#Heather Deary

[lrr-tweets]

@goatprince I've been enjoying the commentary in the editing of this series, but none made me laugh more than your additions to this admittedly already very funny bit

[novankenn]

20 Weeks after... The Day after... Everyone is Irish

(Post that Started it All / Post that followed after)

Weiss was nervous as Joan her now steady girlfriend lead her towards the entrance to a fairly massive two story stone and timber home. She knew it was only a formality considering Joan had already announced their relationship to her family... no Weiss was mostly okay... it was Pyrrha and Jaune she was concerned for.

Pyrrha: JAUNE! Stop!

Jaune: I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you okay?

Pyrrha: Jaune please, I'm okay, you're just doing it again... you're hovering and you don;t need to... I'm okay. We'll be okay.

Weiss looked over her shoulder and watched as Jaune hovered about the showing Pyrrha Nikos. While Jaune had announced his own relationship to his family... they had yet to find out about the bundle of joy that was on its way. Though with how much Pyrrha was showing Wiess and Joan figured that maybe there was more than one bundle on the way.

Joan: Ready, Snow-Angel?

Weiss blushed, as she always did when Joan used that pet name. Unable to control her voice she just nodded. The door was yanked open just as Joan raised her hand to knock...

Joan: MA!

Moma Arc: About time the four of ye got here! Get you arses inside, it's a bit chilly out here... and YOU!

Jaune: MA?

Moma Arc: You best be ready, 'cause you knows the rules young man!

Pyrrha: Jaune what is she...

Moma Arc moves past Weiss and Joan to get beside Pyrrha and gently takes her hand to assist her towards the door.

Pyrrha: Oh hello!

Moma Arc: You just come along deary, and welcome to the family.

Pyrrha: Um... Jaune?

Jaune: You see Pyr... um... it's like this... um we're having a baby and no Arc...

Moma Arc: nor McMurray is ever born to thee unwed... so little missus... welcome to the family.

Pyrrha: I... I...

Moma Arc: Girls! You know the drill!

Arc Sisters: Aye!

Pyrrha was shocked to see the homely and welcoming interior of the mansion D'Arc... but not as much as her seeing the sea of at least two dozen girls with various lengths and shades of blond hair.

Jaune: God damn it! Their all here.!

Moma Arc: You dang right they is! Girls!

Pyrrha was lead to a love seat and took a the free space next to Weiss. Joan no where to be seen, with Jaune also vanishing.

Pyrrha: Weiss are you okay?

Weiss: I'm scared... Pyrrha... terrified.

The pair of young ladies were startled when the drums, penny whistles, fiddles and hand clapping started.

Weiss / Pyrrha : ...

ARC Family: Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Pyrrha and Weiss began to blush as a pair of the Arc family, two adorable young girls no more than maybe seven or eight came skipping through the room carrying bouquets of Lavendar and Heather over to Pyrrha and Weiss...

Weiss / Pyrrha: Ah? Thank you?

ARC Family: Over hillways up and down Myrtle green and bracken brown Past the shielings through the town All for sake of Marie

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Pyrrha / Weiss: ...

Joan and Jaune reemerged from amid the gathered Arc clan, both in formal suits with kilts... causing both Weiss and Pyrrha to blush even more at the fine figures their significant others cut.

ARC Family: Red her cheeks as rowans are Bright her eyes as any star Fairest of them all by far Is our darling Marie

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Pyrrha / Weiss: EEP!

Two of each of the sea of blonds helped them from the love seat while pushing Joan and Jaune into the now empty seat.

ARC Family: Oh plenty herring, plenty meal Plenty peat to fill her creel Plenty bonny bairns as well That's the toast for Marie

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Jaune: They are so going to be pissed at us...

Joan: At you, Jaune. Pissed at you.

Jaune: I'm not...

Joan: You know the rules... we were born together... we get married together...

Jaune: I know... I know...

ARC Family: Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Jaune / Joan: ... so beautiful...

(Images generated by perchance ai text-to-image)

ARC Family: Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

Joan is placed next to Weiss, while Jaune is paired with Pyrrha. The quartet quickly finding themselves gently being shuffled along into the backyard...

ARC Family: Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe Arm in arm and row on row All for Marie's wedding

/==/ SO NOW it is confirmed... I've totally lost it! /==/

[nerendus]

Tagged by the greats @zaegreus @saintirulan Thank you dearies <3333333

Tagging the lovelies who can totally ignore @1watermelontea @busyfish @blood-starved-beast @jarognieva

[keichanz]

Hi Heather, some things i’d be interested in seeing in my brothers best friend pt2 would be jealous Inuyasha, Dominant Kagome (her on top), or the breeding kink… whichever works best for what you want to write tho I will always end up loving whatever you decide to write anyways 🫣That being said, I hope everything gets better for you soon because you deserve only the absolute best! we’ll always be here for you if you need anything

hey dearie~ oooh those are some good suggestions 👀 i'm definitely gonna do my best to fit at least one of them in there, if not all three lmao thanks for the suggestions love!! things are starting to look up and it's all thanks to you guys ❤️❤️ my heart is just so full and im just so damn grateful to have all of you in my life 😭❤️ thank you darling!!!

[viiridiangreen]

“Aunty,” said Tenar as they sat on the doorstep with the bowl of soaking rushes between them and a mat before them to lay the split ones on, “how do you tell if a man’s a wizard or not?”

Moss’s reply was circuitous, beginning with the usual gnomics and obscurities. “Deep knows deep,” she said, deeply, and “What’s born will speak,” and she told a story about the ant that picked up a tiny end of hair from the floor of a palace and ran off to the ants’ nest with it, and in the night the nest glowed underground like a star, for the hair was from the head of the great mage Brost. But only the wise could see the glowing anthill. To common eyes it was all dark.

“One needs training, then,” said Tenar.

Maybe, maybe not, was the gist of Moss’s dark reply. “Some are born with that gift,” she said. “Even when they don’t know it, it will be there. Like the hair of the mage in the hole in the ground, it will shine.”

“Yes,” said Tenar. “I’ve seen that.” She split and resplit a reed cleanly and laid the splints on the mat. “How do you know, then, when a man is not a wizard?”

“It’s not there,” Moss said, “it’s not there, dearie. The power. See now. If I’ve got eyes in my head I can see that you have eyes, can’t I? And if you’re blind I’ll see that. And if you’ve only got one eye, like the little one, or if you’ve got three, I’ll see ’em, won’t I? But if I don’t have an eye to see with, I won’t know if you do till you tell me. But I do. I see, I know. The third eye!” She touched her forehead and gave a loud, dry chuckle, like a hen triumphant over an egg. She was pleased with having found the words to say what she wanted to say. A good deal of her obscurity and cant, Tenar had begun to realize, was mere ineptness with words and ideas. Nobody had ever taught her to think consecutively. Nobody had ever listened to what she said. All that was expected, all that was wanted of her was muddle, mystery, mumbling. She was a witchwoman. She had nothing to do with clear meaning.

“I understand,” Tenar said. “Then—maybe this is a question you don’t want to answer—then when you look at a person with your third eye, with your power, you see their power—or don’t see it?”

“It’s more a knowing,” Moss said. “Seeing is just a way of saying it. ’Tisn’t like I see you, I see this rush, I see the mountain there. It’s a knowing. I know what’s in you and not in that poor hollow-headed Heather. I know what’s in the dear child and not in him in yonder. I know—” She could not get any farther with it. She mumbled and spat. “Any witch worth a hairpin knows another witch!” she said finally, plainly, impatiently.

“You recognize each other.”

Moss nodded. “Aye, that’s it. That’s the word. Recognize.”

“And a wizard would recognize your power, would know you for a sorceress—”

But Moss was grinning at her, a black cave of a grin in a cobweb of wrinkles.

“Dearie,” she said, “a man, you mean, a wizardly man? What’s a man of power to do with us?”

“But Ogion—”

“Lord Ogion was kind,” Moss said, without irony.

They split rushes for a while in silence.

“Don’t cut your thumb on ’em, dearie,” Moss said.

“Ogion taught me. As if I weren’t a girl. As if I’d been his prentice, like Sparrowhawk. He taught me the Language of the Making, Moss. What I asked him, he told me.”

“There wasn’t no other like him.”

“It was I who wouldn’t be taught. I left him. What did I want with his books? What good were they to me? I wanted to live, I wanted a man, I wanted my children, I wanted my life.”

She split reeds neatly, quickly, with her nail.

“And I got it,” she said.

“Take with the right hand, throw away with the left,” the witch said. “Well, dearie mistress, who’s to say? Who’s to say? Wanting a man got me into awful troubles more than once. But wanting to get married, never! No, no. None of that for me.”

“Why not?” Tenar demanded.

Taken aback, Moss said simply, “Why, what man’d marry a witch?” And then, with a sidelong chewing motion of her jaw, like a sheep shifting its cud, “And what witch’d marry a man?”

They split rushes.

“What’s wrong with men?” Tenar inquired cautiously.

As cautiously, lowering her voice, Moss replied, “I don’t know, my dearie. I’ve thought on it. Often I’ve thought on it. The best I can say it is like this. A man’s in his skin, see, like a nut in its shell.” She held up her long, bent, wet fingers as if holding a walnut. “It’s hard and strong, that shell, and it’s all full of him. Full of grand man-meat, man-self. And that’s all. That’s all there is. It’s all him and nothing else, inside.”

Tenar pondered awhile and finally asked, “But if he’s a wizard—”

“Then it’s all his power, inside. His power’s himself, see. That’s how it is with him. And that’s all. When his power goes, he’s gone. Empty.” She cracked the unseen walnut and tossed the shells away. “Nothing.”

“And a woman, then?”

“Oh, well, dearie, a woman’s a different thing entirely. Who knows where a woman begins and ends? Listen, mistress, I have roots, I have roots deeper than this island. Deeper than the sea, older than the raising of the lands. I go back into the dark.” Moss’s eyes shone with a weird brightness in their red rims and her voice sang like an instrument. “I go back into the dark! Before the moon I was. No one knows, no one knows, no one can say what I am, what a woman is, a woman of power, a woman’s power, deeper than the roots of trees, deeper than the roots of islands, older than the Making, older than the moon. Who dares ask questions of the dark? Who’ll ask the dark its name?”

The old woman was rocking, chanting, lost in her incantation; but Tenar sat upright, and split a reed down the center with her thumbnail.

“I will,” she said.

She split another reed.

“I lived long enough in the dark,” she said.

I went to a bookshop and I got dizzy at the amount of books on stuff like “astrological feminism” “reclaiming womanhood through numerology” and all that shit…… One was called “cosmic fanny” or for my french speakers out there, “foufoune cosmique”. I think the fight against patriarchy is going really well

[kingoftheharvestmoon]

Napalm molasses

And I wish I was something better

I wish I was your heather

Instead of your sweater

You wear when you get cold

You tell me you want to see me grow old

but all told you’ll see me grow cold

I fold like a cheap game of poker

I am me, the flame stoker

Imagine being this much of a toker

she told me I love you but you hurt me

Dearie I hurt me too

Everything you said is true

but nothing anymore is new

we were glue and I grabbed the dissolvent

To absolve myself of it

It being what I’ve done to you

and what I’ve yet to do

I don’t know what to do

but I knew that I love you now

[eviesessays]

39. How has your life turned out differently than you imagined it would?

There was a time in my life when I fervently believed I would get to be a princess one day and live in a castle.  My Dad did nothing to dissuade me from this delusion.  I thought I could dance like Shirley Temple and sing, “On the good ship Lollipop”.  I was certain my hair could be trained to have ringlets that bounced when I tap danced. Nothing could have been further removed from reality.  My hair was stick straight and sat atop my head like a pile of unruly hay. My tap dancing was anything but rhythmic and certainly not gracious.  Since leaving early childhood I have been too much of a realist to have great fantasies but I know I always wanted to travel and experience other cultures.  

From a very young age I knew I wanted to be a nurse.  Actually, there were very few professions welcoming women in that era.  There was no financial possibility to be an engineer or go to law school. I had no regrets.  I always wanted to be a nurse and have never regretted that choice. My career has afforded me many opportunities and the ability to earn a Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing.  My profession allowed me to financially support myself and my children when the need arose.  I had never in my younger years thought this would be my destiny but when the need arose I was glad to meet the challenge. 

In retrospect I should have spent more time thinking about the qualities I wanted in a husband.  I can honestly say I did not give it the time it deserved.  I  wanted a husband who was well mannered, well read and well spoken.  James Wemyss Joss could pass that test.  He qualified in all areas.  He had not finished his degree having spent only a year at Georgia Tech after graduating from Sylacauga High School in Sylacauga, Alabama.  He was 16 years old at the time.  His parents had been divorced in Scotland.  Jay and his brother, Allan Dinsmore Joss moved to London with their mother,Kitty.  It was there she met John Lee Rarden, a merchant marine with a glib tongue, unrealistic dreams and an almost absent work ethic.  They were married and Kitty was pregnant.  John Lee went to sea. Kitty delivered twins, John Lee and David Lynn.  When the twins were fifteen months old the family sailed for America on an oil tanker headed to New Orleans.  They landed late at night amid a rain storm that Jay described as a bleak and despairing experience.  They were met by John Lee’s father who was called Didi who drove them home to Mount Olive,Alabama.  They all moved in with Didi and his acerbic wife, Dearie.  John Lee’s uncle Ollie and aunt Lorraine also lived in the home. This was a very far cry from the Joss family who had been in Scotland for more than 400 years and lived in some of the finest homes in Glasgow. Jay was placed in the senior class at Sylacauga High School and graduated at the age of 15.  He worked at Woolworths for a year to save money for college but that was exhausted after his first year and he joined the  Air Force.    His alcohol was already a problem for him at that time.  This was a fact I did not know until long after we were married.  I can honestly say that Jay’s drinking was the cause of our marriage failure.  The car accidents and the resulting financial disasters resulting from his alcoholism took its toll.  It was not the marriage of which I had dreamed.

 I met Philip Miller Pahl at church.  He sang in the choir and served on the vestry.  He was a Major in the Air Force and had graduated from the Naval Academy in Annapolis.  He was stationed at the Pentagon and has assured me this was his final tour of duty before he retired.  This was important because I had a great and well paid job in Washington. Heather and Jaylyn were in High School and did not want to move. Despite all that just after we were married a year Phil was transferred to Hanscom AFB in Bedford, MA. Phil went on to his assignment and I stayed behind til the end of the school year.  In July we moved into a very nice home on Wildwood Drive in Bedford.  Then I began my search for a job working days only so I could be home in the evening knowing what my children were up to.  It was most depressing to be returning to work  full time at 70% of my previous salary.  I was sitting in a pediatrician’s office at an interview when President Nixon resigned.  It seemed fitting.  Heather was crushed by the move and completed her grade 12 along with grade 11 and could not wait to return to Maryland.  There were very good times in Boston.  There are endless historical places to be visited.  Jaylyn, Robin and Peter all finished Hgh School and went off to college.   Phil retired from the Air Force and began looking for property in NH. We bought a beautiful farm in Warner, NH and moved in June 1985.  we were busy getting the house in order as Jaylyn and Merton were to be married in October and the reception was to be in a tent by the pool.  Heather and John were married in Concord and then the grandchildren began to arrive.  There was plenty to distract us from the reality that our marriage was long over.  Phil admitted to me that he had a long standing affair with a “friend” from our church in Bedford.  It would be easy to blame Phil for this betrayal but it was more like a thousand little wounds that killed the marriage long before the final blow.  to say this marriage turned out differently than I had imagined would be an understatement of untold proportion.

My grandchildren are all thriving.  I could not have planned the lives they experience.  Hillary and David will have a new Baby boy in September.  Anne and Dan have a very successful  business.  Diggs  has a lovely woman in his life. Kalote, left teaching for more financially rewarding experience in real estate.  Will has taken up the ukulele and the rest remains to be seen.  

My great grandchildren bring endless joy.  Joan Clementine at 5, is reading books to Laura.  She takes dance lessons and can now play, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” on her ukulele.  Everett Floyd is a busy little boy with many interests.  He sings beautifully and will be a good big brother.  Laura Winter is a very assertive little girl who loves being read to.  she knows all the stories and characters.  Murphy Harriet is a very wise two year old.  She misses nothing,  She plays with her cash register at her pretend cafe and tells the customers  to “please enter your pin number now”.  she predicted the new baby is a boy.  I could never have anticipated so great a joy as grand and great grandchildren.

[poemoftheday]

Poem of the Day 24 June 2023

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes

BY ROBERT BURNS

Chorus 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 

Ca' them where the heather grows 

Ca' them where the burnie rows, 

      My bonie dearie. 

Hark! the mavis' evening sang 

Sounding Cluden's woods amang, 

Then a-fauldin let us gang, 

      My bonie dearie. 

We'll gae down by Cluden side, 

Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

      To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Cluden's silent towers, 

Where at moonshine midnight hours, 

O'er the dewy-bending flowers, 

      Fairies dance sae cheery. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 

Thou 'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 

Nocht of ill may come thee near, 

      My bonie dearie. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 

Thou hast stown my very heart; 

I can die—but canna part, 

      My bonie dearie. 

[celtfather]

Green Grow the Rashes | Robert Burns

Was Robert Burns a Vulcan? Learn more about one of the most-famous songs by the great Scottish poet, Robert Burns. Get ready for the pub that’s not really a pub. Catch a bus at a Buzz Stop. It might help beautify your neighborhood and fight climate change.

0:20 - “Ride On” from Flower of Scotland by Kilted Kings

4:40 - WELCOME TO ATLANTA PUB SONGS & STORIES

I am Marc Gunn. This is the audio liner notes for the songs I record and play and for the stories I gather and the people I meet in the city of Atlanta. It’s also the audio edition of my newsletter. You can subscribe at pubsong.net, you’ll get the written version of this podcast, along with quick access links to many of the stories listed I’m telling you about.

5:10 - WHAT’S NEW?

Interviewed Heather Dale at GaFilk

Check out the Folk on Foot podcast

Kilts, Celts and Rock’n’Roll on the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast

2022 Year in Review

Published my Daily Journal from Celtic Invasion of Loch Lomond, Scotland

7:40 - “She’s Shiny” from As Long As I’m Flyin’

11:56 - MAGGIE MCGUINNESS PUB

Maggie McGuinness Pub is not your typical Irish pub. Not unless your typical Irish pub is located in the basement of an Irish American home in the suburbs of Hunstville, Alabama.

“To The Irish!”

That’s their slogan. And you best be ready to shout when the time comes. Aside from that, the Pub is just a fun place to play.

For over a decade, I have packed that basement, decorated to look the most-traditional of Irish pubs. I am excited to return there once again in January.

12:50 - UPCOMING SHOWS

Here are some more shows happening this month:

JAN 21: Maggie McGuinness Pub, Huntsville, AL @ 7 PM

JAN 25: Coffee with The Celtfather on YouTube @ 10:30 AM EST

JAN 28: The Lost Druid, Avondale Estates @ 6:30-9:30 PM

FEB 11: Pontoon Brewing, Sandy Springs, GA @ 12-3 PM

JUN 3-10: Celtic Invasion Vacations, County Mayo, Ireland

Is there a venue that you think I should perform at? Please let me know about it.

I’m looking for new places to play this year. Maybe there’s a spot near you. And if you live in the Atlanta area, then it’s even more possible. Let’s make it happen!

13:35 - “Loch Lomond” from Selcouth

16:27 - GREEN GROW THE RASHES

I got a t-shirt at a Highland Games as a kid. It read, “Spock is a Scot.” I never understood that until I heard Scottish singer, Ed Miller, introduce “Green Grow the Rashes”. He joked, “I know a Scotsman who loved a woman so much. He almost told her.”

The joke is that Scots are not very emotional. And yet, this song by Scotland’s National Poet, Robert Burns, is one of the most beautiful, touching, and emotional songs ever written.

There's naught but care on every hand, In every hour that passes, O! What signifies the life o' man, And 'twere not for the lasses O?

* Green grow the rashes O! Green grow the rashes O! The sweetest hour that e'er I spent Were spent among the lasses O!

The war'ly race may riches chase, And riches may soon fly them, O! And tho at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en My arms about my dearie, O! And war'ly cares and worldly men, May all gae tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce wha sneer at this, Ye're not but senseless asses, O! The wisest man the world e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O!

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears, Her noblest work she classes, O! Her apprentice hand she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!

I don’t remember who I learned this song from. But I’ve always been a hopeful romantic. I loved it. Brobdingnagian Bards performed it regularly even before we recorded it for our album, Real Men Wear Kilts. However, I do remember Royce Perry was an inspiration for recording that CD.

Royce was the head of Clan Gunn in Texas. He was excited to have a Gunn singing Scottish songs for our clan. He was So very encouraging. I remember his gentle smile the most. It was very kind as he listened. It was us performing  this song that really made him happiest.

So when I finally re-recorded it for Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion. He was in my thoughts.

Just read those lyrics and you’ll understand. Well, if you understand basic Scots. Robert Burns was apparently quite a ladies’ man. He said what was most important in life was spending time with a lady. The worldly man chases money. Money is fleeting and short lived. Just give me an hour with a woman. All the cares in the world will disappear.

The last verse is my favorite. Nature did some great things. She even made man while she was an apprentice. But then she mastered the art and created women.

How perfect!

I don’t play this song nearly enough these days since I have quite a few beautiful ballads. But it definitely stands out in my mind as being exceptional. It’s also a great song to sing at your annual Burns Supper. These are fancy dinners that celebrate the poetry of Robert Burns. Read more about Robert Burns on Wikipedia.

You can listen to it on my Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion album on Bandcamp. The CD is in my Mage Records Store from February 1-10.

22:20 - “Green Grow the Rashes” from Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion

26:34 - DOWNLOAD MY FREE EP

You can download all of my songs in this show. Just send me an email.  pubsong@celtfather

You will get an auto responder with a link to download this month’s album. You can also subscribe to the podcast if you’re not already subscribed. It’s quick and easy. But this is a free gift just for listening to the audio edition of my newsletter.

Let me know what you’re doing while listening to this episode.

27:02 - WATCH BURNS DAY SING ALONG

Three years ago, I played a Coffee with The Celtfather while I was still living in Birmingham. The show was dedicated to Robert Burns. It’s no longer publicly available. But you can watch it because you’re subscribed to my newsletter. Thank you!

Watch Robert Burns Sing Along.

BTW. If you enjoy shows like this, Coffee with The Celtfather is still going. However, it’s not exclusively available in the Gunn Runners Club on Patreon. The show starts back this Wednesday, January 18. But there will be a public show available on the 25th. Just remember the time moved up 30 minutes to 10:30.

28:30 - “The Moonshiner” from Irish Drinking Songs: The Cat Lover’s Companion

30:42 - JOIN THE CLUB

The show is brought to you by my Gunn Runners on Patreon. If you enjoy this podcast and my music, please join the Club. You get 4-10 new things every month. That includes bonus podcasts, downloadable songs, printed sheet music, blogs, stories from the road, and access to Coffee with The Celtfather video concerts.

Sign up for as little as $5 per month. And you can save 15% with an annual membership. Thanks to my newest Gunn Runners on Patreon:

31:20 - EMAIL CLEAN UP

I love email. It is the absolute best way for me us to communicate.

Unfortunately, if I send an email and there are a lot of dead email addresses on my list, then email servers get suspicious. They dump my emails into spam or promotional folders. That’s why I did some email clean up last week.

If you’re subscribed to my newsletter and regularly open an email. Then you’re all good. But if you don’t… then I might’ve sent you an email saying, “Goodbye”.

Those who didn’t respond were unsubscribed. Hopefully, this will mean those of you who want to hear from me will. I thank you for that.

32:27 - READ. HAVE YOU HEARD OF BUZZ STOPS?

This is cool. A bunch of bus shelters are converting their roofs to be green. They are filled with plants that attract pollinators, like bees.

The idea began in The Netherlands and spread to Sweden, Denmark, and now the UK. The idea is to offer a new way to support these vulnerable insects. Plus, it makes the city a bit prettier.

I’ve long thought that every the office buildings should have a garden on their rooftop to make the city more beautiful and to offer new ways to fight climate change.

Is this something that could work for your community?

You can read more about it here.

I learned about this from The Daily Difference. It’s a newsletter by the Carbon Almanac with practical tips on how to fight climate change, one action at a time.

34:22 - LISTEN. WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE SCI F’IRISH SONGS?

I’m still working on this Spotify playlist. But I need your help. This could be something great.

What are some great Sci F’Irish songs that should be added?

Listen to Sci F’Irish music.

Send me your song request. I’ll send you access to the EP OF THE MONTH that I’m releasing as part of Atlanta Pub Songs & Stories. There’s a new EP every month.

35:19 - “Flower of Scotland” from Flower of Scotland by Kilted Kings

37:55 - CREDITS

Thanks for listening to Pub Songs & Stories. The show was produced by Marc Gunn, edited by Mitchell Petersen with graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs.

You can subscribe and listen to the show wherever you find podcasts. You can also subscribe to my mailing list. You will get regular updates of new music, podcasts, special offers, and you’ll get more stories behind several of my most-popular songs.

And of course, please tell one friend about this podcast. Word of mouth is the absolute best way to support any creative endeavor.

Have fun and sing along at www.pubsong.com!

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  Check out this episode!

[lrr-tweets]

[totallycorrectwadanoharaquotes]

I prayed for the death of Sal many times, and I felt bad every time I did it, but I kept doing it anyway.

Samekichi

[sillydreamer]

hi. can you pls write about hsl boys with candy playing veronica in heathers (the musical)?

MCL boys + Candy playing Veronica (Heathers)

Hi! Sure I can make this request Anon! I really loves this musical and can get out of my head candy store it's just replaying forever in my head. I don't quite know if you were talking about them making like a roleplay with Candy but anyway this is for y'all and I hope that you like it dearies 💖

Castiel:

Had heard about the musical and probably likes a few songs so he knew what was these stuff about.

If Candy plays Veronica then he'll be the meanest Heather Chandler and everybody has seen.

No but really, the character suits him.

He's probably singing out loud in the basement or in a lonely classroom, with the music on his phone at max volume.

He doesn't dislike Veronica, he just thinks that she's naive "Just like you Candy, that's why it suits you"

Castiel somehow likes to act despite him saying that it's dumb and will argue to get the best characters (on his opinion)

Nathaniel:

When the musical first came out Amber couldn't stop playing the songs, saying that she was meant to be yours Chandler and the character was perfect for her.

Anyway he prefers Veronica over Chandler and when you proposed to be the blue one he was happy (let's ignore what happens later, about the killing and stuff)

He isn't into making plays but follows the joke when Candy makes them.

Wouldn't admit it but he's surely is Martha, always being bullied by certain someone. Either Castiel and his sister.

But sometimes he will play as Heather McNamara, only because his blond hair.

Isn't confident enough to talk but sometimes he hums the melody of "Candy Store" and "Dead girl walking" while making stuff around the school.

Lysander:

Listened to some songs and has read articles about it in the industry of music but wasn't sure to get the plot completely so Candy needs to explain him everything.

He likes Heather Duke because she wears green. But he finds her "not quite his type" and prefers Martha, who was honest all of the time.

Lysander really liked the musical and inspired him to write a few songs. Even practicing with the songs his singing and isn't ashamed of it.

Knows all of the songs and will sing them with Candy at school. Making Castiel laugh a little but somehow he'll end up joining them.

Finds Candy playing Veronica cute and says that she's the personification of her "I just hope that don't take this personally and end up killing someone"

No but his singing is very good, perhaps he will teach Candy how to do it with these musical.

Armin:

"Wait is here where Regina appears??" Candy needs to remind him that those are different blonde girls, one explanation later Armin is like "Okay but who decided to make a musical inspired of Amber? Have anybody seen how bad she is?" (Yeah...bad *cries in episode 39*)

He actually knew what was Heathers, he just wanted to tease Candy.

He would play as Duke or one of bullies (because he ran out of options but in secret he likes the role of Veronica, just that his interpretation is a little bit different.

"Okay listen up little shits no one is going to be superior than me, everybody knows that the protagonist is always the best" *Candy in the background* "Armin, Veronica never says that"

Probably knows all the songs because Alexy put them in loop just to piss him off, he probably told Armin that if he wasn't going shopping with him the songs will be replaying all the day.

He doesn't sing but enjoys hearing Candy and Alexy do it, as long as they don interrupt with his game.

Kentin:

If Candy was interested on this, he'll probably listened and watched the musical.

If Candy is veronica then he's J.D and you can't convince me otherwise (but a good one, not a killer. A J.D that loves cookies instead of sluhies)

Him and Candy sing "Dead girl walking" loud in the school. Bothering Castiel and ending up with Kentin fleeing away.

His favorite song is "Beautiful" and "Kindergarten boyfriend" Specially if Candy is the one singing it.

At first he was ashamed to admit it but...he really likes the musical.

Cries with the songs.

[locke-writes]

the days are polished with a morning haze - John Updike

You, Me, & Steve - Garfunkel & Oates

Waitin’ For My Dearie - Kelli O’Hara

Love My Way - The Psychedelic Furs

Closer to Fine - Indigo Girls

Love, Try Not To Let Go - Julia Jacklin

Cinnamon - The Long Winters

As You Are - Garfunkel & Oates

The Heather on the Hill - Patrick Wilson & Kelli O’Hara

Unseen Girl - Emily Brown

Oh! You Pretty Things - David Bowie

Daffodil - Andrew Montana

End of Beginning - Djo

I Don’t Think That I Like Her - Charlie Puth

How - Marcus Mumford feat. Brandi Carlile

When You Know You Know - The Beths

Thorns - WALWIN

Hysteria - Muse

How Far We’ve Come - Matchbox Twenty

Wagon on Fire - The Trail to Oregon Cast

Astonishing - Little Women Original Cast

Mellow Yellow - Donovan 

Sex with a Ghost - Teddy Hyde

Liability - Lorde

Cemetry Gates - The Smiths

Smoke Breaks - Daddy and the Long Legs

Half Acre - Hem

Green, Green Rocky Road - Oscar Isaac

Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

...well, better than the alternative - Will Wood

Cambridge, 1963 - Jóhann Jóhannsson

Lonely Shade of Blue - Nick Leng

Listen On Spotify

[scotianostra]

On May 17th 1810 the poet  Robert Tannahill drowned himself in a Paisley canal.

Often compared to Scottish literary legend Rabbie Burns Robert Tannahill was born around 1774 in Paisley in the county of Renfrewshire. He grew up in a weaving shop and would later be given the name of the ‘weaver poet’, turning as he did to an apprenticeship with his father at the early age of 12 years.

From childhood, Tannahill was considered to have a delicate constitution and was known for the injury to his right leg that caused him to limp throughout his life. The Scottish airs that he wrote and for which R A Smith composed the music, such as The Braes of Balquhidder, have become classics that are reproduced and sung for special occasions. The Burns club in Paisley he helped create also meets each winter to this very day in the old cottage where Tannahill used to compose his poems.

After he completed his apprenticeship with his father, Tannahill struck out on his own and headed south to Lancashire where he settled for a couple of years in Bolton. By this time he had already begun his interest in poetry but when his father became ill he moved back to Scotland to help support the family. After his brother married and his father died, Tannahill found himself supporting his mother and would do so until his own death.

Tannahill wrote much of his poetry in the Scottish dialect, as Robert Burns did, and over the years he worked hard to develop his own style, forming a friendship with Richard Archibald Smith who was a composer. He began to gain some success when Smith set some of his poems to music and he began mixing more closely with the literary types of the town, setting up the Paisley Burns Club for which he became secretary.

By 1806 his work was starting to appear in a number of periodicals of the time including The Scots Magazine. A year later he published his first collection which sold well and was popular around Paisley. Like the poet Robert Fergusson, who suffered from what they called “melancholy”  Tannahill suffered from self-doubt and fear, particularly with issues over his own health. He would often compose his poems whilst working at the loom which is where he gained the name the weaver poet and was a great admirer of Burns and wrote three poems in celebration of the great man. Poverty also played a big part in the poems that he wrote in both Scots dialect and English. He experimented with many different forms including ballads and epitaphs which formed part of his 1807 collection The Soldier’s Return.

In 1810 Tannahill tried to produce an edition with added poems with publishers in other cities including Edinburgh. He was roundly rejected and fell into a fit of depression that led him to burn each of his manuscripts.He then went to Paisley Canal and drowned himself. 

Because he had committed suicide, Tannahill was buried in an unmarked grave but nearly fifty years later a monument was erected in his memory after his fame and the enduring nature of his poetic work became more widely recognized. He also has a statue next to Paisley Abbey.  Robert Tannahill is also one of the 16 writers and poets depicted on the lower sections of the Scott Monument in Edinburgh and  a bust of the poet was included in the Hall of Heroes in The National Wallace Monument.

 The Braes Of Balquhither By Robert Tannahill

  Let us go, lassie, go, To the braes o' Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow 'Mang the bonny Highland heather; Where the deer and the rae, Lightly bounding together, Sport the lang simmer day On the braes o' Balquhither. I will twine thee a bower,

  By the clear siller fountain, And I'll cover it o'er Wi' the flowers o' the mountain; I will range through the wilds, And the deep glens sae dreary, And return wi' their spoils, To the bower o' my deary.

When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling,

  And the roar of the linn On the night breeze is swelling, So merrily we'll sing, As the storm rattles o'er us, 'Till the dean shieling ring Wi' the light lilting chorus.

  Now the simmer is in prime, Wi' the flowers richly blooming, And the wild mountain rhyme A' the moorlands perfuming; To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, Where glad innocence reigns 'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.

I’ll finish this post with a wee poem that sums the poet Robert Tannahill up

Some people like me, Some people love me, Some people hate me, And as you can see, I have best two out of three, And that’s good enough for me.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 8

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 8 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 7 / Part 9

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing, slight (?) angst, far too much narration about the beauty of stars/space...

Historical Inaccuracies: once more, n/a. i’m on a roll!

Word Count: 4.3k (again, haha)

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Lightning crashed cacophonously outside of your bedroom window, and you jumped in surprise. Rarely did it storm in London. Normally it just rained. But the weather tonight was fierce— thunder boomed like a woman scorned, and the rain lashed against the sides of the house, roiling like the tempered sea.

The phone in the hallway rang, and you yelped, then proceeded to haul yourself from your bed so as to answer it.

“Y/N?” Heather stood in the hallway and glanced between you and the phone. “It’s just a phone, yeah?”

You nodded and Heather crossed her arms. “You’ve been jumpy for weeks. Why don’t you just call him?”

The phone rang on persistently, and you wanted to pick it up, if only to make the noise stop. But Heather was blocking your way.

“Call who.” It wasn’t a question. You didn’t need to ask who she meant, and she didn’t need to specify.

“You know very well that I’m talking about Brian,” Heather leveled her gaze on you. “Just call him. Say whatever you have to say. Hell if I know what’s going on, but I give bloody good advice and you’d be silly not to follow it.”

“Heather,” you sighed. “Would you let me pick up the phone to speak to whomever it is that’s already calling?”

“How do you know it’s for you, Princess?” With that, she snatched up the phone. “Hello? This is Heather.” She paused, then smirked to herself. “Of course, Freddie. I’ll get her on the phone.” To you, she said, “Fine. You win. But only because Rog’s already called me twice today.” She pushed the phone into your hand and entered your shared room. She flopped down on her bed, picking up a copy of Music Life.

“Hello, Fred?”

“Y/N, darling!” Freddie always began his phone calls like this. “Fancy a drink?”

“Freddie, it’s—” you glanced at your watch, “eight-thirty at night.”

“Yes, so why do you sound like you’re about to go to bed?”

You sighed. “Why now, Freddie? You must know I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re never in the mood.” There it was. He knew you too well. “And I want a chat.” His voice had dipped, taken on a quality of quiet honesty, a certain degree of sobriety.

After weeks of carefully avoiding the topic of Mary, and the topic of his feelings in general, would Freddie finally feel okay to tell you what was going on?

You hoped so. You’d been too anxious about Freddie’s possible reaction to your asking— you’d learned your lesson with these things— and so you had not asked at all.

“I’m on my way.”

“That’s the spirit! See you soon, darling!” There was a click.

You poked your head into the bedroom, “Heather, I’m going over to Freddie’s.”

“Sayonara, Y/N,” Heather waved at you over the top of her magazine. She seemed distracted by daydreams of a certain blonde-haired drummer. She’d probably pick up the phone and ring him as soon as you’d left. They’d talk into the night like the moon and the sun crossing paths between the dawn or the dusk, as you’d once done with Brian, your very own kindred spirit.

You didn’t even notice that you’d wound the rainbow scarf around your neck until you were too far down the road and it was too late to discard it again.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Freddie?”

“In the kitchen, dearie!”

You discarded your outerwear by the door and padded on socked feet into the tile-floored room. You were surprised to discover that it was not only Freddie standing there, but Deacy and Roger too.

“Hiya,” you said slowly, in puzzlement. No one was drinking alcohol, unless someone had invented tea bags for gin in the past twenty-four hours and neglected to inform you.

“Y/N, how nice,” Deacy smiled and toasted you with his tea.

“Yes, I think…” you murmured.

Roger was drumming his fingers on his mug. He seemed peculiarly high-strung.

“What’s going on?” you asked when no one spoke.

Freddie was quick to sweep a friendly arm around your shoulders. “Why, a gathering of friends, of course. Are you now also opposed to friendship with the three of us, hm? Not enough to alienate one of four?”

They wanted to talk about Brian. That was why you were here.

You didn’t want to talk about Brian. “I didn’t alienate him,” you said irritatedly. Freddie let his arm fall.

“Just trying to speak your sciency language,” he shrugged.

“You haven’t spoken to Brian for weeks,” Roger supplied, as though you needed to be reminded.

“I’m well aware.”

“But—” began John.

“This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him,” you retorted. “I said something stupid, I apologised. He didn’t accept my apology, and here we are.”

Deacy looked positively crestfallen. He tried so unwaveringly hard to hold everyone together, and the look on his face almost made you take back your harsh assessment of the situation. Almost. Sometimes you had to stand your ground.

“Y/N,” Roger said cautiously, “you should know that he was rather close to his aunt.”

You closed your eyes in anguish. You’d tried not to think about how your words to Brian might have brought him painful memories, brought grief very close to the surface. Ill-willed or not, it was clear you’d hurt him.

But still, a stubbornness fought back within you. He had let you worry, and he had not given you a chance, and that had torn at you.

“He’s as delicate as his music, darling.”

Perhaps Freddie had put it perfectly, because you understood. And you would forgive Brian as soon as he forgave you. Before he forgave you.

“He just needs time,” John placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

You were about to nod when another voice sounded in the hall.

“Freddie?”

“In the kitchen, darling!”

You glanced at Freddie. “Wait a minute.”

Brian’s curly head appeared in the door.

“Oh, you did not do this,” your sympathy dissipated at the sight of Brian, for he roused in you an anger at yourself, a relentless hatred that swathed you in despair and confusion.

He appeared to feel the same way about you. “Freddie,” Brian said sternly.

Freddie threw his hands up. “Why is it that you all seem to think this was my idea?”

“Because it’s usually your idea,” you deadpanned.

“So you can agree on something, yay!” Freddie looked ready to give this fact a standing ovation. “Only, it wasn’t my idea. It was Roger’s.”

You turned to glare at Roger, only to find that he wasn’t where he’d been before.

And nor was Deacy.

There were two doors to the kitchen, and from the one to your left there came the clicking of a lock.

“Time to go, I think,” said Freddie, and before you could register what was going on, he’d pushed Brian into the room with you and slammed the second door shut with himself on the other side.

The second lock clicked.

“What the hell, Freddie!” Brian shouted as you flew at the door to uselessly rattle its handle.

“Roger. It was Roger’s idea,” you heard Freddie sigh.

“Bloody good one too,” said Roger from the opposite side.

“This is ridiculous,” you declared.

“Let us out,” Brian shook the other door’s handle, and his eyes flashed angrily when you caught them.

“No.” That was Deacy. “Not until the two of you talk. Or jump each other’s bones. Either one works, but it’s got to be one of them.”

“John Richard Deacon!” you bellowed, a flush flaring across your cheeks. A twin flush coloured Brian’s features, and you stared. Even in anger he bore his serene beauty, soft-lipped and deathly still, though his eyes burned like dying stars.

No voices answered your shout this time. They’d bloody well left.

“Stop looking at me,” Brian snapped, and your eyes immediately fell away from him.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

“You say that too often.”

“You don’t say it enough!” you cried. “You and your bloody pride.”

He scoffed. “Yes, Y/N, pretend you understand.”

You groaned. “Not like you’ve given me a chance to.”

“Well, god, it’s a wonder when you’re so—”

“You know what, Brian,” you whirled to face him, “shut up for a bloody second.”

His lips pressed closed, more in surprise than in obedience, but it would have to do.

“I have not spoken to you for weeks, and I don’t even fucking know why.”

He sputtered. “Because— because you’re being impossible!”

“I’m being impossible? How can I be, when you haven’t let me?”

“Well—”

But you’d had enough. You could be gentle, but what was gentleness if not offset by honesty?

“What is it that you want me to say? Honestly, tell me, because I’d like to know.”

He carded a hand through his hair. “I don’t—”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“No, alright, I don’t! Happy?”

“Not even close.”

“Excellent. What a fine pair we make,” Brian grumbled dramatically, throwing up his hands before letting them fall to his sides. He looked defeated, he looked tired. You were tired. Tired of arguing with a person who was supposed to be your friend.

You heaved a sigh. “But I do know one thing.” You approached him carefully. He didn’t step away. “I need you,” you said, “and quite frankly, you need me. I’m sorry that I was so insensitive. But if you won’t talk to me about this, then we’ve got to carry on as we did before.” His gaze was intense when he peered at you beneath his eyelashes, but you did not blink.

“You’re my friend, Brian,” you took his hands in yours, “my wonderful friend, who lends me beautiful scarves without a second thought and talks about the superiority of short-period comets, and I don’t want to see you failing Carmichael’s class because some idiot didn’t help you with your derivatives.”

He didn’t pull his hands back toward him, he let you hold them. The unbearable heat of his anger had turned to warmth, and it flooded through his hands and enveloped your own.

A smile ghosted his mouth. Your heart skipped dangerously.

“That was surprisingly touching, Y/N.”

You could have laughed in relief, in elation.

“Charming, Bri,” you opted for apathy instead. “You could’ve left out the surprising bit, you know.”

“Oh, no,” he murmured. “Can’t let you get too confident, love.”

You were all too aware that his hands still rested with yours, all too aware of the almost imperceptible pout that his lips always bore, all too aware of the way the light fell across his face and cast his eyes in a shadow that made them all the more lovely to behold. Tantalising.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved,” Brian said softly. “It was unforgivably childish.”

“And yet you are forgiven,” you spared him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

He squeezed your hands tightly and you hung on to the feeling even as he let go.

“Now,” he raised his voice, “would you let us out, please?”

You heard Roger laugh, and the door unlocked.

You followed Brian through the opened door and into the living room, where you found Deacy and Freddie handing Roger crumpled pound notes, the second looking decidedly more peeved than the first.

Roger’s expression was smug as he tapped ash from his cigarette into a flower-patterned ashtray. “We had a little bet…”

You glanced at John and Freddie. “You two. You know he’s going to hold this over you forever, right?”

Deacy nodded, closing his eyes. “Worst decision I’ve made in my life.”

Roger snorted in laughter. “And that’s saying something.”

Freddie only drank his tea cooly, took a drag from his own cigarette.

“Funny,” Roger reclined lazily on the sofa, “that’s the second time that trick has worked.”

“You’ve locked arguing friends into a kitchen before?” said Brian.

“Well, not a kitchen, but a room, yes,” Roger grinned and blew smoke into the air. Deacy waved it away, scrunching up his nose. “Actually,” he amended, “it was more of a cupboard, but yeah.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure why you’re surprised,” you responded to Brian.

John sighed. “Please stop encouraging him. He’ll never let it go.”

Freddie hummed in agreement, pursuing a staring contest with Roger. “Yes, don’t give him any good ideas.”

“Far too late for that.”

“I think I need a stronger tea,” said Freddie.

And just like that, everything was back to normal. Or, more or less normal, anyway.

You doubted you would ever be able to look at Brian in the same way as you had before.

Something had changed.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

March became April, and April turned to May.

May. Funny that to some people, it was only the name of a month.

But to you— to Freddie, to John, to Roger— May was Brian May. Soft-spoken but passionate, controlling, caring, motherly, silly, stubborn, and pensive was Brian May.

Opulent but direly shy Freddie, goofy and sweet-hearted Deacy, rebellious yet thoughtful Roger. The four of them together were magic.

It brightened your day when you went to their rehearsals, where John threw peanuts into Brian’s hair during his guitar solos, and Freddie struck up random chords on the piano to pen a parody, and Roger twirled his drumsticks in elaborate arrangements between fills, and Brian— well. Brian. Your breath hitched when he smiled at you.

Queen was the camaraderie and escapism you didn’t know you needed.

They treated you like family, like a part of their family, and there was never a band meeting without you to weigh in your opinion, never a rehearsal without you to make suggestions for this, that, or the other to make Queen just a touch better.

They had now begun writing for the new album, and it was an extensive process. It was untitled and contained a handful of half-written songs. Or so they all claimed. You’d only heard snippets of two songs.

The main issue lay in that Queen was attempting to juggle studies, part-time jobs, home life (in Deacy’s case), and the band. To add to this, there was the fact that they had only an empty lecture hall in which to practice. The space was simply not designed for the creative experimentation of four usually-squabbling musicians. Thus, rehearsal location became the main topic of discussion during the band “meetings”, which involved the five of you, as well as Queen’s new manager, John Reid, and normally descended into chatter over tea and biscuits after someone started off on a tangent and the others too forgot the world around them.

But when the world really fell away for you was every Thursday night, when Brian turned up at your place to learn derivatives and to teach guitar.

His improvement was incredible— not that you thought he was so terrible at maths that you found it incredible that he could improve, but rather, it impressed you how quickly he improved. It was like a wave, building, building, building, and then suddenly, understanding. And his understanding was brilliant.

When maths and science were involved, Brian spoke another language. He spoke it so fluently, it was like he’d invented it. His eyes lit up, and he just talked. God, he gushed. He was immersed, he lost himself in it entirely, in the numbers and theories and photographs and diagrams.

He loved the stars as much as you.

You’d never been able to explain to anyone what it was like, to feel your breath being taken away by the world above, even when there was little to be seen during daylight. The sky was wide and open and forever, a hopefulness in the unknown— night after night, the stars would be there to welcome you home.

You had never felt like a person; you had always felt like a star. Distant, cold at first sight, but white hot to the touch. The days were your bane, but night brought you glory.

And when Brian spoke of the universe, he was the night.

He also seemed impressed with your progress, in guitar, and if you were being honest, you were proud of yourself too.

It was getting far easier to move between difficult chords, now that your fingers were accustomed to the movements and strengthened by stretching. You were getting the hang of vibrato and of using your wrist to help you create certain sounds, rather than relying on your fingers alone.

And you were enjoying yourself.

Brian could see it too.

“Amazing,” he said one day, shaking his head. “Look at you!”

You laughed in delight, because there was a certain euphoria in hitting the right notes at the right times, melding them together to create melodies, and not only that, but you were the one creating the melodies, the music. It was the purest rush of power.

Then there came the day when you could play all of ‘The Width of a Circle’. Not perfectly, not without a few mishaps and mistakes, but play the whole eight-minute song you could, nonetheless. And you had no doubt that the amount your skill had improved by was thanks to Brian.

“Want to play it together?”

You glanced up at him.

His chin was inclined ever-so-slightly, and his eyes twinkled.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Lead us in, then,” he nodded to you, and you began the opening riff.

Brian joined in easily, and you almost lost your concentration in awe of the way he had harmonised his playing to yours.

You were tapping your foot to keep the beat, and he was leaning back and nodding his head to the music. He grinned and you smiled, and he moved to lean his shoulder against yours as he played.

You laughed through a chord progression and leaned so that you were playing back to back.

You could feel the shift of his shoulders against your back, and the warmth that emanated from his skin, and you closed your eyes as you played, because never before had you felt your soul so intertwined with that of another person. It was bliss.

The song was over far sooner than an eight-minute song should have seemed, and when the last notes rang out from the guitars, you turned around.

His expression was one of pure joy, and you imagined that your face bore a similar mien.

“That was— that was fantastic.” You had searched in vain for a word and finally settled on fantastic, because nothing would do the moment justice anyhow.

“We should do this more often,” Brian said, pushing his curls back from his face with another smile. He was always smiling these days. And how much like a star he looked when he smiled.

“You think you could handle being in my presence more than just every Thursday?”

“On top of every time we have rehearsals or meetings for the band,” he reminded you.

You nodded. “See, I don’t think you could handle it.”

Really, he would probably be okay, assuming he didn’t secretly hate you. But you, on the other hand, would probably not survive seeing him with his sunlit eyes and half-buttoned shirts more often than you already did.

He bit his lip, and of this you were painfully aware.

“No,” he murmured, “I don’t think I could handle it.”

You sucked in a breath.

You both jumped at the sound of Big Ben chiming, and the staticky feel of the air around you was relieved.

“Better go,” said Bri apologetically. “Fred’s wants us up early tomorrow, to discuss concepts for the album, but I guess you’ll be coming to that..?”

“Oh, yeah,” you remembered. “Nearly forgot about that.”

“Good thing you have me here,” he winked, then set to gathering up his things.

He didn’t see how you pressed your lips together, wrapped your arms around your yourself. It was starting to annoy you, how you behaved around him. You had no reason to feel so… so… so strangely. It was just Brian. Stupidly beautiful astrophysicist Brian.

Oh.

Despite Bri’s comment about not giving you “the wrong idea” all those weeks ago, when you’d made the mistake of inquiring about his disappearance, you found yourself thinking about him more often than not, and longing for his touch upon your skin.

Oh god.

You would not go down that path. It would ruin you, become your undoing.

The sooner he left tonight, the better.

The sooner he left, the better.

You could only hope that Queen would be scheduling their next tour for the near future.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Good morning, darling!” said Freddie the following day when you arrived at his place for the meeting.

“Hiya Freddie, everyone.” Polite greetings chorused back to you.

Freddie, Deacy, Bri, and Reid were already assembled around Freddie’s coffee table in the sitting room, but it appeared Roger was running late, as per usual.

Atop your list of problems for the time being, however, was the fact that there was barely any room to sit down.

Sitting room my arse.

Reid and Deacy, immersed in conversation, each occupied an armchair on one side of the table, and Freddie and Brian were squeezed onto a loveseat that already looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Brian stood up and walked over to you. “Let me take that,” he said, easing the weight of your messenger bag from your shoulder. His fingertips skimmed your shoulder and your skin tingled.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him gratefully as he set down your bag.

Then Roger arrived, big sunglasses barely obscuring the bags beneath his eyes. He’d obviously been out partying the previous night. Likely he’d been out with Heather, who had arrived home in the wee hours of the morning, waking you in the process.

“Morning everyone,” Roger said drowsily, neither bothering to acknowledge replies nor his surroundings as he took the spot Brian had previously tenanted.

“Rog, that was my seat.”

Roger scoffed airily. “Was. And now it has a new owner.” He shuffled farther to Freddie’s side of the sofa. “Go on, squeeze in. There’s room for your spindly limbs yet.”

Brian crossed his arms. “And leave nowhere for the lady to sit?” he gestured to you and you pulled your cardigan more tightly around your shoulders, slightly flustered at being addressed a lady.

Freddie sighed laboriously. “Oh, hurry up and work something out, darlings, we’ve got work to do!”

“Yes,” John interjected, raising his teacup from its saucer. “We’ve got to sort out those finances Sheffield duped us out of.”

You didn’t want to be a bother. “It’s fine, I’ll just stand.”

“For the whole meeting?” asked Brian.

You shrugged. “Can’t be that long, can it?”

“Nonsense— you know how Fred goes on. You sit down. I’ll stand,” Bri insisted.

“Really, no, it was your spot first.”

He shook his head. “I won’t—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Roger yanked on Brian’s arm and Brian fell onto the sofa with an oof. Then the drummer snatched your sleeve and pushed you into Brian’s lap.

Upon reflex, Brian’s arms wrapped around your middle to catch you, and your hands went straight to his.

Deacy’s cup clinked against its porcelain dish. Reid smiled faintly in confusion, but Roger looked smug and Freddie folded his hands neatly.

You blushed. Brian’s fingers were warm on your stomach. But you wouldn’t let any of it faze you— no need to make any more of a scene than you already had.

Brian started, beginning to pull away, “I’m so sorry—”

You cut him off, patting his hands. “So what’s on the agenda for today, Deacy?”

John blinked. Then his features broadened into a smile, which he tried to hide.

“What?”  you said with the fabricated nonchalance of an Oscar-winning actress. “Can friends not sit together these days? Will you be scandalised if I show my ankle?” You tugged on your trouser leg and wriggled your foot.

“Aha, no,” Deacy said carefully. He was making the face he made when he was trying not to say whatever innuendo had just formed on his tongue. The others looked on in silence, rapt with attention.

“Hm?” You touched Brian’s knee with light fingers. You could’ve sworn that his breath caught; he went very still behind you, beneath you.

Freddie broke the awkward silence. “We haven’t got all day, you know. What’ve we got to talk about, John?”

“You first. You called the meeting, Fred.”

“Oh. Yes. Well. I had an idea for costumes,” Freddie began.

“Costumes?” said Reid. “Fred, you’ve yet to write the music for the next album. I can book you a tour without costumes, but I can’t bloody well book you a tour without music to play on it.”

Freddie waved his hand. “Music comes to us like breathing, dearie. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll have an album and more in no time, but image, image takes time.”

“Time and effort,” agreed Roger, who adored the glamour aspect of performance no less than Freddie.

Reid sighed. “Alright. So, costumes. Budget, John?”

Deacy put down his tea and flipped through a notebook. “We’re alright for a couple hundred pounds,” he said.

Reid raised his eyebrows. “A couple hundred? Where’d you get that kind of money? You’re not peddlin’ drugs, are you?”

Deacy shook his head placidly. “Pays not to have a studio to rehearse in.”

“What’ve you got in mind, Fred?” Brian made his first point of conversation, and you felt his soft breath on your ear. You quickly pushed the thought from your mind— focus, costumes.

Freddie grinned. “Zandra Rhodes.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: this is absolutely one of the chapters i’m most proud of writing. i think i put a bit too much of myself into my stories sometimes, though. let me know you get tired of me talking about the ethereality of starlight ;)

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @hgmercury39​  @stardust-killer-queen​ @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 7 / Part 9