#dear god I hardly ever post my own original posts on tumblr so here comes the dreaded part: trying to decipher how to tag

[quintessentialquincy]

this is what trying to talk about classic who feels like

[girlafraidinacoma]

IN THE LAP OF THE GODS: 

Chapter One - Freddie

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends' band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character [chill guys, this WILL be a Bri fic...eventually]. 

Warnings: ummm mentions alcohol??? That’s it.

Words: 971

Author’s Note: Okay, so I haven’t written in a while and haven’t published on tumblr in years, so this is one HUGE shout out and also a thank you to my pal, @wombat-pop cos they really got my creative juices flowing.

Contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys--be free. **Someone please tell me who I can give credit to for the gif use and also maybe how since I’m not used to posting stuff through tumblr. HELP**.

Link to the Ao3 fic!

Chapter Playlist:

This Will Be Our Year - The Zombies

I Can’t Let Go - The Hollies

Ealing, 1969.

She first knew him as Fred Bulsara, a new face she had met during a small social thrown at Ealing Art College.

She was at a lively sort of gathering, just as expected in a room full of art students, drinks were being passed to and fro while the newest album by The Zombies was being played on the record player. The upbeat melody of a piano opened a new track as Rod Argent dulcetly crooned:

The warmth of your love

Is like the warmth of the sun

And this will be our year

Took a long time to come

For a quarter of an hour now she had been drinking an unknown concoction handed to her by one of the girls that greeted her when she arrived at the function room. It was tart but potent in its alcoholic glory, and she could only force herself to sip at the damn thing. Truly, it was a horrible excuse for punch.

It was then that he had sauntered up to her, cool as anything, taking the drink from her hand and placing it down on the ground and against the wall. “Oh, darling you shouldn’t drink that rubbish, I know the girl who mixed those and her taste buds must be dead or dying if she’s serving this monstrosity.” In his hand he had two dark bottles, one he handed to her and the other had begun to drink out of.

“Cider?” she asked.

“Strawberry.”

“Ooh, thank you. It’s good.” She commented after a cursory taste.

“And more importantly, stronger than you’d think,” her new friend said with a grin. “Now tell me, how come a pretty girl like you is all by her lonesome this Friday night?”

“It’s a mixer, isn’t it? The purpose is for lonely people like me to meet some new friends.” She felt a bit self-conscious, fiddling with a loose thread at the end of her long sleeve. Her companion considered her outfit for a moment and silently approved; she was in a white off-shoulder peasant blouse embroidered with flowers that she paired with high-waisted flares and tan boots. She wore several rings on her slim fingers and she twisted one or two of them almost unconsciously as they talked.

He chuckled, “And how’s that going for you, darling?”

“Woefully. Until now,” she admitted, pushing her chocolate hair away from her face, “Wyn Clemens.” she said holding out her right hand.

“Fred Bulsara,” he introduced  himself, “but everyone calls me Freddie since they can’t pronounce my last name for shite!” Chuckling, he shook her hand and took another swig from his drink.

Fred had an exotic look about him, all glossy black hair, gleeful almond eyes, and large prominent teeth that completed that million-watt smile of his. His laughter was infectious, and he had a way of speaking that was vulnerable and disarming, and entirely captivating all the while. He was lovely, and Wyn was soon eager to get to know him.

“Are you in first year as well, Freddie?”

“Oh no, darling. I’m sad to say I’ll be graduating this year and leaving you lot.” He said as he smoothed out the fabric of his dagger-collar shirt.

“Friday night and you’ve crashed a social for new students?”

“I would hardly call it crashing dear, I’m the most exciting person here.” He joked, “But I can’t deny that free booze is a great incentive.”

“Wise words.”

“So what are you then, painter, musician, writer, fashion designer?”

“I like to dabble in a couple of things, painting and drawing mostly, but I’ve been trying to get a handle of photography recently.”

“Any good?”

“Art is subjective,” she supplied coyly as if to remind him.

“Oh haven’t you heard?” Fred asked with fake surprise, “Modesty is totally overrated.”

“Of course, how could I forget!” Wyn exclaimed with equal false passion before breaking into a laugh.

“If you’ve got talent, I say flaunt it.”

“Tell me then, what does the great Freddie Bulsara get up to at Ealing?”

“I’m in graphic design. But music, music I think is my purpose. My purpose for being, my greatest love.”

Wyn sighed at the dreamy look in his eye, “A musician? Should have known, though I would have pegged you for a thespian.”

“Who, little old me on film? I don’t think anyone would be prepared for the magnitude of my handsomeness.”

“Yes, I’m surprised we’re not yet blinded by your radiance.”

“Oh, I do like you! You’re just my speed.” Fred said nodding appreciatively.

“Right, so music, what instruments do you play?”

“I was taught piano as a child you know, but I love to sing.”

“I’d love to hear you some time.”

“I’ll make sure that everyone and their mother would have heard me, or of me before I’m done!”

“Is that what you want? Fame, glory, your name in lights? Spelt correctly, of course. ”

“I want to give the people a voice darling, to all the little boys -- and girls -- who thought that they’d never be anyone or anything, ever. I want them to hear me and know that I’m singing for them and they’re singing through me.” He said rather earnestly, “And if I get famous and filthy stinking rich along the way, then it will be a happy consequence.”

There was a conviction in Freddie she saw just now, and she couldn’t help but marvel at him. For even in the dim tungsten light that bathed the party in an orange haze, Freddie seemed to shine on his own as if he were lit from within.

It was another moment before she remembered her train of thought. “Fred Bulsara,” she began, her voice just above a whisper, a profound smile on her face, “Freddie. It’s such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”