he levels Dream with perhaps the closest he's ever come at this point to lashing out, "You're giving me advice...?"

I'm not saying that canonically it's RSD, or that neurotypical people don't suffer pain and disappointment when receiving disapproval, but to my eyes at least, Ferdie Hob takes Dream's comment very seriously, much more so than the comic counterpart did (who needed multiple nudges before he even realized what Dream was trying to tell him about getting out of the shipping business and still seemed a bit clueless about why Dream would want that or care by the end).

2 ) Going into proper headcanon territory, I personally chart Hob's journey from destitute to wealthy slave trader as the product of someone who stopped giving a shit about others after everything he suffered in the 1600s. To be perfectly clear, this is not a fucking excuse for it, it's an examination of motives.

Because technically, after everything Hob suffered in the 1600s, he could have emerged with more empathy for the plight of others. But clearly that didn't happen. From an entirely human motivation level, that leads me personally to the conclusion that since no one helped Hob when he was at his lowest (not even Dream, though I dearly wish it was otherwise and wrote extensively on what would have happened if he had) that led him to the belief, put simply, that fuck the world so long as he got his. Why should he care about anyone else if no one cared about him?

But to go back to the topic of this essay, RSD, there's an additional element to that theory on why and how Hob leaned into not giving a shit about others, and that missing factor from what's described above is the element of everyone is doing it. Specifically worded as, "It's just how it's done."

Another really fascinating lecture I listened to on ADHD talked about how the most common trauma reaction ADHDers have to their sense of rejection, shame, and guilt that comes the way our brains react to the world is by hiding. And that also got me thinking about 1789 Hob in this context.

Because Hob as we see him in 1589 is loud in his happiness. He's sitting there, bold as brass in the middle of the White Horse, showing off his wealth with a banquet, loudly declaiming about how he pretended to be his own son twice, worked in the Tudor shipyards (what would have been 50+ years before) and just how he spent the last 100 years working his way up to his knighthood. The man does not have an ounce of caution in him. But, he is also by far the happiest we ever see Hob (up until Dream ditches him in the middle of their date).

This is important because to my eyes, Hob is living openly and unashamed and with only the barest hint of caution typified by pretending to be his own son every couple decades. The way he describes his last 100 years sounds like an ADHD dream, basically getting a boat load of money from Caxton's printing press (basically the first tech startup unicorn of the modern era) and then running around wherever his interests took him where he also made money hand over fist, kept climbing, and eventually reached the point where he could purchase the acclaim and regard of a member of the (albeit minor) nobility. All of this after being born a peasant. That's just validation and money and prestige and getting to pursue your special interest and live as your authentic self all over the place. And I do mean authentic, Hob doesn't even seem particularly worried about talking openly in the White Horse about being 200+ years old, a strong case could be made that he's not that careful in his personal life either.

So anyway, Hob has this amazing century literally followed by the worst century imaginable, filled with the sort of horrors that can tear a man's soul asunder. Losing his family, his beloved wife in childbirth with their new baby, his adult son, his home, his money, everything he spent a century building. His title and name are gone too because of the nature of how he lost it with the accusation of witch craft, which also means he can't just fake being his own son again to get it all back because they're explicitly going to notice that this time.

And how did this all happen? Because Hob got noticed. He lived there 40 years, overconfident is his own words. Which is a wild thing to say about a bunch of witch hunters showing up at his door! He blames himself for being drowned as a witch. On the one hand, I imagine he has to think that way because otherwise he has to admit to the sheer brutal randomness of life, so in a way he's trying to take control of the narrative by blaming himself.

But it also smacks of ADHD again because ADHDers very commonly shift the blame onto themselves after years of their unique nervous system response making them a round peg in a square hole of wider society. We learn over and over that the mistakes we make are our fault, because of "laziness" or "apathy" which isn't apathy at all but deep agony over our inability to accomplish tasks in a neurotypical way without the support we need, but I digress. But it sure sounds like Hob may have been paralyzed by grief for literal decades and then blamed himself for not getting the mental spoons together in that context to move on and reinvent his life after losing his wife and child. Which would be a very ADHD thing to do.

So after this absolutely brutal smackdown by reality for living too openly, too loud, too ADHD, getting paralyzed by the powerful emotions he felt (if we follow the headcanon) over the grief and loss in his life, what is Hob's next step?

Hiding.

Blending in.

Not rocking the boat.

And again, not excusing it, there's plenty of other industries he could have gone into to blend in that didn't involve human trafficking. That said, if he went to sea, which we know Hob did on many occasions from the comic, it would be seen by his peers there at sea as a normal way to make one's fortune, and then.... well, we have as evidence that this is his current peer-group the sort-of pride with which Hob announces how he's making his fortune these days in the "shipping business", as if he's expecting Dream's approval.

That to me, reads a bit like the people pleaser/social chameleon aspect of ADHD. Hob is expecting to be praised for being successful by Dream the way he would likely be praised by his peers in the shipping business or among the wealthy privileged men of England. He's so steeped in that world now that he's clearly taken aback when Dream takes the (at the time more radical but not uncommon) stance of, "This is wrong."

And Hob knew it. But he was blending in. He was going along with how things are done. He wasn't rocking the boat. He has other hints at trauma responses too, "salting money around the world" in case there's political upheaval, for example. This is not the loud, boisterous Sir Robert Gadlen untouched by loss or trauma. He has been humbled and tempered and, indeed, made afraid by what happened to him.

This sort of wild swing towards protectiveness? Again, also ADHD. As the lecturer I linked first noted, ADHDers are textbook defenders. They are always defending themselves from the world that can suddenly, unexpectedly, plant a knife in their heart because of a perceived rejection. From a world that wants their brain to work in a way it doesn't, so they have to come up with myriad painful coping mechanisms to fit in, blend in, mask, and function. Hob was forced to protect himself after the 1600s, so he did, with money, and with not caring about other people, and with insulating himself from privilege, and becoming a social chameleon.

1589 Hob tries to earn back Dream's interest, but he doesn't fawn. Dream shows interest in Shaxberd and Hob, already starting to get irritated, tells him no, Shaxberd is crap.

And you can tell in 1789 that Hob is thinking about that day again when he gets Dream's disapproval, because who does he reference? That lad, Will Shaxberd. He's fearing rejection and abandonment again, or at least it's crossed his mind after Dream's admonishment. But this time, Hob is fawning more, very nearly flirting. He's trying to play the game better this time, trying to keep Dream's interest, social chameleoning the subject onto safer topics, things he thinks will interest Dream, as Shaxberd so clearly did, so let's talk about him if that's what you care about. Again, another ADHD social chameleon, people pleaser aspect. We are nervous empaths, we are constantly picking up a bazillion signals both real and imagined. And we're so fucking terrified of that RSD knife in the heart, we become people pleasers to avoid it. After the shipping business brag fell through, Hob pivots to talking about Dream and what, in his experience, Dream seems to like and talk about favorably.

So anyway, many many ADHD-esque rambling words later, there's a few more little details I'd add to the list of "possible ADHD behavior, not just the fun parts" for Hob Gadling. Is it canon? Maybe not. But it does make for a great headcanon, in my opinion.

[physalian]

#Writer Problems

Meet the 15th character in this series with a name that starts with A! No one will notice hahaha

Going back and deleting the sighs to shake things up a bit because there’s 120 in the manuscript

*checks notes* whoops you died already, Side Character, my bad

*one paragraph* Perfect. Amazing. Poetic. Profound. *the next paragraph* what is words do?

Knocking out a 6k word chapter in an hour/Spending a week on a single transition

*slaps down a shiny new character with zero plan* You don’t know anything about them and neither do I, let’s discover them together

Realistically, there’s gotta be at least one casualty from this fantasy battle so…. *rolls dice* no not you. *rolls dice again* yep. That’ll do. Sorry, pal.

Is this badass or stupid?

Is this hot or cringey?

*checks notes* damn it, plot hole.

Upon this most recent round of edits, you, Cool Side Character, no longer made the cut. Mayhaps you’ll be recycled later.

*checks notes* damn it, I fixed that plot hole by opening another plot hole.

Jesus christ I wrote ‘just’ 308 times across 120k words?

That is definitely not how you spell that

*dreams about my characters in full HD technicolor* awwww yeah, where’s the popcorn? *cannot replicate how cool it was in actual words*

Unes- Unnecs- Unessis- Unnessessarily- Unnecessarily fuck

Do I go with the British grey or the American gray?

*cries* this epic was supposed to be a novella

Well these two were supposed to be having an argument here. But making out is fine. I’d like to see where this goes.

Oops I forgot the straights, here that nameless dude over there isn't confirmed gay, so you can headcanon that he's straight if you want

Oops I forgot that marriage exists uhhh yeah their other parents are all dead or deadbeats

Fuck love triangles here’s a double-helix dodecahedron.

One day my fandom will write so much smut about this guy and I am here for it cause I sure ain’t doing it myself

Oops I forgot people with green eyes exist but brown eyes? I got 20

*describing the writing process* It was the best of times, it was the worst of times it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

I. Hate. Chapter. Titles.

Is this profound or pretentious?

*crafts an absolutely banger metaphor* I hope someone notices this. I put a lot of work into it

I didn’t spend 6 months perfecting this masterpiece for you to sass that the curtains are just blue. I’ll write the goddamn essay myself about all the depth behind my color choices, sir.

Picture that Spongebob dehydrated in Sandy’s treehouse meme ‘cause that’s me on round 12 of edits

I gotta be up for work in 4 hours but this monologue is more important

*distills 30 pages of worldbuilding notes into 2 paragraphs of a fluff scene* somebody will appreciate this, won’t they?

*listening to my book playlist* one day when this is adapted I hope this artist is still alive to compose the main theme cause this shit fucks

*cries* this trilogy was supposed to be just one book

If I turn this plot hole into a character flaw, they become the problem while I remain god

*looting themes, monologues, character names, and archetypes off the corpses of my dead WIPs* You won’t miss them anyway.

While it also immortalizes this person’s dickish behavior, yes, I will, in fact, write a whole character’s backstory as a middle-finger to this one bitch from 10 years ago.

*steps back to gaze at all the suffering done unto my deuteragonist* but it was worth it, wasn’t it?

*staring down yet another loathsome action set piece* whyyyyy do I do this to myself?

Nobody’ll notice my author insert if I dice them up and divvy them out in bits to my entire cast, right? Right? It’s like a shell game of what’s author and what’s fiction

These two are going to be a problematic ship one day and I will burn that bridge when I get there

*2am and I am scouring the internet for that one piece of a fort’s defenses because not remembering is the current root of my insomnia*

*Nudging my favorite character who isn’t the protagonist out onto stage* golly I hope the readers like him

Waiting. For. Editors. Takes. So. Long.

Holy butts accidental motif and deep symbolism fucks. I am so pretending I did that on purpose.

To subtext or not to subtext? Nah, to subtext. *laughs maniacally*

Trying to ride that line between so obvious it’s painful but also juuust enough foreshadowing so you slap yourself for not seeing it sooner

TIL that I have been using that word completely wrong for years. How quaint.

No you’re derivative schlock. I’m crowd surfing the books that came before and loving every second of it.

Damn I wasted a really good name on this throwaway character

*checks notes* wait, who's taller? Where does your hair part? Are you left or right-handed?

*musing over a character slated for death* damn, I really like you. Since I am in fact god, you shall live another day. *rewerites the entire finale*

God I hope people like this story

[delta-pavonis]

July Kinkfest Days 4 & 5

The Sandman || Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || 939 words

Prompts: Possessive Sex | Body Worship | “I had a dream about you.”  - Exhibitionism | Aftercare | “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

Warnings (in addition to the prompts above): getting together, jealous Dream, rough sex, biting and other post-sex superficial injuries

Author's Notes: Two days combo platter! Five out of six prompts! Whoo!

As his lover dozes, Dream traces the marks left on Hob’s skin. Not the scars, but the recent ones, bruises and welts and scrapes, left not so long ago by Dream’s fingers and lips and teeth. And as he touches each one he checks that it is superficial, urges each gently into healing, and memories float to the surface.

It started with one of the New Inn’s regulars, Eliot Sutton, a New Yorker at the end of two years of post-doctoral work in astrophysics and cosmology, who had sought work abroad as he was fleeing his broken engagement and family strife. Dream knows these details immediately upon looking at the man, but what actually matters is that he and Hob are in the back of the pub, sharing a table and a pint, papers and books spread out before them, working in a familiar and companionable silence. 

On Hob’s hip, long finger-shaped bruises are starting to purple. Dream can hear the echo of Hob’s sob of pleasure, of relief, as Dream finally sinks his cock into his loosened, slick hole. “Yes! Sweetchristyes!”

As Dream gets closer to the table he learns more: Eliot Sutton has a black cat back at his apartment that he adopted from a local shelter because she was twelve and looked like she needed a friend. He has a collection of old manuscripts on Babylonian astronomy that probably should be in a museum. The man reaches to take a sip of his ale and spends a moment staring at Hob. Dream picks up the edges of an erotic daydream, no the memory of a dr-

“I had a dream about you last night.” The man interrupts Dream’s thoughts as much as Hob’s work and both stop mid-movement.

Long red welts along Hob’s back are receding, no longer as sharp-edged and raised as when Dream’s nails made them, scrabbling for purchase as Hob bent the Dreamlord in half as he fucked him with deep, rolling thrusts. “Let him see. Fuck, invite the entire college, the entire city… let them all see how I lose myself in you. Only you.”

“Did you now?” Hob takes his own pint in hand, downing a large swallow. “Let me guess, a nightmare about me, a lowly history professor, grading your uni papers?”

Eliot very clearly lets his gaze get dark, his voice suggestive. “Not quite. Although it did involve a desk.”

Hob blushes. “El…”

More nail marks, clear crescents in sets of four, overlap each other across Hob’s shoulders, a few crusted with dry blood. Dream cleans them with a careful touch and hears his own growls in his ears as Hob drops to his knees in front of him. “Is this how the most devoted priests feel when faced with their god?” He nuzzles into the base of Dream’s leaking cock, licks tentatively, making them both shudder. “Willing to exalt, to glorify, to praise, with mouth and tongue, with words and breath, with body and soul…” He presses the flat of his tongue to the underside, making Dream gasp and claw into his shoulders as he licks a line up to the tip. When next Hob speaks his lips brush the head with each word. “I would worship you, my Dream.”

Any further answer is interrupted when Hob catches sight of Dream in his peripheral vision and his face breaks into a smile wider than any he has seen directed at Eliot. “My friend!” Hob stands to greet him, to bring him to the table with a hand on his shoulder. “It has been less than a week since we last met! I was not expecting to see you so soon! Not that I am complaining, mind you – I welcome your presence, day or night.” Hob turns to his table-mate. “Eliot! This is my oldest and dearest friend D-”

“Morpheus.” Dream interrupts, putting out a hand to shake as is current custom. Hob blinks at Dream, confusion passing across his face for only the slightest moment, before he motions for Dream to sit with him in his side of the booth.

Eliot shakes Dream’s hand amiably enough, but his eyes narrow at how close Dream slides in next to Hob.

Smaller bruises litter the top of Hob’s shoulders, his collarbones, underneath his jaw. Dream touches each one and remembers its unique taste, remembers making them with his hungry mouth as he unbuttons Hob’s shirt. They are barely inside his flat, crowded into the corner behind the shut front door. “Oh fuck,” Hob moans, arching into Dream’s touch, tugging at Dream’s hair. “If only I had known, love… I would have ventured to make you jealous sooner!” 

Eliot leaves not ten minutes later and Hob gives Dream a pointed look. “Was that really necessary?” 

Dream stares right back. “He dreams of having you. Not just carnally. Intimate in all senses of the word.”

One of Hob’s eyebrows makes a break for his hairline. “And that is a problem because…?” But he must see something in Dream’s expression, because Hob leans in. “Does that make you…” Hob licks his lips and Dream’s eyes follow the motion of their own volition. “... are you jealous, Dream?”

The last bruise is a nebula of colors along the side of Hob’s nape, created through repeated attention from Dream’s mouth as he fucks Hob through another of his own orgasms. Hob’s cock has long since been exhausted, but still he pleads for Dream to take him, to fill him, to use him. Still he wishes only to be a vessel for Dream’s pleasure. So as Dream drifts downward, finally sated, he purrs into Hob’s ear. “Mine.”

[davycoquette]

Questionnaire~

Thank you for the tag, @drchenquill!

1. Is writing a hobby or way of life?

I always call it a hobby, but almost always prefixed with some form of, "greatest," "most important," or "favorite." I think way of life fits a helluva lot better. I've been writing since I can remember.

2. A journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

The journal one. I have like 900 I'm actively writing in at this very moment.

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

Cormac McCarthy. The love I have for my shitty characters. The agonizing unignorable need to put words on paper or screen.

4.Which is worse: someone you "idolize" reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

The singing one. I am not ashamed of my writing, but I have been taught to be ashamed of my singing lmfao. Which is weird and dumb because singing isn't something I go around telling people I can do decently - I don't tell people, "Oh, I sing," or, "I'm a singer." So, I have nothing to prove on that front, yet... I don't think I could make a peep of noise if someone said, "Sing me a song." Meanwhile, even when my writing's not at it's best, I'm like, "Yeah, I'm a writer. Here's some shit I wrote that isn't good. Sometimes I write good stuff, though."

5. Has writing from someone else's POV ever changed your own perspective?

I mean... in the literal sense, sure. A story looks different from the eyes of a character. By the same token, it helps me "understand" when people make choices I've not personally made. I think, for this reason, it's important to write about characters with different belief systems than we have - to write about them as sympathetic people with complex emotions. Not just to villainize or cathartically punish them, but to explore why people do the things they do and what life events might drive them in that direction. But cathartic character murder has its time and place, and who am I suggest what others write? Y'all do y'all.

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

I have not used LiveJournal since I was a teen - is it still a thing people use??? That sounds nostalgic and fun. Not sure what FFN is; something to do with fanfiction? I only write original fiction, so that rules it out if so. AO3 is very cool, but the interface isn't my favorite. Also fanfic-heavy, so I never know if I've got a place there. Tumblr always freaked me right the fuck out, but the Writeblr community has proven to be my favorite writing community I've discovered online. And in a very short timespan, I might add!

7. AO3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

I do not use AO3 but wordcounts can never be high enough 😎

8. What movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

Probably too many to count. Little House on the Prairie A Separate Peace The Road Fight Club (recently rewatching this was humbling because it showed me how much of my writerly personality seems to be inspired by the way it rearranged my brain chemicals) Bullet Train (I fucken love this movie) Lawn Dogs Box of Moonlight Harold and Maude (book & movie) Pride and Prejudice (book & movie)

9. What’s the highest compliment you’ve ever been given, and have you been given it?

I've received some absolute banger compliments, and I don't want to dismiss any in favor of others. My favorite compliments are often ...questions? Just things that let me know people really did read, absorb, and are interested in things I wrote. Also, my love language is when people think about me of their own volition. So, any time people come to me apropos of nothing or say "this reminds me of you/your characters/your writing, I giggle and kick my feet and do a lil' happy dance.

10. What defines your writing style?

Gritty, casual. If it was art, it'd be the kind with the sketchlines still visible. Deep, silly. Visceral, I hope.

Taglist and blank template under the cut!

@albatris

@capnmachete

@harmonic-melodii

@illarian-rambling

@michellekarnold

@nathaniel-zellos

@sableglass

@saturnine-saturneight

1. Is writing a hobby or way of life?

2. A journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

4.Which is worse: someone you "idolize" reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

5. Has writing from someone else's POV ever changed your own perspective?

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

7. AO3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

8. What movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

9. What’s the highest compliment you’ve ever been given, and have you been given it?

10. What defines your writing style?

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Hi! I'm an aspiring author with lots of ideas, and like most of us with nothing fucking finished, lol. I was wondering if you'd share how you organize/plan your writing(if at all?) And how you keep motivation/consistency to finish your manuscripts?

Hi thank you for this very VERY old ask! I had a good example of one of my journals in a past ask, so I thought I'd put it here for reference.

I DO plan my writing, generally speaking. For each of the two 90k - 100k manuscripts ive completed, I've had one journal where I keep all the notes. I tend to use left hand pages for scribbled/random notes, and right hand pages for writing a few lines about each chapter. Basics first, then I write edits over that first basic chapter outline, then I make a new more detailed one, rinse and repeat as necessary.

I did this for Borderline (teeny tiny tag here) ((in the query process, its so hard, help)), and the very first outline I sat down and banged out in one long night.

Every story always evolves greatly, as you might expect, but yeah! thats how i do it! Thank you for your question and sorry it took me four months to answer.

keep writing, stay weird,

- L

[folkwhore1998]

I just don't understand...

how you don't miss me in the black dog

I had no idea what to expect with this album. Taylor's brand is "never let them know your next move"

So, was it going to be more of a folklore/evermore/red vibe? Or was it going to be pop in the way midnights was? I did not think it was going to be straight up pop, but you just never know. I don't have cable so it can be really hard for me to watch award shows in real time, so I pulled a few strings so I could stream the grammys and thank god I did. I could not believe the album announcement and I was honestly gagged about the whole thing.

Now... This is a devastatingly beautiful album and is so vulnerable and raw.

The Prophecy... she literally said "I will go bankrupt. I will give up everything because I am hurting so much I need someone to tell me things are going to be okay and I don't care what I have to do to get this confirmation/assurance. I just want someone to love me the way I love them and I don't care about the superficial things." and she was so real for that.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived... the first time I listened to it was like 12:30 AM on album release night/day, and I was yaknow, chilling, listening. and then we hit the bridge... my jaw hit the floor. I literally shot up in bed and was like "holy fuck." when i thought the song was wrapping up, it just kept going. Obviously I had to listen to it again right after it ended. (and I am NOT mad about it. I feel this song in my bones) ((My fiance was also dead asleep during all of this and I made him listen to it at like 10 AM the following day))

(peace: i'll die for you in secret ➜ TSMWEL: i would have died for your sins) ((actually screaming crying vomiting idk))

My favorite part of when she sings this on the eras tour is when she says "hey.. give this message to the smallest man who ever lived" and then turns to the audience and starts singing the bridge. She's like "Yup- heres this message, and another thing- fuck you!" literally incredible. i have an emotional attachment to this song. I could write an essay and honestly, maybe I will.

It's so funny to me because every time Taylor puts out a new album, there are some songs that I hear where i'm like "WOW. This is it. This is the song. She summed up my entire experience in a way I never could. I don't know how much more accurate she could get." And then she comes out with some insane song that keeps the cycle going.

(it's the cycle that keeps on giving and the cycle that keeps me alive! no, seriously. when i was in the hospital at one point in my life, i was asked everyday "and what is something you want to live for?" my answer: my cat and taylor swift's music")

All of this to say... I am so happy I was/am medicated when this album came out.

Here is my ranking of the Tortured Poets Department! (This was incredibly difficult because all of the songs are just so good. Noting that I don't think that any song is a bad song.)

The Black Dog

The Smallest Man

The Prophecy

How Did It End?

Guilty As Sin

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

loml (but sometimes it changes places- just depends on the day, but it never goes lower)

Fresh Out The Slammer

But, Daddy I Love Him

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

So Long, London

Down Bad

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

So High School

I Hate It Here

TTPD

Fortnight

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Peter

Cassandra

Flordia!!!

The Alchemy

The Bolter

thanK you aIMee (thank You aimEe)

Clara Bow

The Albatross

The Manuscript

imgonnagetyouback

I Look In People's Windows

Robin

I Can Fix Him (no really I can)

Honorable mentions:

CHILLS

I was so shocked (I watched on a grainy livestream)

When I say I sobbed, I'm not joking. I texted my sister and said "You need to get on this livestream RIGHT NOW.

Check out these small businesses:

Here is the link to a down bad t-shirt: So good for the gym and its a comfort colors t-shirt!

Direct link to the storefront: They have so many cool items!

Check out the link: It's a TTPD vinyl/cd holder and it is actually the coolest thing I've ever seen (I will be purchasing)

Direct link to the storefront: There are a few different options! Check them out!

@taylorswift @taylornation @taylorswift @taylornation

[itsawritblr]

An Ask about Editing.

"I am seeing mixed information regarding editing and when to attempt to submit to a publisher. I was under the impression that the publishers provide editors, but some online sources are telling me that it is typical to hire your own editor and pay them before you send the novel off to publishers."

All publishers have editors. If they have websites they'll have the editors' names listed there. Example: The Random House Team.

It's not typical at all to hire an editor to work on your manuscript. You're supposed to know how to edit your own work. Some people hire them because they think it'll give them an advantage. However, the question is:

How good is the editor?

There are people who fake being editors. They take your money and do a few changes on your manuscript.

There are people who are mediocre at editing, but will take your money and do a few changes to your manuscript.

If you don't know how to edit, you can't tell who's a charlatan, who's mediocre, or who's excellent.

It's your job as a writer to learn how to edit your own work. If a publisher acquires your book their editor will work with you to improve it. But they prefer to have a manuscript that's as polished and as close to perfect as possible, because that means less work for them and a shorter period from editing to published book.

"Is there a substantial risk of stolen ideas or anything like that when someone hires their own editor?"

OK . . . . *inhale*

Your word for word manuscript is automatically copyrighted from the moment it's written/typed/scrawled in crayon. It's yours. You do not need to file for Copyright and spend whatever the fee is these days. In the highly unlikely case of plagiarism, you have as proof your original ms (manuscript) and your notes, etc., which you used to create your work. And you can prove that the editor saw your manuscript before they published whatever they did.

But ideas can't be copyrighted.

Example: Both A Bug's Life and ANTZ have similar ideas. But they're not copies.

Example: If your story has a short, scruffy detective who smokes a cigar and drives a beater, but he's English and lives in a Detroit townhouse, your idea doesn't legally rip-off Columbo. Everyone will think you ripped it off and think less of you, as they should, but no one can sue you because the ideas are so alike. Well, they can try, but it'll more than likely be a waste of their time and money.

Plagiarism is much more likely to occur if you put your work online, because anyone can see your work and there are a shit-ton of unscrupulous wanna-be writers out there. But no publishing house's first reader -- the person who reads your ms before moving it on to an editor who'll decide if your ms is good enough for them to buy it -- is going to steal your work.

As for a hired editor, it's very, very unlikely.

"My second question would be if you have any examples of perhaps a page or two of a novel where I can read the original version from the author, and then the version after the editor has taken a crack at it and then updated with the editors changes and recommendations? I tried searching for this but didn’t get much luck. I suppose I am looking for a concrete example of how much an editor puts in."

I don't do that. Unless you pay me $$$$.

Editors are essential to publishers. But again, they don't touch your ms unless the publisher decides to buy it. And they won't want it unless you've edited the fuck outta it first.

What you need to do, what all writers need to do, is learn how to be your best editor.

Get a copy of this:

This is a writer's Bible. I suggest owning a copy so you can study it and make notes if needed. You can get cheap, readable used copies from eBay, Abebooks, or your local used bookstore.

You can download this pdf and print it:

The Elements of Style.

Also get this. It's great for fiction writers as well as nonfiction writers.

This also has an online pdf: The Elements of Editing.

There are tons of books about editing. A simple Google search will find them.

Books About Editing Books. This list is for books about editing books and the craft of writing (mostly fiction).

There's Writer's Digest Magazine. They have lots of articles by editors and writers. Read it online and look for copies at your nearby library. Warning: There are ads for editing "services" and that kind of shit. Ads are how the magazine makes its money (that and subscriptions). Ignore these ads.

If you have a local library, ask the reference librarian for the section with books about writing and editing. If it's a small section, or there isn't one at all, ask for an Inter Library Loan (ILL). This is when the librarian requests the title your looking for from any library in the U.S. and often abroad, and it will be sent to her library, for free.

I can't emphasize this enough: The library is your best friend. Librarians are there to help. There are tons of writers who thank librarians in their Acknowledgements, including Christopher Paul Curtis, Anthony Horowitz, and me. Get to know your librarians. (OK, some librarians are assholes. Find the ones who aren't.)

If you don't have access to a library, either public or college/university, look in a used bookstore. If you don't have a used bookstore, cheap, readable copies can be found online.

If possible, take a course in editing and writing. But only if you can easily afford it, and only if the instructor is a professional editor or writer.

You need to be the best editor for your work. No one will be as invested in your book as your are.

I repeat: No one will be as invested in your book as you are.

Learn to edit well, then send off your ms. If you write fiction, you'll need a literary agent (there are a few boutique and small press publishers who don't require agents). An agent wants to see polished work. But, if she's even half-way good, she'll help edit your ms to a level where it's ready for a publisher to see it.

Now, you caught me on a slow day, and I'm feeling generous (I was a newbie too. Got my first rejection at age 11, from Alfred A. Knopf Publishing). But I'm not answering any more questions from anybody, because I have a ms to finish.

If anyone ignores this statement and tries to get more help from me, my response is:

I'm outta here.

[musings-of-a-rose]

Love at the Top - Part 2

Pairing: Teacher Ben x f! Teacher reader

Word Count: 2000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: This is a multiple requested smutty part 2 to LOVE AT THE TOP with our beloved Teacher Ben! @fishingforpike I hope you like it! It was not beta'd.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Main Masterlist 

Teacher Ben Masterlist

Love at the Top Part 1

A knock raps on my door promptly at noon. I open it with a smile, my dress swishing around me as Ben stands there, mouth slightly agape behind the flowers he has in his hand. 

"Y-you… you l-look amazing."

I smile, swaying my hips side to side. "Thanks. Are those for me?"

"Oh, yeah. I wasn't sure what your favorite was so I got one of each."

The bouquet held about 12 flowers, each one a different kind. It was bright and beautiful, bring life into the room when I placed them in a vase on my table. 

"They're beautiful, Ben. Thank you."

He wipes his palms against his pants before putting them in his pockets. "You ready? We have an hour drive or so."

"You never told me where…wait. Does your tie have a Gatsby quote on it?" I walk up to him, picking up the end of the tie and looking at it. 

"Oh, uh yeah. You said it was your favorite…" His voice trails off as he shrugs. 

I look up at him, big brown eyes looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room. I tug it to pull him down and kiss him, arms sliding around each other. Suddenly he breaks the kiss, staring down at me. 

"We better get in the car or we'll never make it."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

He groans in the back of his throat. "No. But I really think you'll like it."

"And I wouldn't like you?"

He chuckles. "I hope you will, sweet girl."

"You're gonna have to stop calling me that if you want us to leave."

He smiles. "That's fair."

He takes my hand and leads me out of the door, pausing as I lock it behind me. We drive for about an hour, chatting about anything and everything along the way, having concerts with the good songs that come on. It's only when he turns into the parking lot that I realize where he's taken me. 

"The Gatsby manuscript??" I all but yell, neatly vibrating off my seat as I stare out the window at the museum. "How did you know I've been dying to see them?"

"You mentioned it a month or so ago."

I turn to look at him. "A month? And you remembered?"

He smiles and nods at me. "Of course. Your eyes light up when you talk about it."

I lean in and kiss him, my hand rubbing at the stubble on his cheek. "How did you score tickets? They've been sold out for a while."

"The curator is my cousin."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"That's so fucking cool."

He escorts me out and into the museum, watching my face nearly the entire time, letting me ramble on and on about how much I love The Great Gatsby and how amazing it is to see it first hand, actually handwritten notes by the author himself. 

He smiles the whole ride back to town as I continue to talk, the conversation eventually shifting to Star Wars as we sit down to eat. Conversation flows easy between us, no matter what we're talking about. 

Eventually, we end up on my doorstep, both of us shuffling nervously and chattering on, unwilling to let the evening end. 

"I had a great time, Ben."

"Me too. I didn't think you'd get along with an old man like me."

"I thought we agreed you aren't old?"

"No, you said I wasn't old. My back begs to differ." 

"Hhmm…" I fiddle with his tie. "Sounds like you need to go to bed."

"Y-Yeah. That might help."

He kisses me, pushing me back against my front door. I hitch my leg over his thigh, pulling him closer, both our hands tangled in the other's hair. 

"I have a bed inside you can use."

His eyes darken as he stares down at me. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

I fish out my keys, trying to unlock my door but finding it hard to focus with Ben's hands on my hips, rubbing little circles into them. 

Finally, my door unlocks and I push it open, turning to grab onto Ben's tie, pulling him inside, giggling when he kicks the door shut behind him. I reach behind him to lock it, gasping when Ben starts sucking on my neck. 

"Ben," I sigh, feeling him shift and moan into my neck.

His lips move to mine and we start to walk, me guiding us towards my bedroom. But several steps later, Ben trips and we fall and he lands on top of me. 

"Fuck I'm sorry! Are you-"

I pull his face to mine, kissing the apology from his lips, my legs parting to pull him in closer and I can feel him through his pants. 

"Here?" He breaks the kiss, staring down at me, our noses barely touching. 

"I don't care where, Ben. I need you. Now." I grip the back of his shirt, trying to untuck it from his pants. 

"I.. yeah ok."

I look at him this time. "Is that ok?"

"I.. yeah."

I push him up slightly, getting him to meet my eyes. "What is it?"

He blushes slightly, looking away from my gaze. "I just…"

"Are your knees ok? Your back?"

"What? Oh yeah I'm ok."

"Then what?"

He quiet a moment. "I've never done…this… on a floor before."

Oh. 

I smile and trace his cheek with my fingertip. "That's ok, Ben. Do you want to?"

His clothed hips rut into mine in response and I whine, watching him smirk down at me. "I want you, sweet girl."

"Then take me. Please."

His eyes darken, blowing wide with lust before he kisses me. One of his arms braces him on the ground while the other moves down my body, sliding up my bare thigh as he pushes my dress up. He hesitates at my panties but when I moan, he gains some courage, hooking his fingers around the band and sliding them down. His hand comes back up my body, his finger teasing me between my thighs. Finally he touches me and my hips jolt at the connection. 

"Oh fuck," I pant, as his fingers explore my apex. 

"I gotta work you open, sweet girl. Get you ready for me. Is that ok?"

I nod several times quickly, pleading for him to do more. He wastes no time in pushing a finger inside me, twirling his finger around until I jolted. He adds another finger and finds that spot again, curling his fingers against it. 

"Here?" He asks, studying my face. 

"Oh fuck yes!" His thumb comes up to rub at my clit and I'm done for, too wound up to wait and I whine his name, gripping his arms as I find my release. 

"You make the sweetest sounds when you come."

I chuckle. "I usually don't come that fast even when I'm solo."

His eyes snap to mine. "When..when y-you're solo?"

"Yes, Ben. People masterbate."

His voice is quiet and a few octaves lower. "Will you show me sometime?"

"I can show you now-"

He grabs the wrist I had started to slide down my body. "No. Now, I need you. If that's ok?"

"God, please."

He lifts himself slightly off of me and I fumble with his belt, quickly opening it and reaching my hand inside to grip him. He grunts, a series of swears tumble from him as I pull him out. He's big, bigger than I've had. No wonder he had to work me open - I can't barely close my fingers around him. I line him up with me and I feel him at my entrance, just touching me and heat rushes to my cunt. But he doesn't move. 

"Ben?"

"Do you have a condom?"

"I uh, oh. No. But we discussed being clean-"

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"I'm protected. It's safe. If you want."

There's no more color in his eyes, dark and black with lust. "Oh God I want to. If that's-"

"Stop asking if every move is ok. All of it is. You have my consent to fuck me however you want. If something is wrong I'll tell you. Just please, Ben. I need you to move."

He catches my gaze and then slowly pushes inside of me. I can feel my skin stretching to accommodate his size, burning slightly at the edges but it's a good feeling. He pauses halfway and looks at me.

"Are you ok?"

"Y-yeah. You're just…the biggest I've ever had."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"If you stop, I'm going to fling myself out of the window."

He chuckles. "We can't have that."

My reply dies on my lips as he pushes in the rest of the way, stretching and filling me. I don't remember ever feeling this full before, and oh shit what is he hitting inside me? 

Ben pulls his hips back and slides into me again, slowly still. I hitch my thigh over his hip and he grabs it to hold my leg in place. He adds an extra thrust when he bottoms out and I cry his name, stars erupting in my vision as heat rushes between my thighs. Ben is hesitant, as if he can't read my expression. Or he doubts himself. 

"There! Fuck, Ben. What are you- ugh!" He pushes in again, picking up his pace and slamming into that spot over and over, my next orgasm building quickly with each thrust. He slows down, only to bring a hand up, trying to lift my dress up over my chest. He's struggling, so I reach my hands up, sliding down the straps and pulling down the top of my dress. Thankful I wore a front clasping bra, I quickly undo it, boobs springing free. His hips falter as he stares at my chest. 

He drops his head to my chest, taking a boob in his mouth, biting at my nipple. His hips resume rutting into me and my release washes over me, warmth spreading out from between my thighs as I cry his name, Ben still moving his hips and hitting that spot to drag out my release. 

"I'm gonna…" Ben tries to speak but then his hips sputter, thrusting up several more times into me, quiet moans and gasps leaving his lips as he comes inside of me. Breathing heavy, we lay there still connected for a few moments, just trying to catch our breath. Ben lifts his head from my chest and stares down at me, the lust receding and being replaced by something more like…love?

"Fuck you're so beautiful." 

"So are you, Ben."

He scoffs. "I'm an old man."

"An old man who just fucked me into this floor."

He smirks, unable to hide the pride on his face. "That's true. But I'm sure you've done this before, with your young back and all."

"No one has ever fucked me like that, Ben. I've never…I've never came like that before."

His eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"It's like you were hitting some spot in the back of me. Like..at the far back-"

He nods. "I think that's called your a spot?"

"WE HAVE ANOTHER SPOT? MY EDUCATION HAS FAILED ME."

Ben cracks up, his laughter shaking my body as I join him too, stopping when he hisses. 

"Stop laughing! Hold on." He pulls out and then resumes laughing with me. 

Ben helps me straighten my dress and stand up, pulling me close to his body and kissing me. 

"You ok?"

"I am. But next time let's be in a bed. I may be 24 but this floor is still hard."

His eyes darken. "Next time?"

"Yeah. If you want?"

"As long as you'll have me. I'm free tomorrow for dinner?"

"Dinner? I was thinking in another 10 minutes."

He chuckles. "I'm an old man, sweet girl. I don't think my knees can do that again so soon."

"Who says you'll be on top?"

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

[notoriousbeb]

TTPD Notes - The Manuscript (Pt. 3)

TTPD Notes Glossary

"Florida!!!"  

Recorded June 29, 2023; however, I'd wager to guess the first pre-Florence draft of this was first penned earlier, as it probably took a bit of logistics to meet up with Florence in the studio  

While probably a bit about all three recent exes ("So, I did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body") I'd say it's mostly about one. "And the hurricane with my name [Taylor Russell, is that you entering the chat?], when it came, I got drunk, and I dared it to wash me away. Barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine. Well, me and my ghosts we had a hell of a time."  

If you peruse my timeline, I think you’ll find that the “shitstorm back in Texas” and her need for the release/high of the Tampa shows suddenly snaps into clear focus.  

Why does she want to be told that she’s despicable and unforgivable? The Matty thing is my guess.  

"Guilty as Sin"  

I think this was written pre-Eras Tour, but maybe not recorded until during?  

Interesting note, a few years ago, Harry shared “The Downtown Lights” by The Blue Nile with music journalist Zane Lowe as part of a playlist he put together  

A hedge maze is an outdoor garden maze or labyrinth. In "Labyrinth," she says, "I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around...I'm falling in love again." To me, this is saying, "I thought we were through, but I am falling in love with you again." And it's a clear reference to the Harry and Taylor of yore — paper airplanes. I am so confused about other people's confusion as to the muse of this song.  

She says she keeps “these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault.” Hmm. Maybe keep an eye out for the “reputation” vault tracks? I know I am.  

“I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)”

See this post

"loml"  

I’m guessing recorded Spring 2023  

Lion references make me think of this image from April 13, 2023 at Electric Lady. Were they shooting a music video for TTPD? If so, gimme now. She’s wearing a Gucci lion ring. From Harry? (If you are unaware, he also has two Gucci lion rings). 

It was legendary, you say? Like, they were “born to be suburban legends” and when he holds you it holds you together and it’s “the only thing that’s holy” (“Guilty as Sin?”)  

I don’t think “you shit-talked me under the table” means he talked shit about her. Harry would never do that. I think it refers to the alternate definition of the term. Like he was talking out of his ass or bullshitting.  

“Love of my Life” is Harry’s only track 13.  

This song makes me cry every time I hear it. Every time. It’s so beautiful, though, so I can’t stop won’t stop. “Dancing phantoms on the terrace/are they second hand embarrassed?” Fuck me all the way up. 

Can you imagine being Joe Alwyn and knowing you put in six years and also knowing this song is not about you? I would simply turn to dust and blow away.  

“I Can Do It with a Broken Heart” 

God, this is such a great goddamn, perfect pop song. It has to be a single, right? 

In my heart and gut, I believe this is about Harry. I really think she’d already processed the Joe breakup before Era’s even started. She didn't love Matty—she said so herself and I believe her. She started the tour strong. But then late April hits and boom she was crying on stage and falling apart. Why? See my crazy Haylor Magnum opus and timeline for my thoughts.

"The Black Dog"  

I didn’t want it to be, but unfortunately, I’m convinced this is about Harry: Regarding the line, “I just don’t understand how you don’t miss me in the shower and remember how my rain-soaked body was shaking,” if you’ll refer to my scary stalker timetable, you’ll see it rained at the first night of the Arlington, Texas, show where I think Harry was.

In the original lyrics, it was “these weeks of breathing clean air” so the timeline means nothing.

Joe didn’t leave with his tail between his legs. She left him (see: “So Long, London” and “Fresh Out the Slammer”). Some might even say she bolted. And Matty was in the states when she wrote the song. But you know who was spotted and pictured in London just days before his Horsens show on May 13? Harry Styles.

Updated June 15, 2025: Joe confirmed to The Sunday Times’ Style magazine that he’s never been to Vauxhall where the Blackdog is located. In the intervening months, Matty Healy has since stated he and Taylor were not serious in any way.

These lyrics are clearly, to me, about someone she was with long term and left (Joe); this muse is someone she had a prior history with who left her—and suddenly. “Was it hazing? For a cruel fraternity I pledged? And I still mean it. Old habits die screaming.” And “Were you making fun of me with some esoteric joke?” “Hazing” and “cruel fraternity” are not apt metaphors for a six-year relationship. But they sure are for a two-week rebound with an on-and-off four-year situationship, though.

She was so, so big mad about Harry being at this bar. Why? Was he not answering her texts or calls/actually or appearing to “avoid her like the plague” as per “I Can Do It with a Broken Heart?” Why is there a girl there with him who is too young to know the Starting Line? Why does Taylor know this girl is there? Is she imaginary? She had better be imaginary! Goddamnit, Harry. I don’t want to be mad at you.

[definitely-not-iorveth]

a couple days ago, a stream featuring andrzej sapkowski came out, supposedly announcing a new book in the witcher series (see link below).

i've watched it, and personally, considering the context, i would reign in my enthusiasm until some kind of official announcement.

i'm including the notes of what he speaks about, for anyone interested.

the first short story started with the title: a male form of the polish word wiedźma (witch) doesn't exist, so sapkowski came up with one. the idea for the story came afterwards.

the first short story was supposed to be a one-time thing. he never expected to write a continuation.

he didn't do any research for the witcher books beforehand because 1/ it's a fantasy book, so he's allowed some leeway & 2/ he already accumulated a lot of knowledge throughout his life by the time he started writing. some research on things was needed during the process, but not a lot of it.

he did do beforehand research for a different, more historical series he wrote afterwards (trylogia husycka).

he once again stresses that the book series is not based specifically on slavic mythology - that was something made up by journalists. he took inspiration from various mythologies indiscriminately, and the plot was more important to him than using any specific sources.

he doesn't remember how many short stories he wrote for the witcher.

back when he started, there was no point in sending manuscripts to publishing houses, because the publishers were not interested in polish fantasy books, preferring the foreign ones. instead, an aspiring writer's best bet would be to send a short story to fantastyka (means fantasy, but only as a literary genre), a magazine that published fantasy & sci fi short stories. at some point he got tired of publishing short stories though, and he sent his manuscript in (he says he doesn't remember what book that was). it was successful, and it encouraged more authors to do the same.

he regrets writing under his real name and not under a literary pseudonym.

nilfgaard's similarities to ancient rome are accidental, and nilfgaard should not be interpreted as based on it. sapko came up with it as an aggressive fantasy nation that wants to take over the world, with no deeper meaning behind it.

first map created for the witcher was the work of the czech translator, and most subsequent maps were based on it (or, as sapko puts it, stolen.) "why i never created a map? pettiness." all fantasy books of the time had a map, so he decided his wouldn't have. and so it doesn't.

the witcher comics were parowski's idea (a witcher fan & comic book author). sapkowski didn't participate in its creation. he tried to give his input about the drawings at first, but the artist basically told him to go fuck himself.

he has a cat

he used to be a senior sales representative, and it gave him some knowledge about sales, banking, currencies and economy which he was able to work into the plot of his stories

he reads at least 50 books per year. of recent works, he recommends madeline miller's circe, steven king's two new books, v.e. schwab's the invisible life of addie larue, peng shepherd's the cartographers, herve le telier's the anomaly, r.f. kuang's babel, holly black's book of night. he considers the above the literary events and fantasy milestones of the past few years.

his commentary on people who study and analyze the witcher and its themes: "they come up with things i never could have come up with." he claims he never assigned any specific philosophy or meaning to his works, but he's happy to read the works of people who do.

he says he didn't base any of his characters on himself in any way. at the same time, his opinion is that it's difficult to write a character that doesn't retain some of the author's qualities. however, the characters are in their own setting and their own story. in his words, "you don't write books about yourself. you write books about characters that you come up with, and you give them their own qualities. […] who cares who i am? the reader is interested in who the witcher is, or who the other characters are."

when asked why geralt is different than the other witchers (more sensitive, kinder), he responds that it's because he's a made up character that's supposed to be interesting for the reader, so he needs to be distinguishable from others. a book is supposed to be interesting, and creating an interesting character is one of the ways to achieve it.

when asked why the smell of yennefer's perfume is so specific, he just says that he made it up and perfume like that doesn't exist.

witchers, although they use magic, are a completely separate group from the sorcerers in the book. there are no common points between them. witchers are also not a reference to any specific mythological archetypes or characters.

he doesn't like announcing what he's doing, because he changes his mind a lot, and doesn't always finish what he starts.

he does say that he is working on a new witcher book and that it should come out within the next year or a couple. considering the context of his words, however, i would consider it as more of a 'maybe' than an actual announcement.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

When you are writing a new chapter for a fic, how do you decide what to put in, and what to leave out?

I see a lot of advice about killing your darlings - whittling the scene down until it contains only what's necessary to advance the plot.

But I also see advice that says it's okay to include more than this, because you need to advance the characters as well, by giving them quiet moments in between all of the plot advancing parts.

I really struggle to find the balance. I love writing the quiet moments, and fleshing the characters out, but sometimes these moments run away on me, and I end up with a bloated mess that barely advances the plot at all.

Do you have a process or a rule-of-thumb you follow, to help you decide what does or doesn't make the cut?

How easy do you find it to remove stuff later, when you realize the story is better without it? Do you cry and have wine while you bury your dead, or are you a ruthless assassin? :)

Oh man, great question.

I’m going to answer for what for my original fiction. I don’t heavily edit my fanfics in any meaningful capacity, as any of my readers can attest, since that is my hobby and editing is work. Also, since it is my hobby, I am pretty self indulgent with what I include. I meander and wander all over the place with my plots and don’t keep them as tight as they probably need to be.

Exhibit A, the visual representation of the plot of Thus, Always 2.0 (one line being present day and the second being the past):

But for my original fiction, there’s a very long, drawn out process of editing.

For House of No Return, the current book (known as The Venetians in my tags), I wrote out the first draft. In that draft I put all the self indulgent stuff I wanted. Character studies, side plots, random asides, plot cul-de-sacs, and so on.

Then, when done, I rewrote the entire thing. Top to bottom second draft. This is because, by the time I was done with draft one, I knew my characters a lot better than when I started. I knew, more clearly, the story I wanted to tell. I had a better vision of how the plot should work.

Once the second (or third) draft is done, I let it sit. Ideally, you should let it sit for a few months. I don’t have patience and am riddled with a deep need to always be writing, so I can usually only make it a few weeks.

When I take it back out, I print out the manuscript and read it in one or two sittings. This is because I need to remember what the fuck I was doing. As I read, I make margin notes of where I bump or where things drag a bit. My second read through is much more methodical. I sit with a note book and jot out a detailed outline as I read. When I eventually type them up they usually look something like this:

As I read through the outline, that’s where I can see if there are baggy parts that need trimming. When I note them, I decide whether to completely remove, or shorten, or shift to another part of the story, or if I can convey any central information in other areas.

Sometimes colour coding helps – highlighting all the parts that are faster paced in red, the slower bits in green, the pure character study bits in blue (or what have you). The visual representation helps me, at least, see if there’s a part that’s bunched up with only one colour and may need to be broken out a bit.

I make edits to my outline in blue, usually, of what needs to be added or changed when I go to do the next big rewrite.

--

Throughout this whole outline review process, I’m also thinking through what sort of plot pattern/design best serves the story. There are a lot out there and each has a purpose and can strengthen aspects of the story that’s being told.

Good reference: Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative by Jane Alison.  

For House of No Return, it’s a pretty classic mountain form: start | rising action | point no return | climax | resolution.

Something a bit like this with the little plateaus representing times when the plot slows for a bit to allow the reader a break and an opportunity to sit with a character or an emotion or some new information.

These breaks can also ratchet up tension and help keep people on the edge of their seat. The horror genre is a great example of this. You know that when we’re having a quiet character moment, or a humourous moment, we’re about to get something horrific on the other side of it and we’re in trepidation until it happens. But the book can’t be all horrific moments or else the audience gets bored.

(Unless the author is Doing Something/There’s a Purpose Being Served in having 85,000-100,000 words of only horrific moments. Which can abosolutely be the case! Again, it’s about what you’re trying to do, how to best tell the story, and fundamentally what that story needs to be.)

Grief and trauma writing also benefit from the breaks. I think about this in fics where it’s all bleak torture and there’s no resting or lighter moments—it’s hard on the audience. Which, again, can be the author’s intent! And that’s fine! But usually if you want to keep people going with you on the journey you need to give them breaks. That is just reality.

So, when writing the classic model I would say write, write, write. Get every thing onto the page. Every little indulgement moment, every little character study etc.

Then think about how you want the story to be paced. Do you want it a heart pounding fast paced piece? Then yeah, trim it down to mostly bare bones with just enough breaks for character study/get the audience invested in who they’re reading about and to give them a bit of a breather. But it should be super tight, over all.

Steep, steep, steep – little moments here and there for a break – then shattering fall and people should be reading going “what the fuuuuck is going to happen next??” (Grady Hendrix is a master of this.)

 Some traditional mountains, though, are slower.

There's a long, langurous start. We’re all along for a gentle ride then it begins to build bit by bit until we realize we’re riding down the Tuscan hillside in a cart with no breaks.

This is the sort of story where you can really relish your character studies and soft moments between people and little side bits. But you do need to keep enough movement to keep the audience interested. This is one that is harder to pull off because the balance can be tricky.

I tend to write like this. Hilary Mantel has books that hit this kind of approach. Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic is a good example of a slow burn start but a good ride at the end. Laura Purcell’s The Silent Companions is another example.

-

All that said, not all stories need to follow the traditional approach! Some are meant to be tangled meditations. A lot of weaving, a lot of introspection, the story is more about the journey and not the destination. Sometimes the plots look a little like this:

Peak Literary Experimental Fiction shit right here. This can be a lot of character study, a lot of philosophical musings, a lot tangents or backtracking or jumping around a little. Justin Torres’ Blackouts is a great example of a meandering story that is as much about the characters and their conversations as it is about queerness and history.

Other stories are meant to be rolling hills or waves: up and down, up and down.

Jane Austin has a bit of a wave quality to some of her stories, not all, but some. Long, drawn out family epics that span generations tend to have this quality to them. Books like Pillars of the Earth tend to be more wavey than mountain climax.

-----

Anyway. I've done a diversion myself. Back to editing.

When I’m doing my trimming, I don’t have an exact process for determining what makes the cut or what stays. I go with my gut on a lot of it. Sometimes, there are scenes that are hitting the same note but coming at it in different ways.

Cristof’s anxiety over his friend’s gambling addiction, and his guilt around feeling as if he is enabling it, is something I overwrote in the first few drafts because I was trying to understand the psychology of their friendship and Cristof’s own inner demons. Therefore, as I trimmed, I picked three key things that the audience needed to know about Cristof and Jacopo and made sure those were captured. I cut and trimmed accordingly.

However, I do have some babies that get reused in different places once I realize the original scene wasn’t working.

This stupid joke was originally in a completely different scene and was said by different characters but that scene wasn’t working and so I had to cut it. But I was very enamoured with this little interaction, so I found a way to incorporate it.

-

It’s also important to remember that some character studies/the resting pauses can be brief. By all means write out the full seven page version but I bet it’s possible to trim it down to a really powerful short beat that can pack a bit of a punch. Writing out the full seven pages is sometimes necessary to get at the heart of what you’re trying to say. Then cut it back.

I had a full multi-page version of this paragraph:

But it’s a rest-beat in the middle of the apothecary/barbershop scene that is moving the plot along, and therefore this memory/character beat needed to be tight. Still, we get a bit of a glimpse at Cristof and Nicolo through it, and while it might not seem important on the surface, we do need to care about these two idiots and the fact that they’re dumb about each other and in love.  

-

Quiet moments can also be interspersed within action. You can weave them through, so you have:

Active Scene/Plot Moving

Restful introspection or memory

Back to the Active Scene.

If done right it can give a bit of a melodious, wave-like quality to what you’re writing. It’s not for every story, nor every scene, and shouldn’t be overused (I may be guilty of that), but it allows you to still get in those meaningful character moments without stopping the plot too much.

As for the ease with which I kill darlings? Depends on the darling. Some are easier than others. Some I like, but if I can incorporate the important bits in another fashion then I’m fine with it. The more I write, the more I edit, the more ruthless I become.

--

A lot of this is, fundamentally, all about practice and doing it a lot. And also all writing rules aren’t rules so much as broad guidelines and each story has its own needs and requirements to make it work.

Apologies for the long reply. I'm not sure it's what you're after but I hope it helps. There is, unfortunately, no "quick trick" that I have to do it. It's really just a very involved process.