#its only a little sketch but im quite proud of it :)

[locusfandomtime]

porl sketch

[kindred-spirit-93]

oc interview session I: Hilal Khalil riordanverse

heyo its me nina! as part of my stress induced oc lore dumping, heres my meeting & interview with Hilal. all rights reserved to rick riordan only the ocs are mine. i tried lol.

･ﾟ.･ﾟ✧ .･ﾟ･ﾟ

its 9:03 and our appointment isnt for another 10 minutes ish. swirling what remains of my earl gray to see the patterns at the bottom of the cup, i look up and see someone looking at me from across the room.

we seem to have spotted each other at the same time, which quietens the sudden jolt in my stomach. i probably should have had breakfast. she makes her way over to my table and the temperature drops slightly. i definately shouldve had breakfast that wasnt coffee.

"good morning! sorry im a little early today."

"oh! no not at all! please have a seat and help yourself." i was a bit thrown off by the warmth and depth of her voice, which seemed to be at odds with the coolness of her eyes. that or the lack of sleep was starting to get to me.

she smiled but didnt meet my gaze. i took a moment to observe her while she poured herself some tea and added 2 teaspoons of sugar. her headscarf was a muted rose colour that accentuated the pink of her nose and cheeks; it was a crisp and cold April morning, perfect weather to sip something warm and read a book or watch the rain softly fall on the window. and have waterdrop races.

her nose scrunched slightly when she brought the steaming cup closer to her face. her eyes were dark and her olive skin was mostly clear. what caught my attention was the abundance of tiny cuts and scratches on her knuckles, making them quite red. probably the cold. she wore a wrist brace that made me think of ninjas for some reason. it peeked slightly from under the sleeve of her stripy jumper.

"thank you so much for coming on such short notice! love your satchel by the way." she grinned so wide for a second i thought i spilt some tea on myself. she was quite literally beaming. i couldnt help but smile myself at the change. it almost felt like spring came early.

"why thank you! i did the embroidery myself." she seemed very proud of her work, and it was genuinely beautiful. the effort itself was enough to blow me away. "its a bit wonky, but it adds to it i think." her eyes glinted with some emotion i couldnt quite place. i hummed in agreement and we drank some more tea and sat in comfortable silence. her jumper was striped like the pages of a notebook i thought. every couple of lines was coloured. rose, gray, and maroon.

after a few more mental notes, i pulled out a notebook and blue ballpoint pen, and with her permission drew a quick sketch. it was extremely rough since art was not my strongest suite. nothing was really, i smirked mentally. but she seemed to like it well enough.

"right then, i dont want to keep you too long, so heres the general outline", after a slanted thumbs up from her hand with the brace, i continued "i have a few ice breaker-esque questions for starters, but the main questions are bit more all over the place. sort of".

she downed the rest of her tea. how many cups can that tea pot hold?? "and for dessert?" she innocently asked not so innocently. jokes on her i planned this all along. "brownies. my treat". she scoffed. i narrowed my eyes.

"id like to see you try." she wiggled her eyebrows mischieviously, pulling out her purse. i snickered. "oh my sweet summer child. i payed ahead first thing this morning." she scowled and i basked in my glory. i made a mental note to thank my dad for the suggestion.

she sighed and accepted her fate. i smiled softly. i felt for her, i really did. it was still funny though. but the blueberry brownie bowl is to die for so i didnt feel too bad. after the last of the tea was drank. drunk. drinked? after the last of the tea was gone, she suggested a walk in the park across the road. that glint was back in her eye. what was she thinking of? i wondered. or maybe who?

even after shocking our systems with sugar, it was still chilly outside. the sun made up for it by effectively blinding us. why where there so many reflective surfaces?? we made it to the park unscathed and settled down on a picnic bench. but it was too cold (and possibly damp) so we went to the swings instead. genius idea really.

we spent about a good 2 hours, taking a few breaks here and there to swing and and eat bicuits; Hilal had very kindly brought a tupperware of homemade barazek (sesame biscuits). best part however was the sprinkle of salt on top, something id never seen before. and not only did it work, it was the cherry on top. which was interesting because the biscuits arent that sweet to begin with. she was full of surprises.

･ﾟ.･ﾟ✧ .･ﾟ･ﾟ

later that night after having written everything down on the same notebook, i went over the day in my head, playing and replaying everything to see if i had missed anything.

the way she tilted her head when she thought, or pulled her sleeves to her fingers, or flailed her arms when she was cold. how she walked, spoke with her hands, covered her mouth when she laughed.

i looked down at what i wrote already, doodles bringing each page to life.

part 2 later its late and im tIRED concept art probably never

[sunrisefairy]

Sketches

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Y/N likes drawing people. More specifically, she likes drawing George Weasley. Which is fine, until she loses her notebook and George is the one who finds it. 

A/N: Okay so because of lockdown and me having legit nothing to do i spent the last 2 days writing this fic for @teawiththeweasleys​ writing challenge and i couldnt wait to share it with you. im lowkey very proud of it so i hope you all like it 

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines message me if you would like to be added!

Ever since Y/N was a little girl she was always drawing whether it was scribbles of her family, animals, magical creatures or plants, you could always find the girl with a pencil and paper somewhere nearby. For as long as she could remember her home was covered in her drawings, Y/N’s mum and dad would frame and hang up all of their daughters’ drawings all over the walls. They were so proud of Y/N’s creativity and encouraged her to keep creating her art. It had become a tradition that every year for her birthday Y/N would receive a new notebook and pencils form her parents and it was always her most cherished gift.

Over the last few years Y/N has become very intrigued with drawing faces, she loved how she could capture a person’s emotion with just some charcoal and parchment. More recently when Y/N was sketching she’d try to focus on the subtle and small features that make humans unique and beautiful, may it be the way their eyebrows arched in curiosity or the dimples and freckles etched into their skin or small wrinkles that danced near their eyes when they smiled. Y/N loved it all.

Because Y/N was so captivated with how facial features made everyone unique she found herself draw a particular ginger a lot more than anyone else. George Weasley. Everybody at Hogwarts knew George Weasley was the twin to the confident and loud Fred Weasley. And being that they are identical twins they look very similar. Y/N found it fascinating trying to pinpoint their minor physical differences and she had become quite good at it.

Her brown leather notebook, which if it wasn’t in her hand was usually found stuffed in her book bag, was full of sketches of George. It started of gradual, her drawings of the sweet boy. Y/N was usually found sitting on a bench in the courtyard if the weather was nice, drawing anyone she saw nearby and normally it was someone new each time. But when her eyes landed on the loud group of Gryffindor boys, she felt a pull to the tall boy with fiery hair who was standing next to his twin, both taking turns to tell a story which had the rest of the group engrossed. Y/N wanted to challenge herself, it was simple, she wanted to capture the features that made an identical twin unique.

Y/N spent the last few weeks ‘studying’ George in a very non-threatening and not at all creepy way. The pair had a few classes together being in the same year at school but the two hadn’t really spoken much to each other. So, Y/N admired from afar, normally from across the great hall or in class. She quickly learnt that George’s face was longer than his brothers, his eyes were more slanted, and his lips had a curve in them that was more prominent when he smiled, something he does a lot, Y/N observed.

~~~

The weather was particularly nice on this Saturday afternoon, so naturally Y/N found herself on a bench in the courtyard with her pencil tin open and a range of charcoals scattered around her as she doodled in her notebook (the one which wasn’t unofficially dedicated to George).

“Hello there little Gryffindors-” Y/N heard a voice call from nearby, the voice belonging to Fred Weasley. George was standing next to his twin and the duo were chatting to some unsuspecting first years.

“-anyone fancy a nougat? They are delicious” George finished; the twins shared a mischievous glance at each other.

Y/N quickly grabbed her other notebook and some charcoal and began sketching the boy’s face focusing on the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed at the poor Gryffindor who accepted the free candy which turned out to be a nosebleed nougat. Y/N was absorbed in her sketching she didn’t notice her best friend sit next to her, peering over her shoulder.

“Ah, drawing your lover boy again I see” Alicia chuckled as Y/N slammed the book shut.

“He’s not my lover boy, I’ve already told you; I draw him to-”

“-capture the features that make an identical twin unique. Sure, so if I flick through your other notebooks, I’ll find one dedicated to Fred too then?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “shut up.”

“Come on creeper, we told the others we’d hang out today.” Alicia pulled on Y/N’s hand as she quickly threw her notebooks and pencil tin in her book bag.

“Merlin, hang on! You’re gonna rip my arm out of its socket!” Y/N giggles hoisting her bag strap higher up her shoulder.

The two girls walked off, arms linked and laughing, neither one noticed the lone notebook that was left on the bench.

~~~

George, Fred and Lee were heading towards the great hall after their amusing interaction with a group of first years when the younger twin noticed a brown book perched on a bench. He detoured that way to pick it up, flicking through the pages in hopes he will find who it belongs to so he can return it.

George furrowed his brows as he dove deeper into the book. He expected it to be filled with notes and writing but he was not expecting to see drawings of people; of him and Fred. But as he looked closer, he quickly realised that they weren’t sketches of him and Fred, just himself.

“Oi! What are you doing? We’re gonna be late for dinner” Fred’s voice pulled him back. George shoved the notebook in his pants pocket and hurried after his twin very confused as to why the notebook was filled with drawings of him.

Later that night George found himself sitting on his bed in his dorm room flipping through the notebook. These drawings were incredible, whoever it belonged to had some serious talent but he couldn’t get over why someone had drawn him, let alone multiple drawings. Each sketch was different to the last though, some were of his whole face others just of his eyes or mouth. George was in awe of the skill this person had; they had managed to capture his face perfectly.

Some might view finding a notebook filled of drawings of themselves a little creepy, however George Weasley found it flattering. You see, for his whole life, George has seen himself as the other half of Fred. Most people in their lives couldn’t tell the pair apart and opted to talk to them and refer to them almost as if they were one person as FredandGeorge and not Fred and George. This notebook was proof that someone out there noticed George as a singular person, an individual, which made George’s heart flutter.

~~~

“Oh godric” Y/N mumbles pouring out the contents of her book bag on the table.

“Hey, Y/N relax. I’m sure it will turn up eventually.” Alicia says in attempt to calm her friend down.

Y/N ran her hands through her hair, very stressed. She had been searching for her notebook all morning with no luck worried that the wrong person had found it and would deem her a creepy stalker.

“How can I relax when my notebook-the notebook which is filled with drawings of George Weasley-has gone missing. Oh merlin, whoever has it will most likely recognise the drawings of George and give it to him and he’ll eventually find out that it belongs to me and think I’m a freak” Y/N’s arms are frantically waving around to empathise her point as she paces up and down the room.

Alicia stops in front of her friend, placing her hands on her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly “Y/N breath. You’ve told me a million times that those drawings are just about capturing someone’s facial features, right? It’s not like you have a crush on the guy so it doesn’t matter if anyone thinks that, because it’s not true.”

Y/N’s sketches of George Weasley had started just as Alicia said but it quickly turned into Y/N possessing a small, okay maybe huge crush on the red head and her trying to find any excuse to stare at him and draw. Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest at the thought of George being the one to find her notebook. There was no way George wouldn’t be freaked out and think Y/N had some weird obsession with him.

“Okay so when was the last time you remember having your book?” Alicia questions.

Y/N racks her brain trying to remember, “yesterday afternoon. In the courtyard on that bench, I was drawing him when you came over. I’m sure I put it in my bag but I haven’t seen it since.”

Alicia nodded, the two deciding that was the best place to start.

Y/N practically sprints to the courtyard, luckily there wasn’t many students here, giving it was a Sunday morning and everyone was probably still sleeping. The two girls look around trying to spot the leather book. Y/N sighs in defeat, collapsing onto the bench and groaing into her hands.

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe I lost it. I’m so stupid”

“Err, Y/N” Alicia nudged her friend’s shoulder.

“Geez, thanks Alicia, you’re meant to say ‘No Y/N you’re not stupid’”

Alicia widened her eyes at Y/N before glancing behind her, “look”.

Y/N follows her gaze and freezes. George Weasley was walking towards them, that in itself was strange but it wasn’t until Y/N looked down at George’s hand and noticed the missing notebook.

“Oh no.”

George had figured whoever misplaced the notebook would probably come back to the last place they had it to search for it. He was hoping for that at least. Not only did he want to return the book to its rightful owner, he also wanted to thank them for seeing him, for noticing him.

As George rounded the corner his eyes scanned the courtyard and were met with Alicia Spinnit and Y/N L/N sitting on the same bench he’d found the notebook on, bingo. Judging by Y/N’s wide eyes that were glued to the notebook in his hand and how Alicia gave her a pat on the shoulder before disappearing, George figured the drawings were the work of Y/N. George’s heart sped up with this information. The two of them weren’t close but were friendly having shared some classes together. George had caught himself on more than one occasion glancing at Y/N during lessons and mealtimes, wondering what it would be like to get to know her. Guess now he has a chance.

His feet stopped a few paces in front of the bench as Y/N gawked up at him.

George cleared his throat, “uh I believe this belongs to you?”

Y/N basically snatches the notebook from his fingers, feeling insanely embarrassed and when Y/N is embarrassed, she rambles. “Oh merlin, I’m so sorry! I’m guessing you looked through it, of course you did. I would have too if I stumbled across a stranger’s book. I’m also guessing you realised all the drawings were of you. Look I’m not some stalker, I swear. Like I’m not some girl that has a massive crush on you and decided to fill a notebook with drawings of you… Well I do have a crush on you. But I promise I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just, I like drawing people and you have a nice face.” Y/N chews on her bottom lip, forcing herself to shut up.

George opens his mouth and closes it a few times as he processes the girl’s words. “Wow, um- I want you to know that I don’t think you’re creepy at all. I was actually really flattered looking through your pictures. It’s nice to know someone sees me as me and not as an extension of Fred.”

The two stare at each other for a few moments, neither one knowing what to say.

George moves to sit beside Y/N, close enough that their thighs are touching, “they are really good by the way. The drawings I mean. You’re very talented.”

Y/N blushes at his words, “thank you. I don’t normally share my art, with the exception of my parents and Alicia.”

George places a hand over his heart, “well in that case I feel very honoured.” He runs his fingers through his hair as Y/N giggles before continuing, “I know we aren’t super close and I kind of hate that it’s taken me this long to ask but would you maybe wanna hang out sometime? Like a date.”

Y/N fiddles with the notebook in her lap trying to hide her excitement “for sure, I’d love that.”

George lets out a sigh of relief, “great, well what are you up to right now? Maybe we can hang out and you can draw more pictures of my handsome face.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and playfully shoves at his side “careful, your head might explode with all that ego. But yes I’d love to hang out with you right now.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

[hops-hunny]

On Your Marks, Get Set, Go!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.5k

Request: @de4d-s0up“36,38,12 for Neville!❤️ fem reader and surprise me it can be fluff or smut OH OK IM EXCITED NOW😌 CONGRATS ON 300 BABES SO PROUD OF YOU<3”

Summary: (Y/n) spends so much time in Neville’s shadow that when she’s brought to the light she suffers from some massive stage fright and forgets her lines (not literally but like this sounds clever and you’ll get it soon. Just fuckin read it, yeah?

Warnings: None! A little angst but nothing too big, just majority fluff fluff fluff!

A/N: Can I just say that I love how well these flow together?? LIKE UGH YOU ALWAYS GIVE ME SOME GOOD SHIT TO WORK WITH!! This was very fun to write so tysm!

36.Admirer

38.Caught

12.“I’ve always liked you, you’ve just never noticed.”

If you were to ask (Y/n) who was the most attractive guy in the castle, she would 1000% say it was Neville Longbottom. For as long as she could remember, she was absolutely mesmerized by him and with time, he had gone from the adorable little guy she’d see in the hall into a charming young man who she could not be anywhere near. Yes he had a tendency to be a bit socially awkward sometimes but if anything, that added to his charm and if anything that made it even harder to talk to him. She didn’t want to have to face such an awkward interaction on why she was approaching him despite them not being friends nor having any classes together.

So she watched from afar, following him around the halls, sticking close to him whenever she could. It wasn’t in a creepy way however! She just found him to be beautiful and she couldn’t help herself. The more she thought about it she did sound like a stalker but that was such a strong word. And if he didn’t know of her existence could there really be any harm to what she was doing? That’s what she thought to herself as she stood behind the pillar, observing him as he conversed with his friends. Neville was currently laughing at something Dean had said as he shoved Seamus. (Y/n) couldn’t help the smile that was beginning to form at the boy’s laughter. His smile was simply contagious, a ray of sunshine indeed! She sighed to herself softly before biting the inside of her cheek.

“I wish he’d smile at me like that.” she murmured softly as to not alert them of her presence. If only she could speak, say even just one word to him. But alas, anytime she even attempted an utterance of a word her brain would short circuit and she went running the opposite way. It just wasn’t fair! She held tightly onto her books as dust fell from above her head, her (e/c) eyes growing wide as dust made its way into her nose. “O-oh no. Please, please ple-” she was cut off by the exact thing she didn’t want, a loud sneeze. She groaned, training her eyes to the ground in front of her. However if her luck wasn’t bad already a familiar pair of brown shoes stopped right in front of her. (Y/n) quickly snapped her head up looking at the boy of her affections. Neville stood in front of her, searching the pocket of vest for something until he pulled out a pale yellow handkerchief.

“You alright, love? That was some sneeze.” He said, holding out the small fabric to her as he offered her a small smile. She was stunned, Neville was talking to her. She kept her eyes locked with him with a shocked expression mouth agape. ‘Don’t just stand there!! Speak! Move! Do SOMETHING!!’. She slowly began to take small steps backwards, shaking her head ‘no’ frantically as she ran off down the hallway not even noticing she had dropped the little brown leather notebook she always kept on her. The gryfindor boy made a soft frown as he reached down, picking up the book. He flipped it open looking for a name relieved when he found a name on the inner cover. “(Y/n) (L/n), 6th year. Huh, I wonder why I’ve never seen her before?” He said to no one in particular as he walked back to Seamus and Dean who were laughing at the scene that had just played out in front of them.

“Geez Nev, we knew you were bad with women but that’s a whole new level!” Seamus choked out through laughs, reaching a freckled hand up to wipe the tears that had formed in his state of hysteria.

“Yeah seriously! What the hell did you even say?” Dean said, coming down from his laughter. Neville frowned some, shrugging his shoulders as he scratched the back of his head.

“I’ve got no clue. I saw she had sneezed and offered her my cloth and after I did that she just ran off! Is there something in my teeth? Do I smell bad?” He questioned, sniffing at his pits to check for any suspicious odor but found nothing but the smell of his body wash and deodorant. 

“No you don’t smell bad. Well no worse than usual that is.” Seamus said with a shrug. Neville rolled his eyes flicking him on the forehead with a scowl.

“You’re one to talk! Your natural scent is smoke and sweat, I don’t wanna hear it from you.” He grumbled out, shifting his eyes back to the book in his hands. The girl was clearly frightened of him, how was he supposed to get it back to her? “I just feel so bad, I don’t know what I did to make her so scared of me. I’ll wait a bit before I give it back to her.”

----------------------------------------

And he had done just that. (Y/n) had noticed her journal was missing but didn’t think much of it. She had a habit of losing things and assumed it would get back to her in some way and plus, it wasn’t that important. It was just filled with notes and sketches of the different mushrooms she had found on the castle grounds. Whenever she had a free period or a bit of free time on her hands, one of her favorite things to do was identify rare breeds of fungi and other various plants. And although she had missed doing that, it had only been a week and it's not like she didn’t have parchment. The only thing that was frustrating about that was that parchment and scrolls lacked the same convenience that notebooks had. (she didn’t know why Hogwarts wouldn’t just get with the times. Where were they, Camelot?)However she had faith one of her friends would bring it back to her. (Y/n) didn’t have many which is why she wondered what was taking so long for the return of her notebook.

“Hey guys, have you seen my notebook? You know the little brown one I always carry?” she asked, plopping down on the old worn down couch in the (y/h/h) common room.

“Hmm, nope! Last time I saw it you were carrying it. Why? Did you lose it?” Gwen said as she continued to read her book.

“You’re so bad with keeping track of things. You’d lose your head if it wasn’t on your shoulders.” Marco said, rolling his eyes at his friend's irresponsible behavior.

“Oh come on that was ONE time! When the potion said it’d blow your head off I didn’t think it meant quite literally!” she huffed out, crossing her arms across her chest defensively. Her eyes lit up as she was reminded of a detail. “And besides, didn’t you drink that exact potion afterwards because you wanted to know what it felt like to have no head?”

Marco was silent, whistling as he avoided eye contact with his friend before his eyes landed on a familiar lanky brunette holding a certain little book that had been missing. “Hey, isn’t that the guy you fancy? He’s got your book!” he said, pointing in the direction in which Neville was coming from. (Y/n) gasped, gathering her stuff as she muttered something about ‘being late to class’ but right as she stood up, she was yanked back down by Gwen. “Woah, not so fast track star! How are you going to get your book if you leave?”

“Y-you can give it to me! Tell him you know me. See ya!” she said standing back up but once again, she was yanked back down. “Would you quit it?!”

“No can do buckeroo. You’ve gotta get your book back somehow. Neville’s a pretty honorable guy, I highly doubt he’s gonna give your book to some people who could possibly know you. He’d wanna give it directly to you himself.” Gwen said, still not looking up from her book. (Y/n) let out a defeated sigh. She was right. Neville is the type to make sure to get back a lost item to the person themselves to avoid any chance of them not receiving it. She knew that better than anyone.

Neville wiped his free hand on his pants leg, eliminating the thin layer of sweat that had gathered on it. He was nervous to say the least. It wasn’t that he didn’t have any female friends, it was just that the female friends he did have didn’t look at him like he was you-know-who himself. Since their last meeting, he had thought about the girl a lot. He couldn’t recall seeing her before and he wasn’t the type of person people hated without any rhyme or reason so it baffled him. Someone found him intimidating? That was a new one! Neville had taken the liberty of asking his friends what he could do to be more welcoming for people but they all just seemed to laugh in his face or scoff. 

He found the question to be an absurd one for him to be asking too but for some reason, all he wanted to do was be less scary. Less scary and more approachable to the girl so maybe, maybe he could talk to the mysterious beauty who he’d never notice. That was another thing that made him quite angry. In all his years of Hogwarts, how hadn’t he noticed such a rose in its prime? Even in her frazzled state her refinement was more than apparent. She had beautiful glowing (e/c) eyes, the cutest little nose, and two beautiful petals that were more commonly known as lips. Even now as he got closer and she had that same damn look on her face, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on and he had done a lot more than just laying his eyes on girl’s.

“I-I believe this belongs to you?” He said, holding the book out in front of her. However, all the girl did was stare up at him with wide (e/c) eyes and her pretty little lips parted in horror. The girl to her right cleared her throat, nudging her not so blasé

 in her action. (Y/n) shifted to her eyes before quickly bringing them back to Neville as she closed her mouth. “Well it’s not that I believe it belongs to you, I know it’s yours. You dropped it when you ran away from me the other day.” He said looking away as he scratched the back of his head with his hand, running his fingers through his luscious locks of brown. “Now that I think about it, that doesn’t automatically make it yours. I’m sorry for assuming! You could’ve been holding onto it for a friend or or-”

“It’s hers. Thank you Neville, that was very kind of you and I’m sure (Y/n) appreciates it. Right (Y/n)?” Gwen asked, handing her the book from the boy's hands. (Y/n) just continued to stare. No movement, no indication that she did appreciate it.

“I’ve always liked you, you just never noticed.” she said softly, continuing on with her intense gaze. Her breath hitched as her eyes almost popped out of her head, both hands flying to her mouth. Not one person spoke, all her friend’s and Neville were just as shocked as she was at the announcement. “No, no, no. Fuck!” she mumbled with a great emphasis on the last word. She quickly stood up, running away making sure to not forget her book this time. 

(Y/n) continued to whip and run through the hallway, going as fast as her legs could carry her. She paid no mind to where she was going and quite frankly she didn’t care. Anywhere far away from Neville was good enough. If him catching her behind the pillar that day was the biggest embarrassment of the year, this was the biggest embarrassment of the century. How could she speak so freely, so carelessly? All those years of sneaking around, admiring him from a far were thrown down the drain. Things would never be able to go back to how they were without him noticing her there. She slid down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest as she sobbed loudly. It didn’t matter, no one came to this hallway so she didn’t have to think about what would happen if someone heard her. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve before glancing at the book at her side. Out of a fit of rage she picked it up, throwing it at the wall in front of her. She watched as the book fell with a thud, pages open to a random observation she had made about a spore specimen.

“I’m starting to think I’m bad luck. It appears as though anytime I’m around, you’ve got tears coming out of those pretty little eyes of yours.” Neville said softly, kneeling in front of the girl. (Y/n) brought her head up, (e/c) eyes staring into hazel ones.

“You...you think my eyes are pretty?” she questioned, tilting her head some as she sat up a bit straighter. Neville reached forward, gripping her small hand in his much larger one.

“Not just pretty, the prettiest. After I met with you that first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about them all night. Despite how horrified you looked at me, they were still the prettiest shade of (e/c) I’d ever seen.” He said, smiling softly at the girl’s flustered expression. “You know I’m a bit relieved to know that you like me.”

“R-really? Why’s that?” (Y/n) questioned, gripping his hand back as he helped pull her off the ground.

“Because, that means you don’t think of me as some scary monster! I was beginning to grow quite worried, y’know?” He said, chuckling a bit. (Y/n) gasped, smacking him on the shoulder a bit.

“Hey! I was not that bad….was I?” she asked, looking into his eyes. Neville bit his lip, looking away from her. “Oh come on! Can you blame me though? I’ve had a crush on you since we were on the train to Hogwarts for the first time. I remember I was so angry that I wasn’t the one who found Trevor for you.” she said, clinging onto his arm a bit. Neville looked a bit shocked at that revelation. Most girls didn’t pay him much attention till around 5th year, had she really liked him for that long?

“Does that mean that this,” he leaned down, pecking her on the lips before pulling away, “Was your first kiss?” He asked. (Y/n) had that same expression she had during the encounter a bit ago however this time, something was a bit different. She gripped his shirt before bringing his lips back down to hers kissing him with feverish intensity. Neville let out a small moan, gripping at her waist tightly as he pinned her against the wall causing her feet to dangle in the air.

(Y/n) was right on something, things would never be the same. But sometimes change was good. That was proven to her as Neville had his tongue down her throat.

[ao3writers-pls-love-me]

get to know yourself! what your fav colors? hair eyes colors? (fav?)? what's you type of human? do you have regrets if yes can u tell us (optional)? soulmates? three wishes? zodiac sign?

sorry if there are sm questions, but i like ur things very much! stay awesome mate! u've gained a follower <3

(can u giv me a cute solangelo au with ridiculously lots of details pls ty, so that when ure famous, i would be very proud and happy)

hi thank you for the questions

i like red, strong or/and soft green plus blue.

i have black hair with dark brown eyes.

heavy metal enthusiastic pep with black hair&eyes, unrelated, but also into unexpected kinds of stuff like astronomy, architecture, autopsy, creating arson and terrorism in my kitchen.

that's a very good question. a human who can speak and love a lot of languages and is passionate about something they like, bonus if they are smart and randomly over-analyze slow-main-world-building fictions.

yes i do, it involves wattpad, zodiac shippings, 9 yr olds writing romance and end up with reposting anime arts they found pretty and canon with the character. dark time.

soulmates.

money. too much knowledge. good exam scores.

im a Cancer

of course! solangelo soulmate au where you cant feel certain emotions until you meet your soulmate. will doesn’t know how to be happy (cant laugh cant smile, he can fake it but everyone will know) and nico doesn’t know how to be sad (he can cry, but its not natural, he's not gonna feel a thing, it only wetted his face. meaning he cant grief or sad about his mother and bianca's death, he feels empty)

(sike this is actually a one-shot, here u go)

will was going to practicing his guitar with some of his college-band friends like the usual. then this black hair guy unexpectedly joined in out of nowhere, he doesn’t do music, not a member, only friends of will’s bass guy (jason), he sits in a corner, often moving his pencil around, writing, drawing, in his full-of-sticky-notes journal, very quiet. he leaves them alone and they leave him alone.

the guy hangs out with them a lot, keeps minimum talking, works mainly. today just like others, instruments, sketching pencils, the black hair guy's musical voice, probably Italian, too bad he's not a singer, will off-minded thought, the usual.

but today, no so-so. unusual things happen, unfortunately.

when the band's having a break, nico (jason said once), suddenly asked, “what some fancy words can you think of?” jason looks at him immediately, “um...fancy like, what?” nico shrugs, “medical-related”

the member shift their gazes at jason, making him a little on edge, will thumps on his guitar, pitied the guy, “gosh i dont know! uh, crispy....critter?”

“that’s not even fancy”

“well, it’s medical-related. it means......" jails off, jason doing his little dancie-dance, then drops it and says with a stoic face, "sorry i forgot” nico scoffs, rolls his eyes annoyingly. will feels strange things starting in his stomach, he blames them on lou's tomato sandwich.

don't know what drives him, but will calmly says, surprises even himself, "it means you have severe burns on your body"

"oh? i thought it just jace's occasionally kick-the-brain thinking or something, thanks" will had never heard him talk this much in a sentence before, it's quite nice. "see jace, your guitar guy is way more superior than you"

"hey!" nico chuckles, mischievously. he makes will's guitar thumping misses some beats, "great, now he likes you, good luck with that" he doesnt know what's that about, but somehow pleased with it. nico tilts his head, smugs "can't blame me for liking awesome people, jace. what? jealous cause i dont like you just as same?"

nico is full of unexpected things. a moment ago you thought of him as some emo guy with 'dont talk to me' aura, then now you have this charming cool chad that can punch and persuade you its his way to show affection.

nico casually stands up, with a cat-smirk on his face, professionally spins his pencil, then points at their drummer (piper), "pretty drummer. you. next"

"oh ok um, what's that word again. netter, nectar—noctor! it's uh...yeah, same to jason"

"will, can you please?" hearing his name come from nico's lips sound nice but also, rare. he shouldn't get used to it this easily, really, but somehow it's felt natural, a worth spoking fact, "it's a mix between nurse and doctor. nurses who think they are doctors"

"extraordinary. wonderful. fascinating. truly the best. this guy" jason looks at him and nico incredulously, will confusingly looks back at him, "you dont even know if he's right or wrong—" brings a small laugh out of nico, "well i have the wifi password, so joke on you jass"

jason and the gang gape in horror at nico, will too, but he doesn't seem so with his poker face, "wtf nico we've been here way longer than you. Mr.D had us bc my dad forced him to so he hates everything thats involved us, means, you too, but how come you get to be the exception? and you didn't even tell us?"

someone says 'we dont stan'

nico taps unnaturally fast on his phone, "n-o-c-t-o-r, he's right. good job will" and gives him two thumbs up, annoying jason, "if you had a phone this whole time, you could have just googled it, why asked us?"

"jass, you horrible nut-toes! you cant always google things, you have to find true inspirations and stupidity. crispy critter cant suddenly appear in your head and have you searched for it", he has a point. veins pop on jason's forehead, he's massaging his eyes, equally giving up.

wow this nico dude is annoying, and cute, it's unexpected, he's quite the loved-extrovert, "anyways. next. dude with weird satanic stuff on his blue t-shirt."

"for god's sake they are not weird satanic stuff, they are poseidon's symbols! what's s wrong with you? "

"everything, say the word, king"

"butts"

"you're canceled. peasant. disgustingly mushy slice of apple will catch you in your dream tonight" nico spins nicely on his feet, "you. who looks like a sad man that would eat sharpies for attention"

leo, face scrunched up entirely, expressively saying 'i am going to strangle and kiss you', "pregnanc—"

"gods no. straight people. furry mfs" nico sighs, exaggerated, watches the band as if they just broke into his house, only stealing his nuttela jar to eat it with microwaved-pizza, true disappointment, "will, you're my last hope, say the thing"

the thing, he said. will thought a little in his head, weird movements on his mouth, threaten to break, "there's one. it's a type of lung disease, that's caused by inhaling volcanic ash and sand dust"

everyone looks at him expectedly, he tenses a bit at, the attention, especially with nico's burning gaze.

"pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis"

"..."

"..."

"...wtf did y—"

"will, dude, what's the gibberish is that...?"

"you 'idnt catch? pneumonoultr-"

"no stop"

and will chuckles gently, half-heartedly, too quiet but still clear as the sky with no clouds.

then when he realized it, he stops, snaps out of it immediately, his eyes blown wide, and he coughs, heavily. something rumbling under his throat, welcome, ticklish, new, strange...refreshing. he couldn't stop, and it spills, continue to spill, more and more, and he has a hard time breathing.

will is laughing now, everyone gawks at him, cracked, shocked, confused, amazed. they have never seen him smile, least laugh.

nico has a misty expression on his face. like a shutdown computer, he's loading. and will finds it funny, gosh, it looks hilarious to him.

will looks up at nico and the other, can't contain his giggles. shoulder shaking, cheek blushing. something blooms in his heart, connected, full, new, loved. it's weird, but not in an unpleasant way, he likes it, adores it, loves it. it's nice, so nice.

whats happening to him, will thought. his cheeks are starting to hurt and his heart is starting to feel vulnerable.

"n-nico? you ok?"

nico's still standing there.

and he slowly, steady, turns his face to will.

then, tears.

too slow. too big. too much. too natural. too clean, tears.

he's crying. nico's crying.

"...w-what's happening to me—?"

[shoichee]

Hello! Can I perhaps ask for no. 28. “Make me” from your prompt list for my beloved Imayoshi? It's so nice seeing him here on your theme and avatar and that pERFECT url, it feels like I finally found my people.

HELLO HELLO, and YES I WAS SO SURPRISED THAT NO ONE TOOK THIS URL... considering that it was just an alternative spelling of shoichi and its a rlly short handle too mwehe // im sort of a particular person when it comes to how something looks, whether itd be outfits, drawings, coloring, and the UI of a blog, u name it.... i may have spent hours trying to have the perfect colors for this theme PLEASEEEE, but without further ado here is our man, our little shit, Imayoshi

@knb-kreations howdy! another new work posted here!

Imayoshi x Reader

28. “Make me”

Word Count: 2331

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

Imayoshi doesn’t exactly know how he feels about you.

Scratch that, he does know. He’s quite amused at the shenanigans you pull on others around you, and a lot of times, you actually elicit a few dry laughs out of the guy. Other times though, he’d wish that you would just shut the fuck up, especially when all he hears amidst his studying was your loud “whispering” and “hushed” jokes. How you were always nearby no matter where he is was still a mystery that he casually ponders about from time to time. Perhaps your natural tendency to project your voice creates the illusion that you were near when you really weren’t?

No matter, such trivial thoughts can’t occupy his mind when college entrance exams loom closer. Then again, they weren’t particularly difficult; they were simply a hassle to secure near-perfect scores, especially when his chances of admittance rely critically on how well he does.

“That’s an awful drawing of a samurai,” Susa comments, snapping Imayoshi out of idle thought.

“Ho? Is it really terrible if you were able to tell what it is?” Imayoshi chuckles. “The point of a drawing is to convey the right idea or emotion. It seems that my drawing skills hit a bulls-eye with this sketch, no?” He playfully spins his pencil around, patiently waiting for his reply to goad him.

All Susa does in response is to roll his eyes before he turns his full attention back to his notes. He knows better than to try a comeback against Imayoshi, who can easily make it backfire against the person with a pleasant close-eyed smile. Imayoshi, seeing Susa’s nonverbal resign from engaging further banter, also looks down back to his book of scribbled notes and chicken-scratch drawings before he exhales an inaudible sigh.

School just doesn’t cut out to be mentally stimulating for him. It’s a little too repetitive and mundane for his taste.

“Argh!! Oh no!” your voice rang out, despite your poor attempt to be reasonably quiet. “I forgot applications for the Coca-Cola scholarship are due today!”

Coca-Cola… what?

Everyone looks up to warily eye you, and your few friends, who are currently rushing to pull you down and slap their hands over your mouth to mute you, were panicking at the new attention you managed to garner. Even still, your mind seems more fixated on whatever was on the laptop’s screen, rather than what they were doing to you.

Imayoshi can’t help but stifle his audible mirth from how you manage to change the mood of the entire library within seconds.

“How do you even forget something as important as a huge scholarship like that?” Susa says in dismay. “Makes me kind of wonder how (l/n) would handle life after graduation, to be honest.”

“Well,” Imayoshi begins. “I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s best not to underestimate (l/n)-san. Surely we’ve learned our lesson with Seirin?” He toys with the pencil grip before he sporadically draws some lines loosely resembling another sketch.

“Drawing again?” Susa raises a brow. “Have you even been studying?”

“Well,” he replies. “There’s still plenty of time before exams—months to be exact. Could you even study with the current distractions in here?” At his own words, he nudges his chin in your direction.

“It’s not just any exams though, it’s—”

“Whether they have more importance or not doesn’t really concern me. After all, standardized testing isn’t worth stressing out for when we’ve taken essentially the same thing all our lives.”

“What most are worried about is the content inside the exams, Imayoshi,” he said, carefully treading into dangerous waters with Imayoshi’s tendency to take all replies as mind-game challenges for his own amusement.

“‘If you have been paying attention consistently throughout the year, you wouldn’t be having much trouble…’ that’s what you once oh-so-wisely said to Wakamatsu yesterday, hmm?” His mimicking tone drips a hint of arrogance. “Unless you mean to tell me my ears do not work? But by all means, please feel free to correct me.”

“That’s different,” he sighed, his face clearly evident that he was done with Imayoshi’s shit. “That exam only tested content for the past year, not your entire academic repertoire over the courses of middle and high school.”

“I’d like to think that the logic still applies the same way.”

“Well,” Susa heaves with a languid stretch. “You generally score better on the exams than me, so you’re probably right. Still, don’t neglect your studying.”

“Right, right, Susa-senpai~”

“... Please don’t call me that again.”

“... If you say so,” he said, but his smile blatantly showed his real intentions of never stopping his irritable quips. Susa gets ready to pack up his book bag before he heads out the door with a friendly wave. Imayoshi half-heartedly returns the gesture with a casual wave of his own. He immediately notices you also packed up and about to leave with a worried frown, and of course, while audibly mumbling your concerns and makeshift schedules to accommodate time for last-minute essay writing. By now, all of your friends have left for home.

“Ah, biology lab due next week, kanji worksheets due tomorrow, hmm, um, how would I finish this on time… ah, calculus test is tomorrow too, ah shit… should I ask someone to tutor?—ah, but it’s super last minute, and there’s still that scholarship… argh, fuck!” Your voice peaked in volume at the end, and the librarian immediately shot daggers at you.

“Shhhhh!”

“A-Ah! S-Sorry, sorry!”

Imayoshi was watching you with his chin on his arm propped up on the desk, unable to control the smile that escaped his lips. You really were entertaining to watch, and you never cease to bore him.

He turns away to crack his neck and roll it around before methodically packing up his writing utensils and notebooks. Soft shuffling filled the air as he rearranged the items inside his bag. As he turns to pack the last thing on the table, which happened to be the notebook filled with his idle doodling, his face slightly softens at the drawing he did after the samurai. Yes, the one Susa chastised him for when he could’ve been studying. Yes, perhaps he was right when he was terrible at drawing after all; your panicked face and wild hand gestures didn’t really translate well into paper, and it looked a little too much like a horror comic and less than a sketch of you. Still, he’s oddly proud of it.

Imayoshi promptly pushes the chair in and leaves the library, but when he rounds the corner of the adjacent hallway, he bumps into you.

“Er—hi! I mean, please, uhhh… if it isn’t too much to ask—canyoupleasetutormeforthecalculustesttomorrowbecausemyfinalgradedependsonthat?”

Imayoshi winces at the sheer volume of your voice and plugs his ears in out of habit to block out some of the decibels. Wakamatsu was eerily similar to you in that regard. Only difference between the two of you was that you were deceptively intelligent. Extremely so.

“My, my, if it isn’t (l/n)-senpai!” He fakes a surprised look, earning him an eye roll on your end. “You need someone like me to teach you the works?”

“I—what? We’re literally in the same calc class, Imayoshi,” you retort. “Besides, drop the ‘senpai’ honorific. It feels so slimy when you say it so disingenuously… Aren’t we both 3rd years too?”

“I’m so hurt,” he mocks. “What if I was really genuine with you?”

“Look, right now, no remarks from you, Evil Glasses,” you say. “It’s really, really urgent and I don’t know how to grasp the material for the class lately, plus my essay, ugh…” You rub your fingers against your temples in an attempt to make the stressful headaches disappear while Imayoshi simply watches with his eyes slightly open.

“... You usually do well on all your exams, no? Unless my eyes and memory fail me.” It was true; even though you were as loud-mouthed as Wakamatsu, you would often shock a lot of people when your name always appeared in the higher percentiles of exam results. Apparently most students and teachers associate your rowdy personality with an expected subpar academic performance. He has you to thank for when your score reports always cause reactions of utter disbelief from the teachers. You really do liven up the school and make it a lot more unorthodox.

“I guess…” you mumble. “But I really wanna do especially well for this one because math is my weakest subject, and you always score the highest for these types of exams, so…”

“It may be my best subject,” he says, leaning slightly closer to your face. “But I’m not the one with the highest scores in any math subjects throughout these years, and we both know that quite well, don’t we, (l/n)? Why don’t you come clean about the real reason why you’re here?”

“Oh my literal fuck—Imayoshi, you’re one of the best students in calc right now regardless of exam results,” you petulantly huffed, not backing down from his intimidation. Imayoshi notes your cheeks reddening, and he figured it was either because of the close proximity between your faces or the fact you were frustrated… perhaps both. “And you’re the only one around here on campus who I could ask!”

“Really now,” he chimes, moving closer to whisper in your ear. “Are you sure?” With incoherent stammers, you backed away from him, slapping your hands against both of your ears to protect them.

“W-W-What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Looks like I won this one, (l/n)-san,” he purrs, relishing the fact that only he could render you this quiet. “Ho? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“I—Shut up!” you lamely shoot back. “You can just say no if you really don’t wanna do this—urgh, I’m leaving, I’m not gonna waste any more time—”

“How hurtful,” he dryly remarks, standing up straight again after leaning for a quite a while. “It’s almost as if you’re rejecting me~” He knew you would always take his bait and quip back (unlike Susa), regardless of whether or not you tell him that you weren’t going to engage further.

“As if,” you snorted, making another exaggerated eye roll. “You’re the last person who would ever be hurt from this.”

“Dear me!” he exclaims. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I don’t help out people for free? Did you think I would be a gracious, selfless person who would help you like a saint?”

“Okay, fine! Perhaps I didn’t think that far ahead, okay? You just were the first person that came to mind, and I thought asking you wouldn’t hurt.” His smirk widens almost maliciously at your words, lips already opening to deliver another irritating quip before you immediately spoke again to stop him. “Okay, Imayoshi, you little shit, just shut up—I don’t wanna hear anything from your mouth right now.”

“I don’t see any reason why I should listen to you at all,” he muses. “Why don’t you make me?” He has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, eagerly eyeing your next move, and as he expected, you let out a frustrated noise that prompted passerby students to shoot pointed looks towards the both of you.

What he didn’t expect was for you to take a huge step towards him, unceremoniously pull him down to your level, and press a reverberating smack on his lips. His eyes are immediately blown wide open to look at your embarrassed, but determined face. His fingers unconsciously move to touch his warmed lips.

“... That was quite romantic, wasn’t it, (l/n)?” he dryly says, recovering almost immediately from the shock. All the other students fled from the blatantly bold scene to save face. Not that Imayoshi really cared.

“Okay, you know what? Bye, I’m not gonna play anymore mind games with you,” you grumble. “Essays and studying aren’t gonna be done by themselves—wah!”

Imayoshi gently tugs you back to reciprocate back a kiss, meticulously slipping his hands behind your head and on your waist to accommodate you. Your eyes are completely open from the shock that the Imayoshi Shoichi was actually kissing you. You don’t close your eyes from the sensation, completely entranced when you make eye contact with his half-lidded eyes watching your every reaction closely. The kiss ended all too soon, and Imayoshi separates himself from you, secretly admiring your dazed look.

“That was quite a strong reaction to just a simple kiss.”

“I—that was not just a ‘simple kiss!’”

“Now would you like to tell me the true reason why you approached me?”

“You’re… insinuating that you know something.”

“Well we wouldn’t know unless you come clean,” Imayoshi purrs. “I can sometimes be wrong too.”

“Ugh, what the hell—fine, I am quite enamored by you, and uh, I… find it infuriating to be with you, but it also gives me butterflies… so I thought I could be with you more… if I asked you—don’t get it twisted, though! I still need your help to study!...” He covers his mouth to suppress a laugh at your honesty.

“Was it really so hard to say that in the beginning, (l/n)-san?”

“Okay, that’s it! I’m really, really leaving! Fuck off, Imayoshi, I swear to—”

“Ho? Just a minute, darling~” he tuts, reaching to hold your hand. “Perhaps if you offer more kisses as an incentive, I’d be more inclined to offer my expertise.”

“How quaint,” you dryly reply. “It’s almost as if we’re in a relationship.”

Imayoshi can’t help but bark out a genuine laugh. You even managed to pick up some of his mannerisms so quickly.

“That’s an interesting proposal, (l/n),” he murmurs. “Should we try that?” You tut at him irritatedly as you tug your interlocked hands while speed-walking ahead.

“Hurry up, or I’ll consider breaking up with you right now.”

“Ah ha!~” he chuckles at your attitude. “How mean, (l/n)-san! Too bad that we both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

[asuka--langley--soryu]

I know you headcanon Asuka as a lesbian, but do you have any other sexuality headcanons? Your Asuka post was nice so I was wondering if you had any other similar headcanons

aw ty ty im glad you liked my post <33 tbh even though it was kind of a rambling mess I'm like a lil proud of it lol and am happy it resonated w a lot of other people.

in terms of other hcs I don't have any that are nearly as detailed or interesting, mostly just kind of vague sketches and ideas. except for asuka I mostly think of character's sexualities in regard to relationships between them and other characters rather than how they may exist as 'an identity' within the character as an individual entity, if that makes sense.

Like, for example, I think of Misato as bi but most of my interest in that is vested in reading her and ritsuko as ex-girlfriends--bc i think its a fun idea and a genuinely interesting way of reading their dynamic and also objectively correct :). And I really only think of Rei's sexuality (as in identity and actionable interest. i think about rei's '''sexuality'' as in her presence as the womb/mother and how she's objectified etc quite often lol) pretty exclusively in terms of Asurei because it's kind of the only situation in which I can imagine Rei in romantically. I do think that probably Rei would have a difficult time genuinely forming a relationship with a man considering her experiences. I have some loose thoughts on her connection to gender because I imagine it's pretty nebulous--in terms of 'hcs' id say I see her as p solidly nb--but also fraught in that 'im supposed to be a womb' afab way crossed with 'literally a clone of a woman and a genderless alien'. could maybe expand on this more but I'd have to think on it a little--i'm still not really sure where i'm going with it lol.

off the top of my head for just like cut and dry hcs: ritsuko is a lesbian. duh. if you are even thinking of considering saying anything about gendo to refute this then your head is full of sawdust. kaji's bi but what else is new. Toji and Kensuke COULD be Boy Best Friends but probably theres too much robot trauma going on and also kensuke might be a little too dense idk. tbh I just want someone to hold toji's hand who isn't like also trying to be his mom :/

kaworu is firmly gay and uh....gendery. idk he's an alien and obviously distanced from the concept of humanity but, also, has consciously identified himself as a boy or at least like.....boyish. I also have some vaaagueeee thoughts about that and him self-assigning as a 'protector' but as of rn I mostly think that it is worth noting that he chooses to be 'a boy' in whatever kind of approximation of that and of 'gender' he has. but also at the end of the day kaworu doesnt give a shit about gender he's from space.

uhhhh off the top of my dome thats all I can think of rn. if you want me to talk about anyone specifically feel free to ask!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

[chat-noir-always-here]

I rewatch Miraculous—Mr. Pigeon

Behold!!! The episode that almost made me stop watching Miraculous.

No for real i think i got up and left the room first time around, this episode was so ridiculous.

• “You only have one day to work on your fashion piece.” Only a day? That seems kinda unrealistic when you take into account designing, gathering materials, whether or not you need to go out and buy any materials, the amount of time it takes to actually put all that together...

•WHOA Gabriel’s actually smiling in that pic Mrs. Bustier shows. Er, smiling-ish

•Pure cinnamon roll child seems proud this peppermint frappucino dickhead is his father (Gabriel ur hair looks like whipped topping and that tie doesnt help). BE GRATEFUL FOR SUCH A CARIBG CHILD YOU PRICK!!!

•Maaaaaariii chill the fuck out your overactive imagination and severe anxiety are getting the better of you.

•AHEM Gabriel has a purple bowtie in Mari’s imagination instead of that ridiculous peppermint scarf he uses to hide Nooroo’s broach???

•Adrien: appears out of nowhere

Marintette: jerks and flops away like a fish on dry land

Me: lol bye Marinette

• Adriens beuatiful face when Mari is talking to him (before she blunders and stumbles with her words) is beautiful

•Mari’s beautiful face when Adrien is telling her “you’re so talented Marinette!” and the subtle tremor in her eyes as they widen with her smile...☺️😊😘i love my beautiful, anxious mess of a daughter

•Mari: Follows Adrien with her eyes like an owl. LMAO.

•Chloe does not deserve Sabrina 😒

•Whereas Gabriel resembles a peppermint frap, Hawk Moth/Papillion appears to be the result of what might happen if Batman and the riddler had a baby

•Ramier, bruh, there is like. Zero. Fucking. Reason to be that upset over not being allowed to feed pigeons. For real. Go feed them on some rooftop somewhere if you must. No reason to let Hawk Daddy akumatize you over it...

...

...

...You know what? We’re not calling Gabriel “daddy.”

EVER. Again.

•Also Hawk-shitface, pigeon dude is your worst idea and you keep coming back to him. Seriously at least put some effort into your champions’ outfits. Youre a fashion designer for petes sake!

• wow this show really loves its skin-tight body suits, huh? Even when they look ridiculous.

•Sabrina how the hell much did you have to pay for a cellphone that lets you zoom in on a fucking sketch from dozens of feet away and score yourself a crystal-clear image???

•Sabrina: “We’re soooo awesome!”

Chloe: “We?”

Chloe does NOT deserve Sabrina.

•Arent real bird feathers full of germs and bacteria that cause diseases? And Marinette “im immune to bird flu” Dupain-Cheng just plucked that shit up off the ground and put it on her hat of all things. I dont know whether to be fisgusted or impressed.

•Chat “paint me like one of your French girls” Noir for the win everybody

• “Im allergic to feathers.” I came across a theory on tumblr once (cant find the OP) that this coulda been caused by Emilie wearing the damaged Peacock broach when she was pregnant with him. If thats true i would be pleased😏

•Allow me to channel Chloe for this comment: LB, CN, that disguise is about as convincing as Mr. Pigeon and Bubbler’s get ups are appealing. In other words, NO.

•Chat Noir moonwalking with a hat on—booiii got some moves. 👌👌👌👌

• “You’re the cat dont you eat [pigeons] for breakfast?!” No LB, Kitty Boi is a domestic kitty otherwise he’d present to you little dead things like my cat used to do before we stopped letting him go out. This is an awful joke but SPARE THE BIRDS, theyre just like Ramier—being controlled by a monster.

• “On the count of three my beloved pigeons will commence fire.” As disgusting as pigeon poop is i think they’ll live. Cant you come up with a better evil plan? Threatening to break the glass floor at their feet by having the pigeons stomp on the cage would be more effective. I’m not trying to help the villain, kaay? I just prefer my villains to use their head. Honestly Team Rocket is more intimidating than Pigeon Dude.

•is it just me or is kitty boi especially adorable in this episode??? 😻😻😻

• flock of pigeons put a dent ten times the size of kitty boi’s head in the door

Okay thats actually kinda terrifying. What woulda happened if that attack hit a normal person wearing no magical armor??? They’d be pecked to bits...

• CN: “I gotta get outta here before my secret identity is revealed!”

LB: “Yeah you wouldnt wanna let the cat out of the bag!”

CN: “...Haha very funny.” 😾

Dont dish out what you cant take, handsome boy.

•LB’s look of amusement as CN starts running in place for fear of detransforming in front of others is hillarious

•kitty boi if this hotel takes tips you should really give Jean-whatshisname one. That was the speediest, life-saving room service ever.

•isnt this just Chloe’s room??? Theres a ladybug pillow on the bed and everything. Why did the mayor send CN to Chloe’s room???

• “i cant wait my dear pigeon.” Hmm reminds of later on when Hawk Moth calls Nats “My dear Mayura.” Bruh if you INTO Ramier just ask for his phone number like a normal person, quit akumatizing him and eat a damn snickers

•LB: Time for a sneak attack! Oh no, my sneak attack failed cuz my partner couldnt help but sneeze with all these FEATHERS around.

HELLO, he just told you he was allergic to feathers???

•ugh them censoring out the punches with flashy screenshots is so LAAAME show me the VIOLENCE.

• “Cat Noir! Grab [the bird call!]” AGAIN he’s ALLERGIC TO FEATHERS. Just tie that yoyo to something to keep Pigeon dude in the air and smash it yourself.

• Gabriel is that teacher from Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide who was never physically present in class and was only ever seen through a tablet or some nonsense

•Chloe getting busted my Marinette in front of the principal, Gabriel and Adrien is a great example of how PLAGIARISM DOESNT PAY are you listening art thieves lurking on tumblr, instagram and elsewhere???

•ahem Gabriel that sympathetic look you give a weeping Chloe is very out of character

• “youre the winner Marinette.” Not gonna check out Kim and Max’s hat? You could at least look at it, doesnt seem very impartial to pick Mari without looking at ALL the hats

•siiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhh

Girl they are BOTH allergic to feathers. How many blonde teenage boys walk around with a feather allergy? Quantum Masking or no Quantum Masking, c’mon you should be at least considering the idea theyre the same person from that knowledge alone.

Annnd thats all for now. This episode is more of a vent-inducing hate sink than enjoyable, save for the gushing waterfall of cute kitty boi moments it provides. I may do Stormy Weather later today to make up for it.

[vampexx]

I have tried a few times now to write this post but I just couldnt go forward with posting it, thinking its too personal...

But...here it goes...

I have always been a painfully shy, paranoid and self conscious person so being this open is really scary for me to say the least due to my struggles with confidence and self esteem...

And drawing has been something I did for as long as I can remember...and it was something that helped me growing up...

However, ever since high school in 10th grade, I have had almost all my drive and love for drawing drained from me from comparing myself to the other, "better," students in my art class and from my own art teacher who at first, in 9th grade, started as a somewhat positive influence but then the next year being really negative and rude.

I was the student that was told, "youre not done, go back to your seat, keep working," when going to my teacher for advice. When he said this, he would only glance at my work before turning me away. All while the other students received kind, positive and constructive criticism when I did not.

He even addressed me, out loud, in front of the class, regarding my low grade, saying, "the only reason you arent failing my class is because you did your homework last night."

For context: the homework assignment was some drawing exercises...and the reason my grade was low was because, it was towards the end of the year, I had completely given up on myself and my art so I didnt turn in a project. One, because I never cared enough to finish it and two, it was an act of rebellion on my part.

That was the first and only class where I actually had an F-....I didnt even know it was possible to get that low of a grade...but trust me, it is. My math grade was never even that low.

Now, this art class was something you had to submit a portfolio for it to be reviewed so these 2 art teachers could decide if you were accepted into this art program or not. (It was exoensive too, if I remember correctly, it was like $200 per semester, and I did this for 2 years).

And against my own self consciousness, while feeling like I was far less qualified than others, I challenged my self doubt and fear of rejection and tried out anyways...

And a few weeks later, I found out I was accepted. That moment went down as one my top, most proud moments. I was proud of myself for a change.

Only for that to change a couple years later...where the little pride and confidence I had left in not only myself, but my skills in art, just dropped so low.

On top of that, my academic grades while in this art program, were also dropping considerably due to the amount of stress I put myself through trying to meet everyone elses expectations and standards.

My painting and drawing teacher (the nice one, not the rude one) would encourage my love and skill for cartooning, charcoal and shading. My digital art teacher (the one who ended up being so rude to me in the following year), helped me realize my strengths in photoshop and with a tablet. He did praise me a few times, which did help, but it didnt last very long.

My downfall was the art class that I took in 10th grade, with my previous digital art teacher, which was "figure drawing." Basically, it was learning how to draw anatomy and being anatomically correct which I found out very early on, was not my strength....and it was the whole focus of the class for the entire year so I was screwed. My strengths were cartooning and caricatures, not anywhere near anything anatomically correct. I kean, I could draw a skeleton, but when it came to human figures and poses....I dont know why but I had a tough time. So that was the year that things really went downhill fast.

It just took the fun out of drawing and turned it into something that felt too forced.

However, in my experience with this class I learned something about myself that Im actually glad that I did...

Its that art is just a hobby for me. I learned that I hate drawing on demand, in a certain time frame, and drawing what someone else wants me to draw.

I want to draw only on my own terms and at my own pace.

I couldnt see that about myself because I was too concerned with everyone else and their skills in drawing.

A few years after I quit the art program, I really didnt draw all that much aside from little doodles and unfinished sketches on the edges of my homework and class notes. I didnt like anything that I drew anymore.

And when you lose love, drive and interest in something you were once so passionate about....it leaves a gaping hole in you. It makes you feel pointless, like there nothing special about you. Nothing that sets you apart from everyone else. It really is as depressing as it sounds.

I was lost.

However. I FELT FREE. I didnt have a constant reminder from several different people that I wasnt as good. No one to make me feel lesser than someone else. No one to put me down.

As a result, my academic grades improved back to As and Bs (excluding math in the 11th grade, I had like a D).

---

And I realize now that maybe I didnt learn all of this the hard way for no reason. Maybe its to also help someone so they dont have to learn the hard way like I did. Or maybe, its to reach out to those have experienced the same or similar things as me so that they dont feel alone. So that they know that them and their skills are still very much valuable and valid.

Because everyone goes at their own pace, no two people are ever the same.

Anyone can be good at anything.

Now I didnt want this post to discourage anyone from taking or considering an art class. Please understand that my experiences are unique to myself. Art classes are actually very helpful as long as your surrounded by positive and encouraging influences.

Just remember to be careful. Respect yourself and your abilities. Be patient with yourself. Have faith in yourself, dont give up. And last, but not least, know your worth and what you deserve when it comes to treatment.

---

Anyways, so up until a couple of years ago, I slowly started to get back into drawing.

I do love to draw, along with architecture and interior/ fashion design.

Im working to rediscover myself, even though I dont want to do it professionally...

So as I did years ago, I will challenge my self doubt again and try to put myself back out there.

So as anxietal as I am, I want to ask...

Would anyone be interested in seeing something I drew?

Might be an odd question and it might sound attention seeking but Im really just testing the waters....

I will add one little doodle I did the other day just to see....

I know its not that great and thats its nothing amazing but....its something Im proud of...however small it may be.

Im not sure how I feel when it comes to reposting...

I feel like I dont want people to repost it...

In case I ever feel like taking it down...

Idk.

Anyways....Im literally shaking Im so nervous...

But...Im trying to repair some old damage.

Have a miraculous day and thank you for your patience.

Again, please dont repost. At least until Im a little more comfortable.

Thank you

[pan-princess-levy]

pan-princess-levy’s (that’s me!) 2019 summary of art

wow! what an year this was! time for retrospection...

holy hell, i drew... a lot of stuff. i dont think there are quite the 500 files (both process and finished) for 2019 but i think i drew maybe. 250? 300 separate pieces? and im so proud of myself!

lets just ignore the fact only half of my summary pieces are published ones and the other half are just favorites from my un-published work hahahAHAHHA

(as you can probably guess, the months where the drawings are the most sketchy - february, april and november - didnt really have that much artwork im proud of. i have an excuse for novermber, because i was writing for nanowrimo, but i have no memory of the other two. rip me.)

so! a word for every piece!

january: a sketch of cana im still awfully proud of! i used a poster of luke evans as bard the bowman from the hobbit trilogy as a base and im just! still shook

february: part 3 (summer) of my seasons levy drawings alas i never got to autumn it’s connected to one of my countless aus, where she is a forest guardian spirit 

march: this piece of gajeel! (but with a the agender pride flag because i got up to editing it later) im still so fond of how it came out! i used it for discord icon for a while back then

april: a clothing/jewelry study i was doing! it is kind of connected to another au i shall never write. (yes. there are. a lot of them.)

may: the famous mermay piece! it was drawn for the first weekly challenge organized on the @gajevyevents discord server and i still think its one of best pieces. very proud of it

june: this amazing levy piece for pride month! i did a lot of drawings for pride as part of a project by @ft-wwtdp but this one is closer to my heart. shes a flower gorl,,,,

july: okay. this one? this one is one my favorite drawing i’ve ever done. it’s my phone wallpaper. it might? look silly and crappy compared to the rest? but it’s my favorite and i love it so much! it’s a silly pokemon au inspired by the pokemon 2014 masters division spectacular pachirisu. IM A NERD OKAY (theyre just. so soft.)

august: ALRIGHT! THIS! THIS ONE! this one is so dear to my heart because its a redraw of one ancient drawing of mine. back in the day i had a voltron au and this is levy’s design for that au but just. this drawing makes me go all soft.

september: this piece i did for @finweanladiesweek! it was the first silm fandom event i took part in and it still fills me with warmth. i had so much fun drawing it - september was when i caved in and finally bought clip studio paint and you can clearly see the difference in quality from there

october: my profile picture! god this one was so much fun, i will never forget it. i thought a lot about this one, whether i wanted to put it or the gajeel day piece i did, but in the end i found i liked this a little bit better. 

november: alright, no lies here, i have only like 4 or 5 drawing from november because i was so busy with nanowrimo! this one is a gajeel design study. i struggled a lot between it and another similar piece (gajeel in full profile instead of 3/4) but at last decided on this one. its,,,, soft,,, he soft,,,

december: THIS BAD BOY! i poured hours upon hours of research on this one, it can fit so many artist crying fits. i still think its one of the best ive done, and its so shiny and bright.....

i dont think im supposed to reminisce so hard but it’s the end of the year and im just. im having a lot of feels, you know? i grew up a lot as person, both creative and personal-wise, a lot of things happened. im very happy with all the progress ive done and i cannot wait for what awaits me next year. 

i hope 2019 was good to you and i wish you a happier and merrier 2020!

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [15] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: Medium smut. 

[masterpost]

The day Ash hears Doing Alright on the radio at her favourite cafe, she screams. This, of course, upsets the other patrons considerably, but before anyone can complain, she’s shoving her fabric samples and sketchbook into her bag, sculling her lukewarm hot chocolate, and is bolting down the street. Until, of course, she’s winded enough to slow down, and decides it’s easier to catch a bus to Brian and Roger’s apartment.

She’s been there before, it’s where they insisted on having their first fitting, since it was the apartment with the most room, and sometimes on afternoons she hangs out there with the band and Mary, sure, it’s not like she’s a complete stranger to the flat. Knocking on the door, she’s breathing heavily, still excited, and she’s not sure why she’s come here, rather than to see Freddie, but as soon as the door opens, she knows why.

“I heard you guys on the radio!” Barging past a confused Roger into the living room, she turns on her heel, still a little out of breath from having run from the closest bus stop, and her smile is blinding.

“Really? Which station?” And instead of asking her about her state, or the book bag on her hip, he’s elated, making his way to the radio in their little shoe box kitchen. Ash laughs, joining him, sheepishly admitting that it was about twenty minutes ago, but he’s undeterred. “Grab the phone; we can call them up and ask to hear it again.”

The station’s blaring some Beatles song by the time they get to it, but Ash is sitting on the counter, waiting patiently for the song to end so that the radio host could announce which number to call for requests. Roger’s buzzing about the kitchen, talking how apparently Mary’s heard them played at Biba too, and his mouth is moving a mile a minute, but then the number is said and Ash is dialing as fast as her fingers will allow. With her legs hanging off the edge of the counter, Roger taps at her knees, lips pressed together where he’s trying to keep his excitement quiet.

When the host picks up, and Ash says her name tentatively, only to hear it come out of the radio a few seconds later, Roger whispers ‘holy shit’ and Ash has to fight to not say the same. Clearly and carefully she requests Keep Yourself Alive, and specifies who it’s by and what record it’s on, and minutes later, the opening notes of the song waiver from the radio, and Ash hangs up, wide-eyed. Jumping from the counter, Ash dumps her bag beside their sofa, absolutely butchering the vocals where she struts around the room, pretending to be Freddie, loud and unselfconscious in her excitement. Roger’s matching her energy, throwing himself onto one of the metal folding chairs they had as dining room chairs, air drumming and providing harmonies that would have worked if Ash wasn’t almost completely tone deaf.

As the song moves to an instrumental section, Ash changes to enthusiastically air guitarist, jumping up onto the sofa, expression almost comically intense.

“Well, I loved a million women in a belladonic haze,” while Roger suspected the notes were entirely in her vocal range, she didn’t seem to be able to hit one, and after a moment, he’d dissolved into laughter, and wrapped his arms around her waist where she was posing with a foot up on the arm of the sofa, spinning her around before putting her back on the ground, and the drums kicked in on the radio, and she looks so fucking proud. 

“That doesn’t sound half bad.” She says, grinning up at him, and he’s still got his arms around her.

“Unfortunately I can’t say the same about your singing, love.” He snickered, and Ash felt herself blush as she swatted at him, too excited to be properly annoyed, also too self aware to call him a liar.

“So you don’t think I could take Freddie’s place yet?” She asks, and Roger actually laughs at that, and Ash thinks she can feel his heart beating fast. “Where’s Brian?” She asks, voice dropping to a murmur, her own blood rushing as the song continues on.

“Still at class.” And there’s the hint of a question in his voice, and Ash’s smile stretches into a mischievous grin, something almost fond in her eyes.

“You guys are on the radio.” She murmured, pride in her voice, though her eyes are growing dark as her gaze drops to his lips. “Rog?” And he makes a hum of acknowledgement, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing or kissing her before she can finish her thought. “Does that make me a groupie?” 

“Well groupies are usually throwing themselves at me.” He said with a cocky smirk, sitting them both on the sofa, sinking into the worn, brown fabric as Ash straddled him.

“I practically bolted to your house.” Ash had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, sitting back on his thighs. One of her hands was on his shoulder, the other playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and Roger leaned into her touch, just a little. 

“I’m not usually accosted by girls who wear the same clothes as my dad in summer.” Roger snickers, eyes drifting down to Ash’s choice of attire. She’s quiet for a long moment, and realises that he’s probably never seen her dress so casually; she’d just intended to get some sketches done at the cafe, she’d never intended people she knew to see her, and so her choice of oversized, pale blue button-down with rolled up sleeves and paint smudges all over it, tucked into navy cargo shorts, had been a perfectly acceptable outfit at the time. She’s even got her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and suddenly she feels like a mess, but the way Roger’s smiling at her, she can’t bring herself to care.

“I’m an artist, I’m allowed to dress tragically sometimes.” She shrugs, and Roger’s grip on her hips tightens as he laughs. It’s strange, mid afternoon and she’s in his house, in his lap, it feels like a whole new world. Their debatable hidden affair was usually confined to the wee hours of the morning, or the late morning depending on when they wake up, but now his hair catches the sunlight pouring in through the window, and he’s casual too. He’s wearing a pair of hideous, little red shorts that she’d seen him play in once, and a t-shirt with a faded design on the front, and for a moment she frowns, because god, does he have no sense of style? As soon as he asks about it, and she voices her thoughts, he gives her a shove, calls her a hypocrite. Leaning in low, she murmurs for him to just take the shirt off, but he doesn’t move.

“You first.” He’s got an eyebrow raised as a challenge, and Ash hums thoughtfully, before her fingers are unbuttoning her shirt, and untucking it. She’s wearing a bra that’s comfortable rather than aesthetically pleasing, and for all that he’s seen her naked, he thinks this might be the most honest he’s actually seen her.

He’s the one to suggest they move, not that it didn’t hurt a little, with Ash wearing only her oversized shirt unbuttoned, and her panties, splayed out against his ratty brown sofa, looking up at him with wide eyes that had been darkened with lust. 

She’s never been in his room before, and she’s not quite sure what she expected. It’s bigger than her room, but not by too much, clothes strewn over the floor, and the end of the bed, which is also bigger than hers, a double, instead of her little single, a cheap looking bed frame and a small but solid desk shoved into the corner and stacked high with books, which intrigues her. Roger closes the door as she makes her way over, fascinated as she reads the spines of what turns out to be worn textbooks.

“You there for some light reading?” Roger wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck, his chest firm against her back. There’s notebooks that look well used, and a piece of paper with a whole list of numbers, letters, and symbols that Ash can’t decipher for the life of her, amid pencils and a pretty grubby looking eraser.

“You like, actually study, don’t you?” And when she turns, there’s almost something adoring in her eyes, endeared, and Roger raises his eyebrows at her unanticipated reaction.

“Always the tone of surprise.” He huffed out a laugh, his hands drifting lower to squeeze her bum, and when he leans in to kiss her, it’s sun-warmed and familiar, fitting together easily as he pressed her against the desk and she hopped to sit on it easily, legs parting to pull him closer as he kissed his way down her neck. He fucks her against the desk, even though she’s pretty sure she’s sitting on a notebook and also a pencil, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

When they move to the bed, he snickers at the smudge of graphite on her ass, but she’s hit with a realisation she can’t help but voice.

“I never thought I’d be here.” And she’s a little breathy, gasping for a moment as he brings one of her legs up to her chest and eases back into her.

“Really?” His voice rises in disbelief, pausing in his movements as if to emphasise his point, and Ash rolls her hips once, biting her lip to stifle a chuckle. 

“I mean, in the beginning, no way; I honestly never thought we’d last this long.” She says, and Roger’s quiet. Not needing an answer, she lets herself enjoy the moment, relaxing against the bedspread, whimpers and gasps escaping her as her eyes fall closed. She’s so fucking beautiful, Roger thinks, and even if he doesn’t say it, he’s so glad they lasted, after everything, if only for this moment. 

And then they’re moving, Ash pressing at his shoulder, urging them to move, Roger laying back against the bed as Ash rode him, throwing her head back, with her nails digging into his chest. It’s enough to make him hiss, his hips rolling to meet hers, and when she looks down at him with a heady smile, she leans down and presses a kiss to the half-moon marks her nails had left, before she’s peppering kisses along his chest and throat.

When Brian walks in the front door and sees them both eating pizza and reading trivia to one another from the paper, he has to take a moment. Ash is wearing one of Roger’s shirts. Roger isn’t wearing a shirt at all.

“I know you two are sleeping together.” He announces from the doorway.

“Interesting accusation.” Ash responds without looking away from the paper. Roger makes a hum of agreement.

“You’re wearing his clothes.” Brian says, walking over and picking up a slice of pizza for himself.

“That is my shirt.” Roger agrees, finally looking up to Brian, and Ash takes a big bite.

“Listen, Brian, sometimes friends sleep together, it’s not the end of the world.” Ash said around her mouthful of pizza, which was lost on him, and Roger had to translate for her, much to Brian’s bewilderment.

“So you’re finally admitting it?” He asks, and Ash hums, swallowing before looking up at him.

“Admitting that I came over here excited about hearing your song on the radio, and then, I suppose, one thing led to another? Yes.” Ash agreed, and Brian looked like he was quickly forming a headache.

“Neither of you are as subtle as you think you are; I know this isn’t the first time.” He sighed, and Ash turned to Roger, who raised his eyebrows, feigning mock surprise. He’s about to say something, but it’s as if Brian can already tell it’s going to be irritating and dismissive. “Listen, Ash, you’re an adult, and you’re also our stylist, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Believe me, she does.” Roger says, reaching for some more pizza, ending his statement with a very pointed cough. Ash, looking supremely pleased with herself, watches Brian turn bright red and head for his own room, not slamming the door, but coming close.

“Freddie and John will know by the end of tomorrow I suspect.” Ash muses, and Roger looks at her, a little curious.

“Is that okay?” And he actually seemed like he would offer to do something if it wasn’t. Ash gives him a small smile.

“They were going to find out eventually.” She paused, but only for a moment. “We should probably keep it simple and say it started after you broke up with Kristin.”

“That wasn’t that long ago.” He said softly. Ash shrugs.

“It was like a month and a half ago; it’s believable.” She offered, and Roger hums thoughtfully, sliding across the sofa to rest his head in her lap. She’s tempted to rest her slice of pizza on his face, but ultimately decides against it. The way he’s smiling at her, grin just a little sharp, she’s pretty sure he watched the idea pass through her mind too.

“Do you know what time the next bus comes, I should probably get going before it gets dark and people are more likely to stab me.” She asks carefully, and Roger’s expression turns thoughtful as he watches her eat, quietly waiting for a response.

“Seems a bit extreme; you know you could just stay.” It’s so casual the way he says it, and Ash shrugs, accepting the offer without much thought. His bed is far more comfortable than hers, though he’s not living in uni housing, so you’d hope it was, and it’s big enough to spread out in. But they don’t. When they’re not fooling around, they’re chatting about everything and nothing, as they were sometimes want to do, and Ash gets around to asking him about his degree just as she’s about to fall asleep. They’re holding hands, which again, not necessarily something Ash had expected when they’d first started out, but she’s on her side with her free hand beneath her pillow. She’s just wearing one of his shirts and her underwear, and she brings their hands up to rest between their heads on the mattress, arm now at a more comfortable angle, and she drifts off as Roger gets in to complaining about one of his classes.

By the time he realises she’s not paying attention, she’s already mostly asleep. There’s something about the way she sleeps that makes her seem almost innocent, perhaps it’s that she’s not trying to put up a front, and her mass of ginger hair halos her, so soft it almost hurts. Roger’s never conciously thought of a woman as ‘sweet’ before, but it’s the only word that fits in this moment. He presses a fond kiss to her knuckles of her joined hand. Ash stirs just a little, making a hum of acknowledgement that Roger knew all too well as ‘completely passed out, just felt a sensation, can maybe spout a few random words’. 

Except it’s not just some random gibberish. It’s two words spoken through a yawn:

“Love you.”

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws@crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings@2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times@heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder@ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329 @fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile@cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe

[ignisosculo]

hello,  beautiful  humans  !  i’m  frankie  and  i’m  very  excited  to  be  here.  of  course,  i’m  super  duper  late  because  let’s  be  honest,  i  was  a  bit  unprepared  and  then  i  had  a  very  hectic  day,  so  it’s  safe  to  assume  that  i’m  literally  rushing  to  post  this.  please  note  that  since  i’m  starting  out  with  two  muses  (  pray  4  me  ),  i’m  gonna  introduce  them  both  here,  under  the  read  more,  &  hopefully  with  enough  context  if  anyone  is  interested  in  plotting  things  out  and  whatnot  ...  so  this  might  be  a  tad  bit  longer  !  also,  i  think  it’s  very  important  to  see  detective  pikachu  in  a  car  seat.  thank  you  &  goodnight.

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍  𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍.

☾ ▹ ° ⋅  paul rudd  /  forty-nine  /  cis male  ;   have you had the chance to meet jonathan goldstein ? he has lived in old sprigg for most of his life, gaining a reputation for being quite charismatic, reliable, quirky & tense. this heterosexual leo can be found around dubois bakery and he works as an architect. most people tend to associate them with an artist’s desk and piles of sketches.〈 loved by frankie, 23, cst, she/her. 〉

this  vampire  guy  right  here  was  born  and  bred  in  old  sprigg,  missouri,  so  old  sprigg  isn’t  just  a  small  town  for  him.  his  family  had  money  so  he  had  an  a-okay  upbringing.  parents  were  pretty  strict,  having  a  set  of  rules  for  john  and  his  siblings.  he’s  the  oldest  of  four;  one  brother  &  two  sisters,  so  as  you  can  assume,  the  goldsteins  were  a  crazy,  jewish  ménage.

growing  up,  he  always  had  a  keen  interest  in  architecture.  he’d  point  out  the  many  buildings  whenever  they  traveled.  little  johnny’s  goal  was  to  become  an  architect.  before  that,  john  wanted  to  be  an  astronaut,  but  that’s  besides  the  point.  he  went  to  usc  and  graduated  with  a  bachelor  of  architecture  degree.

deciding  to  stay  in  california  for  a  few  years  after  graduating,  he  found  a  job  at  a  design  firm.  starting  out  as  an  intern  wasn’t  too  shabby,  though.  he’s  a  talented  guy  and  the  owners  of  the  studio  noticed  his  talent  ...  after  3  years,  almost  a  little  too  late.  however,  he  couldn’t  find  it  in  his  heart  to  say  ‘no’  to  becoming  a  part  of  the  team.

worked  as  an  architect  for  15  years  before  moving  back  home.  however,  he’d  left  behind  the  opportunity  to  start  his  own  design  firm.  prior  to  coming  back,  his  long-term  relationship  ended  and  was  absolutely  devastated.  he’s  STILL  as  single  as  a  missing  pair  of  socks.  tragic.  [  37  years  old  ]  :  returned  despite  how  heartbroken  he  was.

he’s  one  of  those  fun  uncles.  he’s  got  a  couple  of  nieces  and  nephews.  the  family  keeps  growing  and  growing,  then  there’s  jonathan:  single  but  he  doesn’t  mind  one  bit.  or  does  he  ?  doesn’t  believe  in  marriage,  so  give  him  someone  to  love  who  might  believe  the  same  thing  about  a  piece  of  paper  ?

living  in  california,  he  traveled  twice  a  year  to  old  sprigg  to  visit  his  old  pals  and  family,  so  you  might’ve  seen  him  around.  goodbyes  kind  of  suck,  so  he  isn’t  one  to  say  goodbye.  whenever  he  had/has  to  leave  for  a  while,  he  will  say:  ‘see  you  later’  or  ‘i’ll  be  back’  with  a  peace  sign,  trying  to  avoid  making  a  reference  to  the  terminator  movies.

not  an  important  note/quick  summary:  was  away  from  missouri  for  19  years.  graduated  from  university  of  southern  california.  intern  to  full-time  employee.  pleased  as  fuck.  met  someone  and  dated  them  for  a  long  ass  time.  she  ended  it.  came  back  to  old  sprigg.  heartbroken.  moved  on.  been  home  for  12  years.  single  af.  perhaps  too  old  to  become  a  parent /  low-key  gives  up.  works  at  home.  active.  constantly  travels  due  to  work.  a  busy  bee,  workaholic.

personality  wise:  confident  in  communication  skills,  helps  others  feel  confident  if  permitted,  positively  confident  without  being  boastful  and  egotistical,  lowkey  lives  a  carpe  diem  personality,  able  to  be  trusted,  honest  &  often  times  too  straightforward  but  means  well,  creative  af,  quirky  and  witty  sense  of  humor  (  if  it  isn’t  written  out  that  way  sometimes,  i  apologize  beforehand  because  i  think  of  witty  things  to  say  a  day  too  late  ),  regardless  of  being  charming  and  whatnot,  he’s  tense;  will  become  anxious  and  nervous  at  random  times  of  the  day.  easy-going.  /  more  to  be  added.

aesthetics:  an  artist’s  desk  in  a  design  studio  (  aka  home  ),  a  shit  ton  of  sketches  in  piles  basically  overflowing  his  home,  planners  filled  to  the  brim  with  important  dates  regarding  personal  life  and  work,  etc.  /  more  to  be  added.

wanted  connections:  give  me  everything  and  anything.  im’s  are  OPEN  !

𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐓  𝐀𝐋-𝐀𝐙𝐖𝐀́𝐑

☾ ▹ ° ⋅  inbar lavi  /  thirty-four  /  cis female  ;   have you had the chance to meet ayelet al-azwár ? she has lived in old sprigg for seven years, gaining a reputation for being quite ambitious, good-natured, sensitive & worrisome. this bisexual pisces can be found around the clover and she works as a veterinarian. most people tend to associate them with white coats and messy hair buns.〈 loved by frankie, 23, cst, she/her. 〉

this  girl  has  a  love  and  hate  relationship  with  her  name.  not  only  is  it  hebrew  for  ‘deer,  gazelle’  but  her  mom’s  constant  reminder  that  it  ‘fits’  her  makes  her  give  up.  letty  is,  in  fact,  her  nickname.  she’ll  introduce  herself  as  dr.  al-azwár  if  you’re  stopping  by  the  old  sprigg  veterinary  clinic  for  your  furry  lil  friend’s  check-up  and  whatnot.

she  grew  up  in  a  jewish  household  in  brooklyn,  new  york.  the  al-azwárs  are  of  moroccan  and  polish  descent,  so  she  grew  up  learning  hebrew  and  arabic,  plus  a  few  other  languages.  probably  a  linguist.  honestly,  she  never  stops  learning  in  general.  if  there’s  a  library,  then  knowledge  is  power.  was  in  ap  classes  through  the  school  years...  including  college.  but  she  wouldn’t  consider  herself  a  genius.  always  pressured  herself  to  be  the  best.  she’s  a  damn  perfectionist.

with  her  parents  permission,  she  had  a  job  when  she  was  16  years  of  age,  so  had  been  earning  money  ever  since —  dreaming  of  attending  college.  thankfully,  mom  and  dad  were  more  than  okay  with  her  wanting  to  become  a  veterinarian.  they  supported  letty  in  every  step  of  the  way.  which  came  to  a  surprise  for  her  but  she  didn’t  question  them  at  all.

earned  her  doctor  of  veterinarian  medicine  degree  (  dvm  )  when  she  was  23.  took  a  gap  year  before  attending  [  name  of  college  ].  pretty  fucking  proud  of  herself,  even  though  there  were  pretty  hard  obstacles  along  the  way,  and  she  was  up  for  any  challenges.  but  let’s  face  it,  life  after  college  can  be  tough  af  with  landing  your  dream  job.  especially  in  new  york.

managing  on  getting  her  degree,  she  worked  two  part-time  jobs  to  be  able  to  afford  rent,  since  she  decided  to  move  to  manhattan  afterwards.  just  2  words:  big  mistake.  letty  isn’t  the  type  of  person  to  ask  for  help,  considering  she  is  still  paying  off  school.  it’d  been  2  years  until  she  realized  that  the  best  choice  for  her  was  to  move  states.  well  after  paying  her  taxes  and  bills,  and  making  a  budget.  at  that  point,  she  was  on  the  verge  of  having  a  mental  breakdown.

giving  her  landlord  the  heads  up,  the  first  thing  she  did  was  notify  her  parents  that  she  was  selling  her  studio  apartment  and  moving  back  to  brooklyn,  and  into  her  childhood  home.  asking  if  it  was  all  right  because  she’d  refuse  to  accept  their  money  and  advise  them  of  their  retirement  plan,  hoping  to  care  for  them  when  the  time  came.  a  little  superstitious,  letty  knocks  on  wood  every  time.

choosing  to  move  to  old  sprigg,  missouri  was  completely  random.  however,  she  had  the  desires  of  moving  to  a  small  town.  the  first  thing  she  did  was  buy  a  ticket  to  missouri  and  visited  the  charming  town.  she  fell  in  love  with  old  sprigg;  it  had / has  its  charm.  how  long  did  she  stay  ?  A  WEEK,  and  it  was  enough  for  her  to  make  the  decision.

for  the  past  seven  years,  she  has  lived  in  missouri  and  worked  as  the  vet  at  its  clinic  (  totally  forgot  to  mention  she  lived  with  her  parents  for  2  years  beforehand  )  and  couldn’t  be  happier.  letty  can  be  found  hanging  out  at  the  clover  with  a  glass  of  wine  in  hand  with  a  book  in  her  hand.

personality  wise:  has  the  strongest  desire  and  determination  to  succeed.  kind,  friendly,  patient.  the  mom  friend  to  people  she’s  closet  to.  concerned  more  with  the  needs  and  wishes  of  others  than  her  own.  has  a  quick  &  delicate  appreciation  of  others’  feelings,  especially  with  animals.  inclined  to  worry,  a  clinical  worrier.  introverted  but  ambivert.  /  more  to  be  added.

aesthetics:  white  lab  coats,  messy  hair  buns,  curly  hair,  pencil  skirts,  etc.  /  more  to  be  added.

wanted  connections:  give  me  everything  and  anything.  im’s  are  OPEN  !

discord:  i  constantly  change  my  username  lol  so  please  ask  for  it,  if  you  prefer  to  plot  through  there;  i’d  happily  give  it  to  you.  c:

[ashethehedgehog]

What's been YOUR favorite personal fic so far? Which one was the hardest to write? Which one do you like the least? Why?

Oh boi, sorry it took a while, but this is one I wanna talk about in proper detail!!

So starting with my fav fic I, personally, have written (good thing I have quite a few, so I can choose and all these answers won’t be the same lmao). The funny thing is, my fav piece of writing I’ve ever done for ygo is for an AU I doubt I’ll ever post! I dubbed it Magic AU, where Yugi is the Great Wizard of the great capital, and Atem is a wizard from a much smaller place far away. He comes to the capital looking for his soulmate, and also to see the sights, maybe learn some new magic etc etc, and he runs into Yugi and a la feels the soulmate bond, but Yugi is overworked and more than a little snarky to begin with. I only wrote like 10K enough for them to talk things out and to accept their bond, so it wasn’t too much, and I still don’t know if I’ll ever continue it, but I reread it frequently, and it makes me smile every time. I mean because I dont know if ill ever continue it, I dont really want to share it because then I might never touch it again and ppl will have this small thing but never the rest, so yeah,,,,,, but that said, and hopefully Im not contradicting myself here, I did post two little snippets of it when I was writing it, which you are welcome to read :’’’D (also a rough sketch I did of Atem and Yugi sometime ago too). I dunno why I like this so much honestly! I like awkward Atem, I like Yugi having more magic/ strength than Atem sometimes, and I like Yugi being snarky and with a sharp tongue. So I guess these all came together in this one burst of writing one day, and then bam Magic AU happened :’’D

OH hardest is EASY. The Prince and King has been THE hardest fic I’ve ever written. It’s been exhausting and painful to work on, especially over the last few chapters. I just had this period where I was really dragging with it, and everything I wrote just wasn’t working and I wasn’t enjoying the story anymore. Even now, I still don’t have the same passion I had when I wrote that first chapter, but I’ve regain a bit of it, and I’m taking it easy with the final two chapters, so I can still make a decent effort with it, but also not die writing it lmao. really got to hand it to @tarashima tho, she’s been a great source of comfort and motivation for the fic, and the whole reason I decided to keep writing through it and not just discontinue it. 

As for my least favourite, mmmmmm I suppose by order of ‘picking favs first’ it’d have to be The Beast Within. It was... a weird thing to write. I havent reread it since completing it tho, so I don’t know in the end how well the flow ended up being, but personally, I’m not that proud of it. I felt like it was a weaker story, and there wasn’t enough explored about a bunch of the characters.I think it needed more chapters to make some stuff clearer, but then finding where to slot those in could have been a problem. Like, I don’t think its a bad fic, it’s got some good parts I’m happy with, but compared to some of my other work, it’s much weaker. Still, its a good show of improvement, so I keep it up to remind myself I can do better now (and because ppl told me to keep it up in case ppl do like the fic lmao). Also its hilarious but the one thing that sparked off the start of that fic ended up being cut as a plot point because I couldnt fit it into the story with a decent flow and it ended up fucking with Yugi’s motivations/development SO //slaps knee cracks me up thinking about that still ahaha.

Thank u for the ask!!!!! This was fun to answer and im happy to talk about my fics when ppl wanna hear about them ;v;

[adorkablephil]

Fic: Listen (Chapter 2)

Title: Listen Rating: PG Word Count: 2.8K for this chapter Summary: Phil is a successful YouTuber, and Dan is a fan desperate for attention. Sounds like 2009, right? Except Phil is Deaf. Tags: AU, Deaf!Phil, Strangers to Friends to Lovers Author’s Note: All dates are obviously completely fictionalized, including Dan’s little subscriber count milestone. This is an AU, in case you hadn’t noticed. :) Extreme thanks to the Treehouse Mailing List for all their support and encouragement! Fic also available on AO3 here

[Masterlist of all “Listen” chapters on Tumblr]

Chapter 2: Talk to Me

danisnotonfire You said to DM you, so here I am. DMing you. This feels weird. Is it weird? I think maybe Im making it weird. 8 September 2009

AmazingPhil It’s not weird. Or if it is, that’s cool. I like weird. ;) 8 September 2009

danisnotonfire lol 8 September 2009

AmazingPhil I was interested in what you were saying about the FFVII soundtrack. Tell me more about why you like the music so much. 8 September 2009

danisnotonfire Have you lestined to it? 8 September 2009

AmazingPhil No 8 September 2009

danisnotonfire But you play the game, right? It ws in your video 8 September 2009

AmazingPhil It’s hard to explain, but I play it with the sound off. 8 September 2009

danisnotonfire ??? 8 September 2009

AmazingPhil But seriously, I’m interested. Tell me about the music. 8 September 2009

Dan’s passion for music inspired Phil to download the song “Interrupted by Fireworks” and play it loud enough that he could feel the tempo by laying his palms flat on the speakers.

After his roommates complained about the noise, he only did it again at times when they weren’t home.

AmazingPhil This is going to seem really weird, but I’ve felt awkward about bringing it up. 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire I am the king of awkward lol 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire Bring what up? 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil It’s just, we’ve been talking for weeks, and I haven’t said anything about it. 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire ??? 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil Okay, well, I’m Deaf. 27 September 2009

[a few minutes pass]

danisnotonfire You cant hear? 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil Yes, Dan, that’s what Deaf means. 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire Hey no need to be a jerk about it. I’m just surprised. 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire Why didn’t you ever say anything? 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil Well, I thought you would have figured it out from some of my videos and stuff I’ve tweeted, but then when you started talking about music, I just … 27 September 2009

[a few minutes pass]

danisnotonfire I am such an idiot. 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil No you’re not! That’s why I didn’t want to say anything! 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire why? 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil Because I liked talking to you, and I didn’t want you to be embarrassed or something. Or to maybe think I was a freak or something. 27 September 2009

[a few minutes pass]

danisnotonfire I dont think your a freak 27 September 2009

[a few minutes pass]

danisnotonfire the whole reason i started liking your videos was because you dont talk in them 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire is that weird? 27 September 2009

AmazingPhil Maybe we’re both a little weird. But I don’t mind if you don’t. :) 27 September 2009

danisnotonfire xD 27 September 2009

One of Phil’s old friends from school had gone all the way to America to attend Gallaudet University, since it was the most highly respected university for the Deaf in the world. She’d had to study ASL in advance, of course, since it was a completely different language than BSL, but she seemed to be really enjoying her studies there. Apparently the sense of Deaf community there was more than she’d even imagined in Manchester. She practically glowed when she talked about her feeling of belonging.

Phil was jealous.

He’d chosen York because of his interest in their graduate program in video postproduction, since he’d loved experimenting with film since childhood, but his isolation as an undergraduate made him wonder how well a Deaf student would be received in the graduate program. Would they even make any accommodation for him in studying what they might perceive as a definitively audio and visual medium?

He and Sharon occasionally Skyped when the time difference allowed, but she now sometimes slipped into ASL without noticing, and Phil found himself feeling like even his Deaf friends were slipping away.

AmazingPhil Maybe we could Skype sometime? I mean, I can’t talk, obviously, or hear you, but we could at least see each other in real life and not just Dailybooth pics. :] 2 October 2009

danisnotonfire How would we talk tho? 2 October 2009

AmazingPhil I don’t know. We could write on paper and hold it up or something? 2 October 2009

[a few minutes pass]

danisnotonfire ok 2 October 2009

AmazingPhil Now? 2 October 2009

danisnotonfire ok 2 October 2009

AmazingPhil YAY! 2 October 2009

AmazingPhil See you soon! 2 October 2009

Dan seemed cripplingly shy in their first Skype call. He avoided eye contact much of the time, which made communicating rather difficult, but he loosened up a bit by the end and even seemed to flirt a bit.

Phil tried really hard not to develop a crush.

He was not particularly successful.

They exchanged phone numbers and began texting constantly, not to mention the lengthy Skype calls. Dan talked about his own interest in making videos, but gloomily doubted his ability to create anything interesting or worthwhile. Phil urged him to give it a try.

15 October 2009

Phil: I think you should upload it. It’s really good. Really!

Dan: I don’t now. I’m afraid people will think its kind of weird.

Phil: Weird is kind of our thing, though, isn’t it? :p

Dan: I just dont want to look stupid or soemething. i mean it kind of sucks

Phil: Dan, it’s brilliant. I promise.

Phil: I have to ask, though. The subtitle thing. Did you do that because of me?

Dan: No. I dont know. Not really. i just liked it. I thought it looked cool.

Phil: It DOES look cool. I just didn’t want …

Dan: what?

Phil: I don’t know. I didn’t want you to be making videos for me like that just because I’m Deaf. I know that sounds stupid. Never mind.

Dan: No i now what you mean. That wasn’t why i did it. I told you i first liked your videos becuz you didnt talk in them. So I guess I liked that style, but mine is different. right?

Phil: Of course! Your style is completely different from mine! I love the old-time silent movie thing, with the title cards and everything. It’s really unique! That’s why I think it’s so brilliant!

Phil: That’s why you should definitely upload it.

Dan: really?

Phil: Absolutely!

[a few minutes pass]

Dan: ok

Dan: maybe tmorrow

When Dan uploaded his first video, Phil tweeted about it enthusiastically to encourage his own online friends and fans to check it out, and unsurprisingly people loved it.

Dan’s unique, silent film era style, complete with occasional sepia tones and use of fancy-font title cards to communicate all dialogue and narration, approached modern-day storytelling and vlogging from a completely fresh perspective. He told stories about his own life, but in a style no one had used before.

People were intrigued. Other YouTubers Phil had come to know over the years quickly began interacting with Dan on Twitter, and Dan gathered an enthusiastic audience almost right from the start.

And Dan’s looks certainly didn’t hurt. Phil tried to ignore any jealousy he felt about the amount of flirting he saw going on publicly over social media. He and Dan were friends. Maybe they flirted, but apparently Dan flirted with everyone. It didn’t mean anything.

23 October 2009

Phil: Are you going to the Halloween gathering in London next week?

Dan: no

Phil: Why not? You’re officially a YouTuber now! You should come!

Dan: I can’t

Phil: We could finally meet. That would be so cool!

Dan: I said I cant

Dan: Just drop it ok?

[a few minutes pass]

Phil: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push or anything.

Phil: I mean, of course if you don’t want to come, that’s fine.

Phil: I just thought it would be cool to meet you in person.

Phil: I mean, you’re one of my closest friends now and we’ve never even met!

[no response]

[after an hour, Phil logs off]

Phil took the train to London and attended the Halloween Gathering on his own, but felt Dan’s absence keenly the entire time. He brought a white board and a few different colored pens so he could communicate with people more easily, and found that YouTubers were less shy about such things than the average uni student seemed to be. They seemed to find the white board an intriguing novelty and eagerly interacted with him through it.

They didn’t treat him like a freak.

Or, at least, they treated him like their own kind of freak.

He’d discovered a different community. One that wasn’t perhaps as easily familiar and comfortable as the Deaf community he’d grown up in, but a community nonetheless.

He just wished Dan had gotten to experience it, too.

He kept in touch with another YouTuber he’d met at the London gathering, a guy named PJ who had been particularly unselfconscious about using pantomime, facial expression, and the occasional impromptu prop to communicate with Phil instead of relying exclusively on words written on the white board.

Their brains seemed to work in similarly creative ways, and they collaborated on a sort of abstract short film they’d sketched out together on a series of paper napkins during dinner at the gathering. Phil was pretty proud of the way the project turned out, and PJ seemed happy with it, too. They put it up on PJ’s channel, and it got quite a bit of enthusiastic viewer response.

Dan’s blatantly passive-aggressive jealousy about the whole thing was Phil’s first hint that his own more-than-platonic interest might be reciprocated, but he tried not to get his hopes up.

13 December 2009

Dan: I can’t believe I hit 10,000 subscribers!

Phil: Yeah, well, everybody loves danisnotonfire.

Dan: really? so that includes you? ;)

Phil: Nah. Not me.

Phil: I don’t love danisnotonfire.

Phil: I love Dan Howell.

[a minute passes]

Dan: I love Phil Lester, too.

Phil finished his graduate degree in York and returned to Manchester to find himself a flat on his own. He liked the independence but also enjoyed being closer to his family again, and some of his friends from school and college had returned to the area after uni as well.

Returning to some involvement with Deaf culture encouraged Phil to gradually shift the content of his videos, as he became more comfortable openly signing anecdotes about his life, influenced no doubt by Dan’s focus on his everyday life experiences in his own videos.

Viewer response was mixed. Some of Phil’s loyal audience rolled with the changes and seemed to enjoy the more personal glimpses into his life and personality, but others left ignorant, offensive comments about deafness and sign language. He lost some subscribers. Making his content more personal had made the cruel comments feel more personal, too. But when something online hurt his feelings, he just texted a real-life person he knew accepted him just as he was, and it helped.

Being able to sign with people again made his life richer and more fulfilling … and yet he found himself looking forward to his evening Skype calls more than any real-life interactions with his old friends. His family expressed concern that this obsession with a “stranger” on the Internet wasn’t healthy, but they just didn’t understand.

Phil had fallen harder than he ever had before, and with someone he’d never even met in person.

In a strange way, Phil felt simultaneously happier and lonelier than he’d ever been.

11 June 2011

Phil: Are you going to Summer in the City this year?

Dan: no

Phil: You have a lot of fans now. I’m sure they’d like to meet you!

Phil: And there are other people who would like to meet you, too! :p

[a few minutes pass]

Phil: Dan?

[several minutes pass]

Dan: I said no. Jesus phil just leave it the fuck alone!

Phil: Hey, I’m sorry! I’m not trying to pressure you!

Phil: I’m just starting to feel like this is kind of weird. Like I have a boyfriend I’ve never even met.

Dan: weird is what we do, right?

[a few minutes pass]

Phil: Yeah. Right.

Phil: I know.

Phil: I’d just really like to meet you.

[no response]

[after a really long time, Phil logs off]

Phil attended Summer in the City on his own again, painfully aware of how much closer he was to Dan when he visited London than when he was back home in Manchester. Painfully aware that Dan not only hadn’t wanted to attend the convention, but hadn’t even responded to Phil’s desire to meet.

He talked with other YouTubers, made plans for possible future collaborations, and hugged dozens of enthusiastic fans, took hundreds of smiling selfies. But the entire time, he couldn’t help but think that Dan was only 40 miles away, instead of the usual 200. Less than an hour by train.

So near, and yet not within reach. He felt it like a physical pain.

15 June 2011

Dan: remember when you first told me you were deaf?

Phil: Yeah?

Dan: and you were afraid i woud think you were a freak

Phil: Right, but you didn’t. Right?

Dan: of course not you idiot <3

Phil: So what’s going on?

Dan: theres soemthing i havent told you

Phil: You can tell me anything. I love you. You know that.

Dan: but its really weird

Phil: Weird is what we do. <3<3<3

[several minutes pass]

Dan: i dont talk

Phil: Like you’re shy? I wondered if that might be why you wouldn’t go to the gatherings and stuff.

Dan: no i dont talk

Phil: But you talk to me all the time. I’m confused.

Dan: i mean to people. out loud. irl i don’t talk. ever

Phil: Okay.

Dan: ok?

Phil: Yeah. Okay. I mean, I don’t talk either. Are you Deaf too? Is that why you don’t talk? Why didn’t you ever say anything?

[several minutes pass]

Dan: no i’m not deaf i just dont talk

Phil: It’s okay, Dan. I just want to understand. Why don’t you talk?

[no response]

[after a very, very long time, Phil logs off]

Phil didn’t know what to do with what Dan had told him, especially since Dan had sort of dropped a bomb and then just run off without explaining anything.

One thing was clear, though. Dan didn’t like being pushed. When he wanted to talk about this—no pun intended—he would.

Because if one other thing was clear, it was that Phil was willing to wait.

6 July 2011

Dan: You havent brought it up.

Phil: What?

Dan: You havent ever asked about the talking thing.

Phil: I did. You didn’t answer.

Dan: yeah but you havent asked again since

Phil: Did you want me to?

[several minutes pass]

Dan: I dont know. maybe

Phil: Okay. Why don’t you talk?

[several minutes pass]

Dan: I havent talked since I was 8.

Phil: Wow. That’s a long time.

[a few minutes pass]

Dan: yeah

[a few minutes pass]

Phil: Is that why you never wanted to meet?

Dan: yeah i didn’t want you to think I was a freak

Phil: Dan, weird is what we do. And I’m Deaf!

Dan: Well yeah but you dont do that on purpose.

Phil: You do it on purpose?

Dan: sort of i guess

Phil: So you could talk if you wanted to, but you don’t want to?

[several minutes pass]

Phil: Dan?

[several minutes pass]

Phil: Dan, I don’t think you’re a freak. Just talk to me.

Phil: Crap. You know what I mean.

[no response]

[hours later, Phil finally logs off]

Phil did some research into muteness that someone might call “on purpose,” just wanting to understand, and found himself wondering if what Dan experienced was maybe something called “selective mutism” or maybe a “conversion disorder.” As far as he could tell, neither one was truly something anyone did purposely, but, really, if Dan didn’t want to talk about it, Phil wouldn’t be able to understand much at all. He just wanted to educate himself a bit so that if Dan ever did want to talk about it, he’d be less likely to say something stupid and make Dan shut down even more.

12 February 2012

Dan: I have a question to ask you.

Phil: Okay.

Dan: but its making me really nervous

Phil: I love you, Dan. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay. I promise. <3

[several minutes pass]

Dan: do you think maybe i could come visit you in manchester?

Phil: Skype me right now this very minute because you have to see how big my smile is! <3<3<3<3<3

[Continue to Chapter 3]

[blackedalhia]

5-8/7/2019

guess what, i didnt fucking do it. no udates no shit

but also guess what

there's a ton of stuff going on and im sad and confused so let's just go

on friday i came to poznań so i could go to my first pride with my homies and you can't even imagine how fucking excited i was for this whole trip. it didn't even cross my mind that it's a possibility since i never really travelled alone but anna agreed to come with me (after 2 months of not texting a single fucking word but I'll get to that later) and you know, all nice and dandy. gotta say, im proud of myself because i really handled everything well, tickets, hotel, suitcase, everything worked. obviously i had some pretty high expectations at first so i had to let some negativity in to not be to confident you know? that's healthy because you don't get disappointed but this whole shit of a situation hit a completely new low my dude. day before my departure anna texts, oh she will come one day later. yeah fuck her but it's not that big of a deal. don't worry, it's only downhill from here

so i arrive in this stupid ass city, proud and happy as fuck because I managed to not fuck anything up which was surprising. go straight to my hotel, register and pay with absolutely no problem, then text Алёша that we can go out later, this boye is feelin good

i felt absolutely beautiful that day, slightly masculine and fresh. we went to the park, to some weird ugly place by the river where everybody gets hammered with friends, then to some lame ass party at psychodela (really nice, pretty place though). we wandered around the city for a while and met up with cichocka who was the most disappointing person I've ever seen. dude it's like she had three phrases installed in her brain which she repeated over and over and over again. kinda funny if you're with her for less than ten minutes but still pretty sad. so picture this: we arrive at some sketchy little place in the worst area of the city, full of drunks and probably junkies too. it's some kind of an old industrial installation, now available for people to hang out and party. pretty cool spot, it has really has its own vibe. so, we crash at one of the tables and just mindlessly listen to cichocka rambling about partying and getting completely wasted. same thing for half a fucking hour. the colorful lights on our faces, loud music and waiting for something more. in that moment i really felt completely alone. iza wanted us to stay and get drunk while waiting for her to come back but i really wasn’t up for that, so i just drank one beer with the boys and took a bus to my hotel, sad but still pretty excited for the next day but a little bit anxious, i still don’t know what’s up with anna.

it was hard to wake up next day, the bed was so soft and comfy but i somehow managed to get my ass to the bathroom and get a shower. i tried my best to look as good as possible, it was a big day. im doing my makeup and unpatiently waiting for any message from anna, nothing. needless to say, i was getting very worried, started planning in my head how are we gonna handle the situation if she arrives after i already leave for the march. there, im finally ready to put my clothes on and get going, boom! a text. there it is, a good friend i trusted for so many years just completely fucked me over, she can’t come here at all and lets me know about this one hour before the event. she says it’s problems at home, got into an argument with parents, okay. at this point i was so dissapointed and unmotivated that i just stayed in my room and cried. “prom dress” seemed like a perfect song to play while i sit in my best clothes on a bed and cry, as mascara runs down my face, quite a mood. something just broke in me, probably because it wasn’t the first time it has happened to me with people i trusted. quite honestly, i can’t even remember what i was doing after all that, maybe watching a show on netflix to suppress my bad emotions. despite all that, it seemed even more depressing to me to just waste all day on being miserable and alone. i washed my dirty, swollen face and put makeup on again, put sketchbook in a backpack and headed to the nearest park which seemed to me like the best option. solitude and nature was what i needed. i sat on a bench in a quiet place and started observing and then sketching pigeons, it boosted my mood quite a bit. funny little creatures, it was a fun time. spent there probably more than an hour and then i just wandered around the city for a bit. while walking along the main street i saw countless cops’ cars returning from pride (which was a terrifying sight honestly), some people were walking with colorful accessories on, kinda sad. it quickly became boring, so going to cinema seemed like a decent idea. anewa was up for it so we went to see new spiderman movie together. i tried to stay as positive as i could with him because i didn’t want to be a drag. the movie was super fucking fun tho and made me forget about all this mess for a short while

that's me crying lol

and here are the birds I drew: