#i havent written more then a few paragraphs all day but ive also spent all day engrossed in GoT meta

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Because I’m selfish could you do a shipping me with members thing? I’m short, half Greek and Scottish but raised in Australia (yes, I do have an accent) I have really long brown hair and hazel eyes, and I play bass and sing. I love to read and write, and I almost always have headphones on and music blasting. I also am a drama student and I love to act. Thank you so much xxxxx Love your blog btw.

hi! don’t feel selfish for this, i’mma keep it real with you pal - i have asked for several ships before nO SHAME

anyways, in relation to BoRhap - I ship you with Gwilym!!! At first I was going to say Joe, but I think I see you meshing with Gwilym really well:

When Gwilym got cast as Brian in BoRhap, you were the first one he called. First, to break the news. Second, to ask you for a little help brushing up on his skills. He knew you played bass, and it wasn’t exactly lead guitar, but he still wanted to know all of your little tips and pointers in case there was something he could use when he finally met Brian.

In fact, he came over the next day with his guitar, already ready to learn. You were happy to oblige, but you admitted to him early on that you didn’t exactly know how well you’d be able to translate your bass-centered ideas to the guitar.

“What’s different about the two?” he’d asked, seated across from you and leaning forward over his guitar, genuinely interested in what you had to say. He considered you a great mind on the subject.

“Well, the mechanics are similar, you know, as far as that goes, but the fingerings aren’t going to be the same…” you rambled on for a minute, Gwil transfixed by everything you were saying.

After you were done speaking, he’d grinned at you proudly. “You’re brilliant, love.”

He calls you brilliant a lot, actually. It’s his favorite thing to say to you, because of the way your eyes light up when he says it. They are already brimming with all kinds of energy, but after he calls you brilliant - that’s when he’s the most captivated.

You heard that word - brilliant - coming out of his mouth the most often when he was reading over your latest writing, no matter what style it was. Poetry, prose, he loved it all. 

“Can I keep this one?” he’d asked one time, holding up a piece of prose you’d written specifically about him. You grinned and took it back from him, looking over it for a moment.

“What’s so special about this one?” you’d asked as you sat back on the bed, preferring the poem you’d written about him a few months ago much more than this piece. But boy, did he have an answer for you. In fact, you’d never heard someone speak as passionately about something as Gwil would once he got going.

He stood up and gave you a 10 minute speech about why he thought you should let him keep that short story, introduction, body, and conclusion to the speech all included.

“So, can I?” he’d asked after a moment of you sitting there, dumbfounded. He gave you a toothy smile as he sat back down next to you.

“You were definitely born to be an actor,” you mumbled, handing the prose to him and shaking your head in disbelief at how much he’d fought for those two pages of writing. That’d gotten a chuckle out of him, and he peppered the side of your face with kisses before happily taking the story back.

Speaking of acting, Gwil LOVED coming to your performances. He took a whole week off of filming once just so he could see every night of your theater company’s Anything Goes. 

He’d posted a big long paragraph about your performance after opening night, telling all of his loyal followers how brilliant you had been, and how proud he was of you. And, of course, he’d put some sentences in there about how much he loved you and loved going on this journey with you.

And then Joe commented “-Bri” just to make fun of how eerily alike Gwil was to his elder double. Classic Joe.

Now, if we’re talking Queen, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really think I ship you with Roger - HEAR ME OUT, I have some (probably weak) reasons:

The reason I think you’d caught Roger’s eye before any of the other boys is because of your accent - he’d latched onto it almost immediately after hearing you speaking to Deacon, who had hired you as a bass tech. You were both eagerly discussing some kind of system that Roger hadn’t a clue about, but your voice was like a drug to him.

He’d made a point of inserting himself into the conversation, introducing himself and chastising John a bit.

“How come I haven’t met your friend here sooner?” Roger scolded John playfully, John just laughing and shaking his head.

“This is Y/N, she’s my new tech. I figured I’d introduce her to the most sane members of the band first, but first I have to figure out who those are.”

You’d laughed at that, particularly because of the mock hurt on Roger’s face before he’d reached out to shake your hand, you introducing yourself this time.

“That accent,” he’d had to point out, letting go of your hand, “Where is it from?”

“Australia. What about yours?” you’d countered, noticing a bit of a different lilt to his words than John’s.

Roger scoffed at that, shrugging. “Cornwall. Exciting stuff, eh?”

After that day, he’d always find reasons to come and talk to you, sometimes the reason being no better than him wanting to hear your accent.

The day Roger realized he actually might fancy you was when he’d noticed you writing on one of the off days and asked to see a sneak peek of what you were doing. Roger loved writing songs, and wondered if you had any good material.

You did. In fact, he was thoroughly impressed by your work, and spent the rest of the day work-shopping with you, which spilled over into a late night coffee run before it was time to go hop on the bus to head to the next tour stop.

You were in the coffee shop, talking about what Queen had coming up after this tour, when Roger had redirected the conversation.

“You know, I’ve never asked, what did you study back home?” he’d inquired, curious to see what kind of person you were. He’d pegged you as some sort of major similar to John based on your identical knowledge of his bass, so he was pleasantly surprised when you revealed that you were a drama student. “An actor, huh? That must be why you’re so seemingly interested in all of Brian’s stories. God, explains so much now.”

You had to laugh at that, shaking your head. “No, no, Brian actually has some good stories and knows how to tell them. Now you, on the other hand…” you’d trailed off, Roger recoiling in slight insult at what you’d suggested. 

Someone who could keep up with his humor and insult him while they were at it? You were growing on him quickly.

One thing he always really enjoyed doing once you grew more comfortable around him was (carefully) taking your headphones and listening to a little bit of whatever you were currently listening to.

At first, it annoyed you a bit, but when you realized he was genuinely wanting to pick up on some of your music taste, you allowed it to happen with little to no issue. 

Also, he’d started slipping you song recommendations on tapes of his, labeling them cute things and drawing little smiley faces on them. Though it was difficult to understand his scrawlings sometimes, you cherished those tapes.

While we’re talking about songs, Roger liked to hear you sing. One time, you were trying to explain a part of the song where you thought Deacon wasn’t getting a good sound out of his bass to another tech, and you started singing the chorus part where it started sounding off.

Roger was, for lack of better words, shook.

Like, he loved your voice.

So, clever little gentleman he is, he found a way to start getting you to sing around him more by pretending to hear issues with the bass in the songs they’d play during their sets.

“It was like, it was muted during the last part of the second chorus, you know?” he’d said one time, working his way into it nonchalantly. “Like, the part where, you know, Fred goes, ‘and I love the things…’“ he’d trailed off, pretending not to remember the next part.

You thought for a moment, then you sang in a soft voice just to clarify.  “And I love the things, I really love the things that you do, oh, you’re my best friend? That part?”

“Yeah, yeah!” he’d say, smiling and pointing at you like you were a genius for remembering the simplest lyrics in the whole set.

You caught on after a few times of false alarms from him, but you let him keep believing that he had you right where he wanted you. It was honestly really cute that he’d go through so much work to hear you sing, even if he didn’t necessarily need to try that hard.

(But don’t tell him that, for God’s sake.)