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carchariascarcharodon · 1 month

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digging through the archives again & i've found another little press interview with robert shaw that i quite like. sticking it here for ease of access in the future :> from an article published in the los angeles times in february 1971, as transcribed below:

Most public people get terribly lofty about seeing their names in print (“Of course it used to matter . . .”). Robert Shaw, the English actor-author, is, bless his heart, honest enough to say it matters terribly. “My hand shakes when I pick up the Daily Express. And I will be comforted by reading someone else’s bad notices, I admit it. It gets worse all the time. Old Harold Pinter says my great vice is other people’s opinions.” Robert Shaw is subject to more reviews than most since he is both a writer (novels, plays, screenplays) and an actor English enough to play Henry VIII (in the film “A Man for All Seasons”), international enough to play Gen. Custer (in a movie) and Elmer Gantry (in a Broadway musical that lasted one night), and intelligent enough to play Pinter (“The Caretaker,” “The Birthday Party”). “I’ve been asked so often which I prefer, writing or acting, that I’ve started to answer seriously. I obviously prefer acting because the rewards are much more immediate. Writing is so lonely, such an agony. I’m an extroverted, confident person and I’m thrown into this pain . . .” Then why write? “I do wish for immortality—I don’t know why—but I do wish to be remembered.” Robert Shaw studied acting at RADA, a bleak and hateful experience, during which he was advised to give up. He spent his first eight years as a professional playing Shakespeare and had a rough time. “As a young man I had no charm, I was all agression [sic]. Richard Burton had enormous charm, he could get on with people. What an extraordinary life! When he went off to Hollywood, we all said, there goes the golden boy.” The turning point came with his first novel, “The Hiding Place” (1960). “From having been treated as a stupid actor—‘I find it hard to believe you wrote that,’ they’d say—I began to be treated as intelligent. Directors wanted me for television. And that’s where I became a working class actor. I’m not, I’m English middle class really, but I got into all these new plays. It was marvelous.” At present, Shaw has two plays coming up, neither of which will earn him a penny, he cheerfully notes: One is set in an American prison. The other, to be performed in London by the National Theater Company this spring, is called “Cato Street.” Shaw has based it on an actual attempt in the early 19th century to murder the entire British government. The plotters are betrayed and executed. “I hang them all on stage,” Shaw said with relish. “All eight or nine of them.” He hopes “Cato Street” will feature Laurence Olivier who, he feels, droops under some of his duties as head of the National Theater. “He asked me how many acts my play had. ‘Three,’ I said. “‘Couldn’t you make it two?’ he asked me. I said why? “‘Because,’ he said; ‘then I’d only have to have one drink with the governors.’”

#the gantry play was literally just called gantry - and it did only go for one night. it was a musical! charming to imagine him singing!#i wish i knew what american prison play was being referenced though :/ it's not included in his written works on wikipedia #i have the good sense that there are at least a handful of his works that have since been lost to the depths of the archives #if not vanished entirely #he wrote poetry when he was younger (as per the little author bio in my copy of the hiding place)#which i would LOVE to read. but it was published under pseudonyms #and i. don't know what those pseudonyms were. much less if any of that poetry has survived til now ://#robert shaw #long post

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themidnightcircusshow · 23 days

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@heartofstanding tagged me in this meme months ago and unfortunately it took me this long to get to it because I had a mild crisis over how long it's been since I've read a novel, let alone one that I loved 😅 so this is nine of my favourite novels (not books, because if I included manga/short stories/comics/etc this would be giant)

0The Picture of Dorian Gray -- Oscar Wilde// Pyrrhus-- Mark Merlis//The Scarecrow--Ronald Hugh Morrieson//Unnatural History--Kate Osman//Tunnels of Blood--Darren Shan//The Coffin Dancer--Jeffery Deaver//Hero--Perry Moore//Frankenstein--Mary Shelley//One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest-- Ken Kasey

#TPODG I feel like is obvious. But a genuinely hilarious book that is also poignant and tragic and so /so/ compelling #The more work you put into it the more you get out of it and I get so sad every time I see people #not wanting to look deeper than what's beyond the surface #Pyrrhus gets the extremely high honour of Greek Myth Retelling That is Actually Good #it's less about the Trojan War and more about the journey there set in the 1980s gay scene #the cursed spot that gets Philoctetes abandoned is an effective allegory right until the moment it isn't an allegory at all #and you should see the gut punch coming but somehow you don't #The Scarecrow is my Token Kiwi Representation and it's also the one that got me into the genre I now write almost exclusively #reading it feels like watching a cheesy low budget slasher that accidentally says some really interesting things about sexism and misogyny #(I say accidentally because it is the 20s and my tutor very loudly hated this book for being sexist)#(and I both totally agree and disagree because Prue is the prototypical final girl and needs an adaptation that does her justice)#Also the story of this novel's publication is freaking hilarious and why I will only write under a pseudonym because I would be next #Unnatural History is an exact blueprint of what I love about sci-fi done well in the way we've only very recently started to see on screen #and I hate that the show of Doctor Who rarely if ever reaches this level #Tunnels of Blood is my favourite of the Darren Shan Saga but really is just a stand in for the entire series #yes it's a kids series but it's a kid series that got me into horror and surrealism #and delivers the most effective and heartbreaking plot twist that not even Hannibal pulled off as well #The Coffin Dancer is just some damn good crime fiction and I wish Jeffery Deaver wasn't so slept on #(yes I know The Bone Collector got an adaptation but The Bone Collector isn't even in the top ten of the Lincoln Rhyme series)#unfortunately Deaver's strongest point is his use of point of view #but he still manages to get the twist to be shocking (and Coffin Dancer is the best example of it) in a way that other media fails at #Hero is about a gay disabled teen with superpowers and somehow tumblr does not know about it #It is such a fun riff on superheroes while also being genuinely sweet and touching and sad #It was meant to get a tv show but the writer passed so it got stuck in production hell :(#Frankenstein is Frankenstein. It's just good on like every level. Victor is my problematic fave. I will take no criticism.#I am however on my knees hoping the Guillermo Del Toro adaptation finally gets it right #one flew over the cuckoo's nest means so much to me but no one ever talks about it beyond the Ratched and Mcmurphy stuff #who are the least interesting characters to me. And I find the debate about the sexism ignores that the novel is about the structural abuse #of the mentally ill

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sob-dylan · 5 months

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realistically i'm probably only happy with 30% of the dribble that comes out of my mouth.

#these past couple days i've been meditating a lot on the role of embarrassment in my life #and it is outsized to say the least #to say the most i spent all of yesterday in bed practically comatose enumerating all of the little faux pas i had committed the day before #and basically came to the conclusion that any of the self-confidence i had gained in the past year was just delusion #and that i simply didn't socialize enough in my adolescence to develop a normal personality suited for strong personal connections #plus i told myself that i'd take a break from my thesis between christmas and new years #but now that it's january i can't bring myself to write anything that could potentially be published #it's a lose lose situation #because if i try to get my research published and it's rejected by all the journals then i'll just use that as insecurity fodder #but if god willing i do get it published then i have to contend with the fact that my words and my ideas are just out there written in ston #for anyone to read #with my full name attached #it's bad enough that i have a few cringey fics on ao3 under a pseudonym #but to write something that will at the very least live on in my school's library under my name in perpetuity is a nightmare #anyways my therapist is back from his vacation this week so i'll be fine in a few days #i know all of these negative thoughts are bullshit and i just have to let them pass #the new year just hit me like a mack truck #personal

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ofstarsandvibranium · 23 days

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Precious Truths: Part 3

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Series Masterlist

Once at their door, you're insistently knocking on their door until someone opens it. Mrs. Wilson looks at you with confusion. Your chest is heaving, your eyes are wide, your hair in disarray, "Miss Y/N? Are you alright?"

"I need to see the Viscount and Viscountess immediately," you say urgently as you enter the Bridgerton home, gripping the older woman's arms to stabilize you.

"They're still freshening up for di-"

"Please! I need to see them! It's urgent!"

"Alright," the older woman nods at you, removing your hands from her, and rushes up the stairs to retrieve Anthony and Kate.

You're pacing in the foyer, fingers twiddling together as you're trying your best not to break down right then and there. You begin to mentally scold yourself for being so careless. You had done so well in the beginning, hiding your writings under your floorboards. You became careless. Your aunt was never one to snoop and your father was always in a drunken state. You figured neither of them would begin to look around your room, so you left your writings there.

Oh how wrong you were.

You look up to hear footsteps and see that Kate is the first one rushing down the stairs, "Y/N? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

You grab her arms to keep you steady as you shake your head, "My father found out and he's going to marry me off to my awful cousin. I need to find a husband quickly!"

"Found out? Found out what?" she asks you in confusion.

You don't answer her question as you continue on with your hysteric ramble, "Please, Kate, do you or Anthony know anyone who's looking for a wife?"

"Y/N, slow down. Wha-"

"What is wrong, Y/N?" Anthony asks as he finally approaches you in concern.

You look at him with wide eyes, "You need to help me find a husband."

You jolts in surprise, "What?"

"Darling, is everything alright?" Violet looks at the three of you with worry. She notes your distress, "I'll have Mrs. Wilson get ready some tea," she immediately goes to find her housekeeper.

Kate takes hold of your hand and guides you to the sitting room where you immediately plop yourself into the couch, throwing your head into your hands.

The Viscountess sits beside and puts a reassuring hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. She looks up at her husband and mouths, 'Get Benedict.'

The Viscount immediately scurries off to find his brother.

"Deep breaths, Y/N. When you are ready, you must start from the beginning."

You sit up and wipe your now teary eyes. You take a deep breath and ready to speak, but your words get caught in your throat when Benedict enters the room.

Kate stands from your side and Benedict immediately takes her place, "Are you alright? Anthony said you were in distress."

You let out a shaky breath and give him a sad smile, "It's all gone wrong, Ben."

"What happened?"

You gulp and look up at Anthony and Kate who watch you with patient eyes, "What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room. It's imperative that no one, especially Whistledown, doesn't know."

"Know what?" Benedict asks.

You take another deep breath, "I'm Arthur Talbot."

Anthony looks at you in surprise. Kate looks at you like she's realized something. Benedict...you're not sure what the expression he's giving, but at least he doesn't look angry.

Kate can't help but chuckle, "It makes so much sense now. When you'd recite his words, it felt like they were your own. They were."

You nod and turn to Benedict, "You know how my papa forbade me from reading and writing poetry. I couldn't let it go, not when it was the one thing I had left of my mama. So I decided to write under a man's name, so my papa wouldn't know.

"But when I arrived home after our promenade, he was in my room. He found everything. He was so angry. He-" you look away in shame, "He struck me-"

"He struck you?" he asked you in disbelief. He feels a burning anger start to bubble within him. He never understood how one can be such a kind man and loving father, to a cold hearted man like your papa.

You sadly nod, "He said if I didn't find a husband within a month's time, he'll marry me off to my cousin Albert."

Benedict immediately winces, "He's atrocious," recalling back to the one summer that part of your family visited and your cousin was exuberant in trying to prove that he was much better at everything than Anthony. To put it plainly, the man was a twat.

"I know! So need your help," you place your gloved hands over Benedict's, and look to Kate and Anthony, "I need you three to help me find a husband. One with good social standing and is, at the very least, a decent man."

Kate and Anthony glance at each other and then Benedict, waiting for him to confess his feelings and propose to you, to save you from your horrid cousin.

Benedict watches his brother and sister-in-law, but then looks away. With a gulp, he says with a small, reassuring smile, "I'm sure my brother will be able to look into the available men of the ton and find you a good match."

Kate casts her head down in disappointment as Anthony steps forward, "You're practically family. I will do my best to help you."

"And you'll help too, right, Ben?" You look at him with hopeful eyes and Ben could feel him on the verge of breaking, so close to finally letting you know how he feels, that he doesn't want to help because no man deserves to see you the way he sees you.

He gives you a soft smile, "Yes. Of course, I'll help you."

__________________________

You've calmed down since abruptly showing up on the Bridgertons' door step. Kate and Anthony sit with you in the sitting room while Anthony starts gathering a list of eligible men for you. You're sitting tea staring blankly at the floor when your aunt is rushing into the room.

"Oh thank Heavens, you're alright!"

You place the tea cup down and stand, meeting your aunt, "I apologize for my abrupt leave, Aunt Eliza. I was...distraught."

"Yes, well, your father told me of your-" she eyes Kate and Benedict, "-situation."

You gesture to them, "They know. I told them, but they promise to not speak of my situation to anyone else."

"And does the Viscount know?"

You nod, "He does. Anthony, Kate, and Benedict are going to help me find a husband, so I don't have to marry Cousin Albert."

Aunt Eliza grimaces, "Absolutely not. The words to describe him are...they're not appropriate to express aloud." Benedict snorts in agreement.

"Lady L/N, I can assure you that the Viscount and I will do our very best to find a man deserving of L/N."

Your aunt nods to her, "Thank you, my lady," she sighs and gestures for you, "Come, Y/N. Your father is now asleep. You may come home, but tomorrow we will go to the modiste and request some new dresses."

"Yes, Aunt Eliza," you turn and hug Kate and give Benedict a nod, "Thank you for your help."

Benedict reaches out and grabs your wrist, "Let me know if you need anything or even just someone to talk to."

"Of course," you curtsey, "Good night."

You follow your aunt out of the Bridgerton estate and back to your home.

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose, "Why didn't you propose to her?"

"Why would I? She deserves someone of a better social standing."

"You are a Bridgerton."

"I am a second son and an artist. Not even a good since Anthony bought my way into the academy." Benedict leans back in the couch in despondence, "She deserves someone better."

"But you love her, do you not?"

"It is why I love her that I am helping her, because I cannot give her what she deserves." the second Bridgerton stands from his spot and excuses himself from the room, presumably to drink his heartache away.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

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I don't expect this one to get answered, but a friend who I recently introduced your work to asked, and I was curious:

Have you ever dabbled in writing erotica, or possibly better termed, smut? Maybe under a pseudonym?

Given the wide breadth of topics you've written about, and given that most artists of any type tend to dabble at least a little, I would guess that the answer is yes, just curious if any of it ever got published anywhere?

Thank you for your time, good sir. I've been a fan almost as long as you've been writing. Still looking for a copy of The First Four Years of the Fab Five for less than a billion dollars, and looking for a replacement for my stolen (and signed, in person, long ago) copy of Don't Panic.

There's a story called "Tastings" in Smoke and Mirrors, and a few bits of American Gods, but that's all I can think of so far.

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damnfandomproblems · 17 days

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Fandom Problem #4958:

My least favorite thing about fanfiction and fandom is how sometimes the fandom just completely takes over a character, you know? Like, they were canonically characterized x,y,z ways and now these fanfiction writers are pretty much writing their own characters masquerading under the pseudonyms of characters we know and love. If you are going to change everything about a character's personality, mannerisms, speech-patterns, behavior, just write someone new!

I love some good non-canonical shipping, but I don't like scrolling through a fic with a character who acts or talks nothing like they do in canon.

#ask box submission #fandom problem 4958 #fanfiction problems #character problems

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highpriestessarchives · 3 months

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A Philosophy Behind Writer's Block: Valuing Despair

Unfortunately, it happened again where I went a little over a month without writing anything I was happy with. I would attempt to get some words down, remembering that even a little bit is progress; but, no matter what I did, everything just felt so dry and dull. Not only that, my stories felt like they were boring or just not worth it anymore. It was awful.

I tried everything that normally helped with getting over writer’s block. I’d try out different times to write, read other books for inspiration, focus on another hobby—still, it all felt like I was banging on a brick wall. That’s when I turned to my philosophy studies, as if there was some sort of deeper consciousness of an answer that would aid my issues.

Well, there was. The infamous Kierkegaardian Despair.

The Sickness unto Death

The Sickness unto Death is a book written by Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard in 1849 under the pseudonym Anti-Climacus. A work of Christian existentialism, the book is about Kierkegaard’s concept of despair, which he equates with the Christian concept of sin, which he terms “the sin of despair.”

In Kierkegaard's work, despair arises from a fundamental disconnection from one’s true self and from God. He distinguishes between different forms of despair, including the despair of having a self and the despair of not wanting to be oneself.

Now, take what you will from the Christian existentialism part (I’m pagan, so I already had mixed opinions on many classic texts on God), but it doesn’t erase how the concept of despair can shed light on the underlying struggles that writers—at least, myself—may face.

It’s Never Just a Phase

Writer’s block can be seen as a manifestation of existential despair in which we feel disconnected from our creative essence or authentic self. This disconnection may stem from various sources, such as self-doubt, fear of failure, or a sense of alienation from one’s creative impulses. We may experience a profound sense of emptiness or meaninglessness, unable to access the inspiration and clarity needed to write.

Moreover, Kierkegaard’s notion of despair as a failure to align with one’s true self suggests that writer’s block may arise when our creative endeavors are driven by external motives or expectations rather than genuine inner inspiration. The pressure to produce work that meets societal standards or fulfills commercial demands can lead to a sense of existential disorientation and paralysis.

Don’t Just Overcome it. Value it.

If you resonate with Kierkegaard’s work, you will agree with his observation that we are always going to despair over something. It’s not about waiting for the tide to roll over or for the dry spell to ease up, but to examine our own self’s relation to what we are lamenting over. He writes:

“Despair is an aspect of the spirit, it has to do with the eternal in a person. But the eternal is something he cannot be rid of, not in all eternity… If there were nothing eternal in a man, he would simply be unable to despair… Having a self, being a self, is the greatest, the infinite, concession that has been made to man, but also eternity’s claim on him.”

Let’s break down the quote and explore how it can inform our approach to overcoming writer’s block:

Despair as an Aspect of the Spirit: Kierkegaard suggests that despair is not merely a psychological state but an aspect of the spirit, rooted in the eternal dimension of human existence. Kierkegaard’s conception of despair invites us to recognize the creative process as a site of existential tension and struggle.

Writer’s block is not merely a technical or practical obstacle to be overcome but a profound existential challenge that confronts us with the limitations of our finite selves and the aspirations of their creative spirit.

The Eternal in a Person: Kierkegaard asserts that despair is linked to the eternal within individuals, suggesting that it arises from a tension between the finite and the infinite aspects of human nature. The finite aspects encompass the temporal, material, and contingent dimensions of life, while the infinite aspects involve the eternal, transcendent, and spiritual dimensions. This tension is inherent in human consciousness and manifests in various forms of despair, such as the despair of weakness, the despair of defiance, and the despair of not willing to be oneself.

This tension between the finite and the infinite can be understood as the conflict between the limitations of our creative faculties and the boundless possibilities of imagination and expression. Writer’s block often emerges when the writer feels constrained by external pressures, self-doubt, or perfectionism, inhibiting their ability to access the infinite reservoir of creative inspiration within them.

Moreover, Kierkegaard’s concept of the finite and the infinite highlights the paradoxical nature of creativity. While the creative process involves the manipulation of finite materials—words, images, sounds—it also taps into something transcendent and ineffable, something that exceeds the boundaries of ordinary experience. Writer’s block can be seen as a manifestation of our struggle to bridge this gap between the finite and the infinite, to give form to the formless, and to articulate the inarticulable.

Having a Self as Eternity’s Claim: In Kierkegaard’s philosophy, the concept of “having a self” refers to the capacity for self-consciousness, self-reflection, and moral agency that distinguishes human beings from other creatures. It involves the awareness of one’s own existence as a distinct individual with thoughts, feelings, desires, and responsibilities. “Eternity’s claim” suggests that the existence of the self is not merely a temporal or transient phenomenon but is imbued with profound significance that extends beyond the confines of earthly life. The self, according to Kierkegaard, is intimately connected to the eternal dimension of human existence, reflecting the divine spark within each individual.

“Having a self as eternity’s claim” suggests that the act of creative expression is not merely a personal endeavor but is also a manifestation of the eternal striving for meaning and significance. Writers, as self-aware and self-conscious beings, bear a profound responsibility to give voice to their innermost thoughts and feelings, to explore the depths of human experience, and to contribute to the ongoing dialogue of humanity.

Embracing Existential Depth

So how do we value despair and overcome writer’s block in light of Kierkegaard’s insights? Writer’s block often extends beyond mere technical or practical challenges and can be rooted in deeper existential concerns. This involves grappling with questions of identity, purpose, and meaning in the creative process. By recognizing writer’s block as a reflection of these existential concerns, we can approach it as an opportunity for self-exploration and growth. Rather than viewing it solely as a barrier to productivity, we can use writer’s block as a catalyst for deeper introspection and self-discovery. This might involve journaling, meditation, or engaging in conversations with fellow writers or mentors to uncover underlying psychological or philosophical issues that may be contributing to the blockage. I have previously posted a blog on writing soliloquies. Embracing existential depth allows us to transform our struggles into sources of insight and inspiration, ultimately enriching our creative work.

There is a large aspect of accepting what you cannot control, another widely-known philosophical concept. Swimming against the current, after all, may prove to be more tiring than it’s worth. Instead, be kind to yourself and practice self-compassion during these moments. Understand that experiencing creative struggles is a normal part of the writing process and treat yourself with the same kindness and understanding you would offer to a friend facing similar challenges.

Seek social support. Reach out to fellow writers, friends, or mentors for support and encouragement. Sharing your struggles with others can help you gain perspective and feel less isolated in your creative journey, because, trust me, we have all been there.

Ensure that you are also setting realistic goals. All I would want to do was upkeep my 3k word/day momentum, but I would feel even worse about myself for being unable to do so. Break down your writing goals into smaller, more manageable tasks and set realistic deadlines for yourself. Celebrate small victories along the way to maintain motivation.

Finally, what has helped me the most, is to read widely. Immersing myself in diverse genres, styles, and voices provided so much insight into what I could be missing in my own work; or, it simply sparked my love of story-telling all over again.

Closing Words

Remember that writer’s block is a temporary obstacle that can be overcome with patience, persistence, and, apparently, a bit of philosophy. Where there is frustration, we will find insight.

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here2bbtstrash · 7 months

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as promised, here it is: The Big Life Update Post (aka m where the hell have u been and what the hell is going on with this blog)

TLDR: went thru it, came out better for it, i love y'all. and we're getting back into this writing thing as i have the time and capacity 🥳

2023 has been a bit of a whirlwind, to put it very mildly. while the first three months started off relatively smoothly, my saturn return began in the middle of march. only a few short weeks after that... well, i'd basically say everything went off the fucking rails.

content warning: drama talk incoming ft. extremely brief mentions of racism and racist hate mail (no specific details shared).

i haven't spoken on this yet since everything happened, and i want to be explicitly clear that i won't be speaking on it further after this post. but i just want you to understand where i've been at since april.

i will own it entirely and say: i fucked up. i put content in a story that i shouldn't have, that i had no business speaking on, and i think people were well within their right to call me out on it, one hundred percent. however, after i went offline at the end of april, my friends ended up learning that the person who initially stirred up all of the "tea", and submitted the first several anonymous posts about me to a hate blog, was actually someone i knew well and considered a friend.

this was someone whose stories i gladly beta'd, someone i consoled through multiple hard moments in their life, someone i actually even met in person. yep. this was also someone who had read the chapter of my story that featured the problematic content when it was released, and proceeded to send me paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much they enjoyed it, and the story as a whole. this is not to say that people can't change their minds on content after sitting with it, not at all. but to think that i had been through so much with this person, done so much to be there for them, and that they never once gave me any reason to think we were anything other than close friends. yet ultimately, they didn't feel they could come directly to me... or find quite literally any other way of dealing with the issue?

instead, they chose to send multiple messages about me to a hate blog, as well as hateful anons to several of my friends, thinking that we wouldn't know it was them (we did). not only that, but their actions encouraged an actual torrent of racist hate mail to be sent to all of my non-white friends who publicly chose to support me. ultimately, they ended up admitting all of this, and still, they never once apologized or showed even a single iota of remorsefulness or responsibility for the onslaught of vitriol they incited. (even though, you know, this whole thing was supposedly about how racism is bad.)

and this user is still on the platform, operating under a new blog name and pseudonym. so. that's fun. 💀

i don't say this to beat a dead horse, or to drum up sympathy, because i promise i don't want it. it's been long enough, i understand the mistakes i made, and i've done my part to take accountability for my actions. but i needed to start this post here to have you all understand where i was at the end of april - just in time for yoongi's tour 🤪 - in many ways, i felt like i had no friends, at least none that i could really trust. i felt unsure who might have been acting one way to my face, perhaps even praising me, but talking different about me behind my back. and it was beyond fucking nervewracking to think that i would be meeting so many friends IRL for the first time, quite literally days after what essentially felt like a public execution.

i wasn't doing well, to say the least.

and then... the funniest thing happened.

y'all showed the fuck up for me. in droves. in a way that i have quite literally never experienced in my lifetime and doubt i ever will again. even recounting it now is lowkey giving me chills. i received, literally, yes i counted, hundreds of DMs from the most incredibly kind people- on tumblr, on twitter, on discord, in AO3 comments. the vast majority of you wrote paragraphs: about what my stories have meant to you, about how you found my blog to be a safe space in the noise of the world, about how much you'd enjoyed our time together here. so many of you said something along the lines of "even if you never come back here again, please keep writing". honestly, for like a week straight all i could do was read my DMs and cry and cry and cry.

i didn't receive a single hateful DM. not one.

as if that alone isn't more blessings than i deserve in an entire lifetime, i also, you know. saw five shows of agust d on tour. (my credit card is still recovering.) spent two of the best nights of my life in pit getting a water bottle baptism and screaming myself hoarse. and met dozens of incredible moots, who held me when i cried, scream-laughed with me, and of course, drank plenty of booze with me.

at a time where i wondered to myself if i even had a single true friend in this fandom (or, like, in the world), you all showed me that i had so much more. that we had so much more-- we had a community. and i believe we still do. and i am more than ready to block out all the shit that doesn't matter and get back to having some fun around here.

in short: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. if you sent me a sweet word, i promise you, i read it (and probably cried lmao). i wouldn't be doing any of this without you. i will never ever deserve all the love that you have shown me. but for as long as you'll have me, i'd love to have a fun stupid horny time in this little corner of the internet. as a part of our community. what a fucking gift it is. 🫶

phew. okay, so- that was april and may. it's november. what the fuck happened?

i knew i wanted to properly take time to get my head on straight before i found my way back to writing. what i wasn't expecting was to 1. fall in love, 2. get a new job, and 3. move myself and my cat approximately 800 miles across the country... but yeah, since the end of may, those 3 things are exactly what i've been doing!

i won't talk too much about my partner here, because our relationship is important enough to me that i want to keep it largely private, but my god. he is the most incredible human. i can't tell you how much of what i wrote out as silly little daydreams in my fanfiction has somehow manifested itself into this very real human being (like, it's kinda crazy lmao 🙈). i'm grateful for him every single day. and what makes it even more special is that we met for the first time in person while i was traveling for yoongi's tour - yep! he saw me going through so much upheaval, and fell for me all the same. just another thing i will never fully believe i deserve. but goddamn do i feel luckyyyyy 🥰

and in addition to my amazing partner (and in part because of him but honestly i had plans to move before i had even met this man it just happened to work out okay 🙄) i have also finally managed to do what i've been planning for the last year and a half, which is move my ass out of the southern suburbs where i'd been for nearly a decade, and to a ✨walkable city that actually has public transit✨ - what a fucking dream. i may have only been here 8 days, and i may not have much more to my name than my cat, my TV, and my mattress, but i swear to god, i've never been this happy in my entire life.

so yeah. exhale. like i said, it's been quite the year.

now i do want to end this with a small caveat, which is to say, i can't make a promise as to how much i can *be* here (particularly not compared to how terminally online i used to be lmao). i spent a lot of time online because i was unhappy and feeling very stuck with where i was in life, and i needed escapism, bad. now, i've finally gotten to a place where i'm excited to go out of my house and do things, but i still want to make intentional time for tumblr as a form of connection and community, and writing as a form of creative expression. these things are really important to me!!! i just ask that you give me some grace if i'm a little slow on the uptake. i promise i'm still here 🥰

and writing is gonna happen!!! i can't say much more than that, because tbh i haven't so much as opened a google doc since april, but i've been itching to get back to it. maybe.... we might start off....... with some........... drabble requests??? 👀 we'll see we'll see we'll see hehe.

in any case, i think that's more than enough for now 🤪 oh how i've missed babbling to you all, the gay people in my phone. i hope you're well, and if ya feel so inclined, i'd love it if you'd send me a comment or a DM on what you've been up to in the many months it's been since we've spoke! what's new in your life? what are we manifesting??

talk so so soon, eeeeee~ i'm so happy to be back~ love you babes!!! 🤍

#mposting #quite literally the longest mpost of all time #if you read the whole thing i LOVE YOU #if you don't i understand lmao i too have adhd

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ruthxaprime · 8 months

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an old illustration I made of blitzwing random, under the pseudonym "lady Siniestra" which I no longer use, At least for the moment XDDD

I haven't done much fanart or art for myself anymore due to my full job doing commissions.

#blitznut #tfa blitzwing #blitzwing #blitzbee #transformers #transformers animated #tfa #blitzwing random #tf #maccadam

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heich0e · 11 months

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yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 4: the prequel(ish) continued..., tw alcohol, reader goes by a stated pseudonym for her work (Yua) but is otherwise unnamed, this part immediately follows PART 3 and here are PART 1 + PART 2 icymi!! series masterlist

“You.”

The sound of the man’s voice—low, smooth, and unmistakably pointed—makes you freeze.

The room goes terribly quiet in the wake, like no one is quite sure how to respond.

Kaito’s eyes snap towards you, a flash of something close to panic momentarily slipping through the facade of his gregariousness. He composes himself quickly and looks back to this new guest, his brows lifted in surprise as his eyes narrow into crescents thanks to how his mouth lifts in an easy smile. “Who, sir?”

“Her.”

All eyes in the lounge turn to you, but somehow you only manage to meet one pair.

Your grip on the champagne flute in your grasp is so tight you worry that the thin stem might snap between your fingers.

Kaito laughs a bit, but the sound is stiff and doesn’t fit his usual tone. He reaches up and places a friendly hand on the man beside him’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take a while to acquaint yourself with the girls, then you can—“

The man—Suna-san as he’d been introduced to you all just a few moments before—turns his face to look at him. You watch as his eyes flicker down to the hand resting on his arm with a look of disdain.

“Is there a reason you’d question my choice?” he asks flatly, a chill in his tone that makes your stomach feel uneasy. “I was told these girls are your best.”

“Of course,” Kaito assures him with an easy, obliging smile. You can’t help but notice how he quickly drops his hand. “You’ve made an excellent decision.”

The other girls and Kaito quietly leave, once the manager waves them out following a terse snap of his fingers. There’s a sense of disappointment that you detect from some of the girls as they bid the guest goodnight as they step past him, having scarcely had the opportunity to spend time in his company at all. Yuki meets your eyes as she glides past you towards the door, a curious—if not concerned—look passing between the two of you.

The door to the lounge closes behind Kaito once the last girl has filed out, and then it’s just the two of you.

You watch as Suna walks to the chair on the opposite side of the room, directly across from you, sticking close to the very edge of the wall and giving you a rather wide berth. It’s strange. Most men in these situations make their way right for you, or at least beckon you to come to them— especially ones as forthright as he’d been. Instead, he gestures for you to take your seat, nodding towards the chair you’re still standing beside. In spite of your relative confusion, you oblige him. On the other side of the room he does the same, slumping down into his seat with his legs spread wide.

You sit at the edge of the upholstered chair with your hands crossed primly atop your lap.

He watches you for a while, and under his heavy stare you find yourself resisting the urge to fidget.

“What’s your name?” he asks you after a while.

You blink slowly, as though you’re processing the question he’s asked—though it’s anything but a difficult one.

“Yua.”

It’s not your name, of course. You’re sure he knows that too. It’s not even one that you’d chosen for yourself, in truth. There had been a girl working at the club before you started who’d used it as her pseudonym, and when she left and you arrived to take her place, it was easier just to inherit it than come up with a name of your own.

The kanji used spell out binding love.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

It doesn’t seem to be something Suna-san misses either, because there’s a little pull at the corner of his mouth that indicates a sort of wry recognition of the fact.

It goes quiet again.

You being to worry things are getting awkward. You can’t let that happen.

“Would you like something to drink?” you finally ask him, shooting him a warm smile before looking towards the mini bar.

His eyes flitter to the empty glass in your hand. “What are you drinking?”

“Champagne.” You stand and approach the bar, running your finger along the bucket where the half-empty bottle sits in ice. “But there’s plenty to choose from, no matter your taste.”

“What do you like to drink?” It’s the same question as before, more or less, but this time he poses it differently.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and find he’s watching you intently—still torpidly reclined back in his seat.

“I’m not very picky,” you answer with a little laugh. You reach for a bottle of whiskey off the bar. It’s a nice one. Expensive. You hold it up so he can see it, turning around to face him. “Would you like a highball?”

He cocks a brow. “Will you join me?”

“Of course,” you agree with a smile, and then you set to work.

Highballs are easy cocktails to make. Calling it a cocktail seems undeserved, sometimes, but the quality is in the ritual.

First the ice goes in, and you stir it for 30 seconds using a long barspoon to chill the polished glass. The ice clinks against the edge in a delicate little noise as you go.

The room is weirdly quiet. Unnaturally so.

The private lounges are mostly soundproof, for many reasons, but it means that none of the usual thrum of activity or music from the rest of the club seeps into the little space you occupy. It leaves a stagnant, almost uncomfortable silence stretching in between you while you work.

You drain the water from the bottom of the glasses carefully.

Next you add the whiskey.

You’re partial to a stronger highball—somewhere closer to a 2:1 ratio of soda to spirit, but you know not everyone enjoys their drinks so potent. You opt instead for a 3:1 ratio for the evening, letting the whiskey spill down into the waiting glasses below. You stir it precisely 13 and a half times clockwise in each glass.

Last is the soda, which you allow to trickle down the rivulets of the bar spoon so it doesn’t lose its effervescence. Each drink is then garnished with a delicate twist of lemon.

You swallow, steeling your nerve before you turn to face your patron once more.

“Would you like to listen to music?” you ask cheerfully as you bring his drink towards him.

There’s a sound system throughout the room controlled by a tablet, you’re trained to make the offer just as you had been to prepare the drinks.

“Not really,” he replies from below you once you arrive next to his chair. He reaches up to take the glass you offer him from your hand, and your fingers brush as the drink passes from your grip into his own.

His touch is warm.

Most men would pull you down into their lap at this point in the exchange, or otherwise grope you in some way, but save for that gentle pass of his fingertips along your own, he doesn’t make any attempt to touch you.

You perch on the couch beside him, a little bit perplexed.

This man is not what you’d expected.

He’s young, handsome, and above all strange.

Especially how he watches you—his gaze heavy-lidded but surprisingly impassive. You’re fully dressed but the way he watches you makes you feel terribly bare.

He lifts the drink to his mouth and takes a sip.

“Is it to your liking?” you ask him coyly.

He nods.

Since he’s taken his first sip, you’re now free to do the same. This drink is far sharper and stronger than the watered-down champagne you’d been sipping earlier. You savour how the heat of the whiskey sears its way down to your stomach. Part of you is relieved to finally have a proper drink in your hands.

Beside you, Suna sighs. He leans forward and sets his glass on the low table in front of him, and you watch as a bead of condensation drips down the edge of the polished glass.

Your eyes flicker over to him curiously. He meets your gaze.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” he admits with a little shrug.

“If you don’t drink and you don’t like music,”—you prop your elbow up on the armrest of his chair and rest your cheek in your hand, batting your eyelashes demurely—“this seems like a strange place you’d choose to spend an evening.”

Suna’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and he leans towards you.

“I don’t think anyone is coming here for the atmosphere.”

There’s a flutter in the pit of your stomach that erupts in the same place the whiskey had just warmed. For a few petrifying moments, only the span of a few heartbeats, you wonder if he’s going to kiss you.

As a general rule, you prefer not to kiss newcomers. It might seem an arbitrary place to draw the line, but some forms of intimacy just feel unnatural with a stranger, even in your line of work. Some of your regulars don’t even get to do that.

For a confusing, startling moment, you can’t help but think you’ll let him if he tries.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he leans back in his seat once more, his long legs still spread before him.

“It wasn’t my choice, anyway,” he says.

You make a little sound of confusion from the back of your throat, quenching your sudden thirst with another long sip of your drink. You’re not quite sure what he means.

“Coming here tonight,” he explains, sensing your uncertainty. “I just got into a bit of a… scrape at work. My boss sent me to blow off some steam.”

He wouldn’t be the first man who used this place as a means of stress relief. Though you wonder who his boss might be to have had Kaito scrambling the way he was.

“I see,” you reply quietly. Slowly, you reach forward and set your glass atop the table next to his own, the difference in how much you’ve each consumed more stark when your glasses rest side by side. You pull yourself upright again, and turn to face him with your lip caught gently between your teeth. You let it slip out to quietly murmur, “I’m happy to help with that, if you’d like.”

Suna’s head tips back against his seat as his eyes close, and he lets out a breathy little laugh towards the ceiling.

Just above the neckline of his high-necked sweater, along the column of his pale throat, you see the faintest edge of a mark.

A tattoo.

Without thinking, you reach out for it. Just before your fingertip can touch the enticing tendril of ink, his hand catches yours in a tight grip.

You jump slightly at the unexpected contact, and your eyes flash up to his face, only to find that he’s watching you again—more alert now than you’ve seen him since he arrived.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize meekly, your entire face suddenly feeling hot. You're not sure what possibly possessed you to think touching him like that was okay.

He’s still clutching your hand, but after a moment his grip eases—his touch slipping down to your wrist. His long fingers circle it easily, and something about the sight makes you feel strangely small. Breakable even.

His hold is different now, gentler. More delicate.

Slowly, he takes your hand and guides it to his cheek.

“Your hands are cold,” he remarks as his eyes slowly close again, and you realize the chill of your touch must feel nice against his injury. His cheek is radiating heat as he holds your hand to it.

You cup your hand to cradle his face in your palm, but he still holds fast to your wrist.

“It’s from making the drinks,” you reply quietly to his comment, your thumb reaching out and ghosting over the cut on his mouth without thinking. Other than the wound, his lips are incredibly soft under the pad of your finger.

He hums, leaning into your touch. After a few moments his eyes flutter open and meet yours, but they’re heavy lidded again. His gaze hazier now. More disarming, somehow. Your thumb is still pressed to the swell of his bottom lip.

“You’re good at this,” he whispers softly, like you’re not supposed to hear it at all, and you’re confused by what he means. He tilts his face and presses his lips to the heel of your palm in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Next his lips slide down to your wrist, mouthing at you there too.

“Pardon?” when you finally manage to speak, you find your voice is fluttery and unlike yourself.

“I really had no intention of fucking you,” he murmurs into your skin. “You just looked so miserable when I walked in that I thought it might be fun to bother you a little bit.”

Your heart is suddenly hammering in your chest, and you wonder if he can tell as his tongue sweeps out against your pulse point.

He smirks against your skin, his unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as he peeks over at you once more—his stare is just as electrifying as it had been the first time he turned it on you.

“I underestimated you,” he says, and his words sound like commendation.

Your head tilts to the side, not quite knowing what he means, but your confusion only heightens as Suna takes your hand and guides it to his throat. He holds it there the same way he holds you in his gaze—firm and unwavering.

“I didn't think you’d be so good at seducing me.”

#suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #yakuza!suna #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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transmascswagpolls · 23 days

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Transmasc Swag Polls- ROUND 1

Propaganda and other info under the cut.

CANONICITY LEVELS-

PUPPET: OOPS! Accidentally Transgender

ALICE: Subtext/ Coded

MEDIA?

FNAF: High School (a Youtube animation series), Your Turn to Die (and other related media)

PUPPET PROPAGANDA- (Pollrunner's Note: I genuinely wish I could highlight all the propaganda that was written for this character. Some of the stuff I read was WILD. The submitter uses he/they pronouns for Puppet, but I will have to note the character canonically uses she/her)

On their introduction, Puppet was interpreted by everyone in the fandom as a guy. He has a very deep voice no matter the va, has short hair, and wears the boy school uniform (aka a tie instead of a bow and pants instead of a skirt). His sister has an extra song where she sings about being there for her sibling- uses a lot of male gendered ways to refer to them, and the song has a lot of trans subtext in it ("I'm still that little boy to you" (showing puppet as a kid), "it was only me who could see you", "a light will be born in your new world, and that will be your song"). This song's MV shows Puppet as a kid wearing a dress and a bow in his hair. He looks really sad when looking at their reflection in a puddle and they angrily take the bow out of his hair. In the reflection we can see present day Puppet with his chest covered in bandages, smiling. One time when Puppet is placed in a boy's cabin, other characters point out the 'mistake' to him, which he brushes off and says it's ok (in fact, he seems very happy about it). The creator was confused as to why people were calling Puppet a guy. She says that Puppet is not trans and is just a tomboy. When people thought Puppet was trans, [she] got some backlash for showing unsafe binding, so she said that Puppet doesn't bind and is "just flat chested" (which is really weird to me since his identical twin is not in the least bit flat)

ALICE PROPAGANDA-

Alice has a whole scene in the spinoff where someone asks him why he talks like a girl sometimes (uses feminine pronouns when he's flustered or stressed in japanese) and he tells them that his mother raised him as her daughter but he knew in his heart that he was a man and eventually got up the courage to tell her. VERY defensive over his gender as a result of that. Sure he's AMAB. But also considering his situation I think he can also count as transmasc. He's one of us Was in his sister's band and played the drums (he doesn't know how to play them). Can only wear striped things if the stripes are in a specific way and is so picky he tries to get a 17 year old to eat his food. He's very kind and cares for people (especially his younger sister) but is also very cringefail... you should play this game. Pleag (Pollrunner's Note: I only met this character thanks to this poll and that alone made everything worth it. His pseudonym (which is a spoiler so I won't include it here) is so clever that it inspired the name of one of the characters in my game. Swaggy fucking guy fr fr)

#transmasc swag polls 2024 #round 1 #fnafhs #puppet fnaf hs #alice yabusame #your turn to die #yttd #transgender #transmasc #image undescribed

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bestworstcase · 2 months

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ALSO. IRRELEVANT SIDEBAR. i seem to be the only person in the fandom who a) took it as a given that ‘the girl who fell through the world’ was at least a century old and thus predated the great war by at least two or three decades, and b) didn’t think the author’s identity being unknown was odd enough to require an explanation.

and i’m wondering now if the xkcd average familiarity curse Got Me bfgrbxcjk

alice’s adventures in wonderland! that book is One Hundred Fifty-Eight Years Old. it was published in november 1865. through the looking glass was published six years later in december 1871. CAN YOU NAME THE AUTHOR?

if you answered “lewis carroll,” bzzt! incorrect!

(well, correct in that the books were indeed written under that pseudonym BUT I MEAN HIS REAL NAME.)

alice’s adventures in wonderland is a hundred and fifty-eight years old. it has never been out of print. it’s been translated into a hundred seventy-four languages and it’s one of the best known works of nineteenth century english literature in the world. it’s been adapted many, many times for stage and radio and film and video games. “retelling the true story of alice in wonderland” is like an entire niche fantasy YA subgenre; i could name seven different examples off the top of my head. it’s as close to UBIQUITOUS as it’s possible for a story to be in a world with seven billion people living in it.

and… in a world where the non-pseudonymous identity of the author is thoroughly documented and easily accessible via the internet, the average person who Fondly Remembers watching the disney animated film or having the book read to them as a kid doesn’t know that ‘lewis carroll’ was a pen name.

his real name was charles dodgson.

and the reason the average person doesn’t know that isn’t any kind of individual failing or whatever, it’s just that the book was published almost a hundred and sixty years ago under a pen name. the pen name is what’s on the cover. most people don’t go Looking for biographical information about the authors of books their parents read to them as kids unless they have a particular reason to be interested. such as high octane nerdery.

(i own the 150th anniversary edition of the annotated alice and have read it cover to cover multiple times. and i’ll do it again. i am an Owns Books About The Math In Wonderland kind of nerdy about alice.)

—the point. being. the real world has a lot of things going for it in terms of historical preservation that remnant does not, chiefly the absence of a Fuck Ton of monsters trying to eat everybody all the time and making international travel and communication horrifyingly dangerous on a good day. the CCTS has only existed for a few decades; before that, sharing information between kingdoms was matter of “send an armed convoy and hope they don’t get killed and eaten by The Horrors en route.”

so the scholars of remnant are at, to put it mildly, a serious disadvantage in terms of information being retained over time.

anyway. ‘the girl who fell through the world’ is established very clearly to be remnant’s equivalent of our alice’s adventures in wonderland, in that it is a quite old children’s story that became MASSIVELY POPULAR worldwide, to the point that nearly everyone alive has at least some familiarity with the plot, many remember it as a cherished childhood bedtime story, and the more bookish characters can quote favorite passages from memory.

which is to say, it isn’t just The Story is an allusion to the wonderland story. the book’s ubiquity is also modeled after alice’s ubiquity, and the lack of popular knowledge about the author’s real identity likewise takes its cue from the fact that in real life most people Don’t Know who charles dodgson is.

so!!!

it’s not at all unreasonable to think that ‘the girl who fell through the world’ is probably meant to be about as old as alice’s adventures in wonderland—about a hundred fifty years, which would mean lewis published it around sixty years before the great war even started. (he also presumably didn’t publish it as a child; if he was about the age dodgson was when alice went to print, this would have been around twenty years after the fact.)

and it’s also not unreasonable to think that lewis, like charles dodgson, published his book under a pseudonym. or anonymously, but given how certain jaune is that alyx wrote the book, even though it was lewis taking notes and lewis saying he would write the story for jaune to find his way home…

i’d put my bet on lewis having written his book as “A.L. [Surname].” A for alyx, L for lewis, a symbolic way for her to come home with him. but the girls upon discovering the ever after is real and alyx was real would of course think “oh, ‘AL’ as in short for alyx” and the use of initials is also ambiguous enough for jaune to worry his way to the conclusion that he did, after alyx poisoned him.

fast forward a century and a half or so in a setting with no internet for most of that and hordes of man-eating Nightmare Beasts inhibiting international communication and… yeah of course the Real Name of beloved children’s classic author A.L. Whoever isn’t common knowledge outside of academic and hobbyist carrollian-equivalent circles.

#this post brought to you by me having the thought #‘but why are we surprised the book is way older than the great war. it’s aaiw.’#followed by ‘………your experiences are not universal’-ing myself GRBFJSJK #anyway. if they’re going where i think they might be going with lewis #he’s theodore’s great-grandfather #and his children were of the generation that fought in the great war #<- HIGHLY speculative but trust me it tracks.

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 1 month

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kdnfb's Ten Years of Fanfiction Mania

Featuring: Unmasked

Summary: Written under an Anonymous pseudonym ~M~ to fill the following prompt ~ Historical Katniss and Peeta hate each other. They attend a masquerade ball and for some reason end up kissing each other. Sparks fly everywhere. Katniss tries to find the man behind the mask but Peeta knows it was Katniss though he doesnt say anything. They end up bethrothed even if they 'despise' each other. How they fall in love is up to u and how katniss figured out it was peeta is up to u

Rating: E for explicit sexual content, explicit language, implied/referenced rape/nonconsensual (not everlark), implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced miscarriage, discussions of illness, war, and injury in a historical setting, ptsd, minor character death. They worst of these tags happens offscreen and is merely discussed and dealt with rather than shown here.

A/N: ~Unmasked~ is my longest fic in terms of word count (around 234k), although Outside Chance and Spellbound are not too far behind and are both incomplete. Unmasked started as something meant to be fun and cathartic, then turned into a ridiculously long and self indulgent fic that I still, to this day, have no idea if the anonymous person who submitted the prompt to @everlarkficexchange even read, let alone whether or not they liked it. But I love what I produced for this fic.

Why write it anonymously and only reveal myself later? A couple reasons. 1) Historical is not my wheel house. At least not writing it. I am a shameless consumer of historical romances. I did some research for this fic but not nearly the level I would've liked to have done. Eventually, I said screw it, it's about the vibes not the accuracy. 2) I had a pile of unfinished wips when I started this, to include Outside Chance and Spellbound (both of which are still unfinished hmmmmm) and I really didn't want a lot of questions about when I was going to get back to those while I was working on this because 3) I'd just gone through a small slice of writerly hell to the point that I seriously considered deleting my entire tumblr and all of my fanfic. Details are not important right now, the result is. That's probably the closest I've ever come to calling myself done with fandom.

Then this prompt posted to EFE and wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to write it, I wanted to write it with as little pressure as possible. So I chose to write and post it as ~M~ until it was finished. Plus, I thought it might make it fun for people other than me if there was a bit of mystery behind it. And I don't regret doing that.

Writing behind a mask allowed me to be as long winded and self-indulgent as I wanted to without worrying about how tight the storyline was or how accurate the historical details were, or wondering if I'd be walking into my tumblr and a barrage of the kind of messages I'd come to dread receiving. The only thing I worried about, really was if the amount and kind of smut I included gave me away prematurely lmao.

While this was my first real foray into the realm of historical fics, I am hoping it's not the last. I've got too many ideas and half started pieces to back out of it now. But those, like this one, will probably remain untethered to a specific real place, and a specific time, mainly because I just don't have that kind of time for research if I'm not getting paid to do it lol. They will be works of love if not works of accuracy.

Unmasked on AO3

#ten years of fanfiction mania #unmasked #unmasked nonsense #i meant to post this like three weeks ago #ooops

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ofstarsandvibranium · 25 days

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Precious Truths: Part 2

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

Warning: physical assault - reader gets slaped on the face

Series Masterlist

Your gaze reveals the precious truths

The beauty that you see within

The bravery that I once never possessed

Your love is strength

Your love is pure

Your love is everything

-Arthur Talbot

You set your quill back into the ink jar and lean back in your chair, letting the ink dry. It's well into the night. Your father and aunt now sound asleep in their respective bedrooms. You find that late nights like these are the best times to write. It's when the world is quiet and you can indulge in your guilty pleasure of writing poetry. You're sure that if your father were to ever find out about this, he'd cast you out.

So your secret remains. Some parts of you felt like you should at least tell Benedict, for he's your closest, and dearest friend. However, you thought best not to. If the ton were to find out, it would be the end of you and you could never be one to drag Benedict down with you.

You can never do that to the man you love.

____________________________

You're in the sitting room watching as stands at Benedict at his easel, Colin and Greggory play chess, and Daphne coos over Auggie. Benedict works on his still life as you sit close by.

He frowns, taking a step back from his painting, "This is wrong. It's-Something's missing."

You lean closer to get a glance at his work, "Benedict, it looks beautiful."

"Are you sure?" he asks with an unsure look on his face.

You stand up and take a better look at the canvas, "Don't you artists always say beauty is in the eye of the beholder?" you look at Benedict with a smirk and then back at the canvas, "What you may find as unattractive, Benedict, someone else might find alluring and lovely."

You pat his arm and then plop yourself back into the chair you previously occupied. You go back to your reading completely unaware that Benedict is looking at you with absolute love in his eyes.

He hears someone clear their throat and he looks away to see Anthony staring at him expectantly, "I'm sorry, brother. Did you say something?"

"We're all going for a promenade. I believe we've all been inside for long enough."

You stand up, "I shall take my leave then, Bridgertons."

"Or you can join us?" Benedict immediately asks with hopeful grin.

You softly shake your head, "I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense," Kate says as she enters the room, "We're always happy to have you, Y/N," she joins her husband's side.

"Well, I can't reject you, Viscountess Bridgerton," you give Kate a smile and Benedict is confused, "So you have no problem rejecting me?"

You laugh, "I'm only jesting, Benedict. I'd love to accompany you and your family for a promenade."

"Wonderful, let's get to it then," Anthony says, trying to gather his siblings together.

_________________________

You're following Benedict's younger siblings whilst said man was walking beside you. You're walking in silence, but it isn't awkward. Silence in Benedict's presence is never awkward, but rather comforting.

"I've realized something, Y/N."

"Yes?"

Benedict keeps his eyes on you as you two continue to follow his younger siblings, "You've always been very supportive of my artistic prospects, but I don't believe I've given the same curtesy to you and your poetic writings. I recall you enjoyed writing them when we were younger."

It warms your heart knowing that Benedict remembers of the times you'd write whilst he'd paint or draw. You let out long and deep sigh. Looking ahead, you reply, "Yes, well, I've given up those dreams, I'm afraid. You know how my father is about my indulgence with poetry. I have to be very careful. Even reading it and reciting it to the ton is risky. Luckily, my father is inebriated a majority of the time he's out and about."

"Well if you ever decide to return to writing poetry, you have my full support."

You nod, "Thank you, Ben. I really appreciate it."

"Y/N," you turn to your right to see Daphne now walking beside you, pushing Auggie in his pram.

"Yes, Your Grace?" you stop and answer her with a teasing smirk. You're older than Daphne by a few years, but just two years younger than Benedict. You've always seen Daphne as a younger sister, being that you are an only child. Occasionally the teasing will produce itself between you two.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?"

You can't help but laugh, "Of course, but I've been spending my entire day with you already. Won't you all get tired of me?"

"We'd never tire of you, Y/N," Benedict replies with earnest and it brings a warm smile to your place.

"Be that as it may, I believe the Viscount should have the final word?"

Anthony, Kate, and Violet catch up to you as you're all looking at Anthony. He looks at you all in confusion, "Something the matter?"

Daphne speaks up, "I invited Y/N to stay for dinner if that's alright, brother?"

He shoots you a grin, "Of course. Miss L/N is always welcome. You're practically family, yes?" he shoots Benedict a wink and you're not sure why.

"Well thank you for the invitation," you look down at your dress, "But perhaps, I should at least change. This dress isn't particularly dinner attire."

"What do you mean? You look beautiful as always," Benedict states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

The Bridgertons all give each other knowing looks. That's when the Dowager Viscountess speaks up, "Benedict, darling, Y/N is right. After the promenade, we should allow her to freshen up before dinner."

Kate removes herself from Anthony and loops arms with you, "Let us continue our promenade, Y/N."

"Of course!" you giggle with your friend as you continue on the trail.

Benedict moves to follow, but Anthony pats his brother on the shoulder, "You've spent hours with her, brother. Let her take a break from you clinging to her all the time."

Benedict looks at his older brother in offense, "I don't cling to her...do I?"

"A bit, darling," Violet says and Daphne nods in agreement.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, "I'm too obvious, aren't I?"

Daphne shakes her head, "No, I don't think so. If you were, she'd have said something, yes? Or maybe would have run for the hills?" she asks with a smirk to her elder brothers, before continuing to push Augie down the path.

_________________

When you arrive back home to change, you ask the housekeeper, Mrs. Burnett, if your aunt is home.

"No, Miss, she's gone to meet with Lady Danbury," the older woman replies.

You nod, "Thank you, Mrs. Burnett," you gather your dress and make your way to your room upstairs.

You freeze when you see the door ajar and you know for a fact you closed it before leaving earlier.

You slowly push the door open and your heart drops when you see your father surrounded by pages and pages of poems. Poems that are supposed to be written by a man.

You gulp and slowly approach him as he sits at your writing desk, "Papa?"

His eyes meet yours in a cold and intimidating stare, "Not only have you still been indulging in poetry, but you're writing it? Under a man's name?"

"What were you doing in my room?"

"THIS IS MY HOUSE! I CAN BE ANYWHERE I PLEASE!"

You take some cautionary steps towards him, "Papa, you've had too much to drink."

"No!" he abruptly stands at your desk, causing you to jump ack in surprise. His chest is heaving as he tightly grips pages of your work, "If anyone finds out about this-"

"They won't! I've hid this from everyone for months!"

"You need to marry," he says with definitive authority.

You look at him with a confused expression, "What do you mean?"

"I can't take your defiance any longer!"

"Defiance?"

Your father walks around your desk so it's no longer a wall between you and he. He points a warning finger at you, "If you don't find a husband within a month's time, I'm marrying you off to your cousin, Albert."

Your jaw drops, "Cousin Albert?! He's absolutely horrendous! He's a rake and a gambler-"

"And looking for a wife!" he exclaims as he cuts you off, "When you were younger, your Uncle Wallace tried to convince me to have you two promised to each other once you came out to society. I regret not taking the opportunity now seeing how you've grown up."

You clench your fists in anger, "Mama wouldn't stand for this! She-

THWACK!

Your words are stuck in your throat, your cheek stinging after your father slaps you. His eyes are red and wild as he spits out, "Mama is dead! She is not here anymore! This is my house! You are to find a husband in a month or you are to marry Albert. Be grateful I'm not sending you away right this moment."

You're holding your cheek now, trying to soothe the pain. Your heart hurts for yourself and your mama. You know she'd hate the man your papa has become.

Without another word, you're rushing out of your room and bounding down the stairs.

Your aunt had just arrived back and you rush past her without a glance. She follows you in concern, "Y/N? What happened?! What's wrong? Y/N!" she yells after you as you run down the street back towards the Bridgerton household.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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helpinghanikan · 6 months

Text

Domestic December: COD

Day 4: Hospital visit (Gaz)

DD Masterlist

It’s hard not to panic when you hear Kyle was in the hospital. If it were serious, or worse, than Kate Laswell was kind enough to tell you that straight up. Simply saying; “He’s under a pseudonym, room 405.”

Any contractor with a field injury has to use a pseudonym. The people that put them in the hospital could want to make another attempt. Even when said contractor is transferred an ocean away. It’s only because Kate Laswell likes you that got to visit him at all.

You have to walk confidently when entering his room. Some well-meaning nurse could see you walk around all confused and ask if you need help. Then you accidentally say Kyle instead of his pseudonym and you won’t get to see him until he’s discharged.

“Knock Knock,” You announce before entering.

There was no need to give Kyle time to make himself decent. With a broken leg and an arm to match he wasn’t going anywhere fast. In a hospital gown, food stains on the collar, and look on his face that screams ‘bored out of my mind.’

“Laswell spilled the beans?” He asks, head following as you took a seat beside him.

“Nah, I just have a sixth sense for you falling out of stuff. What was it this time? A tank or trunk? Or was it the classic helicopter once again?” You ask, taking his hand in the same moment you’re making fun of him.

Ever since you found out about the whole ‘dangling-by-a-rope-from-a-helicopter-thing’ Kyle has never heard the end of it. Especially not when it’s Captain Price’s favorite drinking story. This isn’t to say that you expected every injury he gets to be from falling from things. And the jokes are only saved for when you know he’s alright.

Kyle chuckles at your comment, “couple crates fell on me, actually. Personally, I think that’s the opposite of falling out of stuff.”

Anyone else you could have asked what was in those crates. Make a joke wondering if the contents were lead or something. Kyle wasn’t allowed to answer that question even if you were willing to ask it. Instead he reaches out to take your hand, sighing as he leans back into the pillows.

“Captain says this is going to keep me out of the field for a couple months. Long enough take a holiday. I’m thinking Londan, somewhere with shops and boutiques for a couple days.” He says, already fantasizing of all the stupid stuff he’d buy at those tourist traps.

“Really? Well, I’m excited to see you hobble around London on crutches and a broken arm.” You reply, although the idea sounded great.

“I was hoping you’d have some empathy and get me a wheelchair or something. Please, baby? Take care of me?” He asks, a fake desperation in his voice.

You make the same fake voice, leaning in while you speak: “Oh, poor baby.”

Soon you were going to be kicked out of the room. Be told the visiting hours are this and that, and wave to Gaz as you leave for the day. Hoping that he won’t be transferred again without at least a phone call first.

#reader insert #domestic december #hospital tw #Gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #Gaz is under rated #call of duty reader insert #call of duty imagine

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