18th century novels

The Reader and the Writer (Part 2)

Originally posted by stydiaislove

Part one here

Anon requests: can you please do a part two of “The reader and the writer”? i’m shook, lost and now stressed over who she really is

The Reader and the Writer is amazingggg! Are u gonna do a part 2?? I wanna read more!!

could you do a part 2 of the reader and the writer, i’m obsessed!!!

Is there going to be a part 2 for The Reader and the Writer? Can there be a part 2? I loved it by the way :)


Omigod, I love your Reader and Writer imagine soooooo much, are you going to write a part two??


Wtf?!? The reader and the writer is honestly amazing! I love it 😍 2pt maybe? I wanna know what happens with the reader and Jason

I love love love the reader and the writer, if you aren’t too busy could you please update it with a second part soon? I can’t bear to be left for days without knowing what Jughead found 😂 thanks x

Will there be a part 2 of “the reader and the writer”? Its really good! I hope you will write more of it!

I love this new jughead imagine ! Are you writing a part 2 ?


I really love your writing! I’m very excited about part 2 for the Reader and the writer

part 2 of “The Reader and the Writer” ?? it’s greattt 😭

please do a part 2 of the reader and the writer!@@@ I need more!

Can you please do part two or the reader and writer?!?! It is so good!!

The reader and the writer was amazing and i got too attached. Part 2 please if you don’t mind.

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: A confrontation ensues between the reader and the writer

Warnings: none

Word count: 887

A/N: I’m glad you guys liked the first part so much! Enjoy part 2!

(Y/N) didn’t return to Pop’s.  Every night, Jughead sat in his normal booth typing on his computer, but his eyes constantly flicked up towards the entrance.  His friends noticed his shift in attitude.

“Jug,” Archie sat across from him, “you gotta snap out of this.”

“Out of what?” Jughead asked monotonously, rolling his eyes.  “I’m fine, Archie.”

“I know you like to sit here and brood all mysteriously,” Veronica interjected, “but this is sad. Just call (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” he scoffed.  “This isn’t about (Y/N).”  When the entire table sent him disbelieving looks, he sighed and looked out the window.  “I already called her.”

“How many times?” Kevin asked with a smirk.  Jughead sighed again, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“Every night.” Archie, Betty, Veronica, and Kevin all shared a knowing glance.  “I know what you guys are thinking and no, it’s not like that.  I’m not some pathetically smitten person, okay?”

“Okay, Jughead,” Betty said, but rolled her eyes.  “If you insist.”

To say (Y/N) felt guilty would be an understatement.  From the moment she stomped out of that diner, regret gnawed at her inside out. Without the consistency of her nightly stops in Pop’s, she didn’t know what to do with herself.  She spent every night after school in her room sulking. Every night, her phone rang, lighting up with Jughead’s name.  She was tempted to answer it every night, her finger hovering over the answer button, but then she turned away and ignored his call.  (Y/N) missed Pop’s: she missed the delicious foods, the quiet yet comforting atmosphere, and the person who sat across from her in their usual booth.  

One day, Jughead sat with an uneaten burger in front of him, laptop closed.  Today had been an especially slow day, both in Jughead’s mind and Pop’s.  Suddenly, a jingle of the bell signaled that someone new entered the diner.  Jughead sat up a bit to see who it was.  When he identified the new customer, he perked up immediately.  Grabbing a book, he shot up and walked over to the table where she had just sat down.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” he said, slamming down the book in front of her, “is an author from the 18th century.  She wrote four novels, all of them published under an alias at first.  It was not until two hundred years later that the true author was discovered.  She has been dead for over two hundred years, and she is most certainly not you.”  (Y/N) looked up at him with wide eyes.

“What, I can’t have the same name as someone else?” she fired back, but there was a waver in her voice. Jughead glared as he sat down across from her.

“You see, I would think that, too,” Jughead responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “but I searched for you online, and I couldn’t find anything on you.  Not one thing.”

“I like to keep my life private.  I don’t publish stuff about me online.”

“Yeah, but there’s something about everyone on the world wide web if you look hard enough,” Jughead explained, his voice accusingly sharp.  “Now I have two theories: one, you’re a very experienced hacker, and you’ve gone and wiped all information regarding you off the internet; or two, you’re hiding something, and you’re using a dead unpopular author’s name to keep your real identity a secret.  Personally, I’m choosing the latter, considering how well-read you are.”  (Y/N) stared at Jughead with sad, wide eyes.  “When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t,” she whispered. Jughead clenched his jaw and shook his head.  

“Whatever,” he mumbled, standing up.  He began to walk away when (Y/N) shot up from her seat.

“I was born in Riverdale,” she called out to him.  Jughead stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.


“I was born in Riverdale,” she repeated slower.  Jughead neared the table and sat down across from (Y/N).

“So what?”

“So I-,” she started, “I can’t- I can’t just tell you everything.”  Jughead rolled his eyes and began to push his chair out when (Y/N) placed her hand on his, her eyes silently begging him to stay.  “If you care, you’ll trust me.”

“What makes you think I care?” Jughead demanded, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t move his hands out from under hers.

“Because you called?” she offered, causing Jughead to sit up a little straighter.  “You called me every night, Jug.”

“I was worried,” he muttered, looking away.  (Y/N) smiled, patted his hand, and stood up.

“Keep writing, Jughead. See you around.”  Spinning on her heel, (Y/N) grabbed her copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray and exited the diner.  Jughead’s eyes followed her figure out until the door closed behind her.  Then he pulled out his laptop and started to furiously type.

And so, a little light shined on the dark mystery of Riverdale’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N) like the calm before the storm.  The writer becomes the reader, the reader becomes the read.  I found myself hooked on her just from a little information, like a drug addict craving his fix.  New girls can never hide in a small town like Riverdale, but God, I knew (Y/N), in all her enigmatic splendor, would lurk in the shadows of this town for as long as she possibly could.”

Part 3 here   Part 4 here

Give me more novels on 18th century homosexual flings and relationships. Give me more well written, authentic and emotional gay, lesbian and bisexual characters. Give me more of the stolen glances and the love letters and the hidden smiles and the tears seen only behind fans and four poster beds. Let me see more of the lingering touches, the kisses in carriages and art commissioned for that person wandering the wilderness of their mind. I want to see more gay characters in historical fiction, they are a breath of fresh air and I can’t get enough of them.

Where e'er a casque that suits this sword is found,

With perils is thy daughter compass’d round.

Alfonso’s blood alone can save the maid,

And quiet a long restless Prince’s shade.

-The Castle of Otranto

Originally posted by tjena-alla-monsterdiggare


Blew through two seasons of Outlander in just over two weeks like the self-control-less mad man I am and then receded into a (very pathetic) state of mourning which was quickly remedied by the discovery that the show is based on a series of books! Hurray!
Austin went out and got me the books while I was at work yesterday so if you cannot reach me it’s because I am in 18th century Scotland.

quiet afternoons with spencer spent sitting on his couch with his head on your lap, you running your fingers absentmindedly through his hair as he reads (i.e. translates) some obscure 18th century novel out loud. the air is still and peaceful, sunlight streaming from between his blinds: warm, comfortable, perfect.

mitzvahmelting  asked:

i just read an amazing book called "Too Like The Lightning" by Ada Palmer. It's a masterwork sci-fi/philosophy/18th-century-politics/gender-queer novel. I really want other people to read it and build a fandom for it, and you're a Big Name Fan who has great taste, so I really want to recommend it to you in the hopes that you will read it or mention it to your followers? it's just amazing and i want more people to read it and discuss it with me. It also has a really good audiobook adaptation.

omg the thought of being a bnf has me REELING, hahahaha

but ANYWAY i was going to wait to publish this until i read it (because it seems like something i want to read), but then i realized it had already been a month and if i did that it would take twenty years because i suck, and then! most importantly! i discovered that you can read the first chapters on Tor! which means anyone who is interested can check it out (at least to start) without paying a dime or having to take anyone’s word for it. :3

Thank you for the rec!!

anonymous asked:

I read such a good fanfic a while ago and i’d like to reread it but unfortunately i can’t remember its name. if i remember correctly, it sets place in the 19th century and Kurt moves to live with Blaine due to his parents’ death. Then Rachel comes up to marry Blaine since it’s his father’s wish to have him marry a good girl. Meanwhile Quinn also appears and starts being friends with Kurt. Then Klaine finds out that what they feel is more than friendship. I can give you more details if you need.

Sounds like this wonderful, wonderful story:

The Buried Life by CrissColferLove

Okay, so the urge to write this kind of fic came to me during my 18th and 19th Century Novel class. So it is Victorian!Klaine, set in the 1830s. I know that a lot of it (language etc.) is probably inaccurate, but I really wanted to write this so just go with it lol. The title comes from the poem by Matthew Arnold, of the same title

“For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.” 
-Anne Lamott

This book is quickly becoming one of those places I know I’ll return to again and again. Reading this book is like exploring a new world and returning home again all at the same time.

ask-royai-lty  asked:

32.) "It looks good on you." 😊

Royai #32- “it looks good on you”

- this was longer than I expected it to be, but I got a bit carried away 😅 anyway, hope you like it!


Riza took a strong dislike to dresses. She wouldn’t go as far as to say that she hated them because she loved the way they flowed and how many different styles, colours, and shapes there were. It just that dresses didn’t look good on her.

She didn’t believe that they did her any justice. She would quite happily wear her casual getup of a jacket, boots, and jeans that she sometimes wore. They were far more comfortable and she didn’t have to fork out for them.

However, on this one occasion- the annual military state ball- Riza promised herself that she’d stick on a brave face and pluck up the courage to wear one. Just for the one night.

When her friend Rebecca heard about this, she had put on an excited demeanour. She had asked all sorts of questions, like: “what colour is it going to be?”, “halter neck or not?”, and “will it have sequins?”

Riza didn’t even know where to start. She courteously accepted her help and advice, pick out out a sapphire-blue dress that was encrusted with a crystal sash.

“Are you sure this one looks right?” Asked Riza. “Maybe we should look around-”

“Nonsense!” Rebecca exclaimed, ushering her friend along as she clutched the blue garment in her arms. “It’s perfect. Trust me.”

Riza had no option but to go along with Rebecca’s word. On the night of the ball, Riza soon came to agree with her friend that it was, indeed, perfect. It fitted well, and was glad that it covered her back aside from one small part of her tattoo that peeked out. She didn’t mind though; nobody was that observant.

Rebecca had tagged along with Havoc and they offered to take Riza to the venue. She accepted, feeling better and more confident since she was with others of the same dress code. Otherwise she would feel extremely awkward.

The ball was grand. Chandeliers hung from the ceilings, sparkling in the light. Tables were stacked with appetisers and bubbling glasses of champagne. Above all, the atmosphere was overwhelmingly incredible. Men of black and white suits accompanied women wearing an amazing variety of dresses.

The three entered the hall, chatting away. Havoc had decided to get drinks for them all, and Rebecca (typically) volunteered to assist him. They told Riza to stay put, and she wasn’t going to argue with them.

She stood in a less crowded corner where she could actually breath. She attempted to straighten up and not show that she was too anxious about the evening. It was her first state ball, and hopefully it wasn’t her last. Riza was enjoying it so far- everything was so sophisticated and divine that it was like something straight out of an 18th century novel. It was magnificent.

She was yet to notice, but Roy had turned up too.

He was nearby, adjusting his bow tie so it was skew-whiff. He also dusted down his jacket, making sure that there weren’t too many visible creases. He had attended the state balls every year for as long as he could remember. It was night off from dreaded, despised paperwork, and a night off to socialise. Although, Roy didn’t think he was going to do much of the latter when he spotted Riza out of the corner of his eye.

Her statuesque appearance almost knocked him off balance. Riza looked so stunning in her dress, and Roy wished he could see her like this more often. The crystals snaked around her shoulder, down to her hip, and around her back. They glittered in the golden light of the room, but we’re only a fraction of the beauty. Her hair was tied up elegantly, strands falling beside her ears that were decorated with silver studs.

He quickly adjudicated that he should go up to her and to say something. Anything.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Roy greeted as he approached, taking his hands out of his pockets. It seemed to have been developed into a habit and he scolded himself for not holding his posture the way he should: tall and strong.

“Good evening, Colonel,” Riza replied politely, discreetly fidgeting with the fabric of her dress.

“That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing,” he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“Thank you. I must say, though, I’ve never been into dresses much. It’s an odd change that I’m slowly growing accustomed to.”

“I think you should wear them more often.”

“Really?” Her questioning was out of surprise.

“Hmm… It looks good on you,” he told her, his cheeks flushing pink. It was difficult for him to keep his eyes away from her, and growing even more so by the minute.

“Thank you, sir,” she responded again, a faint smile appearing on her lips. She was relieved to hear that didn’t appear too dainty or unattractive. Then again, this was Roy who was commenting; he would never say anything bad about his lieutenant. “You look pretty good yourself, of course.”

Roy ran a hand through his hair. He’d slicked it back like he did on occasions like this, but sometimes had trouble getting it to stick down. “I appreciate that,” he grinned. “But I do hate bow ties. I feel like I’m being strangled.”

“Well, how about we dance to take our minds off things?” Riza suggested.

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

Rebecca and Havoc returned to the spot where they had left Riza not long after she’d taken to the dance floor with the Colonel. They were puzzled for a while until they noticed her dancing amongst the crowd, a big beam on her face as she exchanged words with Roy.

“When I said about you looking good in that dress,” he started. “I meant that you looked…”

Riza gazed at him expectantly as he scoured his mind for a better word than ‘good.’

“You look great.”

“Great?” She echoed, chuckling. “Surely you can do better than that, sir.”

Roy smiled. “Okay, fine. You look beautiful.”

juan-nieves  asked:

SOOO I watched Beauty and the Beast (the Emma Watson version) and the Prince was so great, ESPECIALLY pre-Beast. I loved that sarcastic, fashionable, dramatic asshole. Do you have romance recs where the hero is like that?

(ISN’T HE MAGNIFICENT? I call him my Glitter Prince.)


I am actually on a new crusade that we need more painted, sarcastic, fashion-obsessed, COMPLETELY EXTRA heroes. 

Eloisa James has the Duke of Villiers, who is a recurring character in her Desperate Duchesses series, and who has a book of his own. But I can’t think of any others.

But we definitely need more traditional 18th century gentlemen.

I just finished the great-great-great-grandmother of all the “women running from houses” novels (first published 1791).  Adeline, the virtuous and beautiful orphaned heroine is–clearly–one of the literary ancestors of Victoria Winters.  She literally runs from houses more than once in this book as she is kidnapped and escapes several times.  Oh, and unsurprisingly she turns out to be a long-lost heiress in the end!  It’s fascinating seeing all these literary tropes at their beginnings–in embryo, as it were.

anonymous asked:

with brown hair and dark lipstick, like in your icon, you look like a character out of an 18th century romance novel - i see you and think wide windswept fields bordering the sea, a tiny hamlet in the hills, a lonely mansion, and some quiet desperate love

You just made me cry in the middle of class. This is the most wonderful thing. You put me in the middle of “Wuthering Heights”, of all of my favorite books. Thank you.