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spxllcxstxr · 3 years

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Crushing (on) the Competition • L.E

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, can I request for Lily Evans? Just something that involves reader and Lily having friendly competition when it comes to studies, but Lily knows that reader has a crush on her but she waits for reader to finally admit it to her. — anon

Summary: Studying for hours in the library can lead to some strange dreams about one of your competitors.

Warnings: Gets a bit suggestive towards the end, school, homework, exams, a paragraph about Snape, glass breaking

Word Count: 1.6k

A.N: We can all agree that Karen looks absolutely stunning in this gif, right? Inspiration hit and this blurb became a fic. And I absolutely enjoy it. Hopefully it’s all good it became a bit suggestive, it really just came out that way without me planning it like that lmao. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all ❤️

****

The competition in your year was getting out of hand, in your opinion. There were four particular students, you included, vying for the top spot in every available class, but recently that seemed like an unobtainable goal. The four of you were equally matched as rivals, constantly battling each other for the top position, but never staying there long enough to boast and brag to your peers.

Hamish Stebbins, a Ravenclaw with pristine horn rimmed glasses and one of the most massive superiority complexes you’ve ever witnessed, was a force to be reckoned with, especially since he could bang out an O worthy essay of any length an hour before it’s due in class. And he made a living off of it. For the right price, a perfect score in any class of your choosing could be yours with that massive brain of his.

Severus Snape, while it pains you to admit it, was so effortlessly intelligent to the point where he was extremely smug about it. He took his time, carefully crafting out each word of an essay and never took short cuts on his assignments. Unlike Stebbins, however, his knowledge was his own, meaning not even Slughorn could force him to help another student with some measly little problem if it meant he had to impart some of his sacred knowledge.

Then there was Lily Evans. She poured her heart and soul into each assignment and it always paid off for her. But she wasn’t like the other two. Lily never bragged about her perfect grades or rubbed it in your face like Stebbins and Snape. She always went out of her way to help other students, for free, of course. Lily was willing to spend hours in the library explaining concept after concept to anybody who needed assistance. That was just the way she was.

And to be completely honest, you wouldn’t even be in the running for top of your year if it wasn’t for Lily and her persistent kindness.

Ever since you met in first year, the two of you held long study sessions in the library, pouring over textbooks until the text became fuzzy and your vision swam about. She often helped you understand lectures and pointed out how to decipher essay prompts. Luckily, you’re a quick learner so with her aid you were able to beat out most of the other students in your year.

The study sessions between the two of you still occur, but they’ve been shoved off to the side recently because of the heavy workload you each have to endure. The final two years of Hogwarts were the most crucial years of your life and you weren’t going to screw it all up now.

Plus, ever since she squeezed you into a bone crushing hug right before your final O.W.L. exam in fifth year, you can’t seem to form a sentence or even think straight around her anymore.

Your eyes always avoided her piercing green ones, instead focusing on how awkwardly your feet shuffled around in your black Mary Jane shoes against the stone flooring.

Many of those times where she would skip over to you unexpectedly, you would end up flinging your wand across the room or spilling your entirely new ink pot all over your fresh ream of parchment. She would always giggle and offer to help you clean your mess up, and you could never actually choke out a coherent thought before making a mad dash towards the exit.

So to save yourself from the embarrassment, you always wind up studying alone in the library well into the night.

So that’s where you find yourself well into Sunday evening, in the back corner of the library obscured by mountains of Transfiguration books, studying for the next day’s exam.

The four of you were equally skilled in the subject, meaning if wanted to be on top, you needed to work for it more than usual.

Your corner is dark and dusty, the only light being from the flickering lamps you lit and placed haphazardly around the oak table. They cast an eerie orange glow across the paper, almost dreamlike.

The handwritten black ink text starts to jumble together at around nine, which makes complete sense considering you’ve been holed up in this one spot since classes ended hours ago.

Your legs and your butt had gone numb hours ago, making your old rickety wooden chair seem comfortable.

Eyelids droop considerably, the weight almost becoming unbearable, just like how your head starts to slide away from your palm. The text starts to shift, and in your tired haze you distantly wonder when you started studying ancient runes.

You’re able to get out one meek yawn before your heavy head slips down to your textbook pillow and your vision cuts to a comforting black.

A delicate hand rests on your shoulder, trying to shake you awake.

In your dreamlike state, you blearily open your eyes and glance at the hand. It’s pale and freckled with light pink nail polish that looks fresh considering each nail is still in pristine condition. If they were yours, you would’ve bitten through it all already.

“(Y/n)?” The voice is soft and hushed. “Sweetheart, you gotta wake up, it’s past curfew.”

Your eyes trail up their robe covered arm and finally rest on their face. It takes you a moment to fully register the galaxy of freckles adorning their face and those green eyes that always made you fidget. She’s stunning in her Gryffindor robes, she always is in your dreams, her top two buttons are popped.

“Lily?” You mumble, still attempting to will yourself less tired. Yawning, you pick your head up.

“Did you spend all this time studying, sweetheart?” Lily continues, the hand on your shoulder trailing up to your jaw.

Sweetheart was the nickname Lily always used in your dreams and each time she addressed you, your stomach erupted in butterflies and your heart began to skip beats.

You hum and nod in response.

She pouts, her pink lips plump and vibrant. Swiftly, she moves a few of your books so she can prop herself up on the table while still looking at you.

Her grey pleated uniform skirt rides up her thigh a tad, exposing her soft and pale skin.

You swallow, eyes wide. “Merlin Lils, the things you do t’me.”

“And what, do tell (Y/n), do I do to you, exactly?” Her green eyes are wide and doe like, playful feigned innocence drenching her gentle features.

The particles of dust float aimlessly by, glowing like balls of light due to the lanterns you still have surrounding you.

She’s towering over your seated body, thumb swiping across your bottom lip.

Your dream was in a whole ‘nother territory now.

“Lily, I’ve fancied you since bloody fifth year! You can’t just—“ You sputter, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “We’ve got an exam—!”

She giggles, the lovely sound filling up the library.

“Oh, I’ve known about your crush for some time now, (Y/n).”

Breath catches in your throat. “Oh.”

Once again, Lily giggles. She pushes herself back against the table, skirt being pushed up even more, the stack of books behind her tipping, the lantern on top of them falling, falling, falling...

The shattering of glass makes you jolt up from your seat, the piercing sound waking you up as you tear your gaze away from Lily.

“Shit!” She curses. “Shit, I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

As she turns to wave away the mess, it suddenly occurs to you that you may not be dreaming after all. While her back’s turned, you pinch yourself hard, stifling your yelp behind your other hand.

A dreadful chill shoots down your spine causing your body to freeze.

You weren’t dreaming.

“Oh fuck.”

Quickly, your hands shoot up to your head, fingers grasping at your hair in disbelief and embarrassment.

Lily turns back to face you, eyebrows drawn together in concern, the glass gone.

“Are you alright? Did a shard get you—?”

“This—this wasn’t a dream.” You shakily state, staring at her.

“Do you frequently dream of me?” She raises an eyebrow, still stepping closer to your form.

“Yes!” You cry, before dropping your voice down, remembering that you are out after curfew even if Prefect Lily was with you. “That’s why I thought—I thought—“

“You only confessed because you thought it was a dream.” Lily interjects calmly in realization.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry!” You groan, gaping at your own stupidity.

“No! No, don’t be sorry, (Y/n)!” Her smile lights up her face once again as she moves her hands to cover your own. “I wanted to hear you admit your crush on me so I could...confess in return.” She bites her lip shyly.

“You—you like me?” You mutter, stomach doing complete flips.

“It was fifth year for me, too.” Lily confesses. “Something about seeing you all stressed out while studying and us huddling over a paragraph in the candlelight...” She trails off.

“Well that’s grand!” You laugh. “Absolutely ace!”

“Well c’mon then, sweetheart, let’s get you up to the dorms.” Lily chuckles as your rejoice.

“But the exam is tomorrow, Lily—“

“Tomorrow after lunch, (Y/n). You need your sleep if you wanna take down Snape and Stebbins.” Lily teases, helping you pack away your things into your leather bag.

“And if I want to take down you as well?” You ask, shoving books away and collecting your notes.

“Well,” She starts, shooting you a wink. “just ask me nicely.”

She laughs at your audible gulp before taking your hand and dragging you up to her own dorm.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

#Lily Evans #lily evans x reader #lily evans imagine #lily evans fluff #the marauders x reader #lily evans fanfiction

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tooruluv · 4 years

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Tetsurou Kuroo x F!Reader

26. “broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave” & 32. “in a way i can’t return” from this list !

genre: angst, ex lovers

word count: 1,615

warnings/notes: i was absolutely struck with inspiration when i got this request! hope you guys like angst :) mentions of cheating

masterlist

It had been months. Months since you last seen him. But there he stood, thirty feet away. Everything froze at once yet the world kept moving. Like the two of you were the only people standing on pause while the rest of the world was in fast forward.

His name left your lips, but it sounded foreign. Like it wasn’t yours. Yours eyes hadn’t left his, as if you were attempting to read his mind and know his intentions. You didn’t move as he moved towards you.

“It’s been a while, huh?” A forced chuckle. “How have you been?”

You didn’t know what to say, where to start. So you stated simply: “Fine.”

High school was great to you; it was full of fun and laughter and parties full of idiots. Now, looking back, the worst part (and the part that makes you hate all of high school) was that each and every memory was damaged by Tetsurou Kuroo.

He was a big, if not the biggest, part of your life back then. You were friends at first, the two of you were inseparable. Even as a couple, nothing changed much. Your friends would call you gross for how in love you guys were. You would always ignored them and kept your hand entangled in his. Your lifeline, your forever.

Forevers never last long, you guessed.

It was one video. One snapchat story that ruined it all. One video that made your stomach drop and all feeling leave your body. One video that made your life flash before your eyes.

You were at home one night, laying in bed with some random show on as background noise as you clicked through your phone. It was Bokuto’s snapchat story that you had to pause on.

The picture was simple at first glance. It was a Friday night, so it wasn’t unusual for Bokuto to throw a party, to post pics of it (without any alcohol or drugs in the background for sport rule purposes). He was taking a video of him with two girls at his sides, smiling and dancing to the loud music. However, your eyes were fixated on the background.

There, on the off blue couch, sat your very boyfriend. With a girl on his lap, hands on her hips and mouths so close they might as well be kissing. Even better, your best friend sitting on the couch next to them laughing about something.

You were shaking.

You ignored him for three days. Three days of silence for two years of love. Quite the solution, in your opinion. You hadn’t messaged him back when he texted you “Good morning babe!” the next morning, didn’t answer his facetime when he tried to facetime you. You told your mom to ignore him when he tried to text her and ask if you were okay.

Because you weren’t okay.

As for your best friend, Sana, you had blocked after sending a very long paragraph. For context, it was something along the lines of “You’re fake as fuck for sitting there while my boyfriend had another girl on his lap. You’re the lowest of the low for not telling me about it”.

“Sweetheart, you should talk to them.” Your mother told you. She knew everything, you even showed her the video.

You just shook your head.

Three days of staying at home. And then four days of doing your best to pretend that you were okay at school (“You must go to school, it’s very important. Get dressed, I’ll take you on my way to work” you mother had said).

You wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

Kenma was the one to comfort you and be at your side.

Your favorite memory of high school was going to the volleyball games. It wasn’t just because your boyfriend was a star player (though that was a bonus), it was because of the aura. Going to the school games were always so hyped, complete with yelling and cheering and meeting up with friends you wouldn’t normally go out of your way to hang out with.

Kuroo would always blow you a kiss before serving.

It sucks that your favorite part of high school got tainted by the memory of heartbreak.

Tetsurou Kuroo was in the living room (his parents were still at work), standing there with tears in his eyes. As if he was the one hurting. You sat on his couch; blanket wrapped around you like it would engulf you in some other universe where this wasn’t happening. Where your heart wasn’t in two.

At first, he was confused. You showed him the video, asking a silent “What is this?” as you did. He thought it was just a video of Bokuto’s story, until he looked at himself in the background. He asked you to come in.

“Did you cheat on me?” you asked him. The first sentence you had said to him in a week.

You thought that he would deny it. That he would tell you that it “wasn’t what it looked like” or to ask you to let him explain. That was what always happened in these kinds of events (at least, that’s what you figured from movies and stories).

Instead, he said simply: “yes.” as tears spilled down his cheeks.

You stayed silent as he came closer to you. He tried to reach for you, but you moved further back onto the couch.

“Babe, please,” Kuroo looked defeated. “You won’t even look at me.”

“Don’t.” You focused on your hands under the blanket. “Don’t call me that. Not now.”

He froze on the spot. You still wouldn’t look at him. You knew that if you did, if you watched tears fall down his face, that you would take it all back. That you would forgive him and ignore that this whole thing happened.

You stood. His eyes widened, thinking you were coming to him. You went to the front door instead.

“Babe, please don’t go...” He rushed to you.

“Don’t call me that. Just.. don’t.” You hugged the blanket tighter. He was closer to you, then, standing directly in front of you by the open door. The only thing blocking you from leaving was him.

“I’m so sorry. I am.” He was desperate. “I would never do it again, you have to believe me. It was one time, one time. And I was drunk, and…”

“I believe you.” You said. He was staring at you. “But you don’t get it.”

“I..”

“You cheated on me, Kuroo.” The first time you had ever called him anything other than a nickname, a pet name. He cringed. “Almost two years. Two years of our lives, two years that you threw away. And you weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

It was his turn to be silent.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Wait!” He reached for you again. This time you let him grab you. His fingers tangled into your sleeve as the blanket fell. You were shaking. “Wait. Don’t go. Please. We can talk, we can figure this out.. I love you. I love you so much. We can..”

That’s when you looked at him. Both of you were a sight to see: cheeks stained with tears, eyes red, a mess. What made it even worse was you thought he looked beautiful like that. He was still talking, but you stopped listening. You wanted to hug him. You didn’t.

In the two years of dating, you had never told each other “I love you”. You guys insinuated it, little I adore yous and you’re a dorks. But never those three specific words.

You cried harder. You were going to say it back, oh how you wanted to say it back. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. How could you possibly say it back? Even if it was true, even if it was gnawing at your insides, even if you were in the worst possible pain you could be in, how could you possibly say it back?

So, you took his hand off your arm and walked away as a response.

Five years since you had your heart broken by the man. He looked the same, really. Tall, lean, smile plastered across his face. Sometimes you forgot how handsome he was when the last memory you had or him was so blurred in your mind with sadness.

“How have you been?” you ask, mainly to be polite.

He seemed to be taken aback by you asking him, but he replied with a smile. “I’ve been good! Kenma told me that you recently got a big job opportunity in the states. Good job!”

You raised your eyebrow at that. “Kenma told you that, did he?”

“Whoa hey you don’t gotta go tell him I said anything.” He scratched the back of his neck, and you held back a smile. He always used to do that when he was uncomfortable. “I, uh, I know you guys are still friends and I just asked how you were doing a little bit ago. Sorry if that’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.” You told him.

“So you’ve asked about me?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t act so disappointed, Kuroo.” You chuckled. “Not to make this awkward, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I just tried to remove myself from that part of my life, you know?”

“Right.” He wrung his hands together. “I’m still sorry, just so you know. That was probably the worst thing I’ve ever done. Break the heart of the woman I love, I mean.”

“Loved.” You corrected.

“Huh?”

“You said woman I love. You mean woman you loved. Past tense.”

“No, I said it right.”

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mcfiddlestan · 3 years

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Fic Writer Questions

I'm bored and this was in a note on my phone from forever ago, so I must have been tagged at some point. Apologies to whoever tagged me. 🥴

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

52. Though, I used to have a few more. I deleted a few fics some years ago bc I hated that they were just sitting there unfinished. I was going through a particularly brutal bout of writer's block that affected both my fic writing and my RP writing.

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

720,782. And I was stressing about a 30-page thesis. 😂 (which ended up being over 15,000 words)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I started writing fic in 2000 with *NSYNC, Christina Aguilera, and Backstreet Boys fics. I stopped writing a bit around 2004-2007 (because of a stupid boy) and picked it up again in 2012 after reading some awesome Cherik fics and wanting to write my own FrostIron College AU when I read one that was good, but kind of disturbing. I think I write for one fandom -- Marvel -- but, like different factions of it. FrostIron and WinterFrost mostly, with a dash of Stucky, ThunderFrost, DashingFrost, and WinterIron.

4) What are your Top 5 fics by kudos?

Black Light Special (WinterFrost) - 628 kudos

Can I Bum A Ride? (WinterFrost) - 425 kudos

Empire State of Mind (FrostIrom) - 420 kudos

Dark Side (FrostIron) - 398 kudos

A Worthy Collection (FrostIron) - 309 kudos

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really do make an effort to respond to every single comment, even the not-so-nice ones. I want people to know I've seen and read the comment they took the time to post, so even if I just thank them for reading and commenting, I respond.

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Considering it features two -- count 'em, two! -- major character deaths, it's definitely Empire State of Mind. Though, I'd argue Dark Side is a pretty close second.

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Probably Ghosts That We Knew. It was the final fic in the trilogy that is the Picture Perfect Series. It follows Loki and Tony from when they meet in college and ends 30+ years later.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

No, not really. And I rarely, if ever, read them. There's no real reason behind it other than I've just never come upon one and thought "ooh I need to read that."

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I got a lot of hateful messages after I completed Empire State of Mind. People were really angry at me for killing off two major characters. I mean, a lot of the messages were "omg I hate you but I loved this!" kind of vibe. But there were a few that cussed me out and called me names for writing it.

I had some chapters of a Fools Rush In FrostIron AU posted a while ago, in which Loki was a female, the only daughter in both the Odinson and Laufeyson families. Following the storyline of the Matthew Perry/Salma Hayek movie, Loki meets Tony Stark in a bar and gets pregnant from a one night stand. Anyway, I got a lot of messages telling me that Odin's misogyny and mistreatment of Loki was unrealistic -- even though I had literally modeled his behavior after the movie that inspired it. 🤷🏽

I have some prompts done for the 100 Ways to Say ILY writer's block challenge and for one of them, I borrowed the storyline from an episode of Will & Grace when Will's father dies of a heart attack after they have a bad argument where his father basically admits he wished Will wasn't gay so he could have had an easier life. In the epsiode, the fight starts because Will's parents gift his baby blanket to Grace, who is pregnant with her ex-husband's child. Will takes offense, they don't understand why bc he never mentioned wanting children, and a fight ensues. Similarly, in my fic, Frigga and Odin offer a pregnant Natasha (his BFF) Loki's blanket. Some readers did not like this and did not understand why I would write it. In another prompt, one that was literally how my last relationship ended, got some harsh critiques. Those ones hurt especially bc it was such a personal experience I wrote about.

And I actually got into a fight -- like a screaming match -- IRL with my best friend's boyfriend at the time. One of my bestie's friends asked about my fanfiction and I gave them the gist of one of my stories where Loki has a brief relationship with Sif that results in a child and later reconnects with Tony. Later on, Sif offers to be a surrogate for Tony and Loki and eventually births three more children for them. Bestie's boyfriend could not fathom why a woman would purposely get herself impregnated and then give the child away. I tried to explain that this was a thing that a lot of women did IRL -- and some don't even use their own eggs, but the eggs of a woman who cannot conceive; Sif used her own eggs so that all four children were half related (two by Loki, two by Tony). But he just did not believe me and told me I must not be a very good writer. Worst night of my life.

10) Do you write smut?

I was just telling @teadrinkingwolfgirl the other night how when I first started writing fic I did not write sex scenes. It was always inferred or glossed over. When I started writing again in 2012, for FrostIron, it was my first time writing more detailed sex. I cite Jackie Collins as my smut-writing mentor. I've written almost exclusively M/M smut.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Which is like the best thing ever! A couple of my older fics have been translated to Russian. I have one *NSYNC fic that was made into an audio fic. And someone recently messaged me on ff*net to ask to translate as many of my fics as they can to Spanish. :D

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, not technically. I've gotten a lot of prompts and ideas from friends and mutuals, and I started reformatting my WinterFrost RP with my ex from 2014-2015 into novel form a while ago. That's tecnically the only thing I've written with someone else and published.

14) What's your all time favorite ship?

I have two that will always, ALWAYS, have my heart and attention. FrostIron (Tony Stark/Loki) and WinterFrost (Bucky Barnes/Loki). They are the two ships that I write the most, read the most, and seek out fanart for the most.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Probably The Flame. It's a fic that starts out ThunderFrost (not related; Asgardian Prince Thor semi-rescues an imprisoned Jotun Prince Loki) but eventually ends up FrostIron. It's the only fic I've ever written that features Loki with both male and female biology. I have a few chapters done but I haven't worked on it in years.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I write realistic relationships. And I think my dialogue is also realistic and easy to grasp. And I put a lot of humor in between all the angst and hurt.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

I think I get too detailed with background. I just reread my Picture Perfect series (which I do like once a year), and there are literal paragraphs of background that in Google Docs is like pages and pages. But I want to make sure people understand my characters! LOL

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I'm a big fan of it. I featured a lot of Norwegian in the Picture Perfect series. And French. I think as long as it flows with the storytelling and it's not forced on the characters it can be really cool. It should be natural. I always leave a translation list at the end of the chapter or explain in-text what was said. Which I think most authors I've read do.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The Backstreet Boys. LOL. Don't judge. I started writing my own fics after discovering BSB fanfiction written by an author named Mistress Lynz. She wrote a lot of fics about bloodletting, but I really enjoyed the fics where the guys were hooking up with each other behind the scenes, LOL explains why I write mostly M/M now. 😂

20) What's your favorite fic you've written?

They're kind of like my babies so at different times different ones are my faves. But if I really had to pick one, I would say Stay With Me is my favorite. I got some of the most amazing comments on this story from people that found meaning and themes in the story that I didn't even realize I'd put in there. It was one of my first WinterFrost fics I'd posted and the response was more than I could have asked for.

And now I have to tag people! @teadrinkingwolfgirl @incredifishface @incubigirl @rabentochter @marvelswinterfrost and whoever else feels up to it.

xoxo

#fic writer meme #fic writer questions #all my fics #my writing #frostiron #winterfrost #stucky #thunderfrost #winteriron #dashingfrost

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swedisheek · 3 years

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an explanation for a soulmate

(inspired by @inkskinned and also my own bullshit)

the concept of doing one thing for forever is one i do not like.

to rewrite a poem until perfect-

my hands are already flying across the keys, pressing buttons with no rhyme or reason to them and making a sunset, a first snowfall, your hand on my back, a squirrel in a window, broken glass on the study floor, laughter in dark and secret places, the wet grass that accompanies a new day, a new life. my heart is made of sorrowful and soulful things, and so is it any wonder that they sometimes blend, is it so strange that i would compare our love to corpses and hungry animals and horrid things from anatomy textbooks, and yet also lavender and holy light and freshly picked fruit? the rose and its thorns are inseparable, my dear, these are things we know and yet forget so easily.

to study a text until the pages are worn-

my eyes are already four paragraphs ahead of the teacher’s, but my mind has left me on wings of association, flown from a window, birds in an airport, there’s a horse loose in a hospital! my mother lost her wallet in an airport once, and i remember the numb, timeless feeling of waiting. i half-read the signs on all the kiosks until my eyes nearly bled, and when my cousin (who, funnily enough, does look a bit like john mulaney) asked me what i was doing, i told him i was letting my brain go, a magician freeing his doves from a silk hat.

to practice a song until each note is right-

my fingers stumble as they dance like they’ve had a bit too much wine, the scales and arpeggios blending into the solfeggieto blending into the good omens theme and killer queen and lady stardust and my father pokes his head in and tells me that it isn’t all the way, but what would be the point of all the way when all the way takes time, time you do not have when you know you’re already a large chunk of the way through your short, short life. nihilistic or realistic, you won’t know until the end of it all, and that not-knowing is horrifying and awe-inspiring, deserving of sweeping symphonies and moments of silence and all the funny little things we do to respect our inevitable end.

even now-

i’m meant to be doing a theatre assignment, but that turned into messaging an online friend, which then became reading a poem and wanting to encapsulate that yearning feeling, catch it like a third-grader grabbing at fireflies, and the poem i started in response to that urge was going to be about how i love you like no one else and i could study you for hours because you, angel, you are a puzzle that i could put together a thousand times and each end result would be something different yet even more impossibly beautiful than the last, but my brain, my flyaway brain, hooked onto the rhythm of a poem about chaos, and thinking, and some strange brand of apologetic love, and now i am humming a tune i don’t know as my typing speeds faster than the computer can manage to transcribe, and this poem is beginning to sound like a goldfish swimming in repetitive circles around its bowl, making and consequently getting sucked into a whirlpool-

and maybe this poem is a poem, and maybe it’s an animal where an animal Should Not Be, and maybe it’s a breeze that ruffles a dove’s feathers or a blade of grass or a surgery scar or a chain-link fence or a heartbeat or maybe it’s the only way i know how to say please understand, love, i’m going so fast that i cannot keep up, maybe it’s my spinning-at-a-standstill way of saying i adore you so furiously, ardently, desperately, even if i sometimes fly so far away you cannot hear me say it.

and maybe it’s just a poem, and maybe i should stop writing so i can go set the table for dinner before this just-a-poem is too pretentious and my mother has to ask me again.

love always,

-ros

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #oops! all neurodivergence and yearning!#yearning #adhd #love #my writing #roswell speaks #writers on tumblr

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

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1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 11 for airport malum?? I'm going far back but that is the first fic that came to mind so i'm sticking with it - taylor <3

ooh that is pretty far back all the way back to sam's 23rd birthday and now she's almost at her 24th not to stress you out or anything sam besides i love that fic every time i reread it i'm like damn. this one hits

anyway spoilers ahead for airport malum fic

changing flights so you'd stay with me (aka airport malum)

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way? easy answer! i took sam's responses from when i asked her what stuff she liked in fic, and then i just...did that.

i'm not sure where the 5+1 came from but i tend to drift towards that format in spite of myself because i really like the satisfaction of a narrative thread that keeps cropping up and then gets flipped on its head like that. i fucking love 5+1s. and i think i did it by month because i wanted a realistic amount of time to pass between each interaction so that the reader could assume (1) that michael and calum had been communicating and growing their relationship offscreen and (2) that the point at which they got together or whatever was a realistic amount of time away from when they first met. also that (3) calum isn't just constantly flying around for his job. i think it made sense

2: What scene did you first put down? the first one, think? i should check the doc history for this but i believe this fic was written at least mostly in order. yeah the first scene was written first

3: What’s your favorite line of narration? there are so many. i'm really fond of the first paragraph tbh

They say that you sleep for a third of your life. Calum is pretty confident he’s going to have spent another third of his life in one terminal or another, at the exact same airport, drinking the exact same coffee from the exact same Dunkin Donuts, and all he’ll have is thirty-three measly years to accomplish everything else he wants to do. Which really isn’t that many, considering he’s already used up twenty-four of them. What can anyone accomplish in nine years? Not a lot. And that’s assuming that Calum is going to live a grand total of ninety-nine years, which is highly unrealistic. The average lifespan for human beings these days is really closer to seventy-five years, which actually means that Calum’s life is going to end in one year. One year.

it's the most bullshit logic ever written. i fucking love it i feel like it establishes calum as such a specific character right from the start

also though

Michael beams and falls into a backwards walk. “I’ve got you,” he promises. “Text me when you land?”

“I will,” Calum says, wondering when he became the type of person to have someone to text when he lands, and when that someone became Michael.

WHEN HE BECAME THE TYPE OF PERSON TO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ANYWAY

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? coughs significantly

“It’s fuckin’ August, man,” Calum says. “Summers in D.C. are horrible.”

okay that's not my favorite line of dialogue but it's definitely the most fucking accurate. i scrolled through the whole fic and honestly could not narrow it down to just one so here are a couple of my favorite dialogue moments

“Hello?”

“I said I’d call,” says Michael from the other end. He sounds like he’s smiling. “So I’m calling.”

“This is so obviously not what I meant,” Calum says, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning despite himself.

and

“That’s such pop star bullshit,” Calum returns. “I need to know what the promo is for, Mike. My Twitter followers are dying to find out.”

“Mhm,” Michael says, rolling his eyes over a grin. “You and your twenty-seven Twitter followers. On your private Twitter account.”

“For all you know I have a second, secret account, where I moonlight as a teenage girl who swoons at the indescribably hot Michael Clifford and his sexy sexy guitar skills,” Calum says, and then wrinkles his nose. “That makes me seem super creepy and gross. I don’t — I don’t do that. That’d be really weird.”

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story? once again i point you in the direction of miss samantha tirednotflirting!

oh the times they are a-changin.

11: What do you like best about this fic? the PRANKS!!!!! THE FUCKING PRANKS!!!! calum talking about all the fucking pranks he and his coworkers do on each other!!!! most of these pranks are ones my dad (also a lawyer) has done to his coworkers or has had done to him and i think it's hilarious i fucking love the dynamic of a group of colleagues who prank the shit out of each other and i just love how the pranks keep sneaking into the story for their lil moments of stardom. good for them

fic asks

#sam its the way this time last year you were exclusively reading 5sos fic #imagine that #no but seriously the pranks are the best part of this fic #calum being like i am a nice friend and i also just happened to recently put clingfilm over all of ashtons drawers. so.#i will be nice to him.#the way michael HELPS him prank ashton #aghhhhhhhhh #thank u honey i love this fic so much #taylor #ask #anonymous #should i bother tagging you with a url lol #squishmichael

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themoonlitwitch · 4 years

Text

I Love You Seoul

Pairing: Lim Jaebeom x Han Jisung x reader (maybe others)

Genre: smut, mafia!au, bdsm, fluff

Rating: mature

Word Count: 1119

Summary: You’re a deligient college student working hard to keep yourself afloat, You’re typically a loner but find yourself making friends with the quiet new student. He seems to have become attached to you and you’re surprised by how attached he’d become.

Warnings: none as of yet for this chapter - pretty simple

A/N: This is my first fan fiction in a long time. A huge shout out to @bluesxstories for helping me through this, listening to my rants of over thinking and keeping me inspired to keep this going. This will touch on some triggers and taboo subjects. I hope you all like it, it will get better as it continues (hopefully). Please be gentle with me.

~~~~~~

The smell of smoke filled your room, entering your lungs and scratching at your throat. Even though you asked your roommate a thousand times not to smoke in your apartment, she seemed not to really care. But hey, that’s what you get when you look online for cheap places to rent.

You were a college student in your ripe of old age of twenty-six and between paying for school and just living, you couldn’t be picky with roommates. You tried to sleep through the awful smell but with a sudden coughing fit you were up. You groaned loudly as you turned over to swing your legs off the bed and got up to angrily open your bedroom window.

The sounds of the city soon filled your little area. Those sounds you minded far less than the smells of cancer and rat poison that leaked in through the crack of your door. “Maybe I should start covering that,” you say to yourself, your eyes sleepily looking to the space between your door and the floor, running a hand through your silver-dyed hair and sighed heavily, another cough rumbling through your chest. You were up late last night studying for an upcoming final and since you were awake now you may as well finish studying before work.

You gather your things and head into the bathroom, glaring at your roommate who gives you a dismissively, sweet smile as she puts out her cigarette and you want to choke her for it. You disappear into the bathroom and start the water, turning it on as hot as you know you can handle and you shed your nighttime clothing, towel hanging over the sink. You tie up your silver hair with a hair tie you left in the bathroom the night before and get in. The warmth of the water rolling down your skin pulls a content sigh from your lips and your eyes fall closed as your fell a sudden relaxation, the stress of life just melts down the drain.

You spend was feels like hours in there, letting the water wash over you and cleaning yourself, relaxing when the reality of school and work come rushing back. You quickly finish up, rinsing out the rest of the shampoo from your hair and turning off the water, rushing to your room once you were securely wrapped in your towel. Looking at the time, you realize you still had some time to make it to the library before you shift at the convenience store started for the night.

Once dressed, you fix up your hair, throwing it into a quick ponytail and out the door you were. Thankfully you were lucky enough to get an apartment closer to your university and you enjoy the walk. The sun was sitting high in the sky, a light breeze rustle through the trees around you, wrapping around your body was you walk. Despite everything, you really loved the city. With a smile on your lips you enter the library of your campus, you didn’t have class that day but as a student you had twenty-four access to the library, and you couldn’t be thankful enough for that. You greet the staff working there on your way to your usual spot where you see Han Jisung already sitting there.

A little smile comes to your lips and it’s returned by a wider smile from the younger male. Jisung was a couple of years younger than you…. well a few years. He was nineteen, about the same age as your youngest sister back in Incheon. Because of that reason you really took to Jisung, he seemed so scared and lost when he first showed up in your class and something in you just wanted to help him. You two clicked immediately and ever since then you were always together. He was like your little shadow, an odd dependency coming from him, but you really didn’t mind it.

“Hi noona,” he greeted as you sat down, adjusting in his seat. You could tell he was doing his best to keep from squirming from excitement in his seat.

“Hey Jisung,” you returned the greeting with warm smile. Most women hated being called anything that made them feel older but for some reason, Jisung calling you noona made you feel all warm inside. “How you are you today?”

“I’m good,” he nodded. “Nothing really exciting happened today so that’s nice. I could get some studying done. I’m almost done reviewing the chapters that are going to be on the test.”

“Really?” You were a bit surprised, your brows shooting up for a moment as you settled in, pulling out your book. You were under the impression this test covered far too many chapters, but maybe it’s because you didn’t have the luxury to study the way Jisung did.

“Are you proud of me noona?” Jisung asked, it was something he asked you a lot whenever he did something to this kind of caliber, or something he considered “big boy work”. You thought it was cute, endearing even and his question made you smile.

“I am proud of you,” you replied as you reached out to ruffle his hair. Jisung laughs lightly, letting you mess up his perfectly styled blond hair. Jisung would let you do anything to him so long as you were praising him or touching him tenderly in some way. He always wanted to be near you, as close to you as possible but, you didn’t really mind it so much, you thought it was kind of cute.

“Noona,” Jisung piped up, his voice sounding almost shy.

“Hmm?” was your response, you were busy looking the paragraphs of your textbook while your pen glided across the lined paper.

“Can…can we hang out outside of school?” He lifted himself from where he rested against your shoulder to look up at you with almost a pleading expression. You thought about it for a moment before smiling and nodding in agreement. His eyes instantly brightened as a smile lit up his face.

“We can hang out,” you agreed. “What about tomorrow night. I’m off work and we don’t have class, so I’ll be free.” You let the pen fall and smiled.

“Great. My house then. I’ll tell my brothers to expect you.” He beams at you.

You knew that Jisung had people he referred to as brothers, he had let you in to some of past and part of you was eager to meet the men who raised him. You were excited, it had been a while since you got to hang out with a friend since you didn’t have many.

But, what happened next, you could have never been prepared for.

#fanfic #fan fiction #stray kids fanfic #got7 fanfic #got7 #stray kids #jisung fanfic #jaebum fanfic #my writings #fiction

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atinykidult · 5 years

Text

His Stupidly Tall Self - Kim Mingyu

[fluff full-length] - 2247 words

[summary] - highschool!au, his pov, song inspiration I Don’t Care by Ed Sheeran/Justin Bieber (doesn’t really connect to the story, but the key and beat suits its pace), featuring some of SVT, super fluffy

[author’s note] I’m trying a playful style - I hope you like it! Also, I typed “look” intending this to be under 500 words... so, uh, yeah. That happened. Also, I know the reader is assumed to be short — tbh, as a short girl, it was my default. Super sorry, my tall friends! I love you and hope you still can enjoy this? The reader’s height isn’t that prominent.

[thanks for reading! your support means the world to me, always!]

Look.

Being the tallest boy in class had its perks; Mingyu wouldn’t argue with that. In fact, his height was how he first talked to Y/N. Shorter than him, his crush had asked him for help reaching a basket of supplies on a too-tall shelf.

He’d remembered feeling awed, wondering if this was some alternate universe where everything was cliche and perfect and just right.

Even two years after that first contact, he could vividly recall the flush that had run through his entire top half when you’d met his eyes. Smiled. And told him that you appreciated him.

Yes, you’d said it jokingly.

Yes, it wasn’t that deep.

But Mingyu had nurtured that exchange like a gardener fussing over their, well, garden. (So he wasn’t that great with metaphors.)

But he was great with pine trees...

Or, rather... You know...

Pining.

Yipee.

Back to his height.

Although it certainly brought him some perks, it generally caused him more pain than help. Physical pain, in that he spent too many trips down the stairs a little faster than intended... with a little less foot-to-step contact than desired, too. (Sometimes this would happen when he planned to travel up rather than down, too. Thinking about that, his ribs throbbed in sympathy.)

And emotional pain, too.

Exhibit A: When he let his friends — a terrible, thirteen man group which eternally abused Mingyu with jokes about his height and personality in general (really, Mingyu didn’t know why he kept sitting with them for lunch) — choose his Freshman-year Halloween outfit. A giraffe. Really.

Exhibit B: When Mingyu had magically been paired up with you during Sophomore year for an English assignment... Only for you to hesitantly ask him if you could request to change partners, because there was this new kid, and your mom was friends with the parents, and you had the same interests... Of course, Mingyu agreed, falling in love with you slightly more. (The stupid, lovable compassion! he later moaned as he vented to Jeonghan.) And at a larger distance. (Okay, so height wasn’t really in the equation here, except for the fact that you were the same height as your partner, which really hurt his heart when you performed a reenactment of Titanic’s pose and he knew, knew he would be a better Jack).

(So he needed to vent about it, years later. Problem?)

Exhibit C: When against all odds, Mingyu and you ended up at the same table for some school function where there happened to be a dance floor. He’d found enough courage to ask you to dance the last slow jam with him, and nearly screeched when you easily agreed. As he led you to the floor, he decided that he would have lived a full life as long as he didn’t step on your toes during the four minutes — he’d die kiss-less and dateless, true... but he’d die fulfilled.

He didn’t step on your toes, and he felt like this could, just maybe, if he was lucky, just possibly could turn romantic (Ed Sheeran worked miracles) —

Then you burst out giggling.

“It’s just!” You heaved a breath. “It’s just that!” Mingyu’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as you gripped his forearms for support. “You’re so tall — I feel like I’m dancing with your bowtie more than you!”

Well.

He had felt like crying.

His twelve abusers had found the entire event hilarious, but Mingyu most certainly disagreed.

The next time he ran into you, you’d casually caught his wrist as he began to walk away from what had been a stilted, though perfectly lovely, exchange. (He’d moved past the teasing and near-crying, heading back to school with his best foot forward. [Neither foot was the best foot, but that was beside the point.])

“Hey, Mingyu,” you had said, somewhat redundantly because your hand on his wrist said plenty.

Mingyu was nearly sweating (read: sweating buckets) and feeling very impressed by your hand-eye coordination (read: Mingyu’s arms were too long and ever-changing for him to romantically slam you against a wall, casually catch your hair in his fingers, or anything actually useful for his life, such as, in this case, catching his wrist and staring up at him with thoughtful eyes).

Yeah. His blood pressure was in a rough place.

“Are you listening?” you’d asked.

“Uh,” was all he could say, eyes dropping to your lips as though he could look back into the last few minutes to understand your speech. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Exactly.” At this moment, he doubted his entire existence. What did that mean? Was it sass? Anger? Disgust? Rejection? “That is exactly what I’m telling you: I am very sorry for not being a kind person when we danced. I thought you’d find my shortness funny — but Seungkwan told me how it really made you feel.”

Sincerity!!! it dawned on him.

“I didn’t mean to laugh at you. In fact, I think your height is very attractive.”

His voice was hoarse the next day from screaming into his pillow.

Emotional and physical pain all in one (yipee!) thanks to his height.

“I’m confessing to her today,” Mingyu told his reflection. “Today. Before three. I’m doing it. For real.”

He ran his hand over his carefully selected shirt, looking for wrinkles, and reassessed his appearance for the thousandth time.

Senior year.

Exhibit D wouldn’t get to happen (really, though, he’d passed Z long, long ago).

At lunch, his now smaller group was all support and gentle teasing. Now one of the hyungs, Mingyu received much less abuse. (He repeated that with enthusiasm whenever Vernon or Seungkwan, or both, stumbled into the spotlight instead.)

“Just... be romantic,” Vernon suggested.

“What does that even mean?” scoffed Seungkwan. He sat up straighter, mimicking their self-important History teacher. “Go for genuine. All the girls like how you’re a human puppy. Exploit that.”

“Maybe have flowers?” offered Chan.

“We’re at school, our dear maknae.” Seungkwan squinted at the rest of his table, disappointment dripping in his tone. “We don’t want ‘Gyu suspended before he can confess. You’d think I’m the only reasonable one.”

Minghao raised an eyebrow at that, although he wisely kept quiet.

The silence stretched out until Vernon piped up again.

“Be poetic, hyung. You aren’t bad at speaking unless you’re nervous. So, just... Don’t be nervous and pour out your feels, y’know?”

Seungkwan beamed at Vernon.

“Finally someone else contributes useful advice.”

You’re kind.

You’re beautiful.

I’ve loved you since you asked me to get a basket down for you.

All too generic, and even creepy.

You, a highly attractive person, called me attractive, which really means the world to me.

You can do it all — laugh recklessly and fix any damage right after.

I think you actually complimented my giraffe costume way back? It’s blurry, but I think that happened. As a gangly freshman, that meant a ton.

Mingyu banged his head on his desk, only to realize he was sitting in math class and... now everyone was looking at him. He loved that. Totally.

No! No! No! he was screeching internally.

“The brain’s just struggling a little bit,” he was saying externally. “You know how with laptops, how you just slam it shut and it usually works after that? Just...”

From in front of him, you had turned around to watch him, looking at him dare-he-say... fondly?

“Um,” he choked. He looked away from your lips, curved upwards, and met the teacher’s amused but tired eyes. “Sorry. Reboot complete. Loading... and good. I’m back.”

Hearing you laugh, he melted into his seat with a wide, satisfied grin.

Embarrassment aside, he’d do that all over again if you’d watch him like that again.

Then a note slid onto his desk.

Are you saying you’re as smart as a computer? ;)

His brain needed to shut down and restart after staring at your handwritten wink face.

NOOO! he furiously scribbled back. I’m just I I would never imagine to be so intelligent.

As he waited for your response, if he would get one, he winced at his wording. That alone was judge-worthy.

Don’t sell yourself short. Sell yourself worth your full, lovely height!!! xD

You’re someone who makes me feel like I’m worth something, he writes in tiny letters — a draft and guide for himself to use very, very soon. You’re the type of person I’d want with me, stranded on an island. You’d say something funny, then meaningful, then sweet, then magic us off the island because you’re amazing like that. I take that back, because I don’t want to expect the impossible from you as your boyfriend. I’d want you with me, and I hope you’d want me with you, too.

When I’m with you, I don’t care that I’m 187 cm of hopeless energy. All I care about is making you smile because I’m already smiling. Although, I take that back, too, because whenever we’re near each other, my friends have told me that we both smile a lot.

So I change this to, when I’m with you, I know we make each other happy. And I want you to be mine. And I would die if you’d let me be yours. I want to just do life with you — the ordinary, domestic things, the cute dates, the casual ones, the couple’s outfits, the whatever you picture as us being us (just... in love).

So, Y/N Y/L/N, be mine?

By the time he asked you to wait for him after school, he had already internalized a neater version of what was essentially his love letter to you.

As he snuck up behind you, covered your eyes and cheesily asked, “Guess who?” he’d been mentally reciting the first sentence of the second paragraph.

While you rattled off a list of idols and turned around to beam at him, his mind echoed unhelpfully, You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful.

“So what’s up?” you asked.

He inhaled deeply and dove in.

“You’re someone who I —”

WAY OFF, KIM MINGYU, he thought, mentally hearing Seungkwan tsk sadly.

You’re beautiful.

I don’t care if the height difference is weird and makes slow dancing awkward. I can get a bowtie with my face on it, if it helps.

I want you to be mine.

He took another deep breath, thankful that you hadn’t tried to speak. (In fact, your heart was racing as you watched him chew on his lip and cast glances at you like a driver might steal glances at the sunset on a commute home.)

Mingyu let the flood out:

“I want you to don’t care if you’re beautiful, mine!!!”

As he blurted the last word, Mingyu decided that he truly, really, unequivocally wanted to die. Right then and there, satisfied or not, kiss-less or not.

Just... let it be immediate.

Humiliation followed his stupidly tall self everywhere, so why not let it rest with him in the grave?

Just end it all.

“Hey, I’m getting worried about your health over here,” he distantly heard you laugh. Laughs weren’t elegant things, but he swore that if he could see it, it would be all his favorite colors mixed in a perfect arrangement.

“Can you at least open your eyes?”

Your voice was soft this time, and he complied. (He hadn’t realized he’d squeezed them shut to begin with.)

“I like you, too,” you murmured.

His stomach? Electrocuted.

His eyes? Eternally lost in yours like a cat in a newly found box.

His heart? Approximately the same heat as one of those 200,000 K stars.

His cheeks? Gently covered by a certain pair of hands.

“Can you please look at me?”

Mingyu realized that he’d been vacantly staring over your head.

“Yeah — uh, sure.”

He felt a tingle run through him when he found you nearly chest to chest with him, your hands slowly leading his face closer to yours.

“Mingyu, I’m going to kiss you, because I like you very, very much, too. And because you’re someone who makes me feel like I’m worth something, too.” Mingyu’s heart soared as you said this, eyes staring into his, blush on your cheeks. “But I’ll need you to lean down for me.”

As he complied, eyes drifting closed, he realized three things:

A. Without his height, he wouldn’t have this perfect, oh so perfect, view of your face — even the slightest change in either of your heights would be an indescribable loss.

B. Sure, he was gangly and uncoordinated, but he still got the beautiful girl who liked him as much as he liked her.

As he pulled away from the soft brush of lips, straightening and checking his pockets, he blurted C out loud.

“You found my rough draft, didn’t you?”

The brightest, most carefree grin spread over your features, and Mingyu felt himself fall deeper in love as you nodded like it weren’t a big deal.

Balanced on your toes, you slung your arms around his like you were about to slow dance. He smiled softly; you smiled right back at him.

“When I picture us just being us, but in love... I picture this,” you told him.

Then another playful grin spread over your features. “And by ‘this,’ I mean all 187 cm of you being a cutie.” Mingyu felt his cheeks heat up, but you weren’t finished. “Also, as I’m now yours, it’s good to finally know the exact height! It’ll help with the couple’s outfits!”

#kim mingyu #imagines #Seventeen #seventeen mingyu #svt #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #scenarios #kpop #fluff

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feral-anarchy · 5 years

Text

The Etiquette of Roleplay

I've been working on this for a little while and i’m pleased with how its come out. These are the standard rules that I play by and I hope that others will read and learn from it as well to ensure that your experiences are just as enjoyable for not only yourself, but for those your interacting with too.

Shoutout to @claudia-talks for inspiring me to do this with your super flattering message :D

Here we go:

This is probably the most important part- Be grateful that your getting a reply at all because if your thread participant/s are too slow for your liking, please consider that they may have real life, other duties, or other threads to reply to, too. Your thread may be plot-centric to your character, but not so plot-centric to their character. If a thread is progressing too slowly for your liking, you can always place it on hold or it and try again later or try it again with a different character or even suggest you drop your current thread for another one.

But please bare in mind that sending a bunch of thread starters may just overwhelm the person your trying to play with, communication with the Mun behind the scenes in DM is always appreciated if not darn near a mandatory.

Give Action: Note your character’s quirks, movements, body language, gestures, and so forth. Don’t overload your posts with action. Do remember that if your post is all thought and speech, there’s very little for the other writer to respond to. If you throw in a little bit of action into each roleplaying post, it makes the thread that much more interesting!

Respond To Action: If the other character made a move, action, or betrayed something in their body language (and your character was likely to notice), do respond! If their character stepped forward in their roleplaying post, perhaps your character steps backwards. Or — doesn’t, depending on the interaction. Make sure you’re not skipping over anyone else’s action that requires response, either — such as a handshake, high five, etc.

Dont Forget The Scenery: Especially in long threads, the scenery is sometimes neglected. If the characters are standing outside in a forest talking for hours, maybe the sun starts to set and they have to begin making their way home. This can change the flavor of the thread from simple idle chat to a real adventure — and a great way for two characters to bond. If the characters are sitting in the main camp tent late at night, perhaps a few NPCs join them for drinks and dancing?

Show Dont Tell: This is important in roleplaying and writing. Rather than telling your audience flat out how your character feels, you should show them instead.

So in short: What is your character doing with their hands/feet/body/other? Where are they? Outside, inside, by a fire, by a window, lounging with their feet up on someone elses head? What time is it? Is it dark or light? Are you underwater or in space?

Is your character cold? Perhaps they are hot? Maybe they cant feel anything, whats that like? Give the other person something to go off on, something to react to.

The glory is in the details, bulk up your posts- its not hard and can make for a much more enjoyable experience for everyone involved.

Lame: “Azazel felt awful for what he had done.”

Better: “Azazel’s ears drooped and his eyes fell to the ground, unable to look at the other canine. The corners of his lips drooped in the beginnings of a frown, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he found shame had taken the words out of him.”

Even NSFW material can be SFW safe if you add in the correct details and neglect the ‘ehem’ finer points. Remember: Body check, surrounding check, words. It goes back to the above list; action, scenery, show dont tell.

Try not to respond to every bit of speech. Give non-verbal responses — nods, stares, shakes of the heads, funny looks, waves of the hand, thumbs up, smiles, grins, shrugs, crossing of the arms, and so forth. This simplifies the thread and can help prevent awkward speech patterns between roleplaying characters.

Try not to overthink. Don’t immerse yourself completely in the character’s head. It’s great that she’s thinking of her dead parents in this somber moment, but it gives the other roleplayer very little to reply to. Make sure your post doesn’t consist solely of thought — it’s verydifficult to reply to.

Try not to overdo the action, either. Don’t over-stuff with action, changes, and alterations. A slight change of scenery, like the sun beginning to set, is great. A major shift — such as a cliffside cave beginning to flood — may not be so appreciated by the other rpger(s).

Don’t be over-controlling. It’s important not to entirely direct the course and flow of a thread. AKA God-Moding. Allow the other player to make some decisions, even if it’s an unplotted thread—this is easily done by leaving open-ended replies. For example, if two wolves are hunting a moose, the first character’s reply could detail their approach, the second could detail the selection of suitable prey, the third could detail the actual attack, so on and so forth. Each roleplayer gets to dictate a different part of the interaction and advance the storyline a little; it’s more fun for everyone this way.

The sandwich method is a common strategy you can use to construct paragraphs within a paper and to prepare the elements of a particular paragraph. Clarity and unity are keys to well-constructed paragraphs. The sandwich method helps you frame a paragraph with introduction and conclusion statements that provide the "bun" for key points within the "meat/veggies" of the paragraph.

The sandwich method is my absolute favorite and you can see me implementing it on various threads if you happen to follow me.

I strongly believe that if your going to make a post, you might as well make something worth the other person’s time. A give and take, if you will.

Not only does the sandwich method help me bulk up a post, but it offers something for the next person replying to go off of so that they dont feel as if they are starting an entire thread all over in their reply.

Basics

The sandwich method essentially uses a sandwich as a metaphor for the structure of a typical paragraph. The opening statement provides direction for the paragraph and mirrors the top bun of a sandwich. The middle, support statements provide details and mirror the meat and ingredients within the sandwich. A closing statement summarizes or ties up the content within the paragraph in the same way the bottom bun holds the sandwich together.

Top Bun -- Opening

The opening statement is a critical launching point for a distinct, clear paragraph. Each paragraph within a paper should touch on one key point. The opening is a general statement that frames the subject of the paragraph. In a paper outlining top strategies to find a job, you might start a paragraph on networking with the sentence “Carl’s sandwiches are the best sandwiches in all of New York." This statement introduces the topic of sandwiches and leaves the reader asking "Why?"

The Meat -- Detail Statements

The meat of the paragraph is made up of supporting, evidential or detail statements that answer the reader's question about the topic sentence. They clarify or give evidence to support the main point. In supporting the networking topic statement, you could have a second sentence stating "Carl’s has won multiple awards for best sandwich in the national championship sandwich making competitions." A third sentence could build on this with "Not to mention ive been coming here for years and I absolutely love them so they have my stamp of approval." Both of these sentences speak to the reader's "Why?" question.

Bottom Bun -- Conclusion

Interestingly, a concluding statement in a paragraph is considered optional, though a missing bottom bun on a sandwich would likely make a mess. In the conventional sandwich paragraph, the last sentence wraps up the paragraph's topic or summarizes its key points. If you have an especially short paragraph with just two to four sentences, a conclusion isn't necessary. In a typical paragraph with five to seven statements, it makes more sense. In the sandwich example, your bottom bun statement could say "While you can look up the awards and take my word for it, your always welcome to try them out yourself and make your own conclusion- here, lets go grab some for lunch."

Once again, please remember that we are all people- we have lives and cannot always be here to play. Do not send threats or hate or hurtful messages. Communication behind the scenes with any and all Muns you play with is key to creating a wonderful story together that will bring both of you joy- Thats why we do it. No one is getting paid for this (and if you are lucky you and where do I sign up?)

Now go forth and PLAY! :D

#How to roleplay #rpg #tips and tricks #sandwich method #how to write #Feral's writing method #etiquette

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years

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Tomorrow Never Came PT. 13

The final installment of the Tomorrow Never Came time travel series with your favorite soft boy, Roger Taylor. Thank you so much for reading all the way through, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Finishing the last few paragraphs was quite emotional, but it was time to say goodbye to this series. So read on and hopefully enjoy! :))

“Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four-“

“One, one, one, one,” Roger counted over you, speaking excessively loud, and you laughed as you shoved him away, losing count of the train cars in the process. “What?! I’m just counting!”

“You’re insufferable,” you giggled, leaning into his side as his arm automatically went around you, his legs kicking out and swinging back and forth as they dangled over the edge of the bridge that passed over the tracks below. He was warm, a welcome respite from the chilly fall air around the two of you, and he felt a shiver run through your body as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Cold?” he observed, smiling softly when he saw you nod minutely, and the action made him draw the blanket tighter around the two of you, swaddling you both into the heavy quilted material. “Hey, in the future, do you lot still have trains?”

“Yes, Roger,” you snickered, closing your eyes as you felt the last of the train rumble by underneath you.

“What about…. Clogs? Please say no.”

“Not even shitting you, they become rubber. But they lose the height for the most part, thank god for that. Don’t tell Brian.” Roger laughed at that, resting his head on yours as the twilight sky dwindled around the two of you, making it hard for him to see much farther past the tracks below.

“I won’t tell him,” Roger replied softly, turning to press a kiss to the top of your head that was so soft and sincere that you opened your eyes, looking up to him with a bashful smile. His big, blue eyes met yours, and an abundance of affection overflowed from the irises, his pupils dilated noticeably as he smiled back at you, leaning down to capture your lips in a chaste, sweet kiss.

There was no affection in those baby blues, not now. As the door next to you opened, you whipped your head around to find Freddie and Roger stepping out, their conversation faltering when Roger’s eyes met yours. No affection at all. Curiosity, maybe a spark of it, but as far as Roger was concerned, you were just another pretty resident in the building, and so both men headed down the hallway as Roger started to complain about roommates again.

“If we don’t get another roommate by next month, Freddie, we’re toast.” The stack of flyers and a stapler were in his hand again, Freddie nodding in agreement and brushing his bangs out of his face.

“Think we could make Bri drop out and movie in with us?” Freddie questioned, Roger sighing in response and shaking his head.

“How could he graduate in ’74 if he didn’t keep going?” And then they were gone, leaving you with the crushing realization that a year’s worth of adoration, love, and respect was gone. You were nothing more than an insignificant speck in the life of Roger Taylor, and he could care less about the woman he’d just spotted carrying a pink dress in the hallway of his apartment building.

“Oh, God,” you croaked out, staring down the empty hallway in absolute distress. You were heartbroken, a few tears leaking out of your eyes as the world came crashing down before you. It was all reversed. Everything was the same again. Everything was right, except for you and Roger. So much of you still longed for him, for his voice, his eyes, his touch, his love. You longed for what it was like before, when you could crawl into bed with him at night and listen to him talk about his day, play with his hair until he fell asleep. Gone were the days where he’d saunter into the café, checking you out and deliberately sitting in your section so that he could playfully harass you while you worked.

Always in good fun – everything about Roger was fun. His intelligent jokes, his smile, his drunken antics, his date ideas, the way he danced around you while you made both of them breakfast. The way he’d try to elbow his way in and help sometimes, or distract you by feeding you blueberries. But he’d always compliment you on the food, no matter what, and said you were the second best personal chef he’d ever had. When prompted for the first, he always said his mom would be number one out of obligation, even though you were loads better. ‘But don’t tell her that!’ he’d begged, suddenly looking a bit afraid, and he’d whined when you teased him about it for hours afterwards.

You’d miss nothing more than those moments. He was so playful, so exciting to be around, and yet, you knew you’d miss the more intimate, serious moments just as much. When he’d rub your back, listening to you vent about a rude customer, and never interrupt as you got heated about the way they’d sent back their dish three times before they were finally happy. Talking about your frustrations, about world issues, about personal issues until the wee hours of the morning with him and Freddie, falling asleep on his lap when you got too sleepy. And he’d tuck you in when he and Freddie shuffled back to their rooms, Freddie always bringing out an extra pillow.

Damn, you’d miss Freddie just as much. Your other roommate and closest confidant besides Roger. He was so loving, so flamboyant, and so clever. God, if he only knew what an impact he’d make on the world in the near future, he’d keel over. His mind was unexplainable, an enigma that would shake the music industry and the entire world in the next couple decades. And that’s what was the most harrowing and simultaneously inspiring about his situation – he would only take two decades to make an impression on the known universe, doing work that took some people a lifetime to accomplish. Your smart, witty, adoring roommate Freddie Bulsara deserved everything, and you wish you could tell him that.

But that was impossible now. Strangers once again, you had no idea how to approach the two best friends you’d ever had. All of those memories were false now, distant and fabricated now that the timeline you’d just experienced was genuinely toast. But you couldn’t just leave it at this, cut it off all of a sudden without at least one more look, one more conversation.

And you supposed that’s what possessed you to remain far past your welcome again, leading you to be sitting here on the barstool of some pub down the road that you remembered Roger frequenting a lot in the early days of your stay. You’d changed into the Biba dress, having stuffed your regular clothes back into the closet you’d emerged from, and you were sipping on some lager that you bought with the money for the stupid Guinness your mom had given you. Thankfully, the bartender didn’t check the date of the notes before pouring the drink – you didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if they had.

Freddie was just walking in when you got the beer halfway down, and he was beaming at someone he’d recognized, pulling them into a warm, firm hug that only lasted a second or two. And then came Roger a few seconds later, followed by Brian and Mary. They were all in good spirits despite the roommate situation, and you wondered if they’d got the flyers up when you realized that Mary was eyeing you curiously, then whispering something to Rog and patting his back before seeming to excuse herself. Rog glanced your way, and for a brief second, recognition flickered on his face. Your heart stopped, and though it was impossible, a small part of your mind wanted to believe that somehow, everything hadn’t been erased. But then he was looking away again, off to greet the guy that Freddie had just hugged. You didn’t get a chance to see if it was someone familiar, though, because Mary was making a beeline for you, for whatever reason.

A million thoughts whirred through your brain all at once, but you tried to remain calm as the bright-eyed blonde came up to the bar next to you, ordering a beer before turning to face you with a curious, almost somewhat envious look.

“I love your dress,” she commented, and you looked down at the velvety pink fabric in befuddled surprise. Smoothing out the skirt slowly, you lifted your head again and shot her a convincing smile, trying to keep your breathing calm.

“Thank you, yours is gorgeous as well!” It wasn’t a lie. She was in a pink dress as well, a chiffon cocktail dress with bell sleeves that slimmed her up even more, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish you had that dress on instead right now. The crushed velvet, although pretty, wrinkled very fast.

“Do you work at Biba?” she asked, seemingly offhanded as she grabbed her beer, taking a sip of it and smiling. The smile faltered on your face as you stared at her in confusion, and she took it as an opportunity to continue. “It’s just that I didn’t think that design was hitting shelves for months! It was supposed to be a fall/winter exclusive, how’d you manage to snag it so early?”

“I don’t work there,” you laughed nervously, reaching up to tug at the bottom of your hair as you looked off nowhere in particular and tried to fabricate a lie. But the best you could come up with was weak at best. “I just know people, if that makes any sense.”

“You must know some pretty important people then,” Mary remarked, smiling encouragingly after you giggled nervously. “I’m Mary. I actually do work at Biba, if you want to put in a good word for me with the boss. Mary Austin.”

“Mary Austin.” You repeated her name softly, moving your mug of beer so it was in both hands, clasped tightly as you turned to face her on the barstool more. “I’ll have to remember that, yeah. I’m Y/N.”

Mary nodded as you introduced yourself, but her attention was directed elsewhere as she heard her name called out by Freddie, who was waving at her from across the bar. When he saw you, though, he raised an eyebrow quizzically before his brain put two and two together. Once he recognized you as the girl from the hallway earlier, his mouth formed into an o-shape for a second before he grabbed Roger’s arm and said something you couldn’t even begin to pick up from just reading his lips. Roger licked his own lips as you watched, focusing on Freddie speaking intently before looking back at you and nodding. Then, the both of them were headed towards you, Mary making a quiet noise of acknowledgement.

“Sorry, that’s my boyfriend and his roommate. They don’t have inside voices, be warned.” Giggling softly, a wondrous smile lingered on your lips as you fixated on Roger helplessly, unable to take your eyes off of him and his unbelievably confident strut over to the two of you.

“Was there a pink dress code thing tonight I was unaware of? You never tell me anything, Mary,” Freddie pouted playfully as he gave her a kiss on the cheek, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. When Mary only laughed, he smiled down at her for a moment and rolled his eyes teasingly before looking up to you. You were still watching Roger as he joined the fray, resting his weight on one foot and giving you a pleasant smile. “I don’t believe we even slowed down to get your name earlier, you were in our flat complex, weren’t you?”

After a pregnant pause, you finally registered that he was talking to you and you inhaled sharply, nodding before tearing your eyes away from Roger and shooting a nervous smile at Freddie. “Yeah, I live there. I was… trying to find the utility closet. Sorry if I scared you both.”

“Oh, no worries, love, we were just leaving.” Roger’s voice made you jump, and your heart began to race as you met his gaze, his lively blue eyes holding a hint of amusement at your flustered state. “Not sure you’d be able to get anything in that one next to our flat anyways, the light never works.”

A small ‘oh’ left your lips, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek before Mary took the liberty of introducing you all. Or, rather, attempting. It made your heart hurt, the fact that all of those memories with these two men were absolutely nothing more than that anymore – a memory. “Y/N, this is Freddie, my boyfriend.” A quick pat to Freddie’s chest made you nod, holding back a pained expression at the rambunctious spirit that you could no longer call your best friend standing opposite of you. “And this is Roger, but we call him Rog most of the time.”

“Rog,” you whispered, your eyes searching his face for a moment, just lost in the fact that he was so unfamiliar with you now, and yet he still had that same undying smirk.

“This is Y/N, boys. I was talking to her about her dress, apparently she knows some pretty high up people at Biba because this beauty doesn’t come out till August!” she exclaimed, squeezing Freddie’s side. He hummed in appreciation, Mary continuing on after sipping her beer a bit. “So, she’s going to put in a good word for me with the higher-ups and hopefully I can get off the floor.”

“Why would you want off the floor?” Roger asked curiously, eyeing Mary with a guarded look, but she seemed to see right through him as she moved her beer to the other hand, rolling her eyes and running a hand through the back of Freddie’s hair.

“You can still go ogle at the girls on the floor, Rog, I don’t need to be down there for you to find an excuse to do that.” Now it was Roger’s turn to roll his eyes, and he dismissively waved at Mary before looking back to you shaking his head.

“She’s joking.”

“She’s not joking,” Freddie immediately added, Roger whining a bit and giving his roommate a ‘What the fuck?’ look before crossing his arms and again turning back to face you.

“Whatever. Mary’s right, it is a beautiful dress. Very sweet-looking… flirty, like a little Cupid’s bow and arrow type thing.” Ouch. Your small smile faltered a bit as the mention of Cupid, and memories of Valentine’s Day edged their way into your mind. Taking a deep breath, you forced them out and pushed the smile back on your face, even if it was a bit fake.

“Thank you. You’ve got good taste, clearly.” Mary’s knowing gaze shifted from you to Roger, then back to Freddie, and Freddie only laughed before deciding to let go of his girlfriend and grab a drink from the bar, leaving the conversation to just you and not-your-boyfriend-anymore. “I wonder, do you go to Biba often to browse the selection?”

Mary snorted at that, barely audible due to her back being turned to the both of you, but Roger only looked mildly annoyed with her as he rubbed the side of his neck, pushing some of his golden brown locks back over his shoulder. “Not as often as Mary thinks I do, that’s for sure. But you can’t blame a man, can you?”

“For what?” you questioned, your grip still tight on your beer as you turned to face him fully on your barstool, crossing your leg. It was eerie, sitting here and chatting with Roger as though he was a stranger. You wanted to go back to the flat with him, smoke out of his window, listen to a few records, and help each other make dinner like old times. But now, if you were leaving this bar with him to go back to that flat at the end of the night, it wouldn’t be for those intentions. This time, you were nothing more than eye candy to Roger, and it killed you inside. To know that you weren’t that person to Roger anymore, no matter how much he was that person to you? Devastating.

“For….” Roger paused for a moment, seeming to be looking for the right words as he smiled a bit to himself and cast his gaze to the right momentarily. “For appreciating the female existence in all its shapes and forms, regardless of aesthetic standards and relative beauty.” An exaggerated gagging noise from Mary, and the other two made their way back across the bar, leaving the two of you alone.

“Wow,” you drawled out as you watched Freddie go, feigning surprise that he’d just pulled together such a beautiful sentence. After a moment, you let your gaze wander back to Roger, and you smiled slightly. “Smart and cute, what a catch.”

Roger looked rather pleased with himself after your comment, that self-assured smirk that had made you fall in love before playing at the corners of his lips. His hands slid into his pockets as he shifted his weight to the other foot, giving you a quick once-over. It set butterflies off in your stomach, ones that refused to be ignored as a light blush settled on your cheeks. You attempted to hide the blush by lifting your beer to down the rest, but he’d already seen.

“I’d like to think so. You’re pretty fit yourself, how come I haven’t seen you around the building more?” When you sat the empty glass on the bar, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket as he approached the open stool next to you, tossing a few notes on the bar and calling for two more drinks before climbing onto the stool and raising an eyebrow at you. “What were you having? It’s on me.”

“Uh, lager, thank you,” you replied quietly, turning to face the bar again and leaning forward on your elbows as the bartender fulfilled the request. Roger gripped the edge of the bar tightly with one hand, propping his head up on the other hand as he watched you curiously. You realized he was still waiting for an answer as the bartender served both of you the respective drinks he’d ordered, and you cleared your throat before taking a sip. “I just moved in. I’m new around here, so…”

“Well, as resident intellectual and Kensington specialist, I’d love to show you around the city a bit, if you’d like, that is?” he offered, also taking a sip of his drink as he let the offer sit on the table. The brief thought that you could stay a bit longer and have one last fling with Roger suddenly occurred to you. After all, what would one last time hurt?

Everything. It would ruin everything. As strong as you thought you could be, you know that one time would lead to another, and then leaving him after getting attached again would probably be worse than the first time.

Looking around at the bar patrons for a moment before settling on Roger, you sighed inwardly. This was your home, your everything, but it was never meant to be. As much as you desperately wanted to stay here and spend the rest of your life with Roger, you knew that Weston was right. But Roger was patient as you once again ran through your inner turmoil (shocker). He ran the calloused pad of his middle finger along the side of his glass and collected some beer that had spilled over before swiping it over his tongue just briefly, his blue eyes catching yours. You couldn’t decide between staring at his tongue that just barely poked through his teeth or the Tiffany blue irises framed by pretty blonde lashes.

Damn it, he was too tempting. “Sounds exciting. What about right now?”

“Right now?” he questioned, raising a light eyebrow in surprise. When you responded by chugging down the rest of your beer and jumping off your stool, an amused look came onto his face as he slid off the barstool as well, finishing his drink. “I guess we are going right now. Let me go back over and tell Freddie I’ll be home later. Wait here, yeah?”

“Alright,” you agreed, smiling up at him and hugging your waist as he began to head over to the table, glancing back at you once or twice in wonder before he got there. And you intended on waiting, really, but something distracted you.

Well, someone. Propped up against the doorframe next to the entrance was Weston, and your blood ran cold. You were sure that every trace of happiness in your expression as well as your body disappeared, and instead a defiant look took its place. But as much as it was defiant, there was also a defeat evident, a hardened way that your jaw set, and Weston could tell you were pissed as you glanced at Roger one more time before reluctantly making your way towards Weston, lips pressed into a thin line.

No words were exchanged as you passed him, bursting out onto the street angrily and storming back towards the building. But Weston just followed, an ‘I told you so’ lingering on the tip of his tongue as he was just a couple steps behind you, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I mean, I’d say it, but you already know what I’m going to say based on the fact that I didn’t trust you enough to leave you alone here again.”

“Save it, Weston,” you hissed as you held up a hand over your shoulder, signaling for him to stop talking while you were still in such a livid state. “I can’t tell whether I want to punch you or cry right now. Or both.”

“Hey, kid, I know how you feel. Trust me. I’d let you punch me, but that would just be stupid.” You rolled your eyes at that, a few tears threatening to spill over as you refused to turn and look at him, instead rounding the last corner before you’d be headed straight down to the cursed old flat building. “You just wanted to try it one more time, yeah? With him?”

“Why does it even matter to you?” you muttered, angrily wiping away the tears, but you slowed down a bit, letting him catch up to you and match your pace. “Yes. I wanted to see him one more time. Quitting cold turkey kind of sucks. Like, a lot.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Weston chuckled, crossing the street with you and looking around at London for a moment before sighing and tapping his fingers against his thighs. “Listen, I tried countless ‘one more times’ with Abigail. It will never get better. You’re only making yourself more miserable.”

“Yeah. I know.” He didn’t seem surprised by your answer, and said nothing as you reached the door to the stairs, his hand immediately going out to pull them open and let you in. Following you in and up the stairs, nothing was left to be said until you’d both reached the door, the sign staring at you like a death warrant as you slowed to a stop, brushing away a few more tears. “Thanks for coming to get me. I know that you just didn’t want to see me get hurt, but I had to see him again. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly before reaching out and opening the door, holding it for you. “You did what any normal human would do. We all want what we can’t have.”

“Yeah.” You stared at the darkened closet, a bundle of your clothes laying just inside the doorframe. Snatching them up and clutching them to your chest, you closed your eyes and shook your head. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

And then you marched forward into the pitch black abyss of the utility closet, Weston’s eyes following you the whole way.

Lake Geneva was beautiful, if a bit cold. It wasn’t overcast in Montreux, but a looming dark cloud in the distance threatened to soak everyone headed into Casino Barrière, including you.

It was Freddie’s 73rd Birthday Party. As pricey as the tickets were, you’d managed to save up enough to snatch one before they were gone, with promises of one singular complimentary drink and a t-shirt, plus a cover band playing The Miracle album front to back. And you knew Roger would be there. Sure, it wouldn’t be the Roger you knew, but it was worth trying to catch a glimpse of the one who got away at some point that night.

Since last year, you’d visited Weston quite a bit. As much as you knew he thought you were still a kid, weak and willing to succumb to every temptation, you actually grew to enjoy his company a lot. And he enjoyed yours, even going so far as cleaning up his guest room whenever he knew you were coming. It was an odd relationship, sure, but he felt like a father to you, and he decided you weren’t as spineless as he’d originally thought.

Dan wasn’t trying anymore. A long, tear-filled intervention with you and Weston put a stop to the attempts, and now the portal was patched up and made to look like a part of the wall, the door never to be opened again. Now, it was your apartment.

Sure, it was painful looking at that church every day, but since you’d checked your mom into assisted living facilities, the cheap rent and familiar location served as a new home to you. The café you’d worked at had closed down, but you frequented the coffee shop that had sprung up in its place. And although you weren’t alone by any means, there were times that the loneliness was overwhelming.

Now was not one of those times. In the true spirit of keeping Freddie’s legacy alive, the crowd was lively, animated, and all decked out in silly hats. Freddie had apparently held a silly hat party for his 40th back in 1986, and this had been chosen for the theme this year as the casino came alive with Queen fans, family, and friends alike. People were so nice, chatting with anyone they’d see, and you’d met quite a few lovely people by the time the night was dwindling to a close. People were slowly filtering out after the cover band had played the last song and had been replaced by the regular live band, and you decided to just get one more drink and stay a bit longer at the casino. Even though you hadn’t seen Roger, you still felt like a night hadn’t been wasted as you climbed onto the barstool that was at one corner, waiting patiently for the bartender to help you while you scrolled on your phone.

Deep into Twitter, you almost didn’t notice the glass of white sparkling wine placed in front of you, but you looked up at the bartender as he cleared his throat, nodding over to the far side of the bar. “Gentleman down there already paid for it. Cheers.” With that, the bartender was gone, and you shifted your gaze over to find a white-haired, bearded older man with robin’s-egg eyes, staring you down very curiously.

It took you a moment to register who it was, but you had to choke on the surprised noise in your throat as Roger climbed off his stool carefully, sidling over and taking the stool on the other side of the corner, a respectful distance away. “Didn’t mean to alarm you, love. What’s your name?”

His voice was still so soft, if a bit more raspy than you remembered, and you felt a bit dizzy as you let your fingers wrap around the stem of the wine glass, swirling it a bit. “It’s okay. I just didn’t expect anyone to buy me a drink,” you managed to respond, a bit too quiet, but then you cleared your throat in an attempt to not sound so overwhelmed. “Y/N. Thank you for the drink. You didn’t have to-“

“I wanted to, don’t worry,” he laughed, cutting you off before you could sell yourself short. “You were alone and looked like you could use one. I’m Roger, by the way.” His eyes shifted to the hat you’d placed on the bar next to you, and another chuckle left his lips, the laugh so inviting and familiar that you had to take a sip of wine to distract yourself. Music started playing over the speaker that seemed to be in the kitchen that was just past the bar, and you couldn’t help but smile as All Along The Watchtower’s familiar wailing guitar started in.

“Hendrix,” you both mused at the same time, an embarrassed blush painting your cheeks a soft red as Roger laughed, looking towards the kitchen and giving you a chance to take him in. He was far more wrinkled than the last time you’d seen him, obviously, but that didn’t take away from the playful gleam in his eyes, the smirk that constantly played at his lips. He looked good in a beard, you decided, but there was still a part of your heart that longed for the wavy, dirty blonde shoulder-length locks of the 70’s. Scruffy looked good on Roger, but he’d cleaned up since then, and he looked unbelievably spotless and quite young for his age. Then, he began to speak, drawing you out of your trance as he turned his head to look at you again.

“I always loved Hendrix. Thought that he did this piece loads better than-“

“Bob Dylan. Of course.” You nodded in agreement, sipping at the wine again and smiling at the memory of laying in Roger’s room long before you were ever an item, listening to him go on and on about how much better Hendrix’s interpretation was.

“You know your stuff!” he remarked in amusement, hitting his fist down against the bar lightly in emphasis. “Who taught you?”

“My boyfriend,” you answered honestly, face screwing up for a moment before you shook your head. “Well, my ex. He loved Hendrix, Zeppelin, Van Morrison. He even liked Bob Dylan…. Just liked Hendrix a bit more.”

“Well, he’s got great taste in music, then.” Roger was all smiles, and it hurt your heart to see him so blissfully ignorant of the fact that you were talking about him. It was him who loved Hendrix, who idolized Led Zeppelin, who thought that Bob Dylan was good, but Hendrix was just on another level, so much better.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, scanning over his face for a moment before averting your eyes to the live band on the opposite end of the ballroom, playing some slow, brass-heavy tune that clashed with the sound of Hendrix. “He had the best taste in music. Had a good ear for it.”

The live band switched into another song, a slower one, and Roger noticed your eyes lingering on them as he followed your line of vision. After seeming to ponder it for a moment, he turned back to you and nodded towards the dance floor, raising an eyebrow. “Do you like to dance?”

A furious blush returned to your cheeks as you finished off the wine, sitting the glass farther away from you and flicking your tongue out over your lower lip to clean the remaining wine off. “I’m afraid I’m no good at that. Ex never taught me how to dance, he wasn’t like that. Too much happening up here.” You tapped on your head, knowing that it was only hurting you more to talk about Roger with Roger, but it wasn’t like he’d ever know. His unwavering gaze stayed on you, though, and you pursed your lips before laughing a bit. “I do like to dance, though. Don’t get that opportunity often.”

“Well, we’ll just have to get you out there, then.” With that, Roger got off his stool and held out his arm. “No use in wasting an opportunity.”

The offer remained on the table as you glanced from his arm up to his eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek as conflict raged on inside your head. Would it hurt to do this? Probably. Would you be sad once it was over? Definitely. But the realization that doing this only put you in danger was putting your mind at ease. Even when you said yes to this dance, you wouldn’t be risking anybody’s health but your own by doing so. Roger would be safe, and that was okay with you.

Leaving your things on the bar, you slid off your stool and linked your arm into his, beaming up at him. “Lead the way.”

Grinning just as wide, Roger looked forward again and led the two of you onto the dance floor. Once there, his hand took ahold of your gently as his other hand came to rest on your waist, and the two of you began slowly swaying to the music as you let your free hand come to rest on his arm. This was something that was somewhat unfamiliar, the soft, dancing side of Roger having come out very rarely in the year you’d spent with him. But it was nice, and you couldn’t have wiped the smile off your lips if you’d tried.

“To be honest with you,” Roger started, his voice just audible over the strong melodies and harmonies of the live band, “I bought you a drink because you reminded me of a time when I was younger.”

A mild panic fluttered in your heart as you tried to think of the safest way to navigate the subject. You didn’t particularly want to expose time travel to him, well, ever, so this was a tricky subject to tiptoe around. “Did you buy a lot of girls drinks when you were younger?”

“If I had the money!” he laughed, rolling his eyes at himself before shaking his head. “Even if I didn’t have the money, I usually did anyways. Bought drinks all the time for beautiful ladies at the bar, like yourself. You actually look like someone I probably bought a drink for back in my college days, but that’s-“

“Impossible,” you finished for him, confirming what he assumed to be true as you tried to subdue the shake in your hands from nerves.

“Sure you didn’t have a grandma in the area?” he asked playfully, and you laughed out a negative as you avoided his gaze, instead dropping your own to the boutonniere he had stuffed partially in his front pocket. The swaying motion of your bodies, in sync, was almost sleep-inducing, but it would have been a bit out of pocket for you to fall asleep in his arms like that. That wasn’t your privilege anymore. “Figured. It’s all a blur, so maybe I’m just imagining things. Wishful thinking... Happens a lot when you get older.”

“Maybe so,” you agreed softly, a small smile gracing your lips for a moment as you looked back up to him. His eyes were just as beautiful as the first day you’d looked into them, and you got lost for a moment before continuing. “Thank you for asking me to dance. It’s nice – not a lot of guys my age like dancing.”

“When I was your age, I really didn’t either, so I don’t blame them,” Roger chuckled, twirling you carefully before speaking again once he’d rested his hand on your waist respectfully. “But I grew to appreciate it when I got older. Decided that it was sweet. A lot changes between now and then. Plus, my wife enjoys it, so I’ve got to keep the missus happy, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you practically whispered, the live band slowing to a stop. Taking a deep breath, you forced a smile onto your lips as you gave him a hug, ignoring the unfamiliar cologne that now lingered on his collar. “Thank you again. Have a good one, yeah?.”

“You too,” he murmured, reciprocating a friendly hug before letting go of you and nodding amiably. A sweet smile rested on his lips, and you had to take one last glance before you turned away, heading back towards the bar slowly. It seemed like time had stopped momentarily as you grabbed your hat, heading for the back exit of the casino/resort that led to the lakeside, and you didn’t feel like you’d stepped out of slow-motion until you reached the edge of the lake, leaning over the railing.

It was dark now, the impending storm directly overhead and obscuring any moonlight, so the only lights around were reflecting off of the lake’s surface. The water lapping up against the rocks below looked pitch black, and you stared down at it, entranced by the beauty of the rhythmic waves. You were so focused on the water that you hardly noticed the light rain that began to fall, a welcome, gentle force that contrasted with the angry black clouds that the tiny raindrops fell out of. And as you felt yourself getting soaked to the bone, you couldn’t help but smile, letting a few teardrops of your own mix with the water gathering on your skin.

Maybe he wasn’t yours, and maybe it didn’t work out, but he was alright, and that was alright with you. Things weren’t as bad as they could be, and that was okay. Everything was okay, you decided.

Life would go on.

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5 PT. 6 PT. 7 PT. 8 PT. 9 PT. 10 PT. 10.5 PT. 11 PT. 12

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mercurysnitch · 5 years

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Though You’re Many Years Away Part 1

Pairing: 70s!Roger Taylor x Reader (I pictured real Roger, but it could work with BenHardy!Roger as well)

Summary: Reader ends up getting a lot more than she bargained for when she somehow travels to 1974 and sees Queen live at the Rainbow.

Author’s note: This is the first fic I’ve ever written, so I’m a little bit nervous to post it, but what the hell. It was just a weird idea I had that I just had to write. It was planned to be a one-shot, but it’s getting so long I’ve decided to split it up into a short series. Probably 4 parts, maybe 5. Don’t think too hard about how the time travel works, it’ll make your brain hurt. The mechanics that are explained (or at least will be in the next part) are inspired by the time travel in @angrylizardjacket‘s Ben x Reader x 70s Roger stories (go check them out, they’re great :-) ) Also a bit inspired by the book ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’, which is a bit weird, but very good. This part includes the first smut I’ve ever written, so sorry if that bit’s not great. Please comment or reblog, I would love to get feedback on this. Italics indicate reader’s thoughts, stars indicate a time skip (there’s a lot of them, sorry if it’s a bit choppy in places)

Warnings: Swearing, some drinking, little bit of smut (literally one paragraph, so just skip it if you’re not interested), mentions of pregnancy, tiny bit of vomiting

You weren’t sure how you ended up on a park bench in an unknown location. All you remembered was a feeling like you were falling down into the centre of the earth, and then waking up with a pounding head, in a strange place. Looking around, you noticed the sun seemed to be getting low, throwing a golden evening light on your surroundings. You could see a main road, and a little cluster of men in half-open shirts and flared jeans, smoking cigarettes. Wait, isn’t that illegal in public? And flares? Must be a 70s party nearby, you thought. Cautiously, you stood up from the bench, stretching experimentally. Your head spun a little, but you soon felt stable enough to start walking. You quickly decided to follow the crowd of people flooding down the main road. Most of them seemed to be heading in the same direction. Must be something on tonight, you thought. Might as well go, it might help me work out where the hell I am.

Suddenly, you found yourself outside an old-fashioned theatre. It seemed to be called the Rainbow, judging by the signs. The hoardings showing the names of upcoming acts contained a single word in big letters: Queen. No way, you thought. Queen were one of your favourite bands, and now you’d stumbled on one of their gigs? What a coincidence. You shuffled forward with the crowd, managing to slip in past the ticket sellers unnoticed. Thank god, I couldn’t pay them even if I wanted to. Suddenly you noticed something: more flares. Nearly everyone around you seemed to be wearing flares. There was a lot of long wavy hair about too, on the men as well as the women. That’s weird, you mused, is it a tribute gig or something? Your mind was humming with confusion as you moved with the crowd into the auditorium, when a sudden thought nearly stopped you in your tracks. Queen at the Rainbow. Why does that sound familiar? Queen at the Rainbow. Queen at the – Oh that’s right, there’s a live album, you remembered. Queen at the Rainbow ’74. Wait, ’74? They played the Rainbow in 1974. Realisation hit you like a freight train. I can’t be in 1974, I just can’t be. How could I be in 1974? How did I get here?

You were startled out of your shocked trance by a loud cheer. The music had started, and the band soon appeared, to another cheer, even louder than before. Once they started to play, there was no disputing it. You were watching early Queen, deep in their ‘glam rock’ phase. Freddie Mercury was utterly recognisable with his long dark hair, eyeliner and black-painted nails. Fuck, I’m at a Queen show in 1974. After a couple of songs you decided to accept whatever glitch in the universe had brought you here and just enjoy the show. It was a great show too. You had always wished you could have seen Queen play with Freddie, but knew it would never be possible. You hadn’t even been born for many years after Queen’s last concert in 1986, indeed, by the time you were born Freddie Mercury was dead. And yet, here you were watching him perform live, utterly entranced.

All too soon, the show was over. The buzzing crowd flooded out of the theatre and into a pub down the street. You went with them, wondering if the band would follow. Sure enough, all four members of Queen soon appeared in the pub, to scattered cheers and raised glasses. You headed for the bar, hoping somebody might buy you a drink. You would have bought one yourself but you had no money on you. It seemed you had travelled to 1974 with only the clothes on your back. You found a stool in a quiet corner and settled in to people watch. You had a feeling, a gut feeling you supposed, that this little trip to the 70s wasn’t going to last very long, so you decided you might as well soak it up while you could. Your stool coincidentally gave you an excellent view of the table all four members of Queen had chosen to sit at. They looked relaxed, rapidly emptying beers in hand, surrounded by a veritable flock of admiring girls. You started to scan the rest of the pub, soaking up the vibe, when you noticed movement at the band’s table. Someone was coming to the bar, heading almost directly for you. You turned towards them, and saw long golden hair and an open shirt weaving towards you.

You’d always thought early-70s Roger Taylor was the best looking member of Queen. Well, the early 70s was their best-looking era in your opinion, but the golden-haired, blue-eyed drummer was clearly the most attractive. Not that the rest of them weren’t easy on the eyes, but Roger was definitely your favourite. Now you were in a pub in 1974, and he was walking straight towards you. Well shit. This could be interesting.

He came up to the bar next to your stool. “Another round of beers thanks” he asked the bartender. Suddenly he turned to you, almost as if he could feel your eyes on you. “Hello” he said gently, “I’m Roger.” He held his hand out to you, smiling cheekily…flirtatiously? “Y/N. Hi” You shook his hand uncertainly. He continued to smile at you, his eyes crinkling, until you glanced down from his gaze, grinning nervously. “You’re cute. Can I buy you a drink?” Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. He was definitely flirting now. “Okay. Gin and tonic please” You asked, smiling brightly. Roger added your order to his beers and turned back to you. “What brings a pretty girl like you to a pub like this?” The cheeky grin had reappeared. “I, um, I saw the band before. Good show, by the way” you stuttered, suddenly unsure what to say. His smile widened. “You’re a fan then?” Oh, if you only knew, you thought dreamily. “I guess you could say that” you responded, now smiling flirtatiously yourself. “Well then, what’s your favourite-” Roger’s question was cut off by the sudden reappearance of the bartender. You grabbed your drink while he gathered up the beers. “Want to meet the rest of the band?” He asked as he carefully stood up, laden with glasses. You jumped off your stool, careful not to spill any of your drink. “I’d love to” you beamed, perhaps a little too enthusiastic. Roger didn’t notice though, leading carefully back through the crowd to Queen’s table. Shit, you thought frantically, I’m going to meet Queen. Queen! Oh God, what do I say? I can’t mention the future, what if I break time or something? Have to be careful. Shit. Shit.

“More drinks! Lovely! About time Roger, what were you doing over there darling?” Freddie grinned mischievously from the opposite side of his table as he spotted you shuffling along behind his bandmate. Roger rolled his eyes. “Oh shut it Fred. Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Freddie, obviously, that’s Brian” - the gangly, curly-haired guitarist waved cheerfully from his seat on Freddie’s left – “and that’s John. But we all call him Deaky” The bassist nodded shyly from Freddie’s other side, tucked into the corner. It took most of your determination not to gush hopelessly over the. Actual. Real-life. Queen. But you managed it. Just. “Hi” you said shyly. Roger, now carrying only a single drink in one hand, wrapped his free arm reassuringly around your waist. It felt… nice. “Um, I really enjoyed the show tonight” you nearly squeaked out, trying not to gabble. Freddie smiled. “I’m glad. What’s your favourite song then?” You tried to think quickly. Fuck, I have to make sure it’s something that actually exists in 1974. Shit. Shit. “Ahh… Liar? It rocks, I guess…” This response seemed to please Freddie. “Finally” he said dramatically, “someone who appreciates my art. Good work Roger” You could have sworn he winked on the last word. The drummer rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. He quickly drained his pint, slamming the empty glass on the table. “Shut it Fred” He glared at the dark-haired singer, who just smiled naughtily. “I need some fresh air. Come on” Roger pulled you along with him as he moved towards the door of the crowded pub. You followed enthusiastically, finishing your drink on the way and setting the glass down as you passed an empty table.

The air outside was crisp and cool enough to be refreshing without chilling you to the bone. “Sorry about that” Roger murmured, gazing intently at your face. “It’s okay” you murmured back, looking into those gorgeous blue eyes. Suddenly they glinted with mischief. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” He asked, leaning down. “Yes” you breathed. His lips were on yours in an instant. It was blissful. He was insistent, but not rough. You opened your lips for him and quickly felt his tongue gently exploring your mouth. Holy fuck, I’m kissing the Roger Taylor. In 1974. Holy fuck. Your brain quickly slipped from frantic babbling to incoherent screaming as you felt Roger’s hands curl around your waist and brush along your back. Suddenly Roger broke the kiss. You nearly whined at the loss of contact. “Wanna come home with me, continue this there?” he asked huskily. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be in 1974, you mused. Might as well enjoy it while I’m here. “I’d love to” you replied breathily. “Great!” Roger smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Let’s just tell the others we’re going.”

You could barely contain your excitement as you arrived at Roger’s flat. Holy shit, your brain gabbled, Roger Taylor’s taking me back to his place. The Roger Taylor. Is taking me home. Holy fucking shit. When you arrived at his front door, he pushed you against it and snogged you senseless for the second time that night. He broke the kiss for a few seconds to open the door, holding you close all the while, then pushed you through it, his lips on yours again. You kissed frantically as you crossed his loungeroom, shedding clothes all the while. By the time you fell onto his couch together, both of you were in your underwear. You mentally thanked God you weren’t wearing anything noticeably out of place in 1974, although you thought Roger was unlikely to notice at this point. Roger lay on top of you, his face inches from yours. You could feel him against your stomach getting harder by the second. “Want me to show you a good time?” he growled, voice raspy with lust. “Why else would I be here?” you replied cheekily. “Well, if you’re going to be like that,” he grinned momentarily, then kissed a sensitive spot on your neck, smiling at the way you moaned at the sensation. He dotted kisses along your body, his fingers trailing the path of his mouth, until he arrived at your entrance, already slick with arousal. He grinned up at you, eyes now hooded with desire. “Do you want me to make you feel good?” he asked huskily, gently running his fingers along your folds. You moaned in delight at the stimulation. “I need you to use your words, love” “Yes, Roger, keep going, please” You moaned out the last word as Roger put his lips to your clit, licking at it expertly. You nearly screamed when he plunged a rough, calloused finger into you moments later. “You like that, babe?” “Yes, Roger, don’t stop-” Your words drowned in another moan as he added a second finger, dragging them gently across your dripping walls. His other hand held your hips down as his fingers roamed your walls until they found the spot that made you cry out with pleasure. He rubbed the spot in delicate circles while his tongue continued to lick at your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. It wasn’t long before you felt your climax begin to crash over you. Roger coaxed you through it, licking at you until you whined from overstimulation. As you came down from quite possibly the quickest orgasm you had ever experienced, you realised again that Roger Taylor had just eaten you out like a bloody expert. Looks like 1974’s gonna be fun after all, you thought happily.

***

You awoke the next morning feeling strange. You were disoriented at first, until you remembered where you were. And when. I slept with Roger Taylor last night. I’m in Roger Taylor’s bed. In 1974. Holy shit, I just fucked the drummer from Queen. Wow. You stifled a satisfied giggle, not wanting to disturb the snoring man beside you. Even when he’s asleep he’s fucking gorgeous, you realised. You eased yourself out of bed very gently so as not to wake Roger. But as soon as you stepped away from the bed you felt weird. Very weird. Sort of… insubstantial, like you weren’t entirely there. Suddenly you just knew you were about to be pulled back to your time. Shit. My clothes are in the other room. You bolted out into the loungeroom and gathered your clothes in a flash. Oh no, I won’t get to say goodbye. He’ll hate me. Oh shit, what do I do? At that moment your eye fell on a notebook and pen sitting on the coffee table. You darted over, clinging carefully to your clothing, and scribbled out a note as quickly as you could. I stayed as long as I could. It’s complicated. I’m sorry. Y/N xx You barely finished the last x before you felt yourself lurching forward, feeling like you were falling again. You dropped the pen as you fell into darkness.

You opened your eyes to a familiar sight. Your own white-painted bedroom, in your own flat. You were home. The light streaming through the gap in the blinds indicated it was morning. Suddenly you remembered something. You’d had plans last night, before you went to 1974. You were supposed to go out for drinks with some friends. Wait what day is it? Where’s my phone? Retrieving it from your bedside table, you saw a stream of messages and multiple missed calls waiting for you. Shit, how long was I gone? You checked the date. The day you disappeared was only yesterday. You breathed a sigh of relief. Aside from the friends you were supposed to meet last night, no-one would have noticed your absence. You immediately sent a message to the group chat apologising for missing last night, claiming you were sick yesterday, and had gone to sleep for so long you’d missed all their messages and calls until now. You thought it was a pretty weak excuse, but your friends seemed to believe it. Besides, it was very unusual for you to even cancel plans ahead of time, let alone ghost on them completely, so you were fairly sure you’d get away with it this time.

Lying in your own bed, in your own flat, in your own time, you weren’t entirely sure your whole 1974 experience hadn’t been some weird intense dream. Maybe you really were sick yesterday, and it was just an unusually vivid fever dream. I don’t remember feeling sick yesterday though. You got out of bed gingerly, feeling sore as you turned around and stood up. If it was just a dream, why am I sore? Glancing down as you started to move, you noticed a mark on your hip. You rushed to your mirror. The shape was unmistakable. It was definitely a hickey. You could see one high up on your inner thigh too. And you remembered exactly how you got them. So it wasn’t a dream then. It really happened. It all really happened.

***

You never told anyone about your little trip to the past. No one would have believed you if you did. As time went on, you sometimes didn’t believe it yourself. It just seemed to incredible to be true. Even if it was true, the question remained: how did it happen? And why did you go to that particular day in 1974, when Queen just happened to be playing? Was it just a coincidence? Or was something more going on? If there was, you had no idea what it could be. In any case, after many days of contemplation you decided you were better off chalking the whole adventure up to experience and moving on with your life. Little did you know, that would be far more difficult than you ever could have expected…

***

You slipped back into your routine easily once you decided to get on with life. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Your friends, thankfully, didn’t make a big deal out of your non-appearance that one night. You weren’t entirely convinced they believed your excuse, but they seemed happy enough to let it slide anyway. They even invited you out again a few weeks later. Clearly you were forgiven. You had fun that night, even if you spent a lot of it feeling decidedly odd. Not drunk – you restricted yourself to one glass of wine, you weren’t in the mood to get messy – just… not quite right. The feeling was still present when you woke up the next morning, but a glance at your calendar indicated your period was due about now. That explains it then. Just good old PMS. You hoped you’d start to feel more normal once your monthly visitor showed up.

A week later, though, and it hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe the time travel’s thrown me off? It must have affected my body somehow… But then a week late all too quickly turned into two, with no signs of change yet. The overlong cycle didn’t bother you much – cycles could be weird sometimes after all – until the day you went to eat some yoghurt for breakfast only to be wracked by a huge wave of nausea the second the smell of it hit you. You dropped your breakfast instantly and sprinted for the bathroom. Small and old-fashioned though it was, you always found the discoloured white tiles rather soothing. As you cleaned yourself up a few minutes later, enjoying the cool tiles against your feet, something suddenly clicked in your head. Oh shit, you thought with alarm, I’m two weeks late and the smell of yoghurt just made me throw up. I can’t be pregnant though, surely? I haven’t been with anyone in months. Except… prompted a voice in your head. Roger Taylor. In 1974. But that can’t have… seriously? I fucking time travel to the past for one night, one fucking night, and end up pregnant by a bloody rockstar? Seriously universe? Wait… Didn’t we use protection though? Now you came to think of it, you definitely remembered condoms being used at some point that night, but your memory was a bit fuzzy from about round three onwards. Round three… you smirked. Shit, that was a good night. Not now! snapped an angry voice in your head. Suddenly you crashed back to earth, feeling sick again. As you bent down to empty your stomach into the toilet once again, a single thought ran through your mind. Holy fuck, this can’t be happening.

Part 2 is coming soon! Please comment or reblog and tell me what you think!

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salfordiansiren · 4 years

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Interview Questions for Ren Harvieu, God is in the TV ‘In Conversation with…’article

We do like to ask some ‘off-the-wall’ questions, also some slightly tongue-in-cheek and left-field ones not connected to the music business at all. There are also a few multiple questions and I’ve mixed them up a bit so that the subjects keep changing. Many of them are open-ended, giving you the opportunity to be as verbose as you wish. Please ignore any question you do not wish to answer.

Hi Lauren, my name is David Bentley, I write for a UK-based e-zine God is in the TV (GIITTV).

The objective of this interview, which will be published in GIITTV within a week of receiving your responses, is to introduce you to a new audience in the UK and abroad and to promote your forth on ming album.

The interview will also feature some embedded videos and/or audio unless you ask us not to do that.

There will be an ‘introduction’ to the interview but that will be written after its completion.

Thanks for agreeing to take part.

So, here we go…

Hi Lauren, thanks for joining us today. How are you?

I’m in a great mood today thanks. I had foot surgery last week and so I cant leave the house or really move for 6 weeks but I feel strangely calm about the whole thing, I dont mind bein

For the benefit of readers who may not be familiar with you, how would you describe yourself as an artist, in a paragraph?

You have released two singles, ‘Teenage Mascara’ and just now ‘Yes, Please’ from your second album, ‘Revel in the Drama’ which is scheduled for next April and the first one was well received by broadcasting ‘tastemakers’. How does the album differ from the first one, ‘Through the Night?’

The difference between Revel In The Drama and Through The Night is that this is a much more personal album. I spent the last couple of years honing my songwriting craft and these lyrics have come straight from my gothic salfordian brain. Its darker, more intense, stranger but still has the beauty of Through The Night. I think both albums sit nicely together.

Since 2015 you’ve been co-writing with Romeo Stodart of the Magic Numbers and he appeared on stage with you at your recent concerts. Will that relationship continue? Do you prefer to control the songwriting process yourself, or are you content to work with other music or lyric writer(s) into the future? If the latter, who has the final say?

I’ll keep writing with romeo till I die if he wants to. He’s the best of the best, and he understands me. I never really felt understood as an artist till I met him. I feel so comfortable in his presence that I let it allllll out, not just the versions of me t

You signed with Universal, a huge corporation, as a 17-year old. Is that too young, or are there any benefits in being ‘bloodied’ in the industry at such a tender age?

I think I was too young, although Universal were great that wasn’t the problem. But there was a lot going on behind the scenes that I was dealing with. I wasn’t a show biz kid from a showbiz family and I had real problems that seemed bigger than singing about about being dumped by some boy. I felt too young and overwhelmed but also too streetwise and smart for it all. It was a confusing time.

They say that everything happens for a reason. In 2011 you suffered a life-changing event, just as your debut album was about to be released, and one which set you back several years. Eight years on do you think the dreadful accident in which you broke your back has had any positive repercussions?

I think there had been positive repercussions,I dont think I would have started writing if it wasn’t for the accident. I dont

What attracted you to signing with Bella Union for your new album?

Well

Do you have any role models in the music business? A hero or heroine? Anyone you would enjoy being “mentioned in the same breath” with? (Dusty Springfield comes to mind, also perhaps Shirley Bassey).

I really admire Fiona apple because she does whatever the hell she wants. And her records are stunning, unique and completely un compromising.

You are compared occasionally with Elkie Brooks (I’ve done it myself!), a different kind of singer perhaps but a highly respected one who hails from the same city, and even the same suburb as you. And she’s still performing, in her seventies. Is there anything you feel you can learn from her and, indeed, are you ever in contact with her?

I dont know Elkie personally but I love her shes a legend. Rising Cost Of Love is my jam!

You left Salford and relocated to London a while ago. Do you miss it? How did the move impact on your creativity?

I really miss the north, everything about it but I needed to leave because I was really sad and I knew if i didnt do something soon I was going to slip down the back alleyof my mind and maybe disappear forever. I have memories on every street, bus stops make me emotional. Corner shops where me and my friend would try and get booze in our school, theres just memories everywhere and I needed a clean break. To create some distance so I could write about it

When you’re writing, how do most of your songs start life? A piano part? A chord? A melody? Does inspiration simply come, or do you have to seek it?

I feel inspired everyday by everything. When writing a song I like to visualise it, like a film, frame by frame. Sometimes I move around, dance, put on voices. Romeo will play something off the cuff that’s so beautiful that I’ll just start shouting and laughing and hugging him. Its the closest I get to spirituality. Writing wise, I want the narrative to have as much depth as possible, I want to feel something and I feel it is my duty to give the emotion and the stories the respect they deserve. I take it very seriously.

Do you see yourself as a live artist, or a recording artist, or both?

I see myself as both. I get to appease the introvert in me by being in the studio and attend to the outrovert by playing live.

How would you personally measure ‘success’? By ‘breaking’ America? Or something more modest?

Success to me would mean I get to create and perform music for all time and make a living on it. Success to me would mean that people are touched and moved by my music. I would love to be a voice to someone that can comfort them, just as say Rufus Wainwirght was to me when I was a depressed 14 year old. I’m not doing this just to stroke my own fragile ego, I genuinely want to reach o

When I saw your show at the Deaf Institute in Manchester recently, in one song (I think it was ‘Cruel Disguise’), you reached and sustained a note that convinced me and those in my company that you could probably tackle opera singing. Do you have any ambitions to perform in that or any other genre?

I would love to learn opera. I think

Back in 2012, while you were recovering, you performed several James Bond film theme tunes with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, including ‘You only live twice’ and ‘Nobody does it better’, both of which arguably could be applied to you. Do you picture yourself as a ‘Bond girl’ in the sense of recording the theme to a future movie, or do you even have any acting ambitions to actually play such a role? After all, the new album is constructed so that you can “revel in the drama of my life” as you say. (Incidentally, a female friend of mine – also from Salford – commented that you look like a 1950s Hollywood movie star).

Tell your friend I said thanks a lot! I would love to sing a Bond theme, I feel like it could happe

Acting wise I’m open to it, why not?

I saw one of your Christmas Special shows at the Soup Kitchen in Manchester in 2015. During the show you told a story about how a school choirmaster prevented you joining a musical assembly on four occasions for no better reason than that there was something about you that he didn’t like. Your rejoinder to that was “Well, fuck him” and of course you soon went on to release demos on MySpace which were picked up by a local manager and sent on to Amy Winehouse’s producer. The rest is history. A new song, ‘Little Raven’ was written cathartically as one to your younger self when you had no label and didn’t know if it would ever be recorded. What advice would you give to young people who find doors being slammed in their face as that schoolmaster did to you?

If anyone is picking you, school teachers, other kids, parents, anyone i would say to

If schoolmasters are singling you out and picking on you, its probably because your different and they cant stand

What touring plans do you have to support the release of the new album?

We are organising a tour right now around the UK, quite a big one its really exciting. I also cant wait to tour outside of England, I’ve never done that.

If you weren’t a musician what would you be? Do you ever aspire to being ‘something else’ entirely (model, politician, footballer, train driver…?!)

I think I’d try and be a fiction writer. I love books and stories and characters. I heard Donna Tartt say something life ‘as much fun as it is to read a book, writing one is one level deeper’ There’s something about losing myself into another world entirely that really appeals to me.

The environment. Whose viewpoint are you closest to? Donald Trump or Greta Thunberg?

Greta or course.

United or City?

United

Coronation Street or EastEnders?

Corrie

Thanks again and good luck with the album and your future career.

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agirlinhell · 5 years

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just a casual reminder that:

THIS BLOG AND ITS MUSE CONTAIN PRETTY MUCH ALMOST EVERY MAJOR TRIGGER. THIS BLOG IN ITS ENTIRETY IS EXTREMELY TRIGGERING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

If you proceed to read this blog’s content after the multiple content warnings that I present in the blog’s rules page, you are responsible for whatever happens. I informed you of what is present. Do not try to claim I did not give you an adequate warning.

I write a lot of “horrible” shit. I literally write a sweet and innocent girl turned assassin and killer in her own right in the apocalypse for a muse - there’s very little I have an issue with writing in detail. This blog is riddled with mature content. With that said, I won’t be roleplaying with anyone under the age of sixteen. This should be obvious but just because I write disturbing content DOES NOT MEAN I SUPPORT IT.

On the topic of Clementine, she is a very morally grey character - she is neither good nor evil. She will not always be kind and sweet to your muse. She won’t always do the morally “right” thing. She will not hesitate to resort to murder, manipulation, blackmail and torture if it means getting what she wants.

Please don’t have your muse presume to know what Clementine is thinking, unless if your muse is some kind of telepath. Just because you know what going on OOCly, it doesn’t mean your character knows. Characters who seem to know more than they would is irritating and really annoying. Clementine is very charismatic, persuasive and secretive and as such, it is difficult to know exactly what she’s planning or thinking.

My Clementine has been - and still is - very lonely, and did not have friends or family for most of her life, as everyone else had either betrayed her or died, and even with her friends and accomplices, most of her friendships were merely for survival purposes. It’s fairly easy to forget that the timeline of Episodes 3 through 5 of Season One lasts only about four days. In the space of less than a week, Clementine has lost everyone she’s ever loved. She finds her parents infected, Lee is either dead or infected, and every single other person Clementine has come to rely on and know in the past three months — everyone, from Duck to Lily to Kenny to Ben and everyone in between — has died systematically over the course of a few days. Omid and Christa are the only ones who survived, but she had only met them during that four day timespan. It gets even worse as the seasons progress and this is no understatement in the slightest.

Clementine is age eighteen-nineteen and over in her default verse, as it is set post-The Final Season. With that said, most asks will be answered when Clementine is an adult, unless if the ask specifies for a specific verse.

For the love of all that is good and holy, DO NOT STEAL MY HEADCANONS FOR CLEMENTINE.

There are people I have a lot of threads with. It's inevitable that sometimes it'll appear as if I only reply to one person or the same 2-3 people simply because they're the only ones I have a lot of replies from. If you can't handle it looking like I've only responded to so called "faves" all day, when I owe you less than 5 things, don't follow me.

While Clementine in the majority of her verses is a human, there will be alternate universes where she is a vampire, werewolf, crossroad demon, shapeshifter/druid, deity, etc. and because of this, she will be very powerful and in some scenarios, even overpowered in the case of her deity verse. However, I do not powerplay/godmod/whatever else. It’s hard for some people to grasp, but for example, in my vampire or deity verses, Clementine does not give a shit about yours enough to waste her energy on them. For example: I have a verse where Clem is a goddess, and yes, she could know everything about your muse, but trust me -- she’s not going to act like it or even acknowledge what she could know. She doesn’t care to go through your muse's brain to figure out what they’re thinking. The only real metagaming you’ll see is deity!Clementine knowing your muse’s name when they haven’t given it out. I will IM the fuck out of you before I do some crazy shit with her anyway. I only ask you don’t act as if she is not a powerful goddess in said verse - because she is and she will destroy a muse that pisses her off.

Have a rules page and an about page for your character. I don’t care if your character is canon. I will not follow you if I can’t find an about section. Linking to the wikipedia/whatever page of your canon character does not count.

I don’t follow people who post ooc a lot. Blog updates, headcanons, activity notices, etc are not ooc per say but an excessive amount of them can be.

I have a really big issue with people who post super negative stuff all the time. I’d rather not have to deal with your problems on top of my own, thanks.

I absolutely will not follow you if I have to put in a ton of effort just to make it so I can actually read your information. I don't give a fuck about the "aesthetic" - just give me something to work with.

I do not follow every single blog one person has. It feels like you’re taking up a ton of my dash/followers, and it drives me insane.

I don’t follow people who are only here for shipping. If you're here just because you want to ship with Clementine, you came to the wrong place. My Clementine is not just a shipping facet.

If we do not interact within three months of becoming mutuals, unless if there’s a hiatus on your part, I will softblock/unfollow you. Interaction means a starter (or ask) and a reply. If I write you a starter and you never respond, it is not interacting.

The more we talk ooc, the easier it is for me to reply. It makes me more comfortable writing with you, and I often chat about our muses, making it a lot easier to come up with ideas and giving me a lot of muse and inspiration for our threads.

Memes can be awkward and harder for me to answer if we’ve never interacted before. I understand that a lot of people prefer memes as a means of getting things started, but I would really rather plot if you’re trying to get a thread of any substance going. I don’t mind starting with a meme, but I can almost guarantee you it’s not going to go very far if it’s our first thread.

Don’t pester me for replies. Feel free to remind me about a thread by liking my last reply to it or sending me an IM, but I will be really annoyed if you remind me more than once or twice within a month.

If I don’t like the post, I didn’t see it. Please tell me about it.

I’m a part time college student with shit mental health and confidence issues. I can be slow as hell some days and fast as fuck on others.

Once a thread is longer than two paragraphs (medium sized), it sometimes takes me 948728923660700 years to gain motivation for it. It will literally exhaust the hell out of me, but I am not against longer threads, in fact, I totally encourage them. It just takes me way longer to gather muse, time, and motivation to respond to them. If we have a longer thread together, I expect you to be patient as hell. Obviously, I will not mind waiting forever for your reply either.

I'm not going to bother with a million poorly slapped together ships for the sake of the muses involved "being cute" together. Most ships will need to be plotted, yes, even canon ships like Louis/Clementine and Violet/Clementine. My muse is not going to like yours without special circumstances and an extra push from me, especially since Clementine is demiromantic and demisexual.

I almost always answer asks in the form of a starter (questions are the common exception). Don't feel obligated to continue every ask I respond to.

Please, for the love of god, like a starter or ask response if I post it for you. I hate not knowing if you saw it or not. I will send it to you if you haven’t liked it within a few days of being active.

I have discord if for whatever reason mutuals want to speak to me outside of tumblr’s IM system - I also RP on discord - it's for mutuals only and you must let me know who you are beforehand.

#OUT OF THE APOCALYPSE. ( ANGIE SPEAKS. )#( PSA. )#( note: this isn't directed at anyone in particular!! )#tw; long post

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acommonrose · 5 years

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3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 22, 32, 33

Oh man, so many questions.

3. Your favorite side quest.

I feel like this is so hard, because the games I’m in have sort of open enough worlds that even when there’s a “main quest” for the game, the other plots we pursue don’t necessarily feel necessarily like side quests?

But if you want something that’s purely side quest, I’m in a campaign where we’re slowly collecting monster bits to pay for a fey-made hat for a bear. This includes the head and claws of a rakshasa, which can’t be substituted with the head and claws of a tiger, because fey furries demand accuracy.

4. Your current campaign.

So I’m in three right now, two I play in and one I DM, and since I don’t feel like typing out a lot about all three, let’s just talk about the one I DM.

The game I DM is set at a magic university (well, only sort of now that they’re at high levels). Nominally, I was inspired by the Buffy “school set on the hellmouth” concept, but honestly, that kind of got lost somewhere along the way, and it turned into a mix of Harry Potter and Carmilla with also a lot of NPCs inspired by children’s fantasy novels. Basically, in the first arc, my players discovered that the school’s dean was a vampire necromancer using the school (and its surrounding forest) as a place to build and “test” new undead creatures, and after killing her, they drew the wrath of her creator: an undying warlock of Vecna who had used his charisma to take over the country’s largest revolutionary group and co-opt it for his own purposes. They’ve now defeated him, which released Vecna into the world, so their current plot (and the last major arc of the game) involves collecting a number of artifacts that can banish Vecna from the Prime Material Plane.

5. Favorite NPC.

I’m going with favorite NPC I’ve created for this question, and for that, it’s very clearly Aldaril “Dare” Elsinthar, my “uselessly handsome” elven prince. He’s one of the younger children of the head of an elvish city-state, and he’s young enough (about 40) and has few enough actual responsibilities that he can basically just wander around, staying with different nobles and being a bard. In actuality, he’s actually highly interested in history and politics, and he uses his access to different noble estates to sneak around and read their private letters to find out what he can about nobles’ personal affairs by reading between the lines. So not as dumb as he looks. Sort of. Mostly. Did I mention that he has cropped short bright pink hair?

I intended him to be a not terribly important NPC, who would show up in the town the PCs are based in to give them relevant historical information from time to time. (His twin sister, who’s also a major NPC, was actually intended to be the more important of the two, he was introduced through her.) As it turned out, everyone really liked him, and he pretty quickly became the bard’s love interest, so he’s definitely a permanent fixture now.

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

Okay, so I started typing up a different answer, but actually, the most memorable death was probably an NPC in the in person game I’m currently playing in. We’d opened our first game in a tavern and had become friendly with the family running the tavern (after saving it from destruction by fire creatures), particularly their young son who really liked hearing stories of heroes. My bard, being a bard and also particularly interested in spreading her story for Reasons, was more than happy to tell him stories of our party’s adventures, so he really internalized that we were cool heroes with cool stories.

Then, at a big New Year’s celebration, we were all attacked by a shadow dragon, and this young boy jumped in front of us to to protect my character (and I think one of the others who failed the save) from the dragon’s breath weapon. We tried to resurrect him, but his soul is apparently not free, so that’s a quest we’ve yet to finish and that’s gotten more personal for my character after the Raven Queen guilted her hard about putting her life above his.

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

I feel kind of weird and narcissistic saying something I built and ran, but I actually loved the midgame boss battle I built. Their boss (the warlock I mentioned above) used a modified version of the Time Stop spell to stop time for everyone but my party and his party--which consisted of him and four zombies, each one with a similar appearance and skill set to a player character.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

So I read a lot of fantasy novels as a kid, and I think initially it was about getting to sort of play that out but as the sort of character I wanted to see more of in fantasy novels. (Look, obviously pretty much all my characters are going to be queer women.) But I think there’s also a really weird wish fulfillment aspect to it too? Like some of it is straightforward--I like playing high charisma characters, because I’m not at all charismatic, and it’s fun to pretend I’m good with people (though I’m bad enough at playing high charisma and seem to only really be able to pull of patronizing and mean, which is never my goal, that I should probably... stop playing high charisma characters.) But D&D’s also a really fun way to make the dumb choices that I have no desire to actually play out in real life? Like I am not a violent person (and am also very weak), but it’s fun to play a character who likes hitting things, and I’m fairly ace, but it’s fun to have ill-advised one-night stands in game, even though I have absolutely no desire to do that in the real world.

22. What color was your first dragon?

There’s three possible answers to that. The first dragon I ever encountered in a game was an ancient blue dragon in my first ever game, who we asked to store a super dangerous artifact for us and who we obviously did not fight as puny level 3 or 4 characters. The first dragon fight I was ever a part of was a red dragon wyrmling, who was the boss of a one-shot I ran for some friends who wanted to try playing D&D over well over two years ago now. (Said dragon had become the mayor of a small town and then had hired bandits to attack travelers to town so that he could claim credit when he hire mercenaries to fight said bandits.) Lastly, the first dragon I fought as a player was a black dragon wyrmling in my current in person game, who had been attacking a band we were sent to rescue, which, incidentally, is how my bard met her love interest. (The dragon had torn off zir shirt, so it did not take much for my bard to be into zim, and ze was instantly in love after she used her last spell slot to heal zim.)

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

A mix of support caster, tank, and skill monkey, because I like feeling like people need me and that I’m good at things. The latter part is also why, failing that, I also like playing classes like rogues or warlocks that can do a lot of damage without having to be particularly clever about it.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

I tend to start with a concept, which is usually some combination of general character archetypes, specific characters I want to use as inspiration, and specific takes on the class I want to play. (The last one I’ve been doing a lot more as I get to know the game better--my two current characters are “paladin who doesn’t like her god” and “bard who doesn’t lie”.) From that, I’ll expand into one or two paragraphs of backstory to give a general idea of who they are and what inspired them to become adventurers. It usually takes a few months of playing the character to flesh out their backstory more, and at that point, I’ll just discuss the important stuff with my DM and keep the rest somewhere in the back of my mind in the off chance it’s relevant.

#d&d tag #tieflingish

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