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elaratyrell · 1 year

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Misery {Annie Wilkes! Aemond Targaryen x Author! Reader}

*All images found on Pinterest*

Warnings: Dark! Aemond, stalking, language, mentions of murder Smut- oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), female orgasm

*Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Synopsis: You find yourself near death after being the victim of a car accident in a snow storm while working on the latest instalment in your bestselling Misery series. The man who found you, your self declared number one fan, seems innocent enough, but his dark past, and even darker intentions, soon become clear

With a sigh of slight relief, you placed the final page on top of the pile beside you, tying a rubber band around it and placing it in a blue leather case.

Another book finished to hopefully join the others on the bestsellers list.

You had written twelve other books, to be exact, and had now finished your first completed draft for the thirteenth.

The cursed number.

The unlucky number.

The number of misfortune.

But for you it was a blessing.

For years you had dedicated your life to the running series of books centred around a character called Misery. You'd published your first book at eighteen, becoming the new face of the romance genre. And as you had grown up, your books had matured as well, becoming darker, bordering on the thriller genre as well as still centering on the romantic aspect. It was a bold move, but seemed to pay off, as it had made you even more popular than before.

Yet, after dedicating your life to one character for an entire decade now, you knew you had to move on, take another path in a new series you were going to write. You knew some of your fans would be disappointed that this would be the last entry in the Misery series, but it had to be done.

It felt like a relief to you, that you could finally move on with your life. And you felt as though it were almost a weight being lifted off your shoulders as finished your usual celebration of a single cigarette and champagne. You rose to your feet to take the manuscript to your car with the rest of your belongings, departing from a small log cabin called Winterfell Lodge you always rented out when working on your latest novel. It was always calming to get some time away from the chaos of the city.

You pulled your coat around you tighter, the snow flurry thickening around you as you loaded your bags into the trunk of your car. Usually, you wouldn't drive in weather like this, especially as it seemed as though a snow storm was fast approaching, but you needed to get back to the city as fast as possible.

Quickly shooting your agent a message to let you know you had finished the initial draft and were on your way to get back to the city, you started the car and drove away from Winterfell Lodge.

You squinted slightly as the snowfall grew thicker still, trying to see the curve in the road as the wipers speed couldn't keep up with the snow that was now covering the road. You slowed your speed, maintaining control of your car, humming along to the song playing on the radio.

Maybe you should have waited for tomorrow.

It was already late in the afternoon, and the clouds darkened the sky.

You turned on your car's headlights, a small sign reading 'Curved road, next thirteen miles'.

You hit the curve no problem, turning the wheel with perfect control, keeping a steady speed as you continued turning the wheel, but suddenly one of the wheels skidded, followed by another as the car span erratically out of control.

And all you remembered was the car spinning of the road, followed by it slamming into a tree, doing a one hundred and eighty degree flip, landing on it's hood.

And then as you fell into the darkness, you heard the harsh sound of the radio static and the howling winds, and felt the blood trickling down the side of your face.

Followed by nothing. Only darkness.

When you awoke, you felt numb.

You skin was paler, and clammy with a feverish sweat that sent a slight tremble through you. You couldn't lift any of your limbs. They felt weighted down. You didn't even want to try and lift your head.

"You're awake."

The voice was male. It sounded calm, well spoken. Soothing, almost.

Approaching footsteps to your bedside soon brought the owner of the voice into your vision.

He looked around your age, maybe two or three years younger, around twenty five or six, perhaps. He had long silver hair tied half up, a strong jaw and a tall, well defined figure. One of his eyes was a vivid blue, like a sapphire, the other a cloudy white, a long scar running from his brow down to his cheek. Resting on the bridge of his nose was a pair of black rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a dark blue sweater, the white collar of his shirt peaking up above its neckline, and a pair of black trousers.

Your saviour was very handsome, indeed.

"W-where... where a-am-"

"Shush," He interrupted you, placing the back of his cool hand against your forehead, frowning slightly at the heat radiating on your skin from the fever. "We're just between Storm's End and Winterfell. You've been here two days. I was concerned that you were not going to pull through. I'm thankful to say that I think you will recover. You'll be okay. Thank the gods you'll be okay." He shot you a slightly relieved smile. "Oh, how foolish of me. My name is Aemond Targaryen, and I'm your-"

"Number one fan?" You murmured, your eyes fluttering closed from a split second before opening again to see him shooting you a rather bashful smile, his cheeks dusted with pink.

"That- that's right," He murmured. "I-I am also a doctor, fortunately enough." He added, gesturing to where you were connected to a drip before outstretching his hand and opening his palm to reveal two pills. "You need to take these for the pain," He said softly, lifting your head slightly to bring the pills to your lips and swallow them, his fingertips lingering slightly against your lips.

Aemond propped up the pillows slightly, resting your head back down. Giving you a better view of your room, you noted you appeared to be in a rather old cottage or farmhouse. Your room was rather charming; wood panelled walls, a large fireplace opposite the bed. From the window, you saw a view of the mountains.

"Shouldn't I be in hospital?" You mumbled.

"The blizzard was too strong. I didn't want to risk trying to get you there. I couldn't even call, the phone lines are down and I don't own a mobile, I'm afraid. I doubt you could even get signal out here with the weather like this."

"Thank you for saving me," You murmured, you eyes aching with fatigue.

"You are more than welcome. Now, you should get some rest. You nearly lost your life." He replied, stepping back. "I'll be back to check on your when your meds run out," Was the last thing he said before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Your fever past after a few days in Aemond's care, but you were still incredibly weak. But Aemond promised you that things would get better.

"It's not going to hurt forever, I promise you."

"Will I be able to walk?" You asked.

"Of course. And your arm will be fine, too. Your shoulder was rather badly dislocated, but I managed to pop it back in there. But I must say, I am rather proud of what I managed to do with your legs, especially considering what I had around the house. In fact I don't think there's a doctor in the whole of Westeros that could do a better job."

And with a flourish of blankets, he made your legs visible to you for the first time.

From the knees down, you believed you resembled a mummy. Steel rods that seemed to be remains of aluminium crutches were used as splints with taping circled around them. From the knees up, your thighs were swollen and horribly bruised.

Upon seeing your slightly horrified expression, Aemond hastily added. "It is not nearly as bad as it looks considering the severity of your injuries. You have a compound fracture of the tibia in both legs, and the fibula in the left leg is fractured too. I could hear the bones moving, so it's best for your legs to remain immobile. And as soon as the roads open, I'll take you to a hospital. In the meantime, you've got a lot of recovering to do, and I consider it an honour that you'll do it in my home." He gave you a kind smile, once again leaving you to get some more rest until he had to administer your next round of painkillers.

And soon enough Aemond's visits to your room became more frequent and for longer periods of time. He didn't just stay to gave you your meds, but also to reassure you that the sweeling to your cheek would go down, and how you were still beautiful, and how much he adored your books.

"It was quite a miracle that you found me," You said one evening after Aemond had fed you your dinner. He let out a small, slightly nervous chuckle in response, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, it wasn't a miracle at all. I... as I... in a way... I was following you."

"Fo-following me?" You stammered out.

"Well it isn't exactly a secret that you were staying at Winterfell Lodge, you know, considering that I am your number one fan, but some nights I found myself driving there, sitting outside and just looking at the light in your cabin, knowing you were most likely creating another Misery masterpiece. I'd try to imagine what the world's greatest writer was creating." He replied, his voice light and airy, as though it was the most simple explanation.

"Can you say that last part again? I didn't quite hear..." You murmured, trying to brush off the fact he practically stalked you. Aemond just shot you a small smile in response.

"The world's greatest writer." He repeated before continuing. "Anyway, the other afternoon, when I was on my way home, there you were leaving the lodge. I must say I was curious as to why an intelligent woman such as yourself would go for a drive with a storm such as that approaching."

"I... didn't know there was going to be a storm like that..."

"Well, luckily I did," He replied. "And, it was lucky for me too. Because you're alive, and now you can write more incredible books. I've read absolutely everything you've written. I enjoyed your three standalone novels at the start of your career immensely, but the Misery series... I must say that they are my absolute favourite. I-I know them all by heart, all twelve of them. I love them, they helped me through my darkest times... through any obstacle I've faced in my life, I've managed to find solace with Misery.

You couldn't helped but feel touched by the way he spoke so fondly of your work, how he constantly sang your praises whenever he got the chance. The man was socially awkward it seemed, and perhaps rather shy at times, but he was still surprisingly charming.

"You're too kind..."

"And you're too brilliant," He replied. "You must be to create such a wonderful character like Misery." As he spoke, he traced a finger down your cheek. The swelling was gone, and the bruise was fading. He cleared his throat, hastily pulling his hand away and rising to your feet. "I'll um... just wash these dishes up." He said, seeming rather embarrassed all of a sudden. "I'm sure the road will be open soon, which means the phone lines will be back up in no time. But until they are, I'll kept trying so you can phone your agent."

He stopped when he reached the doorway, turning away from you, his hand hovering over the door knob.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Oh goodness no. I-I was just wondering if I could ask you a favour."

"I'm sure it's the least I could do after you've shown me such kindness." You replied, mustering a small smile that made his expression brighten.

"It's just that I noticed in your case there was a new manuscript..." He trailed off, hesitating slightly.

"You want to read it?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I do not mean to intrude."

"I usually only let three people read my new work this early," You replied, making his smile drop slightly. "And that's my editor, my agent... and the person who was kind enough to save me from dying in a car wreck."

"I... thank you," Aemond smiled. "You have no clue as to the gift you've given me and the gratitude I feel to you."

You shot him a smile, but that soon changed into a grimace as you winced from the pain.

Aemond glanced at his watch, hastily placing your empty plate on the bedside table before reaching into his pocket for the painkillers.

"It's like clockwork, the way your pain returns," He murmured, pressing a glass of water to your lips to help you swallow the pills. "The pain will subside soon. It will be okay," He sighed, placing his hand over yours as your expression twisted in discomfort.

"What's the title of your newly finished book?" He asked, trying to take your mind away from the pain.

"I'm not sure yet," You murmured. "I usually come up with the title after the final draft is finished. Perhaps after you read it, you'll have an idea or two."

Aemond's expression brightened again. "I will do my best not to let you down."

Days past, and soon enough Aemond could move you from the bed to a wheelchair. Your arm was healing nicely, as were your legs, despite there still being some time until the latter were properly healed. Aemond never failed to update your over his progress of the manuscript.

"I read chapter one, it was one of your best introductions to a Misery novel I have ever read..."

"Page twenty, I've reached. It's incredible how you can engage with the reader so quickly in the novel..."

"Page thirty, I had to force myself to put it down..."

It wasn't until one day when he came in with your lunch that something seemed a little... off, about Aemond.

"I know I'm only forty pages into the book..." He began in his usual tone. "But... oh I cannot criticise someone like you-"

"It's fine," You replied. "I can take it. Believe me, if I can deal with the critics, I'm sure I can handle whatever my number one fan has to say."

Aemond softly exhaled, keeping his gaze fixed on where he was cutting up your lunch. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"It is brilliantly written," Aemond admitted. "Although everything you write is brilliant. But... the swearing..."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The... swearing...?"

"Yes, the swearing. There, I said it!"

"It bothers you?"

"It is inappropriate. It has no nobility," He protested, sawing through the food on your plate.

"It is appropriate for the setting and background of the character speaking-"

Aemond stilled, his hands stopping from cutting your food for you. His head lifted to meet your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically cold.

"No. It isn't," He replied firmly, resuming to cutting your food, his gaze still focused on you. "What do you think people say when they go into the grocery shop in town. Give me a carton of those effing eggs and five slices of that bitchly roast chicken?"

You couldn't help but smile at his refrain from using the profanities, but it faltered as the cutting becoming more and more erratic.

"...And in the bank, do I tell Mr Lannister, here's one big bastard of a cheque, give me some of your darn money?"

You let out a nervous chuckle at his rants, but soon enough your ears were greeted by the grating sound of metal against china. He looked down, slamming the plate down on bedside table.

"There! See? Now see what you have made me do! These were my mother's plates! What she left me when she passed! And now, it's all scratched!"

His chest heaved as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. When they reopened, his good eye was full of shame and embarrassment.

"Oh... I'm so sorry... sometimes I can get so worked up I... oh, can you ever forgive me? Here..." He pressed your pills to your lips before picking up the plate, shooting you a rather overly sweet smile.

"I hope you can forgive me. Oh, Y/N... how I adore you. I mean... your mind. Your creativity... that is all I meant."

Several days passed, and Aemond's previous disposition had returned. He didn't lecture you over the choice of language used in the book, but still seemed disapproving nonetheless. He still cooked and fed you your meals, brushed your teeth, gave you your pills, praised you every waking moment he was with you. The phones were still apparently out, but he had assured you it was only a matter of time before they were up and running again. He had even managed to convince you to autograph his limited edition copy of your first Misery novel, promising to cherish it for the rest of his days.

He still gave you regular updates on reading your manuscript. At page 185, he expressed his sadness at being over halfway through. At page 300, he branded it better than perfect, that it was divine. He said it was more beautiful than any tapestry adorning the Red Keep. He had then introduced you to his pet snake, Vhagar, and his cat called... Misery.

And you had found out more about him.

How he had graduated top of his class from medical school, and how his peers and his family were constantly consumed with jealousy from his success. How they would attempt to belittle and mock him for his eye, and how in his lowest moment, his fiancée, Alys, had left him, but you had saved him with releasing your newest Misery novel some weeks later.

He had told you about the neglect from his father, his older brother's alcoholism and his mother's untimely death. He stiffened when he mentioned his eye, but you quickly changed the conversation and didn't bring it up again, not wanting to upset him by bringing up possible past trauma. And you had listened to him, consoled him over the misfortunes of his past, and he had expressed his gratitude in return.

And then he had left you to rest while he returned to finish the manuscript, which he had entitled Misery's Child.

The slam of your bedroom door awoke you from your doze, your eyes fluttering open to reveal Aemond staring down at you, his face ashen and jaw clenched.

He must have finished the book, it seemed.

"You... she cannot be dead," He murmured. "Misery cannot be dead!" He then exclaimed, voice rising. "How... how could you do this to me?"

"Women in that age... it was tragically common for them to die in childbirth, Aemond. I'm sure you know that. But you know, she will still be alive in... in spirit..."

"I do not want her spirit! I WANT HER! AND YOU MURDERED HER!" He yelled.

"I... I didn't kill her..."

"THEN WHO DID?"

"Nobody she... she passed away and..."

"She passed awa- she passed away?! No, Y/N, you did it. You killed her. You murdered my Misery."

He picked up the chair by your beside where he usually sat with you with ease despite it's weight, rising it in the air as if to strike it down on you before turning and throwing it against the wall. It shattered immediately upon impact, breaking into pieces on the floor.

"I... I thought you were good," He murmured, tone suddenly soft. "But you're not good. You're just a dirty, untrustworthy woman. I don't... I don't think I should be near you for a while..."

He walked to the door, and stopped to turn back to you.

"And don't even think about anybody coming for you. Not the doctors, your agent, your editor... I won't call them. I haven't called them and I never will. Nobody knows you're even here. And you better hope nothing ever happens to me... because if it does... you'll die."

After the click in the lock of your door, followed by the slamming of the front door and the revving of Aemond's car as it pulls away from the house, you let out the breath you didn't know you had been holding.

You were slightly shaken from Aemond's outburst, but tried to focus on what needed to be done, shifting to the other side of your bed and reaching out with your arm. It had come out of it's sling several days ago, and was now bandaged in a cast. You managed to grasp ahold of the armrest and pull it towards the best, shifting your body closer to the edge of the bed. Your legs screamed in agony as you manoeuvred yourself onto the wheelchair, but you persisted nonetheless, managing to sit down in the chair and wheel yourself towards the door. Reaching into your hair, you pulled out a hairpin Aemond had leant you, pushing it into the keyhole and soon enough hearing a click. Turning the knob, you pulled open the door and wheeled yourself out of the room, looking down the flight of stairs that blocked your way.

Letting out a deep sigh, you gripped the banister with one hand as you slowly steered yourself to the edge of the staircase.

"What have I got to lose?" You murmured, before wheeling the chair down the stairs.

The chair turned on its side as it crashed down the last step, but you managed to hoist yourself up again. You immediately tried grabbing a phone, but it turned out to be fake. You then discovered the windows bolted shut and both of the front and back doors having a second lock at the top, which you couldn't reach due to not being strong enough to stand just yet.

You wheeled yourself back into the living room, looking at the photographs placed on the drawers against the wall. There was Aemond as a young boy standing with his siblings and mother, his eye unharmed. Another showed him graduating medical school, a proud smile on his face. The third was him with his mother. And the fourth... was you.

He truly wasn't lying when he said he was your biggest fan.

Between the two photographs was a crystal dragon ornament, and beneath that was an emerald scrap book. You lifted the ornament carefully and grabbed the book, opened it.

The beginning seemed fairly normal. More photographs of his childhood and teen years. The was a photograph of him at what seemed to be a formal event with a women you only assumed was Alys. She was dressed in dark green, matching Aemond's tie, and you were sure she was very pretty, but you couldn't see her face due to the black ink scribbled over it, almost cutting through the photo. The next page was work related. More photographs and newspaper clippings of his medical success.

But turning the page was a different story entirely.

The first page contained a page of the newspaper, what seemed to be it's headline emblazoned in large capital letters.

'Doctor Aemond Targaryen arrested for the murder of nephew Lucerys Velaryon'

'Doctor Aemond Targaryen was arrested this morning, accused of the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Targaryen, 20, pleaded not guilty to the death of Velaryon, 16, under the accusation he had simply acted in self defence after his nephew attacked him with a knife and caused the disfigurement of his left eye'

And it only got worse as you read the following pages.

'Targaryen trial postponed until December 10.'

Accompanying the headlines were photographs of him standing in front of the courthouse with his lawyer, Larys Strong, a stony expression on his face.

'Targaryen declared innocent by jury, claims he was a victim of a malicious attack.'

'Shamed doctor Aemond Targaryen resigns from King's Landing hospice.'

You slammed the book shut, a sick feeling brewing in your stomach as you hastily placed the book in it's position with the ornament on top.

Wheeling yourself to the stairs, you gripped the banister and you pulled yourself up the stairs. Your arms ached, the muscle burning and sweat beading on your forehead as you persisted, refusing to let go and crash back down to the bottom again.

In time, you reached the top of the stairs, moving the wheelchair as quickly as you could, taking the pin out and moving towards the bed, when a slam of a car door stopped you in your tracks.

Aemond was back.

You knew he would enquire about the now unlocked door, but you could just pass it off by saying you urgently needed to use the bathroom. You also knew that you didn't have enough time to haul yourself back into bed, and so you did what you could, and threw yourself out of the chair and onto the floor, pushing the wheelchair away from you slightly as the front door opened, the rustling of paper bags being put on the table before the creaking of the stairs. There was a slight falter before he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

He knew it was unlocked.

"What happened?" He asked, voice laced with concern as he hurried over to you, lifting you into his arms and shushing your cry of pain as he placed you down in bed atop the covers. His glasses had been taken off, the brilliant blue of his good eye burning into you.

"I needed the bathroom, but I couldn't get back into bed I... I lost my balance and fell on the floor..." You lied, hoping that you managed to convince him that your story was true.

"You needed to use the bathroom?" He asked, receiving a nod from you in response.

"And you managed to get yourself on and off the toilet alright?"

Another nod.

He slowly nodded in response, and you let out a small sigh of relief, visibly relaxing at him seemingly believing your story.

"And... you managed to get down the stairs and into the living room without hurting yourself after picking your bedroom door lock?" He added, his tone still soft.

A little too soft.

"Aemond... I never..."

"And you managed to somehow drag yourself back upstairs into your room?"

"I... I don't..."

"The dragon ornament on top of my photograph album," He replied. "It was pointing the wrong way."

You opened your mouth to speak, but found yourself at a loss for words, you mouth dry and your blood running cold.

"It's okay," He murmured, running his thumb over your lower lip. "I shouldn't have scared you. I know I did. I frightened you, hm? Well for that I apologise. I will refrain from repeating that behaviour in the future." He added, leaning forward slightly. "You are so incredibly important to me, Y/N. I'm sure you know that. You saw the photograph downstairs..."

You tried to speak again but he quickly shushed you, the finger resting on your lip tracing down your jaw, your neck, across your collarbone. His pupil had dilated, his breath quickening slightly as his hand moved down to your chest, covered by one of his shirts he had given you, framing your body in a pale blue.

"You do not need to speak Y/N," He whispered, leaning closer still, one hand placed the other side of you, caging you against him. "You will only waste your energy..."

As he pressed his lips to yours, you knew you couldn't fight back. You were weaker with him even without your injuries, and with his erratic behaviour, and what you had discovered downstairs...

And so you let him deepen the kiss. You let him part your lips with his tongue. You let his hand wander down from fondling your breast to your waist, pulling the shorts you had on down to your knees.

You let him ever so gently part your legs, pressing a line of kisses along your upper thigh, and then pay the same attention to the other, his lips tracing your flesh that had been swollen with bruises the week before.

Did you even know how long you had been here?

Staring up at the same ceiling, being enclosed in those same four walls day after day had merged the days together.

And if you asked Aemond, would he tell you the truth?

You couldn't trust him, but you needed to stay alive. And if you had any hope of getting out of here alive, you needed to stay on his good side.

And so there you were, legs spread as Aemond lowered himself between them, his moans vibrating against you at your taste, his tongue circling your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you that was both pain and pleasure as your legs twitched slightly, a hand tangling in his silver locks.

You resented the way your legs squeezed around his head as he thrust two fingers into you, murmuring against you about how wet with want you were for him. Your body was betraying you, but you couldn't stop the way he was making you feel such pleasure. The mere curling of his fingers against your sweet spot, or the flick of his tongue against your swollen clit caused a string of breathy moans to leave you, and soon you found yourself coming undone. He drew his fingers out of you, replacing them with his tongue as he eagerly lapped at your release.

He sat back, lips glinting with your release. He reached forward, fingers parting your lips so you could taste yourself on him. He let out a satisfactory groan as you sucked on his fingers, allowing them to linger on your lips as he pulled away.

Pressing his lips to yours, he pulled your underwear and shorts back up to rest on your hips.

"I would love to go further with you, but I'll have to wait until you're back to your full strength. It may take some time... but I think I can manage with having your addictive taste on my tongue until I can truly claim you as mine. You'd like that, hm?"

"I..." You let out a deep breath. This man was unhinged. He'd break your ankles with a sledgehammer before letting you leave. You knew that your best chance to survive this, was to play along. Allow Aemond to believe that you were beginning to reciprocate his affections for long enough so he could let down his walls and nurse you back to health so you could escape.

"I would like that..." You murmured, looking away to feign embarrassment.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, my darling Y/N." Aemond replied, looking at you with such fondness, you wouldn't have believed he was a murderer. He paused for a moment. "This may not be the best time, but I have a surprise for you. In the other guest room."

"Oh... okay..."

"If you want to wait another day, as disappointing as that would be-"

"No, I can see it now," You hastily replied as to not flair that nasty temper up again. He smiled warmly in response, stepping towards you as you reached for the wheelchair, but he instead lifted you into your arms bridal style, walking you away from the chair and towards the bedroom door. Instinctively, you wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, your head resting against his shoulder.

He pushed open the door with his foot, giving you another overly sweet smile as he proudly declared "It's your new studio. I set it up last night. I just needed to get the typewriter and paper, which are downstairs."

"But... w-why..."

"You need a place to work, after all," He interrupted you, placing you down on the desk chair. "All writers need a place to work."

"B-but... what would I write?" You asked.

Aemond smirked at you, walking over to where a trashcan sat in the far corner of the room. The clang as it landed on the floor echoed around the room as he dropped it at your feet, your manuscript discarded in it.

"You want me... to burn my book?" You looked up at him in disbelief.

"I know this may be difficult to you," Aemond nodded, reaching into his back pocket and bringing out a box of matches.

"I... I can't..."

"Yes. You can," Aemond's voice was firm. "You can do this. Do it. Now."

Your hands began to tremble as he pressed the matchbox into them, pouring lighter fluid into the trashcan.

"I know this is the only copy," He continued. "You always only write one copy at first. When you were eighteen, you wrote your first book and you didn't make a single copy. Because you didn't think anybody would take it seriously. But they did. And you kept that tradition because it's a superstition to you, and you don't want to make a copy in fear of it being rejected. I'm trying to help you can't you see that?" His voice was steadily rising as his agitation grew, making the tremble in your hands worsen.

"I just want to help you. Why won't you let me help-"

As he spoke, you hastily lit one of the matches and threw it in the trashcan, the manuscript exploding into flame.

And as Aemond lovingly kissed your forehead, murmuring how proud he was of you for being so strong, all you could do was stare at the flames consuming your work, your own masterpiece.

"Now you can go back to doing what you're great at," Aemond murmured, a hand resting on your shoulder. "You can write a new novel, your greatest achievement ever... Misery's return."

He knelt down by you, a finger hooking beneath your chin, turning your head to meet his gaze. "I know you didn't mean it when you killed her. And now you can make it right. You can even write it in my honour, as a thanks for saving your life and nursing you back to health." He leaned forward so his breath was tickling your ear, his hand now resting on your thigh. "Although there are also other ways you can repay that debt to me."

"And you... you expect me to write something up just like that?" You asked.

"I expect nothing less than a masterpiece from you," He replied reassuringly, pressing another kiss to you, this time on the cheek. "I have the upmost faith in you my darling... I know you won't let me down... and if you do... we'll just have to start again. And again. And again... you won't try to escape, will you?"

"O-of course not. I... wouldn't dream of it."

Aemond hummed in approval. "I know you won't," He whispered, kissing you on the lips before standing up. "No one will come for you. If they do... I won't let them take you. If they try to take you from you, or if you do try to leave..." He said, opening a storage closet and reached inside, brandishing a sledgehammer. "There are other ways of keeping you here... with me... forever..."

Masterlist

#Aemond Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen imagine #House of the dragon #House of the dragon x reader #House of the dragon imagine #Spooktober

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sailorholly · 1 year

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Strictly Business Pt 6

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Smut. 18+ only.

Minors DNI. Typical Criminal Minds stuff.

W/C: 1K

Strictly Business Masterlist

You felt like such a badass when you captured the unsub. You reached for your handcuffs, when you realized he lured you into a false sense of security. He turned around, grabbing your wrists and throwing you to the ground.

Your heart raced, panic surged through you. You were supposed to wait for backup, but you were afraid you would lose him if you didn’t go for it. You brace yourself for impact as his foot reared back, ready to kick you in the ribs. You open your eyes when you hear footsteps running toward you.

Spencer grabbed the unsub, slinging him against the brick wall. “Get away from her.” He commanded. You shouldn’t be this turned on. Not in this situation. But Spencer was incredibly sexy when he was protecting you.

You watched as he handcuffed the unsub, tilting his head toward you to ask if you were okay. When he was loaded into the back of the police car, Spencer pulled you in for a hug. “I was so worried about you. Please don’t do anything reckless like that again.”

On the way home, everyone was exhausted. It was a four hour plane ride home. It was already late when you left, so everyone was asleep except for you and Spencer. You were reading one of your romance novels together. You just got to the part where the Viking took his bride to bed for the first time. Your breathing grew more ragged with every detail.

You glance at Spencer who was reading over your shoulder. He waited patiently for you to finish and turn the page. His eyes were heavy with lust. You place your hand on his thigh, moving it toward his growing erection. He captures your wrist in his large hand. “Not here. Meet me in the bathroom in three minutes.” He growls into your ear.

You squeeze your thighs together trying to suppress your desire as he walks to the bathroom on the back of the jet. The anticipation was killing you. You had been turned on since Spencer came to your rescue earlier. You checked your phone often. Time seemed like it wasn’t even passing.

Finally, three minutes had passed. You make your way to the bathroom, trying not to run. You walked by your sleeping colleagues who were none the wiser. You open the door, finding Spencer waiting on the other side. He pulls you in, closing the door as silently as possible.

He turns the lock upwards ensuring your privacy. His soft lips are on you before you can blink. You lean into the kiss, letting your hands travel up his arms and down his back. You shove him against the wall, your fingers finding the button on his pants and undoing it.

You palm his hard length through his boxers and he looks down at you. You sink to your knees in front of him, hands working to free him. You take him between both hands, noticing how they don’t fit all the way around him. You guide his throbbing cock into your mouth. You wrap your lips around him, tracing the veins with your tongue as he slides to the back of your throat.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder as you flick your tongue against him. He moans your name, hands coming down to hold your head. Hearing him come undone because of you makes you feel primal. You scoot closer on your knees. The floor is so hard, you know you will have bruises later. You swallow around him, remembering how much he liked it last time.

You meet his gaze as he runs his hand over your exposed throat. You moan around his length, wondering if he could feel himself inside. You gag when he hits too deep. Tears filling your eyes as you choke. You try again, taking him deeper. You speed up your pace when you hear his breathing become ragged. Your hands wrap around his thighs, tugging him closer.

He places a slender finger under your chin, tilting your face up. “Swallow.” He orders as you feel him spill down the back of your throat, you take every drop, never breaking eye contact. You release him with a pop, then pull the tip back in to lick it clean. He helps you up, and you look at him incredulously.

You loved how confident he was becoming. A few weeks ago, Spencer would have never told you to swallow when he came. Your panties were destroyed. He switches positions with you, pressing your back against the wall as he towers over you.

You hold your breath as Spencer lowers himself, getting on his knees before you. He reaches up your skirt, pulling your panties down your legs. He feels how wet you are, your arousal dripping down your thighs. He smirks, “You’re so wet for me already. I haven’t even touched you yet. Did choking on my cock turn you on?” You could get used to the dirty talk. This new sexually confident Spencer would be the death of you.

He lifts your skirt up to your waist, spreading your legs apart. “I need you to be quite. Can you do that for me?” You nod in agreement, knowing it was easier said than done. Spencer’s nose brushes your clit, and you whimper.

He stops immediately, looking up at you. “I’ll have to stop if you’re too loud. You don’t want that, do you?” You were so desperate, you would agree to anything if it meant he would get you off. “Please Spencer, don’t stop. I can be quiet, I promise. Just please don’t stop.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” He says lowering his head again. He grabs your thigh, lifting it over his shoulder giving him better access. His slick tongue swirls in fast circles against you. He memorized what you like, and he used it against you every time. Normally he would take his time, savoring you.

But, there was not time for that. You had to rush, just in case someone woke up. His soft lips lock around your clit, tugging with the perfect pressure. A cry of his name escapes your lips, you look down thinking he will stop. His hand closes around your mouth to muffle the sound instead.

You watch as his head moves between your thighs, messy curls going in every direction. You can’t help your moaning as he sucks harder. His hand presses more firmly against your mouth, and you shatter into a million pieces. His unrelenting tongue glides over you, drinking down every drop.

Spencer stands up, walking over to your long forgotten panties on the floor. He picks them up, tucking them away in his pocket. “You go first. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You pull your skirt down, smoothing the wrinkles before walking out. You almost expect the whole team to be waiting on the other side of the door.

You sigh in relief when you make it back to your seat, and no one has seemed to move. A few minutes go by, and Spencer returns taking his place beside you. You grab a blanket off the side of your seat, draping it over both of you.

He lays his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes. Your rest is interrupted when Rossi sits up, looking at both of you. “Finally! I thought you were going to be in there the rest of the trip.” He jumps up, sprinting to the bathroom. You and Spencer share an amused look, before bursting into laughter.

Part Seven

Tags (cont. in comments)

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @modern-mermaid @analethicia @marimorena06 @ghostheartbeat @clownprincess09 @thebiggestscamislife @whistle1whistle @lockwoods-coat-and-reids-vests @twsssmlmaa @cynbx @padlockedhearts @wheredafandomat @salempoe @emarich7 @itzdarling @anonymously-ominous @vivian-555 @cashtons-wife @regulus-black-223048 @nomajdetective @dazedgye @jesuisbenny @flowersforcheol @simpingforharryandcevans @misacc08 @wowzabowza69 @spencvrr @the-uncoordinated-house-cat @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @academiareid @nikkisheep @dephylirium @panhoeofmanyfandoms @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @wildernessflora @mypurplecrocs @idkbubs @ajstarkpetrova

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid cm #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid criminal minds #strictly business

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writingquestionsanswered · 9 months

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Hi, I wanted to ask if you have any tips on how to put together a time schedule for writing a book. I tried to create one several times but always ended up with task paralysis since I didn't know what to do and how to time it. Do you have any advice? One of my goals is to at least write one book next year and without a schedule, I'm afraid I will lose sight of what I should do.

Schedule for Writing a Book

There's no universal timetable for writing a book. There are a million variables that play a role into how fast someone can write a book. Their personal writing speed, their level of experience, what they're writing and how long it will be, how much time they can put toward writing, and what they're aiming for (finished first draft, polished final draft, published book...) That said, there's really no way to come up with a timetable that will be reasonable for everyone.

Plot and structure are more important than a timetable. Even if there was a reasonable timetable for writing a book, that wouldn't really help you if you don't understand how stories work. If you were trying to build a house, I could say it will take a week to lay the foundation, and another month to frame the house and install the roof, and another month to install plumbing and electrical, and another month for insulation and drywall, but if you don't know how to do any of those things, that timetable doesn't help you. You need to learn how to actually lay a foundation, frame a house, install a roof, etc. if you want to actually build the house. Writing a novel is the same way. Before you can worry about a timetable, you have to learn how stories work.

Consider utilizing a book that will teach you plot and story structure while also helping you to plot out and structure your novel. There are all different ideas about how stories work and how to best plot and structure a novel, so there are a lot of really great books and workbooks out there that will help you do this. I'm a big fan of Save the Cat! Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody. Structuring Your Novel by K.M. Weiland is another good one, and it has an accompanying workbook. The Plot Whisperer by Martha Alderson is another one and it also has a workbook. You can also find printable novel planners on Etsy, often for less than 10 or 20 dollars.

If I had to give you a ballpark, totally arbitrary timetable, and assuming you have at least 3-5 hours a day to spend on writing, I would say you should probably plan to spend about a month plotting and planning, another month or two writing a zero draft or rough draft, another month or two reading through and revising that draft, another month or so with betas, another month or so revising, and another month or so editing and polishing. That gives you some wiggle room if you overshoot any of those estimates.

You can also "Weird Science" a timetable for yourself by taking a week or two to time yourself on various stages of story planning and writing. Start by finding a writing prompt that really inspires you. Then, time how long it takes (how many minutes spent) planning what you're going to write. Then, time how many minutes you spend actually writing. Finally, time how many minutes you spend editing and polishing. Now, math that out in conjunction with the length of your story. So, let's say you wrote a 5k word story and it took you 180 minutes to plot, 240 minutes to write, and 120 minutes to edit. So, for example, you plotted at 28 words per minute, so it would take you roughly 2500 minutes (41 hours) to plot a 70k word story. You wrote 21 words per minute, so it would take you roughly 3,333 minutes (56 hours) to write a 70k word story. And again, this is super rough, super ballpark but it can help give you a general idea of how long it might take you to actually do these things. But, again, it also depends a lot on what you're actually writing, what your level of experience is, etc.

My biggest tip for getting the work done is to use time blocking to help make sure you get the writing done. Essentially, each week you'll look at all your waking hours each day and block out the ones when you know you won't be able to write, such as the hours when you're at work or school. Then, schedule yourself for writing time in the available hours and make sure you stick to it. You may find yourself having to be really honest with yourself and do some serious prioritizing. For example, if you normally spend 2-3 hours a night playing video games, but you only have 3 hours of free time each night, you're not going to be able to spend 2-3 hours playing video games AND an hour or two writing.

Above all else, be gentle with yourself. Probably one of my biggest writing-related takeaways of 2023 was the brain science behind being overwhelmed by writing. So often, we put so much pressure on ourselves to meet goals, and get so frustrated with ourselves when we fail, that we end up making writing time something that fills us with anxiety. So our brains perceive that activity as a threat, which makes us want to avoid it. That said, make reasonable goals and set a reasonable timetable, but be very gentle with yourself if you struggle to stick to the timetable or meet your goals. Focus on the things you did accomplish, no matter how small and celebrate those accomplishments. Know that every little thing you do helps to move the needle forward a bit.

Happy writing and best wishes!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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sunwarmed-ash · 6 months

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Heyyyooo! Another huge milestone for me, I finally fucking finished The Eden Club! Clocking in at 95,652 words, I have officially finished my 3rd novel length fanfic!! phew! If you haven't checked it out yet and want to get sucked into some slow burn, drama, and smut between our fav Detroit PD members, click below 😈😘

The Eden Club

Fandom: Detroit Become Human Ships: Hankconvin, hankvin, hankcon, convin, Connor/V, Connor/Multiple OC's Tags: Post-Android Revolution-Negative Public Opinion, Slow Burn, Consensual Sex Worker Connor, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory, Porn With Plot

Don't forget to leave a comment, and if you feel inclined to tip me you can do so on my kofi! My next goal is getting speechify for another year because it has been helping DRAMATICALLY with my editing -> post speed!

and if you've already read this one, *opens trenchcoat full of fanfic* I got more over here and @tentoriumcerebelli drew this delicious piece of fanart for TEC

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yanderederee · 1 year

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MangaMayhem

MiniMemories

March14th, 2004

:before…› here! › next! › …

For the next four months, Baji Keisuke has found himself in many frustrating situations.

Chronologically; once Ryusei caught hook of Baji’s interest in you, he was over the moon. He thought it was hilarious.

The Baji Keisuke: The mad dog of Toman, 1st Division Attack fleet Captain…

… turning into a tame lapdog under your scowl.

Chifuyu enabled this, especially when you agreed to tutor him as well. You were encouraging, putting together the most detailed of study packets together. How you made flash cards with cute doodles on some of them for hints or reminders.

… had you not already been spoken for, he would have fell in love on day one.

However, Chifuyu, above anything else, was Baji’s right hand man. Chifuyu would never intentionally disrespect him like that.

—unless—

Your reputation took a bit of a dip anytime you were seen around school with them, so Baji became more strict of his friends’ boundaries. He couldn’t have your name getting out to a rival gang somewhere. He couldn’t risk you finding out his underground reputation.

That’s the part that always confused Baji.

Baji was confident in who he was. He would chew anyone out for daring to say any different.

Yet the thought of you seeing him in toman garb,

his fists red and angry,

the face of bloodlust taking his features to terrifying heights,

the things he prided himself in!

He felt scared.

Baji didn’t have the emotional maturity to really explain the reason for this reaction.

He just really wanted you to like him, even if it meant hiding who he really was, becoming soft, if only for a few minutes.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

“Come on Baji, you can be honest with me!” Chifuyu mused loudly, still pulling manga out from the box he dragged up two floors of apartment stairs.

“You’re a dumbass.” Baji spat at the blonde, releasing Peke J from his hold once he was finally brushed through. Having an outdoor cat means taking care of their coat more often than usual.

Not like Sango, who was stuck being a indoor ball of energy. He was more surprised that his mom was so easy to convince after mentioning how he’d come across the injured cat.

No, Sango’s coat was fluffy and was inconvenient for his black wardrobe. But instead of blaming Sango, he simply bought a pack of lint rollers which were in every room of the apartment now.

“I don’t mean that honest,” Chifuyu snapped his fingers to get Baji’s attention back. “Just read the damn mangas!” He ordered with a confident grin. “Anything that’s confusing you, I’m sure you can find a solution among these babies!”

Finally looking at what brightly colored manga was being shoved in his hand, Baji instinctively threw the novel full speed into Chifuyu’s forehead.

“What the hell?!” Chifuyu screamed, covering his nose with whiny protest. “What the hell is right! Don’t give me that crap! You know I ain’t interested in that kinda stuff!” Baji scowled his friend, face red.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but after some gourmet peiyan yakisoba, and a few bribes later, Baji finally agreed to read the first three manga volumes. Chifuyu could be very convincing, after all.

Shojo manga were never really his thing. The fighting was too mellow and no one had the balls to actually say what they meant.

He thought it was so Lame.

But Chifuyu knows what kind of person Keisuke Baji was. He was kind and protective, misleadingly rude at times, but gentle when it mattered. Chifuyu did his research, and picked a select few golden titles amongst his collection.

The perspective of the titles he so gingerly picked were from the male gaze, and their thought process when falling in love with the female lead.

So lame.

Baji wanted to be bored, if only to spite his over dramatic underclassman. But fate be damned, when he actually sat through it, he became invested.

He accidentally finished first volume in twenty minutes. How the hell could it leave off on a cliff hanger though? Keisuke wanted to chalk it up to shitty writing but when he reached for the second volume it kicked in.

“No way! You read that way too fast! Com’on!” Chifuyu roared, accusing his friend of not actually reading it.

Baji lazily read through it a second time, taking in the words and considering things that made him feel the same way. It was so lame to waste so much time trying to relate to a dumbass who can’t even talk to some chick.

Yet there he was, middle of a page when a pang echoed in his chest.

The plot Chifuyu had picked follows a Male Lead who was born with a scary face, making it so no one would get close to him; who then meets a girl from the neighboring school. She is kind, and only sees him for his kind heart, helping him learn what it means to feel romantic love.

(“The Fragrant Flower Blooms with Dignity”!! Please read !!!!! )

… And in this particular scene, the female lead gently admits ‘that was actually really cool!’ when he had scared off the group of guys who tried to attack the girl.

Do girls think being scary is cool?

Baji glared at Chifuyu, who was excitedly waiting for his reactions. “This is bullshit,” he rolled his eyes.

“No way! The hell you saying that for?!” The blond retorted.

“I didn’t want to say it but honestly Baji…” Chifuyu shook his head. “…you’re the real dumbass.”

You are here… › next! › …

#FragileDearest #tokyo revengers #baji keisuke #tokyo revengers x reader #baji #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x y/n #baji x reader #tokyorev chifuyu #matsuno chifuyu #chifuyu x reader #tokyo revengers chifuyu #tokyo revengers ryusei #ryusei satou #letter from keisuke baji #a letter from baji

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dduane · 1 year

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Hi there! I'm not sure if this is something you've talked about before in another post, but I just finished the first draft of my first novel, and I was wondering if you could talk about what your experience was like getting your first novel edited and published. I have this story that I'm excited about but no idea what to do with it now that I've reached "The End," do you have any advice on what my next step ought to be towards eventually getting it published? Thanks in advance!

First of all: thanks for asking. ...And now I have to warn you that I am possibly one of the worst possible people to ask about what their first novel's publication looked like... as it was completely atypical.

Not that that's going to stop me, mind you. (And you know what? I'm inserting a cut here, because this goes on a bit. Warning: contains [calculated] dissing by old friends, pulp non-fiction, unexpurgated language, unexpected awards nominations, and advice that's worth just what you're paying for it.)

What happened with me and my first book goes like this:...

In the late 1970s I was starting to burn out on psychiatric nursing, and was offered a job as assistant to the novelist and Star Trek ["The Trouble with Tribbles"] writer David Gerrold. I took it happily, as I was in a place in my life where I really needed some kind of change. The work with David was part-time; I also occasionally did special duty nursing shifts to help make ends meet.

Now during this period, I was writing for my own amusement (as I'd been doing all my life from about age eight onward). Right then I was working on a project I'd been tinkering with from my late high school years right through college, nursing school, and my first couple/few years of practice as an RN. This was the background worldbuilding for a vaguely Tolkienesque, somewhere-between-late-Medieval-and-early Renaissance fantasy scenario featuring a couple of moderately unusual magic systems, a sexually diverse culture, and a pair of "These Two Idiots"-style protagonists with complex interleaving problems.

While I was working for David, I had a lot of opportunity to observe, close up, what the life and workflow of a career writer looked like. Slowly, over a year or so, the realization crept up on me that what David was doing, I could do too. And it was at this point that I finally admitted to him that I thought I might want to write as well.

David's (as I later discovered, extremely calculated) eyeroll could probably have been seen from space. "Oy, not another one," he moaned. After which I went away from the abortive conversation pretty much resolved never to speak to him about this again... but also with a single thought filling my brain: You fucking supercilious sonofabitch, I'm going to show you that I'm not just another one.

...I'll never be able to thank him enough for that. Fury can be so motivating. :)

In the aftermath I got busy pulling together my background material with much more focused intent, and beating the most significant parts of it into something that started looking like a plot. It came together with surprising speed and unnerving insistence—one of the very few times in my career when a project, once begun, has simply flung me into the writing chair and insisted that it was the most important thing in my life and needed handling now. And when in the fullness of time David went on vacation, leaving me to house-sit at his place in LA, I immediately started using his very early computer to transcribe my novel's so-far-only-handwritten draft material.

I took what I thought was considerable care to cover my tracks... but not quite enough. On his return from vacation, when he was putting out the trash, David found some of my discarded draft pages, read them, and confronted me (with a certain amount of friendly teasing) about what had been going on. Then he said to me, "What I've seen of this thing doesn't look too bad. Let me see it when you're finished, and if it looks good enough, I'll ask one of my publishers if they want to take a look at it."

So that's what happened. I finished my first draft and a polish of it in about six weeks, and passed it to David. He read it and immediately handed it on to his editors at Dell, who were just starting a fantasy line for which they needed product. Two weeks later, they said they liked the novel and made an offer, which I accepted. Not a vast amount, but respectable enough. So there it was, my first sale: this book. Which then got me nominated two years running for the Astounding Award, and opened the door for the sale and publication of So You Want To Be A Wizard, as well as my earliest Star Trek work and my entry into the animation world.

I remember very little about the editing process, except that it was painless. What was not exactly painless was the book's cover, about which...well, the less said here the better. But the book came out to generally good reviews. So, with this series of events behind it, you can see why as regards first-publication stories, I'm a first-class outlier and should definitely not be counted. (Also to be avoided by new writers if at all possible: the experience of having half their strongly-selling first novel's initial print run pulped in the warehouse* because it was taking up room needed by a new book by a world-famous novelist.) (Whom I have long since forgiven, since it wasn't his fault, and...well, what can you do? Shit happens.)

...Anyway, that's more than enough about me. Now let's talk about you.

My first advice about what to do with the novel you've just finished? Stick it in a drawer (literally or figuratively speaking, whichever suits your case better) and don't look at it for at least a month. Two would be better. You can spend those two months thinking about your next moves... because you need to give those some consideration before you do anything else.

The question that you first need to answer is going to at least partially shape what you do next. And it's this:

Are you seriously considering making a career out of writing?

It's not that it can't be done! Of course it can. But it won't be easy... not at all. Anyone who tells you it will is either just outright lying through their teeth, or trying to sell you something. ...Or both.

Be honest with yourself as you consider this. If you aren't, you may be letting yourself in for considerable pain over a prolonged period... and I'd sooner you were spared that, if you can be. In particular, be clear about the difference between the statements "I want to write" and "I want to be a writer." Often enough people like the sound of the lifestyle and what they see as going with it—the signings, the book tours (physical or virtual), the interviews, the best-seller lists—without any real concept of the grueling, day-to-day, weekends-are-for-other-people, why-am-I-making-less-than-minimum-wage-most-of-the-time labor that underpins it.

If you simply want to write and be published—without the concept of a career necessarily being involved, or the lovely shimmering dreamlike vision of Giving Up The Day Job—you now have work pathways available to you that would've been unimaginable in the previous century. Self-publishing makes it possible for you to get your work in front of many, many eyes without necessarily having to submit yourself to the specific set of trials that go with achieving the initial stages of an intended career. Selfpubbing still has significant unique challenges of its own, of course, which have to be evaluated so that you can tell (as the commercials say) if they're right for you.

But if you're thinking of a career in what's usually being referred to these days as "traditional publishing", then you face a number of challenges that don't necessarily come with the self-publishing end of things. In particular: many publishing houses no longer consider manuscripts that come to them un-agented. So you're going to need to find an agent who's willing to represent your work... and this is a task that no longer looks anything like what it did when I found mine. (Or rather, when he found me, having been recommended to me by one of my editors. I've been with him for even longer than I've been with @petermorwood... and that's saying something. But this is yet another way in which my career's been wildly atypical.)

There is so much that could be said about this subject alone—the business of researching agencies to see which one seems like a good fit for you, the art of writing the perfect query letter to get their attention focused on a given book, and so much more—that I could hardly begin to even skim the surface of it here. There are whole websites devoted to shopping for agents, not to mention how to pitch yourself and your work to a given literary agency.

Let me leave this whole subject here for the moment. We can come back to it another time, because right now you need to be thinking this through. ...This I'll say, however. For the past six to nine months I've been pulling together links to various online resources that can be beneficial to new writers just getting started. These will be available as posts over at the FicFoundry.com site that I'm going to be bringing online before summer. I'm hoping to build that into kind of a compendium site or clearing house for online resources on this subject. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, thanks for inquiring about this. You're standing at the first branching of what I'm hoping will be, for you at least, a fascinating variant of the Choose Your Own Adventure genre. :)

More on this later.

("Wait. Did she just call us idiots??")

*Now that we live in the era of just-in-time warehousing, this is something that fortunately doesn't happen much any more... as far as I know. But once upon a time, if somebody's new best-seller was going to the warehouse in its many thousands of copies, and your relatively-less-well-selling book was taking up space that could be used by the other author's "more valuable"/higher-priced titles, your books (5-10K of them, in my case) were simply thrown into a machine and turned into papery mush. And these go on your sales record as "unsold copies". (sigh) Some discussion of this phenomenon can be found over here.

#advice #writing advice #career stories

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drivinmeinsane · 1 year

Text

Wild Country (Part 2)

SIERRA SIX × F!READER

Part 1

Part 2 (This one)

Part 3 (coming soon)

*Summary: Six is running on empty in more ways than one when he pulls into that gas station out west. He just wants to make sure he and Claire survive when he does the unexpected and says he'll take on the job as a ranch hand. It was a position offered rhetorically and out of frustration, but damn if he doesn't fit the bill of what you need.

*Content/tags: Slow burn, Pining, Movie canon compliant, No use of Y/N, Cowboy!Six, Adoptive Daughter!Claire, no need to have read the books

*Rating: 18+ for future mature content

*Status: Ongoing

*Author's Notes: The burn is still burning slow, but we're getting there folks.

The drive from their motel to the cattle ranch is a short enough trip, but it's an uncomfortable one. The roads are pitted gravel at best and crater pocked dirt at the worst. Any time he glances over, he can see Claire holding anything she can get her hands on. Hitting one particularly large, unavoidable rut just about knocks the air out of him and causes her to let out a yelp and grab his forearm hard enough to leave the half moon indents of her nails in his skin. He holds back the wince of discomfort.

His grip on the steering wheel loosens in silent relief when he makes the turn onto the winding driveway. They pass a couple rolling acres dotted with horses. Claire has both her hands on the window ledge now, her death grip on Six's arm forgotten as she stares out the window. He hadn't expected her to be captivated by the animals, but he supposes that it's a novel experience for her. Being the niece of a CIA handler and having a heart condition surely led to a mundane life spent locked away. Six feels a pang in his chest when he thinks about Fitz. He should be the one with Claire, not him.

The drive opens up into a dead end parking lot. On his right is a massive barn, on his left are a couple of bunkhouses, but it's straight ahead that catches his attention. You had said to park in front of the large, white house, so he does, pulling right next to a green truck that he had noticed at the gas station. The truck settles into park with the enthusiasm of a reanimated corpse finally allowed to rest again. Six pushes the door open and wrestles it closed behind him. He's greeted by a large, rust colored dog. It stands in front of him, panting expectantly. He ignores it in favor of ducking down to speak into the truck's cabin, one arm casually resting on top of the vehicle.

"Let's go find my new boss."

Claire gives him one of her skeptical looks and shoves her own door open with a dramatic sigh. He's surprised it doesn't fall off its hinges. He feels the dog's hot breath against his knees and inches around the animal to join his adoptive daughter at the tailgate.

"What's the plan? Is there even anyone here? I th-oh!" Her voice cuts off as she spots the dog. She crouches down and enthusiastically starts petting it. He supposes that the dog is pleased with the arrangement if the lolling tongue and kicking back leg are any indication.

He watches on in silence for a moment before he hears banging noises and a loud whinny from the barn. He looks in that direction and gives Claire a quiet "Hey". He makes a gesture for her to follow him when she looks up at him. The dog runs ahead of them as they crunch over the gravel before impatiently doubling back to match their speed.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're kneeling next to one of your horses when you hear the scuff of feet and scrabbling of dog nails. You finish velcroing the sports medicine boot in place before you stand up. Your mare nudges your arm and snorts when you don't produce a treat despite having a bucket of grain with a few mouthfuls left. You absently run a hand down her face as you turn to face the people coming into your barn.

You're greeted with the sight of the gas station man and whom you presume is the daughter he had mentioned. The ranch dog is wagging his tail furiously as he stops next to the girl, pressing in close for the pets she provides him. He's clearly smitten with her.

"Come on over." You call.

The man, Six, makes piercing eye contact as he approaches. His arms are casually at his sides but there's tension in his broad shoulders. The girl is right on his heels, nearly tripping over both her dad and the dog. She's clearly nervous but there's a look of fascination on her face. Her skin is pale, almost translucent like she hasn't had much sun exposure.

Your prospective ranch hand is a formidable presence up close. He's tall enough that you have tip your head back to make eye contact. You feel a little like an insect under a magnifying glass with the way he stands over you, running analyzing eyes over your face. You brush it off and square up to him like you would to one of your cow horses. You were long since used to winning the respect of larger animals. You weren't about to squirm.

"Sierra." You say, offering your hand.

He takes it immediately, no reservations about the horse sweat and grime coating it. He says your name in the same tone you said his. His hand is warm and calloused in yours. There's strength in his grip that you can clearly feel even from such a brief clasp. You offer the same hand to the girl. She takes it. You give her a smile you didn't give her father.

"Any friend of Winston here is a friend of mine." You say brightly, gesturing down at the dog doing his best to wiggle into the middle of things.

"Must have a lot of friends then." Her response is fast. She's clever, confident through her nerves.

"Surprisingly not. You must be special." You say. "So what's your name, honey?"

"Claire."

There's a sharp intake of air from the man next to her. You cut your eyes at him. There's a flash of worry on his face that gets smoothed over so quickly you almost wondered if you imagined it. Something was off about this situation, but the girl seemed to trust the man implicitly. None of your own instincts were dreaming danger either. Strange. Winston and the mare behind you weren't agitated by his presence either.

"Well, Claire, it's nice to meet you. How about I give you two the tour and we'll go from there?"

Six gives an agreeable nod and his daughter's face lights up. You double check the quick release knot securing your horse to the tie ring. You can feel his gaze like a physical hand on your back. It takes everything in you to not involuntarily shiver under the imaginary weight. You give the black mare a pat that's more reassuring to you than to her before you turn around to meet that heavy gaze head on.

"After you." His voice is like velvet, rich and promising.

You fight down the urge to swallow thickly at the sound of his voice and begin the overview of the property.

───※ ·❆· ※───

He and Claire follow you for the better part of an hour. His eyes tend to wander more towards you than the surroundings you're explaining. There's something appraising in the way he watches you. It's nothing like the looks you've gotten from some of your other ranch hands. Their stares make your skin crawl at times, but his... well, it has you wanting to crawl in an entirely different way.

"How many others are there?"

The question catches you off guard. The three of you are standing in front of the bunkhouse you told him he would be staying in. He's been so silent throughout the tour that you had nearly forgotten what he sounds like.

"There's three. Dallas, Jimmy, and Charles. We had four, but one of them decided to light out about a week ago."

"Why did he leave?"

"Conflict of interests." There's more steel in your voice than you intended, but Six gives an accepting nod and changes the topic.

"What about my daughter?"

"Oh! Right, yes. She'll be staying in the main house with me and Suzanne, the property owner. Claire's a minor and not under contract so I don't want to toss her in with you and the other men. If that's alright with you?"

"Good." His tone is warm. "She has a pacemaker. I worry about her. Having her safe is my priority." He has a softer presence when he speaks about Claire.

"Good dad. I'll introduce you after I put you through your test. As long as you find everything suitable, I'd like to see how you are on a horse."

He agrees, and your small party tramps back over to the barn to where you left your horse waiting patiently. She rumbles when she sees you cross the threshold. Claire's interest is at its peak and she's nearly vibrating.

"Here." You say, pulling a treat out of your pocket. You press it into her hand. "Show her your empty hand and then close your fingers and offer it to her to sniff. If she bumps it with her nose, you can pet her."

She follows your directions to the letter and is soon petting the animal. You beckon her father over closer and step out of the way to give them room to interact with the mare. He's got such a tender look on his face while looking at his daughter that your breath catches for a moment.

"Claire, if you hold your hand out flat and under her nose, she'll take that treat from you now that you've gotten acquainted." Your tone is casual and you avoid looking at the man's face again

"Oh!" She laughs a bit as the horse's whisker's skim over her palm.

"Her name is Belladonna. Sierra, she'll be the horse I test you out on. If everything goes well, the two of you will be partners during the term of your contract."

He nods and that's that. You quickly swap the mare's halter for her bridle and then you and Claire are soon leaning against the indoor area railing watching Six swing a leg over the Quarter Horse's back and settle into the saddle. He rides well enough. You watch him as he urges Belladonna to a walk. His hands are gentle on the reins and he's well balanced in the saddle. He's definitely not spent long hours and days mounted, but he's not the worst you've ever seen ride. Some of your own ranch hands have been hired with a worse seat.

"Bring her to a jog and have her circle those cones." You call to him.

He raises a hand in acknowledgment and clicks to the horse. She tosses her head in excitement and gives a little cowhop. There's barely any movement or surprise from her rider, he's got a natural grace to him that automatically shifts and sways to accommodate the mare's movements. He does what you ask of him and before long you're calling him back over to dismount. His feet barely hit the ground before you're pulling the folded contract out of your shirt pocket. He turns to face you and the two of you both start speaking.

"Are you ready to-"

"I'm not too exper-"

There's a brief silence only accompanied by Belladonna's swishing tail and Winston panting happily as Claire scratches between his ears.

"You go first." Six says, encouragement in his tone.

You take a breath. "If everything is suitable to you, I would like to take you on for the season. I've got the contract right here if you would like to look it over and sign it." You hold you the paper and a pen out to him. He takes both with steady hands.

"He doesn't know how to read." Comes Claire's earnest voice.

Both you and her dad look over to see her face dripping with sincerity. He shakes his head somberly. "Don't tell all my secrets."

You have to stifle a laugh at the two of them. The man quickly scans his blue, blue eyes along the words on the page. He quickly scrawls his signature at the bottom of the page before handing the signed page and the pen back to you.

"I'm yours now."

It sounds like a promise.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Dinner is a singlesidedly noisy affair. The old woman started fussing over the father and daughter from the second you introduced them to her. She doesn't allow for any lulls in the conversation and it really starts to feels like a hostage situation. Six finally begs off with the excuse that Claire needs to go to bed. You spring at the chance to escape and show them to the bedroom that the teen will be staying in.

"If there's anything you need, just let me know." You say before wishing Claire goodnight and going back down the stairs to give them some privacy.

You need to do the dinner cleanup anyway. This old house never got updated with a dishwasher. Suzanne passes you in the kitchen with her eyebrows raised and an amused look on her face. You ignore her pointed look towards the stairs where you can both hear the muffled voice of the man you just hired. You don't want to talk about his presence. You have never let any of the other ranch hands further than the front porch, much less invited them to dinner. Granted, none of the other hands have had a child with them.

You're in the middle of rinsing off a plate when an arm reaches around you to grab the dish towel hanging by the sink. You stare for a second, taking in the rolled up sleeve and flex of his muscles underneath his tattooed skin. You can feel the heat of him against your back and your mouth goes dry. He gently takes the plate from your hands when you go to set it aside and dries it off. The two of you work in comfortable silence only accented by the sounds of water and clink of dishes. You wash and he dries. You savor the glimpses you get of his hands and his strong forearms. His hands are scarred and calloused but the way he uses his fingers is delicate. His pace is unhurried, steady. You sneak a glance at his face and it's relaxed.

Finally, when he's drying the final dish and you've pulled the plug in the sink, you turn to him. There's a breathless moment where the two of you simply look at eachother. Neither of you speak as you show him to the front door. There's a pause on the threshold, and you can visibly see him struggle with himself on what to say. You wait patiently.

"Goodnight." It's low, intimate in the glow of the porch light.

You smile at him for the first time. He doesn't return it but there's a softer curve to his lips when you do.

"Goodnight, Sierra." Your voice comes out quieter, more tender than you had meant. You flush. You hope he can't notice.

He nods, a slow include of his head, and steps out of the doorway and turns to go down the porch steps. You close the door behind him and let out a shaky breath. He is all but a complete stranger. There is no reasonable explanation for you to respond to him the way that you have been since he showed up on the property. Or, if you're being honest with yourself, since you spotted him at the gas station.

He had clearly stuck out as an outsider. A little sweaty and worn. There was pained exhaustion written in the lines of his body and despite your anger over the situation involving your deserting ranch hand, your eye was drawn to him. You watched him analyze his surroundings with a practiced eye and saw his sleight of hand. A desperate man.

You made sure to raise your voice when he came to the register. He focused in on you and your heart lept in your throat when he said he'd do the job. His gaze had been so intense, so hopeful. When he mentioned that he had a daughter, your mind was made up.

You know that you are just going to have faith in him. Somehow he doesn't seem like the kind of man who would fall short.

N E X T.

#sierra six #the gray man #sierra six x reader #self insert #my work #my posts #this entire part had me on the struggle bus #I promise the spice will flow #did my brain short circut and name the dog after one in hannibal? maybe so #Belladonna the horse is based on the one with Ryan Gosling in the GQ photoshoot #ryan gosling character

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benkyoutobentou · 2 months

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31 Days of Productivity Reading もう一回！: Day 5

Before: No spinner wheel today, it’s a finishing day! I don’t expect any setbacks in finishing this volume of BASARA and I also plan on going to the bookstore to study a bit. And yes, the 100 pages of manga instead of one volume of manga goal was made with this exact series in mind. Three hundred thirty pages can just get a little intense for a single volume.

After: As expected, I finished my volume of BASARA today (and before show jumping starts too)! And as usual, this volume was such a great read through and through. I'm so in love with this series. There was a chapter right in the middle that was all palace talk and gave me a lot of trouble, but it was so oddly contained in that single chapter that it really gave me perspective as to which situations trouble me (ie. heavy politics and palace settings). It also felt like every word I was looking up was tagged as N2 on Jisho so I guess it's time for me to buckle down and get a move on with my JLPT vocab. I'm a quarter into the series now with four out of sixteen volumes read and I usually don't like to recommend series with my whole chest before finishing them, but I can't help myself with this one. If you enjoy adventure stories with political intrigue and high tension everywhere you look (and a really good romantic subplot), I highly recommend BASARA by Tamura Yumi. I also can't recommend it to English readers because its been out of print for years and years (reprint please I need to yell at people to read this) so you language learners are my only hope.

I read 150 pages of manga today and completed my fourth book of the month! Let's take a look at my goals real quick.

Read 100 pages of manga OR 25 pages of a novel each day [on track!]

Finish reading three novels [my spinner wheel has been very unkind to my novel tbr but I swear they're options on there]

Read ten volumes of manga [4/10]

I'm feeling pretty good with where I'm at right now, especially with the speed that I've been getting through these BASARA volumes. Is my reading speed actually improving finally or am I just obsessed? Probably the latter, but let's not talk about it.

#now im off to watch the show jumping #i didnt watch yesterday because it started at five am #no thanks #langblr #studyblr #booklr #30 days of productivity #benkyou posting

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jadedxhearts · 5 months

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𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐰 𝐀𝐔 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬

Scenario 2: Both virgins, but reader reads "romance" novels...

Originally posted in summer 2023

Please note that this is an old work and isn't representative of my current writing skills!

The tension is thick, a sense of hesitancy hanging in the air of Law’s bedroom. You’re both sat on his bed; Law is sitting with his legs crossed, you have your legs tucked at an angle that has your feet resting behind you.

“I trust you,” you decide to speak first, breaking the awkward silence, “you’re a doctor, after all. I… I feel even better, knowing that.”

Law nods, but his eyes won’t meet yours. Though his face is flushed, and he’s messing with the hem of his tee-shirt. Signs he’s nervous, but it’s to be expected.

“I’m just afraid of disappointing you,” Law mumbles, voice low.

You reach a hand out toward him, placing it on the tattooed hand that’s fisted into the bottom of his shirt. “You’ll be fine, Law. It’s not like I have anything to compare it to,” you giggled, trying to help him gain confidence.

After a bit more talking, discussing how things would go down, you finally get to the action. You’ve pulled your tank top off, as well as your shorts. All you wore now was a light yellow lace bra and panties set. Law’s favorite color. When he’d realized you’d worn it for him, his face burned the deepest shade of red you’d ever seen. It was cute, and you’d smiled as you watched his actions, but you were still scared.

Law had removed his tee-shirt long ago, tossing it over in the direction of where his laundry basket was. He was trying to get out of his jeans, but found that he was too nervous to fully take them off. “Is… is it okay if I just… only unzip them?”

“Do what makes you most comfortable, Law.”

He’d nodded, and simply left the front of his jeans undone. Then, you initiated the next thing; foreplay. “So… it’s best if we um, get me… uh,” now your face burned, “…wet, because, otherwise, y’know, it’ll hurt more.”

Law nodded, waiting to see what you were going to say next. “I know you like to be in control, so I’ll let you decide how you want to go about that,” you finished.

But Law didn’t really know what he was supposed to do. He could tell you the names and places of body parts as well as their functions, but Law didn’t know what felt good to women. “I, um, I don’t know what I should do,” he informed you.

“Oh,” you bit your lip. “Um. Okay, you could f-finger me, or um… eat me o-out.” Saying the words aloud was more difficult than you’d anticipated. Hearing or seeing the words was nothing new to you, though.

“Eat… you?” Law raised an eyebrow, “you mean… use my tongue?”

You nodded bashfully, raising the back of your hand to your mouth to bite the skin out of nervousness. “I-I… I think your fingers, would uh, be best. For now,” you stuttered.

Nodding, Law agreed that fingering you would be the best course of action to start with. You laid back against the pillows, beginning to pull the light yellow panties away from your heat.

“H-here,” Law took them from you when they were mid-thigh. Watching your lover/captain pull them off had you throbbing, and you bit down onto your lip harshly to suppress a whine.

He gazed down at your cunt, hesitantly raising a finger toward it, before slowly swiping it down your slit. You shuddered at the contact, “m-more, Law.”

He prodded at your folds next, spreading them apart to reveal all of you to him. “I’ve seen diagrams in textbooks,” Law awkwardly admitted. “I’m aware there’s different ways to stimulate you. The uh… clitoris, basically a clump of nerves. I’d assume that it’s a good place to stimulate?”

You nodded, spreading your legs apart for Law. His index finger tatted with the letter ‘E’ then made contact with your clit, gently brushing his fingertip against the bundle of nerves. You hissed, unable to stop the noises that began to escape your lips. He continued to rub the little pink button, slowly increasing the speed of which he did so. Moans left your lips, and you threw your head back as you felt yourself growing wetter and wetter.

Law watched in awe, captivated in how all of this worked. As a doctor, it was very intriguing. The more he played with your clit, the more it seemed like your hole was clenching onto nothing, clear liquids beginning to drip from you.

“L-Law! Fuck, it’s too much,” you whined.

Law pulled his finger away, instead choosing to prod at your hole now. He worked the same finger inside, before adding a second. It wasn’t much of a stretch, but it was still something you weren’t used to. A long cry rang out as you fluttered around his fingers, almost sucking them in.

Law ran his fingers around the gummy walls, trying to get a good feel at everything. Scissoring his fingers within you, he stared with that same expression he wore when doing a new operation. Most would call it unnerving, but it turned you on even more.

“I think- I’m wet enough,” you huffed, trying to control yourself as to not cum around his fingers so quickly.

Removing his fingers, Law wiped them off on his jeans before shyly undoing his clothing, pulling out his very hard cock, which seemed to twitch in anticipation. He looked desperate.

After spending a good moment looking at his length, visually taking it all in; you spoke once again. “Wh-what position would you wanna do? Missionary or, uh…maybe a m-mating press?”

Law stared at you with widened eyes, his face becoming flushed all over again. “Mating p-press?”

Then your eyes widened and you burned red with embarrassment. “Uh, um… you know, it’s just a position! I-I didn’t mean like br-“

“How do you know these things?” Law questioned you.

You adverted your eyes, internally cursing yourself for getting too bold. “I uh, read some stuff…”

“Where?”

“When we docked last, I grabbed some stupid romance novels, remember? Well, th-they were more than… just romance,” you explained.

Law let out a ‘tch’ noise like he did practically daily, but he was more amused than annoyed. “You’re such a dirty girl, y/n.”

It was meant to sound like a joke, but you whimpered at his words, liking the way he sounded so degrading toward you. “Y-yeah, I guess I am… fuck.”

“We can try a mating press, since it seems to be on your mind,” Law teased, but then he hesitated again. “I… I don’t know what that looks like, though.”

You giggled, his naivety being so endearing to you. “From what I can tell, I bend my knees back and hold my legs open, for y-you…”

“What about me?” Law asked, growing more and more awkward again.

“You just… get in and uh… trap m-me with your legs, I guess. I-it’s meant for you to get in deeper than y’know… normal… positions.”

Explaining this to Law was not something you’d anticipated doing, but, here you were. At the very least, he seemed intrigued. You wondered what about it he was so interested in.

“And I’m assuming… the purpose of going deeper is to… mate more… e-effectively?” Law sounded so shy as he spoke, trying to hide the fact that he was very interested in doing this position. Though the aching in his cock made it clear to him he was very turned on at the idea of doing… that… to you.

You nodded, biting your lip. “B-but now that I say it, I don’t know if I’m um… ready for that… I think we should try that um… another time. J-just focus on getting comfortable, okay?”

With the nod of his head, Law understood. You prepared yourself for him, widening the position of your legs to allow Law more space in between. He kneeled in front of you, his warm skin now meeting the soft, plushy skin of your ass and thighs. Holding his cock in one hand, he didn’t know what to do with the other, until you grabbed it, holding onto him tightly. “I’m sorry if I squeeze too hard,” you mumbled. “I’m just… scared.”

“I’ll take care of you, I promise,” Law whispered, in an attempt to soothe you.

“I trust you, Law.”

Law leaned forward to kiss you. It was sensual and comforting, so perfect for the moment you found each other in. Reaching between your legs, you spread your folds apart as Law aligned his member, gently, slowly pushing in. Inch by inch, his cock spread your walls apart, widening your tight hole. You hissed and cried, tears threatening to slide down your cheeks. As you squeezed Law’s left hand tightly, he held you close in a comforting embrace with his now free hand. Even through all this, your kiss with him never broke.

#jadedxhearts virgin law au #law x reader #law x reader smut

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icarussol74 · 2 months

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Spoilers for Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint’s epilogues below.

Ok so I finally (after getting distracted way too many times) finished my first read through of ORV a few days ago and as expected I can’t stop thinking about it. Of course the loops and KDJ’s fate are constantly on my mind, but there’s one thing that won’t stop bugging me. We don’t know the fate of Kim Namwoon in the 1865th turn. I know he’s not the biggest character (and three versions of him technically got happy endings) however, we even know the fates of Gong Pildu and Han Myeongoh. So while I absolutely love the epilogues it bugged me that there wasn’t even a single sentence about KNW. And since KNW was a major foil/parallel for KDJ I think it would’ve been really cool if 1865 KNW was helping try to save KDJ. Like for a media analysis standpoint it’d be the darkest reflection of KDJ trying to save what got left behind/the part of himself he hated/what made KDJ just like KNW.

Considering that the goal of the 1865th turn, aside from trying to save KDJ, was to save as many people as possible I really wanted to know what happened to KNW. I feel like it would’ve been extremely unlikely for them to decide he has to die while planning the group regression because both HSY and YSA knew KDJ regretted killing him. On top of this, YJH always tried to save KNW even when KNW betrayed him in various world-lines. I attribute this to KDJ telling 0 turn YJH that no one is born evil and encouraging him to lead KNW down a good path. Plus, even without all of those factors, if YSA started in the subway car again she’s the kind of person who would try to save as many people with the frog spawn plan. By the way, the hiding frog spawn all over Seoul to break the first scenario was hilarious.

So with all that being said, I feel like it’s extremely unlikely for KNW to die (at least in the first scenario). And I cannot be convinced that that silly little emo edgelord was not one of the teens that got really into the apocalypse craze and started catching a ton of frogs. By that logic YSA would’ve been able to save the Granny without killing KNW. Honestly he’d probably hero worship YSA just like he did for YJH. Another thing is that HSY literally refuses to have ABFD as her sponsor which I know is because her plan was to become a constellation, but that gives ABFD plenty of room to sponsor and get attached to 1865 KNW.

So basically, I feel like 1865 KNW would’ve survived all the way through the final scenario and would have gotten hella attached to Kim Dokja’s Company. Like sure he would’ve been a little asshole at the beginning of the scenarios but there’s no way YJH, HSY, and YSA wouldn’t have been able to guide him while completing scenarios at a breakneck speed. Then that brings me to if he survived, why would KNW stayed in the 1865th worldline? He would’ve gotten hella attached to all the characters from the 1864th turn and if he learned about regressors and how KDJ killed the 1864th him he would’ve probably wanted to meet the man who killed a version of him. Plus, through the various versions of KNW we’re shown throughout the novel, it’s heavily implied that he was depressed, suicidal, and had a terrible family life before the scenarios. So I’m not sure if there’s much of an argument for the idea that he just wouldn’t have boarded the ark and stayed behind in the 1865th turn.

I don’t know, maybe I’m misreading some of his characterization and reading too much into him not being mentioned in the epilogues. Unfortunately, that little fucking edgelord will not leave my head (probably because I can relate to him having dealt with mental illness). Idk, I just feel like a foil as important as him could’ve been mentioned in the epilogue whether it’s a short line mentioning they decided to kill him so he can drive the Gundam again or that he was ABFD’s incarnation again in the 1865th turn.

I mean maybe my sister’s headcanon is right and he really annoyed HSY so she decided to not acknowledge him in the epilogue (since like we’re technically arguably reading HSY’s writing). I think it’d be really funny if he’s just following Kim Dokja Company members around like a lost puppy and crushing on LJH like all other worldlines. I also think his relationship to LGY and SYS could be really funny because he’d treat them like little siblings and they’d hate it because they’re more powerful than him and claim to be around his age because of regression time shenanigans. What are other people’s headcanons for 1865’s KNW? Am I wrong that he’d survive or would he follow Kim Dokja Company because of how badass they all are (especially YJH and JHW)?

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mylittlecomfortplace · 8 months

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Mistakenly Saving the Villain [Danmei Review]

➺ 4.5/5 🌟

TW: r*pe/ sexual assault, mental health issues, attempted suicide

Before I reached the end, I already decided to give this danmei a solid 4 stars. But the last there or four chapters, that explanation at the end about where everything started? That deserves a 4.5 stars!! Still not quite a 5 stars, but almost!!

I've already read quite a few transmigration novels and most of them didn't bother giving an explanation as to why and how the transmigration happened. I have nothing against those novels because I enjoyed most of them and not that it bothered me, I still liked the flow of the plot regardless. But this novel coming back around at the end, making even the tiniest details make sense is what made me give this another half a star rating!!

I actually want to list some of the things that seemed one thing but in reality, they weren't just that simple. THESE ARE A LITTLE BIT SPOILER-Y:

I was actually not a big fan of love triangles because of so many reasons, and I didn't realize this novel also has one. I thought it was a bit unnecessary, that the plot can still do without it. But it was revealed that the second love interest's existence served an entirely different purpose than just being the love rival, and I loved that so much!

There are a lot of reviews from NU about not wanting to finish this because they said that the MC is too 'stupid'. Song Qingshi is not really stupid as they say, he's actually very smart, but his intelligence is mostly focused on his specific field, especially in medicine. He is more like having a very low EQ, not really good at picking up social cues, very ignorant to the things that doesn't concern his work and he didn't really know how to deal with people. He has social anxiety (and usually stutters when talking to other people, except when talking about his medicines) and that drew the line between him and the outside world. Because of that, he seemed very slow in the head. He's very naive and gullible most of the time. But that part of him actually has an unexpected explanation that those SQS haters didn't get to know because they chose to drop this novel halfway because of the reason that the MC is too 'stupid'.

And for someone with a very low EQ and not good with words, Song Qingshi can sometimes deliver the most beautiful lines:

You once wished me good luck for the night and now, I want to wish you good luck your entire life.

Song Qingshi gently placed his palm on his chest and said gently, "Wuhuan, your heart is sick" Yue Wuhuan bowed his head and asked, "My heart?" His heartbeat was speeding up. His body was burning hot, as if it was calling out to something. Song Qingshi raised his head. "Does it hurt every day?" Yue Wuhuan looked at him for a long time, and finally nodded. "It hurts" Song Qingshi took him into his arms, patted him and comforted him softly, "Don't be afraid. I'll hurt with you"

"Don't give up and don't persuade me to give up either. I have the world's most stubborn heart, even if I hit a wall thousands of times, ten thousands of times, I will never look back. If you really can't bear the pain and despair and decide to abandon this world, then I will accompany you"

Song Qingshi's love for watching the clouds as a hobby. It seemed like something the author would randomly threw as the MC's pastime, especially as a loner, but there's more to it than that.

All the dreams about the phoenix. We all know who that phoenix is, and that there's something important about the dreams, but once the significance of those dreams was revealed, re-reading those dreams makes so much sense.

The ML Yue Wuhuan has an special attachment with different stones, especially the beautiful ones. His hobby of collecting stones is tied to his real identity and after knowing his identity, it revealed why he has a natural affinity with Song Qingshi. And that actually makes my heart so soft!

The MC saying that 'my heart is born for you' to the ML, you might think it's only for romantic appeal? NO!! There's a deeper meaning to that!!

The ML also has a yandere personality that some of the readers didn't really like but just so you know, he's the type of yandere that knows his own boundaries and limitations. He is self-aware. He might be the best yandere that I've read in a while that never forced himself to the MC. And his yandere personality didn't just come out of nowhere either. You might say that his yandere personality comes from his trauma, but him trying to control his possessiveness so that he wouldn't suffocate the MC is also making his mental health issues more severe, hence the stalemate.

There are a lot more, but I won't list all of them. You can pick this up if you want to learn more. Just know that:

This novel certainly has some heavy topics. Trigger warnings are there for a reason. There are chapters that are really hard to read. Fortunately if a chapter gets really heavy with trigger warnings, the translator has this note at the start of that specific chapter that provided a summary of it so you can choose to skip it without losing the importance of that chapter. I personally read the whole chapters so I know how heavy it got sometimes, so proceed with caution if you plan on reading this.

Thinking back about how this novel started, I was surprised how much the plot grew from just a simple transmigration to something much more than that. I never expected all of it to happen just from the first few chapters and I loved where the plot took me.

#danmei #danmei review #danmei review 2024 #books #book review #mistakenly saving the villain #february 2024 review #BL review

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hylialeia · 1 year

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I never did write and post my thoughts after I finished reading Priory of the Orange Tree but given I've been thinking about the state of the fantasy genre a lot lately - across YA, adult, and "new adult" categories - I figure now is a good time to do that.

I didn't particularly like this book.

And I find this weird to write, because unlike most books I end up disliking, Priory was consistently well written in a technical sense, had a narrative voice I generally navigate towards, and consisted of some genuinely impressive worldbuilding and well-thought-out fantasy concepts.

Yet it took me months to finish it. I even hit a point where I almost DNF'd the entire thing, I was so surprised by my lack of motivation to continue. This book hooked me, presented me with something interesting, and then... completely flat-lined.

While a lot of this could have just been media burnout on my end (you can never really account for how your own personal mood and context when you start something new), I at least know for sure that my lack of enthusiasm had nothing to do with the novel's length. In fact, one of my technical criticisms of Priory is that I think it would have benefited immensely from splitting its story into a series and extending things, fleshing out more of the characters in each of their respective settings, as well as allowing for a lot more build-up towards the climax and eventual intersection of the characters' storylines.

As it stands, those are the areas that felt the most rushed and underwhelming to me. There were several potential instances of conflict throughout the novel that the narrative brushes over or ignores in a way I found particularly disappointing. In a book that grounds itself in examining religious bias, propaganda, xenophobia, and sexism, there were surprisingly few deeper conflicts or tense moments between our main characters. This became especially apparent by the end, when widely accepted histories (and religions) are turned on their heads and most of our POV characters carry on without any sense of fallout, betrayal, or lasting hurt. Each and every character puts aside their personal biases and histories in a way that should feel admirable and satisfying, but instead felt less than believable and even... underwhelming, given the speed with which it was done and the potential (fascinating!) conflicts that those agreements squandered.

I couldn't help but feel that the characters of Priory were either half-baked or intentionally watered down for the purposes of being palatable. Tané, Niclays, and Sabran were (in my totally subjective opinion) the most interesting characters by far; it doesn't escape me that they were also the ones who did, said, and/or thought some of the more uncharitable and even downright terrible things within the novel. Tané's inferiority complex and self-sabotaging nature, Niclays's mixture of pessimism, cowardice, and bitterness, and Sabran's privilege and willful prejudice, all served to make them more fascinating to me. They gave me clear character flaws that made their respective stories more interesting, flaws that stoked my desire to see them improve (or deteriorate) on the course of their character arcs. I found myself disappointed when those arcs became rushed in the final act, those flaws never proving a sufficient obstacle to their dynamics or growth.

Ead and Loth were sadly the worst case scenario. I wanted desperately to like them, but every POV chapter they had seemed to be written by an author terrified to make them in any way unlikable, or even portray them as in the wrong. Ead ends up being completely right about everything; the falseness of Sabran's history, her religion, and her country. Her only missteps result from a lack of information, which she quickly overcomes or is the first to genuinely discover, thus erasing any feeling of culpability that otherwise may have been implied; I never feel any legitimate moments of shame, grief, horror, or regret on her part, because the author never gives her legitimate reason to feel those things. Niclays is interesting in his betrayals and moments of cowardice, and the moments where he overcomes them are all the more meaningful for having seen him falter. Ead, arguably our main protagonist, never really gets something similar. She doesn't make any mistakes, and this is the greatest disservice Shannon could do to her as a character.

I barely know what to say about Loth, mostly because he only began interesting me when he encountered Tané - a dynamic that was cut woefully short and could have been absolutely fascinating if it was deeply explored. Prior to this moment (which had to be in the last 10% of the book, if I remember correctly), Loth is "a walking camera" (quoting a friend). He has characteristics with potential; religious, loyal, and dedicated... but considering the entire basis of his faith is overturned by one of his closest friends, he has shockingly little reaction or issue with this. Due to the important of larger plot happenings, Loth has to dust himself off and just postpone his reaction to the utter disassembly of his religious background for another time - which we are then never able to see. His reactions to most everything are basic, reasonable, minimal, or even dull; he could have paralleled Sabran in his religious prejudice, even showed some effects of his society's religious fanaticism, but he never really seems to - at least, never in a way that truly feels like it's testing him. For all intents and purposes, Loth feels like a character who should be making snap judgments and loads of mistakes, but instead is relegated to keeping those thoughts to himself (even hiding them from the reader) and soldiering on.

Priory was mostly recommended to me based on the impressive scale of its worldbuilding, which was definitely a cut above the rest. I thought Shannon had a firm grasp on her setting and some legitimately excellent imagery for it. I've been made more appreciative of this by the analysis in Global Medievalism by Helen Young and Kavita Mudan Finn, which dissects how Priory (and others) takes the predominantly white interpretation of medievalism and medieval fantasy expands it in a way that's far more inclusive and also far more interesting than much of our modern day "high fantasy" media. I'm not without my criticisms, however; the worldbuilding is another area where the pacing hurts the story, as we only have one 800 page book to get to know the seemingly important settings in which these characters live. That may sound like a lot, but it's perilously little; balancing those vivid worldbuilding details with a packed plot and character arcs meant that, at any given time, one aspect was always getting the short end of the stick.

While I appreciate Shannon's attempts to write with a feminist approach to high fantasy, I think her efforts highlight an issue I have with many similar approaches. Primarily, I find it difficult for a work to address, untangle, disassemble, and analyze misogyny in a setting where they... don't really show it. We're in a state where I think many of us have become (understandably) distrustful of media claiming "realism" or "historical accuracy" to defend its portrayal of violence and various types of oppression, but lately, I've noticed the response to that gratuitousness (in the cases where these things actually are gratuitous instead of just uncomfortable-yet-intentional, that is), is to avoid these things in the narrative almost entirely. That's all well and good; you don't have to include racism, misogyny, ableism, or imperialism in your fantasy world, especially when your desire is to write an alternative escapism to these things.

But when a piece of media is striving to say something about those topics, as I assume Priory does since its driving conflict results from a history of dismissing women's bravery and sacrifice against evil and instead granting the reward of their efforts to a man, then I have to admit, I feel somewhat underwhelmed when the women in the story never face any of the trials I myself deal with in real life. Their male colleagues seem consistently respectful with rare few exceptions; women across the series are allowed to occupy roles from respected advisors to knights trained in combat. Sabran herself seems to be one of the only women deeply impacted by familiar misogynistic mindsets, as she's constantly pressured to marry a man and produce offspring for the continuation of her line. Yet even this could almost be argued to be a special case within the world, since this pressure results from the religious belief that the continuation of her line (through her, the queen, the matriarch) is keeping the main antagonist at bay. This area felt like it wanted to be a subversion to much of the gritty, "realistic" fantasy that plagues the market, but to me, it felt more like indecisiveness. Is there misogyny in this world or isn't there? Is there homophobia in this setting or not? The answer could simply be yes, no, or even somewhat, but instead it felt like a "maybe".

Overall, Priory of the Orange Tree fell flat for me, maybe because my expectations were too high, or maybe because I just wasn't in a place to really dig my teeth into it. Mostly, though, I believe it fell flat because Shannon failed in what I believe to be the most important area of focus in a work: character. I would have traded worldbuilding, plot, imagery, and much more for a cast of characters that felt more intensely raw and complex, that were more unabashedly real in their flaws even if they risked becoming unlikable. Sitting at a 5.5/10

#priory of the orange tree #final comment is I really did enjoy that shannon made the world more inclusive (and not in a tokenistic way like a lot of books do)#but I think fear of writing characters of color and queer characters as potentially bad/harsh/unlikable people killed a LOT of momentum #which is strange because it was working so well with niclays! but then for most others they just felt sort of. there #leia reads #this book also inspired my brain parasite post about asoiaf so that could be part of it #I really like the pov style where characters are unfiltered and can be awful at times #characters in priory just felt sort of held back in that sense (excluding niclays and sometimes tane)#and again only having the one book sort of exacerbated this issue #so much was set aside so we could get to the Final Boss

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