#freddie can’t play guitar but brian may

[madaims]

What about while Crowley is separated from Aziraphale in Season’t 3, instead of Queen songs as his soundtrack it’s Freddie Mercury solo tracks?

Hits such as Mr. Bad Guy, Made in Heaven, There Must Be More To Life Than This, Man Made Paradise, Living On My Own, Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow….. basically the whole Mr. Bad Guy album is his soundtrack at this point…. (This is what makes me believe Freddie and Crowley were friends. This album is so Crowley coded!)

Oh forgot! We need definitely need Love Of My Life to play at some point! But that’s as just Freddie and Brian, so it kind of counts!

Anyway! When he gets back to Aziraphale it’s all I Was Born To Love You for a bit and then it’s back to the Queen songs (symbolising he’s not “living on his own” anymore)

Dunno why but I’m really feeling Friends Will Be Friends, Spread Your Wings, Don’t Stop Me Now, I Want It All and Crazy Little Thing Called Love should be in there somewhere. Yeah 90 minutes seriously isn’t enough time for all this music but hey ho! That’s what credit reels are for! Haha

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today - March 5th, 1976

Eddie Howell "The Man From Manhattan" 7" single released

Freddie Mercury: producer/piano/bvs

Brian May: guitar

Excerpts from an interview

Jacky Gunn-Smith - Official International Queen Fan Club

Eddie Howell’s ‘Man From Manhattan‘ is one of the best known and best loved of all Queen’s collaborations.

Recorded in mid January 1976 at Sarm East Studios in London, the song was produced by Freddie Mercury, who also played piano and sang backing vocals on the track and featured Brian May on guitar. The record is so reminiscent of “A Night At The Opera” in both instrumentation and mood, that many fans regard it as virtually an “Opera” out-take. When it was launched as a single on Warner Bros records in 1976, it became a turntable hit in the UK and looked set to chart until music industry bureaucracy halted it in it’s tracks.

Birmingham born Eddie Howell began his professional career in the late 60’s, when Chrysalis music picked up on his songwriting demos and introduced him to an independent record producer, who in turn licensed his first single “Easy Street”, as a one-off deal to Parlophone in 1969.

Working as a songwriter throughout the early 70’s, Eddie’s next venture into recording came in 1975 when he signed to Warner Bros records as an artist. thursdaysHe released two singles, “Long Story” and “Can’t get over you”, and his debut LP “The Eddie Howell Gramophone Record”, which featured members of “Brand X” and guitarist Gary Moore.

The album was launched at a promotional gig at Thursday’s club in Kensington. Eddie’s band included Phil Collins on congas, Jack Lancaster on saxophone and Robin Lumley on keyboards. Explains Eddie, ”In the audience that night was Freddie Mercury who had been brought along to the gig by my manager David Minns. It was there that he first heard “Man From Manhattan”, which was a newly written song included in the set. After the gig we met and he was very complimentary about the song and offered to produce it. I remember we all went down to ‘The Elephant on the River’ to celebrate”.

Enthused by the prospect of his first foray into production, Freddie wasted little time in getting started. ”I gave him a two track guitar/vocal demo of the song” recalls Eddie, ”and a couple of days later he called and said let’s get going. Studio time was booked at Sarm East Studios and true to form, Freddie quickly took control of the sessions; ”He did lots of pre-production work on the song’s structure and the harmony arrangements”, reveals Ed. ” He had a mini cassette recorder loaded with ideas for the track, backing vocals and answering phrases”.

”We took a week to record the song”, remembers Eddie, ”which was a long time in those days, but because of Freddie’s involvement, Warners gave us a blank cheque. The sessions were quite intense, there was never a lull. Brian came in to play hismikestone2 guitar parts and the musical rapport between him and Freddie was plain to see, they were on the same page. One day, a hand-held spinning bell-cymbal in the key of ‘D’ was required by Freddie for one ping at the end of the track and the studio didn’t have one, so a runner was dispatched to scour the streets of London in search of one. The session was adjourned for half a day while we waited down at the Shazam Indian restaurant in Brick Lane for the bell to arrive. It eventually arrived and took about a minute to record, it must have been the most expensive ping ever recorded”.

On the final day of recording, a trio of Warner Bros top brass flew in from California and made a beeline for Sarm East studios to meet Freddie. Recalls Eddie, ”They probably thought the red carpet would be rolled out as they were paying for the recording sessions, but instead they were kept waiting in reception for about four hours. When they were eventually granted an audience, the charm offensive was full onlongstory3 and it was all smiles and bonhomie. At the end of the session, after the final playback, Freddie turned to me and said, ‘If this isn’t a hit, sue Warner Bros ‘ ”.

The finished article obviously had a heavy Queen influence with the presence of Freddie and Brian on the track, but ”Man from Manhattan” was far from a tribute to Queen. ”I wrote the song after my first trip to Manhattan in late 74”, reveals Eddie, ”I was reading ‘The Godfather Papers’ by Mario Puzo and the song was about those mafia characters who lead a double life. Musically, I had ‘Dead End Street’, by the Kinks in mind, complete with trombones and a walking double-bass”.

Prior to the ban, ”Manhattan” made top 50 in the UK, top 20 in Australia, Belgium and South Africa and top 5 in Holland, but sadly, as a consequence of the ban, it was never released in America or many of the world’s other major territories.

When it was issued as a single in 1976, Warner’s publicity department played up the Queen connection as much as they could, and “Manhattan” rapidly became a turntable hit in the UK. The record received heavy rotation on the airwaves – particularly in Europe where it became a big hit. Then, just when it looked set to climb the charts in the UK, the Musicians Union mysteriously discovered that Jerome Rimson, the American bassist hired by Freddie for the sessions, had been working in Britain without a permit. This obliged them to place a ban on any and all further UK media exposure due to his ‘Illegally’ recorded playing. A decision which effectively killed off the record.

Having recently regained the rights to his back catalogue recorded during his time with the label, Eddie is now releasing the tracks digitally. ”Man from Manhattan” is first up, more to follow…

(source: https://manfrommanhattan.wordpress.com/)

📸 Pic: Freddie Mercury and Eddie Howell in control room

[innuend-o]

CRAZY LITTLE THING CALLED LOVE

Filmed at Trillion Studios, London (September 22nd, 1979)

“It took me five or ten minutes. I did that on the guitar, which I can't play for nuts, and in one way it was quite a good thing because I was restricted, knowing only a few chords. It's a good discipline because I simply had to write within a small framework. I couldn't work through too many chords and because of that restriction I wrote a good song, I think." - Freddie Mercury

"Yes. I used on of Roger's really old, beat up, natural wood Telecaster. I got bludgeoned into playing it. That was Mack's idea. I said 'I don't want to play a Telecaster. It basically doesn't suit my style.' But 'Crazy Little Thing Called Love' was such a period piece, it seemed to need that period sound.” - Brian May

[screeching-painter-witch]

ADHD Peter Parker, please! Like ADHD underestimation. I wanna know how Tony would help Peter with his underestimation. I also wanna know Peter's stims he does. If you can that would be great!

Remember to drink water! -💜

when did you send me this ask? i did not get a notification so i didn't see it, i'm so sorry /gen

without further ado:

adhd peter parker headcanons

- peter gets understimulated very easily, more than most people with adhd even. it might be because of his powers or his genius mind, or a combination of both

- both peter and tony have hyperfixated on the band queen (tony got peter into it but now they're both equally obsessed), so whenever peter is understimulated tony reminds him that he can listen to queen (peter, like most people with adhd, forgets he can listen to music to seek stimulation)

- brian may's guitar playing, roger taylor's falsetto voice, and freddie mercury's voice in general are auditory stimulation heaven for them (i will admit i am projecting here)

- they listen to queen, but also to other artists together and happy stim!! (peter got tony into conan gray and olivia rodrigo, tony will not admit he loves their music to anyone else)

- peter has a science fiction special interest/hyperfixation, and tony happily listens to his rants and theories (tony is always more than happy to listen to peter, but he often brings up peter's hyperfixations to cheer peter up when he's sad)

- like the gen-z transmasc he is, peter listens to the magnus archives (a horror anthology podcast), though he can only listen to it in bus or car rides or when he's exercising, otherwise he can't focus. he also has a vocal stim where he hums the intro music, and another stim where he talks in jonathan sims' accent sometimes,,, he also listens to the podcast when he's understimulated. tony has often walked in on peter, working in the lab, with a very eery, unsettling story being heard very loudly through the speakers, along with creepy string music playing in the background. he doesn't know why peter like this stuff

- he is hyperactive, and rarely hyperfixates on things or activities he needs to stay still for a long time for, like reading. the only book he hyperfixated on was red, white and royal blue (mj and ned got him into it and he loved it)

- peter definitely stims by jumping up and down (no this is not just me projecting /s),, he also jumps up and down on any surface he can stand on (e.g. walls or the ceiling)

- he also like,,, wiggles his shoulders as a stim, that one is usually for listening to good music

- he has many vocal stims, though because of ableist society (f*** ableists btw) he only feels comfortable stimming vocally when he's alone

- some of his vocal stims include: humming whatever song he's obsessed with at the moment (a lot of the time it's "discord" or "my ordinary life" by the living tombstone)

- another vocal stim of his is just,,, screaming, usually to relieve stress

- he has many fidget toys, although they tended to break easily until tony made him fidget toys that withstand his super strength (this idea is one i've mentioned before, and @human-salt-shaker-aka-cf-fighter was the one who came up with it, it's an awesome idea /gen)

- he also really likes blue things, idk if it's a visual stim but it makes him feel calm

- he has a very secret crystal and rock collection that started from his witchcraft hyperfixation but the crystal obsession kept resurfacing even after he decided witchcraft isn't for him (he does sometimes stir intention into his coffee or tea but shhh no one can know)

- he has a pressure stim which is partly the reason why he "forgets" to take off his binder after 8 hours of wearing it (tony, may, happy and ned are worried and so am i)

ok so these are just a few unorganised and messy thoughts, and i probably went off-topic a few times but hey-ho. i'm sorry i took so long to reply, i literally did not know this was in my inbox??? anyway, i hope you like these headcanons, and if you have anything more specific in mind, feel free to send another ask (also: thank you for reminding me to drink water/gen)!

[natromanxoff]

(x)

THIS is Freddie's song:

Just think of all those hungry mouths we have to feed,

Take a look at all the suffering we breed,

So many lonely faces scattered all around,

Searching for what they need.

Is this the world we created,

What did we do it for,

Is this the world we invaded,

Against the law,

So it seems in the end,

Is this what we’re all living for today,

The world that we created.

You know that everyday a helpless child is born,

Who need some loving care inside a happy home,

Somewhere a wealthy man is sitting on this throne,

Waiting for life to go by.

Is this the world created, we made it on our own,

Is this world we devastated, right to the bone,

If there’s a God in the sky looking down,

What can he think of what we’ve done,

To the world that He created.

The Greatest Show on Earth

By DAVID WIGG

FREDDIE MERCURY will sing a song tomorrow which sums up the message of the entire Live Aid spectacle.

Called Is this the World We Created? Freddie will perform the poignant number just before the finale, accompanied by co-writer and fellow Queen member Brian May on acoustic guitar.

"Strangely enough, we wrote this song long before the Live Aid project," says Freddie. “But everyone decided it fitted the occasion. It's about the unnecessary suffering and starvation among children all around world."

Mercury will appear twice on tomorrow's sensational global bill. First, at 6.40 p.m. when Queen play some of their greatest hits including Bohemian Rhapsody — “We are playing songs that people identify with to make it a happy occasion” — and then again at 9.30 p.m. to perform Is This The We World Created? which was featured on Queen's The Works album last year.

Queen have cancelled all other engagements to take part in the Wembley concert.

Mercury first became aware that he was luckier than a lot of children when he attended an English boarding school in India, and discovered through a boy’s eyes the plight of the country’s poor.

So does he offer his services for a charity event like Live Aid out of gratitud for his own good life or out of guilt?

“I’m certainly not doing it out of guilt,” says the 38-year-old superstar. “I don’t feel guilty just because I’m rich. Even if I didn’t do it the problem would still be there. It's something that will sadly always be there.

“The idea of all of this is to make the whole world aware of the fact that this is going on. By making this concert we are doing something positive to make people look, listen, and hopefully donate.

"Neither should we be looking at it in terms of us and them. When people are starving it should be looked upon as one united problem.”

He openly admitted that when he sees TV film of Africa’s starving millions he has to switch off his set. “It disturbs me so much I just can’t watch it,” he says.

FORCE

"Sometimes I do feel helpless and this is one of those times I can do my bit.

"Bob Geldof has done a wonderful thing, because he actually sparked it off. I'm sure we all had it in us to do that, but it took someone like him to become the driving force, and actually get us all to come together.

"You have got to have a certain status for this kind of show. That's what Geldof realised, and he has succeeded in persuading the world's biggest-established rock stars to appear for nothing. He is trying to raise as much money as possible, and to achieve that he needed the cream of th music business."

*All lyrics (C) 1984 Queen Music Ltd/EMI Publishing Ltd.

[Photo caption: Magic… Mercurial music from Freddie]

[kiwialbums]

A Night At The Opera - Queen

A Night At The Opera, originally released in 1975, is a classic and a staple point of rock-opera music. The album feels as though it seamlessly transitions through every song, and the majority of them being intentional.

I feel as though the placement of the songs is what makes it feel as though every song is connected. The only actual seamless-transition is that between “The Prophet’s Song” and “Love Of My Life”, however it feels to me as if every song is joined. Take “Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon” for example, the song ends with a brilliant solo by Brian, and then ends abruptly and then we are thrown into the rocky and upbeat song by Roger Taylor “I’m In Love With My Car”. I think the abrupt end into the aggressive start makes it feel as though the songs (or the whole album maybe) are connected slightly in some way by a story, but this is all up to interpretation.

Another thing the album does brilliantly is exploring new, ingenious recording ideas, ranging from vocalisations of a brass and woodwind instruments, to Brian perfectly nailing an impression of a jazz band through only guitar. The vocalisations of the brass and woodwind instruments on “Seaside Rendezvous” add to the joyful and jolly feeling I already get from the song, making it seem slightly comical and childish yet also being done so well it doesn’t take away from the song at all. And as for the jazz band recreated by Brian on guitar, I honestly can’t tell at times whether it truthfully was done on guitar or if we’re being messed with because it is done so well.

And of course where would this album be without Freddie’s vocals and song writing abilities. This album has some of the best songs ever created, and a song which many claim to be the best song ever, “Bohemian Rhapsody”. This song mixes genres into one song and honestly it’s hard to understand in which one to place it. It starts off with strong harmonies straight away, so full of range it’s hard to tell where your ears should actually be listening, it’s marvellous, then we get introduced to the infamous piano and melancholy vocals, leading us gradually into a guitar solo by Brian as the song is built up more, adding more instruments slowly to build up the tension to the climax of this part. And then we are brought back to the opera, with high, piercing harmonies responding to lines from Freddie, using Roger’s vocals range perfectly. And then we get to the heavy and upbeat rock section of the song, which somehow fits into the song perfectly, and then easily comes back to the slow, lonely piano and vocals from Freddie due to wonderful guitar by Brian. Then the song slowly gets less and less, until a final smash on a gong draws the masterpiece to a close.

Now, I haven’t mentioned John Deacon much, so now I shall. Deacon adds so much to this album, he’s as much of a perfect bass player as Paul McCartney, knowing exactly what is needed for each song; whether to sit back and relax or carry the song from underneath. In my favourite Queen song “‘39”, John follows the basics of bass, going back in time to simple roots and following the drums, which is perfect for what the song needs; carrying it slightly with the lone kick drum. On the contrary, John’s own composition by “You’re My Best Friend” scales from top to bottom of the fretboard, which is exactly what the song needed. I think Deacon was a perfect bassist for Queen and really knew what he was doing when it came to songwriting and playing his part.

Overall, I think this entire album is absolutely magnificent, and is well worth the listen if you haven’t, even the songs that some may consider filler and amazing to me and i enjoy every moment of this wonderful masterpiece, and this has rightfully gone down in history as one of the best albums ever made.

••• Some tags for growing •••

[mirkwoodshewolf]

On set visits; Queen x reader x Borhap boys pt. 1

*Author's note*

Alright so this part is broken up into 2 parts so here is the 1st part of the Bohemian Rhapsody film set visit. Part 2 will be up in just a second after I get done with this author's note. So expect some crazy stuff happening, fluffiness and the Rock Angel reminiscing on her past with the boys. 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queensdivas​

@queendeakyy​

@wormzteef​

@geek-and-proud​

@starswin​

@isabella-bby​

@onebigfangirlworld​

@labessieisallama​

@5sos-wdw​

@ssa-sadboi​

@naturalswifty89​

@bohemiansweede

_________________________________________________________

*Sept. 2017. Filming Bohemian Rhapsody*

I almost couldn't believe it myself. I mean I knew that the boys were planning on a film about themselves and that it was taking them almost 10 years just to get it off the ground. But now after multiple rewrites of the script and better casting, the film was ready to get off the ground.

"So you're absolutely sure I can stop by whenever I feel like it? No matter how many times?" I spoke into my I-phone.

'Absolutely love, just as long as you don't spill any secrets.'

"Please Bri, when have I ever revealed anything to anyone about you guys?"

'Well there was the time—'

"That was a fluck and you know it!" I snapped.

'I'm kidding love, you've never spilled any secrets. You've gotten better at lying lately.' Brian chuckled.

"Well when you say it like that it makes me feel guilty."

'As it should love. So when can we expect you?'

"I'll try to get there before the filming starts, so I may end up going to bed now so that way I can get on the road early enough to beat traffic."

'I know Rog is looking forward to seeing you again.'

"I just did the summer tour with you guys, how could he already miss me?"

'It's a mystery to all of us, but he is your father after all.'

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay well I'll see you tomorrow Bri."

'See you then (y/n). sweet dreams and drive safe tomorrow.'

"Will do. Love you."

'Love you too poppet.' I then hung up and couldn't help but grin.

"You still going over to see them film tomorrow?" I turned and low and behold after a long day's shift there was my husband coming in from his police work.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat threw up." I teased.

"Ha-ha you're hilarious my love." He said as he undid his tie and unbuttoned his short. "So the film's finally taking off the ground?"

"Yep, and they finally found a better Freddie Mercury."

"Yeah cause I remember when you called and told me about Sacha Baron Cohen."

"I just couldn't stand the fact that he was wanting to expose the dark side of Freddie. I mean yeah he had the parties, and the drugs, the sex, but that's all what Rock and rollers did back in those days. Plus that's all he seemed to care about. The scandal that came with Freddie's name, nothing about the music. I'm only just glad Bri sided with me on it." I ranted as Jack came up after taking his shirt and undoing his pants and began to rub my shoulders.

"I know love. You're as protective of this project as Brian and Roger are. So do you know who exactly they got to play Freddie this time?"

"No, but I'll find out tomorrow."

"Okay well, my team's got a heavy lead on the case so I won't really be available tomorrow."

"I understand. Just—promise me you'll be careful my love. I haven't forgotten that one killer that shot you in the line of duty."

"I survived didn't I? Plus now we both have a bullet story to share." He leaned his forehead against mine.

"Not funny Jack." I muttered.

"I know. C'mon let's get some sleep. We both have got a long day ahead of us tomorrow." I nodded and then we both got into bed and we fell asleep.

Early the next morning I was on my way over to the set driving in my own car without a driver. As I approached the set gate of course I was stopped by security.

"Badge and proof of visitation ma'am." I handed him the badge that Roger had sent in for me and some documentation that I needed to show him saying that I was not only visiting but a consultant for the movie to help the actors get to know the true Queen. "Everything checks out Mrs. Kline, here you go and have a good day."

"You too uhh—Marvin." I read his nametag before putting my VIP badge around my neck as the gate opened and I drove on inside.

After about 10 minutes I finally was able to find a parking space. I got out of the car and locked it up before walking towards the set. I was told by Brian that the actors had been prepping for the biggest scene they were going to film, the Live Aid sequence.

When I came around and actually stepped up onto the stage, I was blown away and taken back to the summer of 1985. Jesus they—the production got every single detail down to the paint chippings. The rigged lights that Queen had the day they performed, Roger's kit and the grand piano with Freddie's Pepsi cups filled with beer.

"Oh my god. Jack if only you were here to see this." I muttered to myself. It was then I saw Brian talking to someone but—wait did he? Did he seriously dye his hair back to its original dark curls? I walked up to him but waited till he was done talking to some of the producers. Once he was I tapped his shoulder and he turned around and—oh wow I just....wow.

I don't know whether this is a prank or time travel does exist but I swear I'm literally looking at Brian the day I had met him.

"Okay it's official. I think I have finally cracked." I said as I placed my hand over my forehead.

"I'm sorry ma'am do you need to sit down or can I get you a cup of water?" Oh god he even sounds like Brian.

"Ahhh seems you two have already met. And here I thought I could surprise you." I turned and there was—Brian? My Brian with the grey curls now. Wait what!? What is going on here!?

"What the f—"

"Ah, ah language young lady!" Brian scolded.

"You must be the Rock Angel (Y/n) Kline, Brian and Roger have told us a lot about you. Pardon me, Gwilym Lee." He said as he extended his hand to me. I shook it and said in awe.

"Ahhhh, now I see it. Sorry Gwilym dear, never did I think I'd see two Brian's at once. I swear to god you look—exactly like Brian when I met him."

"Anita said the exact same thing. Cheeky woman was even trying to flirt with him." Brian said as he pouted towards the end..

"No she didn't." I gawked.

"I'm afraid it's true." Gwilym said with a blush. I shook my head softly laughing.

"Oh that woman I tell you what."

"Well I can tell you one thing I know a certain someone of the cast who will flip out once he sees you." said Gwilym.

"And just who might that be?" I asked him.

"The young lad whose playing Deacy, Joe Mazzello."

"Kept ranting on and on about your Live Aid performance and how you and Deacy used to interact with each other in your performances together."

"Ahh yes. Me and my dear brother mine." I sighed with a solemn smile.

"I—I'm sorry I-I-I didn't mean to......"

"No, no Gwilym it's fine. While sometimes I do wish he could still be around, I completely understand why he chose to leave the band. Hell without Brian and Rog I—I don't even want to think what I would've done after Freddie died." I soon brushed my sorrows away and said, "Now come here Gwilym I want to get a closer look at you." he came up to me and we stood face to face of each other.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and looked him up and down before cupping each side of his face gently.

"God they chose right for my Brian. I swear, it's like Gwilym is your long lost son Bri." I said as my eyes turned toward Brian.

"I'm beginning to think you might be right." Joked Brian. I stepped back from Gwilym and said to him.

"I can't wait to see the full Live Aid recreation with you all in full costume."

"I hope we do you proud Mrs. Kline."

"First of all, call me (y/n). Secondly, I'm already proud. From what I've heard from Brian and Roger, I have no doubt in my mind that we've entrusted the right group of actors with Freddie's and Queen's upbringing tale to absolute rock gods."

"You flatter us too much (y/n)." Brian gushed.

"Only because you old fossils deserve it." I teased as I stuck my tongue out at him to which Brian did his little eyebrow quirk at me. I giggled softly and continued. "Well before filming starts, I'm gonna continue to look around the set. I'm told the lower decks where all the performers were settled in are just like how they were when we were there. Ciao Brians'." I walked away from them with a wave of my hand.

After exploring more of the set design and going down memory lane it was then I came across another look-a-like. Holding the famed natural Fender precision Bass guitar and wearing that god awful tacky shirt that I secretly wished I had told him not to wear, and having the iconic mushroom fluffy hair was the actor who was playing Deacy, Joe Mazzello.

One of the hair designers was fluffing up the wig to make sure it was up to Deacy's standard. And god just like with Gwilym, Joe was practically identical to Deacy.

It was just like seeing Deacy again back when he was happy and content with where Queen was at, just before finding out about Freddie's illness (which I had found out from Spike several years ago that Deacy had actually known since the last tour Queen ever did with Freddie).

I smiled softly as I watched him get ready for the camera. His wide smile reminded me so much of Deacy's. Slowly I walked up towards him and as the hairdresser looked him over Joe asked.

"So how does it look?"

"I think you look terrific." I said.

"Wait who said—OH MY GOD!!!" he screamed as he turned around and saw me. Like all usual fanboys, he jumped back, his mouth was gaped and his eyes were wide.

"Close your mouth please Joe dear we are not a codfish." His mouth immediately closed.

"Y-you-you-you're....."

"The Rock—"

"Rock Angel." We both said together slowly. "Call me (y/n)." I greeted as I extended my hand out to him and he took it hold of it and shook it.

"I just—I can't believe that I'm-I'm-I'm actually standing beside the Rock Angel." I softly giggled.

"Just know that beyond the glam and the rock star female empowerment, I'm just a normal 55 year old woman."

"But you still look good." He said. I quirked my brow at him so he quickly tried to save himself, "Not that you're old or anything. I mean I don't mean to offend you I just....."

"Joseph. Relax dear. I'm not offended at all. Freddie always said that I would end up being an eternal beauty. At first I thought it was just Freddie being Freddie but as the years have passed I think he—that he must be behind giving me this youthful glow."

"The Rock Angel called me dear," he first gushed with a shy smile. "Sorry I just...... I grew up listening to your albums along with Queen and the first time I saw one of your broadcast performances, I kinda had a little crush on you" He said gently.

"Aww I'm flattered Joe, really I am." I said as I gently cupped the side of his face and gave his cheek a stroke of my thumb. At that point he looked like he was about to melt into a puddle with how much joy he was probably filled with. "Now Joe forgive me for saying this, how long have you been acting?"

"I was a child actor actually. I've—always been in the acting business. Why do you ask?"

"Well besides seeing some of my brother's features I feel like I've—seen you in something before."

"You might recall a little film that came out in the 90's known as Jurassic Park?"

"Wait hold on—you...." I gasped. "You played little Tim Murphy!?!"

"Yes, yes I was Tim Murphy."

"Oh my god. When that film came out my twin boys were literally obsessed with that movie. Would not watch anything else for a full year. They even wore out the old VHS tape we had for it. Oh my god how could I not recognize you sooner?"

"Well I was 8 just turning 9 while we were filming it."

"You had a birthday while filming?"

"Yeah. It was during the kitchen scene with the raptor. I actually got injured on that day."

"What? What happened?" he then proceeded to tell me exactly what had happened. Of how the raptor they used was on wheels and he was running toward the fridge and he was supposed to go left while the raptor was supposed to go right, but the guy controlling the raptor lost control and went the same direction as Joe and he ended up getting hit in the face with a metal claw.

And it was at that moment the director Steven Spielberg and the rest of the crew sang Happy birthday to him.

Then of course he tried to ask Joe at that moment if they could try it again, but when Joe proved he couldn't do it, they wrapped for that day.

"Oh you poor thing."

"It's okay, I survived."

"Well I hope you never suffered an injury like that since then. And on your birthday too? That's never a good birthday present to get a concussion."

"I was cleared out with no concussion, just a little dizzy and a bit of bruising."

"Oh I'm sorry love, it's my inner mother instincts kicking in."

"She always was an overprotective mother." We both turned around and I saw Roger walking up sporting the black beanie I gave him for Christmas last year and another actor who was sporting the Roger Taylor look he had for Live Aid.

"Oh look who's talking smother father! For years since I've known you you've been the definition of helicopter parent." I gawked at him. "You still sometimes even threaten Jack with missing out on our dates cause of our jobs."

"And I've always told you that boy would be trouble one day." He teased as he came up to me.

"Wow so it is actually true, you guys do look at each other as father and daughter." Said the young actor playing Roger.

"Yes Ben, my adoptive daughter (Y/n) Kline, otherwise known as the Rock Angel." Roger introduced.

"So you're the young actor playing my main father figure eh?" I said as I looked at the young man.

"Yes. Ben Hardy, it's a real honor to meet you in person Mrs. Kline. To say I was nervous to meet Roger is nothing compared to the thought of meeting you."

"Are you saying I'm intimidating and unapproachable?" I asked offendedly.

"Wha? No! No! God no I-I-I-I didn't mean it that way I was just...." I interrupted him with a laugh and said.

"Dear, relax. I was just pulling your leg."

"And be thankful she was. Otherwise, I'd beat your arse boy for insulting my daughter." Roger protectively stated.

"See there you go you old hypocrite. Besides Rog you haven't been able to kick anyone's arse in years. Don't want you breaking a hip now do we?" I mocked him.

"You're lucky these boys are here little missy." Roger scolded me.

" Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now then Ben, you were once on EastEnders right?" I said turning my attention back toward Ben.

"Yes. I played Peter Boyle on the show. My recent film before this was the new X-Men movie that came out about a year ago. X-Men Apocalypse."

"Ahh yes, my youngest son is always obsessed with all the superhero films. Marvel or DC. Now I'd like to see you two more closely, stand together." Both Joe and Ben followed orders and I looked both of them up and down.

Circling around them before cupping each of their faces once by one. And yes Ben was a bit more muscular than Roger was and of course they didn't get his hair right for this part in time, but there was just something in Ben's eyes that just made me think back to the first day I met Roger.

That sparkle of mischief but also protectiveness that shown through those blue eyes of his.

"That is most definitely my Roger. You both have the same spirit in your eyes. I can't wait to see how you play the drums up on that stage."

"Yeah, me neither." He said with a hint of nervousness. I then went over to Joe and cupped his face too. Just—my god just like with Deacy the profile was just uncanny. Of course, Deacy's eyes were more of a hazel type while Joe's were like a brownish type color. But I couldn't deny he looked so much like my brother. "And you my dear Joseph. Gwilym isn't the only one to resemble the man he's playing."

"It was kinda scary after getting the wig on. So much so that I called my mom and asked her what she was doing in 1983?" I laughed and said as I took my hands away from his face.

"Unfortunately, I can tell you for a fact that John Deacon is not your father. The only lady he's ever loved and will love is Veronica."

"I know." I chuckled softly.

"Now then Joe if you'll come with me there's important things I need to discuss with you."

"Like what?"

"You'll see. It was wonderful to meet you Ben, I hope we can get to know each other better later after you all film the Live Aid concert."

"Yeah of course, it was wonderful to meet you Mrs. Kline."

"Please call me (y/n). Dad you better not be too hard on this one, I like him."

"Don't worry I won't break him too much." The four of us went our separate ways.

Joe and I arrived at my trailer (all thanks to Rog and Bri). We entered inside and I told Joe to take a seat. He sat down on my couch while I went over to the kitchen.

"Tea?"

"Yes please. One sugar please."

"Just like how he liked it." I muttered to myself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing love, nothing." I prepped the tea for him and once it was done I handed him his cup and he thanked me. I watched him take a sip and he said,

"Ahh never gets old. I'm telling you after this I may just be the biggest tea fan ever."

"It is good for the soul. I myself have always found Jasmine to be the way to nirvana." I paused for a brief moment before saying, "Joe." He looked at me giving me his full attention, "As you know probably from weeks of research and maybe even from Roger and Brian themselves, Deacy chose to exempt himself from all forms of stardom. To live a quiet life with his family."

"Yeah. When I first got the part I did reach out to him on just any personal advice on certain quirks that he did. Cause even though I've played real life people before, this is the first time I'm playing someone whose still alive, and I wanted to do him justice."

"Yes, quite."

"However all I got back was just that he approved of the project and just for me to take it as any other actor would. Not that I'm saying that I'm mad at him for saying that. But I just—"

"I get it. Really I do." I took his hand and gripped onto it comfortingly. "Look. Ever since Freddie died, Deacy has been—grieving. Just like he did for me, it was Freddie who helped bring Deacy out of his shell and become more involved with the band. Not just being the bass player or the quiet guy."

"The King of the one liners, the tie breaker of Queen." Joe stated.

"Yes, although John could be loud and rowdy when he wanted to. He was definitely Queen's wildcard, but he was also their Ace. Unpredictable but incredibly brilliant. Never have I met a bass player quite like him. Nor do I think I ever will." It was quiet for what felt like forever when Joe asked me.

"Do you—do you still speak to him? I mean, cause I read that you both basically grew up close together, even for being 11 years apart from each other."

"Yes. We actually lived 20 minutes from each other back in our youth. He was and will always be my brother mine." I sighed heavily. "And to answer your question, I must remind you he's always been.....a cautious subject to me. Any remembrance of Freddie just makes him break, and as I'm sure you've seen from my concert footages I, sometimes, subconsciously find myself doing some Freddie movements on stage. Whether it's flicking my wrist like he did, strutting around the stage or waving my arms like he did. Deacy's.....he knows those things. But he's always there for me when I needed him. The last time was—on the tragedy of 9-11."

"Wait you mean....."

"Jack's cousin Jared and his wife Gen, they—they were on the plane that was overtaken by the terrorists. Took five days to finally find their bodies. Jared holding Gen in his arms. It was a risk but—I knew Jack needed more support than just his American family. So he and I went over to John and Veronica's place. We went at the early mornings of course just so that way no one would spot us driving in midday and try to track us down, then at sunrise we walked up to the door and—there he was. When Jack told him what had happened, he—actually invited us in and allowed us to stay the entire time. He ended up being the right support Jack needed."

"Your husband and John were close?"

"Oh yes. More alike than you know. Both incredibly talented bass players. That's how Jack got Deacy's approval when Jack and I started hanging out. He even gave my husband private lessons."

"Wow."

"Yes. They were practically inseparable the two of them for that summer. Even during their rehearsals, you would see Deacy go in the corner and practice what riffs he'd teach my Jack next. However that was the last time I ever actually saw Deacy, 16 long years ago. Haven't gotten in contact with him since. But occasionally, at least according to Brian, he asks them how I'm doing as well as Jack."

"I hope he's living a quiet and happy life with his kids and wife."

"I know they are. I still keep in contact with Ronnie whenever I can, sometimes we go out shopping, fawn over grandchildren pics, and just catching up. She was the mother I needed when I first had Kelly."

"Sounds like she was the ultimate mama."

"You have no idea." I felt Joe place his free hand on top of mine that still had his. I smiled softly at him before I got down to the real reason why I brought him here. "Joseph, now I know that when it comes to acting, Hollywood can pick whomever they deem worthy for a role, especially if it's for a real person. I'll be honest with you; hearing your American accent puts me a little on edge. Cause I have heard some pretty bad English accents on screen that just make me want to pull my ears off agonizingly slow. Now I know Deacy has probably the most unique accent from anyone in Leicester, I mean you hear my accent and I sound nothing like his dialect. So what I want to ask of you, just for the sake of you playing my brother, may I hear you speak with John's accent?"

"What-what would you like me to say?"

"Maybe say what you did for the audition. Or anything that comes to your head. It doesn't even have to be an interview Deacy did, I just want to hear your accent." He nodded before sitting back on the couch while I leaned back on the chair.

He adjusted himself before finally miming that he was driving a car before he finally spoke about when Deacy first joined the band. The one interview he did during the 'News of the World' tour with Bob Harris.

I felt like at that moment my heart had stopped. My hands slowly covered my mouth in a prayer style while the corner of my eyes watered. And sure there were certain words that he said that still sounded American but—this was my brother. I....I was actually looking at my brother right now. They got it right.

By the end of it, Joe looked at me and his eyes grew concerned as he said.

"Did I screw up?" I stood up from my chair in silence. I then walked over to him and knelt down in front of him cupping his face. A wide smile spread across my face as I immediately hugged him and softly sobbed.

"You are my Deacy! My brother mine." I then felt him embrace me back and the two of us rocked side to side. I looked up to the heavens praying that Fred was looking down knowing he would've loved Joe playing his Deacy. "If you ever need any advice or help, I'm here for you. Promise me Joe Mazzello that you will come to me with anything regarding Deacy."

"I promise (y/n)." he still spoke with Deacy's accent which filled me with both sorrow and happiness.

We stayed that way for god knows how long. After composing myself, we left my trailer when one of the volunteers came up to us and said.

"Joe, they're ready to start filming the concert."

"Shall we go on?" I asked.

"Yes, let's." God he had my brother's quick wit already. He crooked his arm out which made me grin softly. I looped my arm through his and the two of us walked on towards the Live Aid stage.

I stood alongside Roger, Peter Freestone (Freddie's former assistant and the other consultant for the film) as well as Brian's youngest daughter Emily (who in every way was so much like her father from the hair to the smile).

"I think this will be a great shoot, don't you think (y/n)?" asked Peter.

"Indeed Pheebs. And I'm sure Freddie would've loved to have seen it."

"He would indeed." He said as he wrapped an arm around me and soon Brian came and stood beside us after being backstage with the young actors who then came out just as Queen did that day back in 85. When I saw the young actor playing our Freddie, I was already impressed.

Sure he was skinnier than Freddie was, but seeing him move about just as Freddie did it was like I was seeing Freddie right before my eyes. The boys got into position and soon began to perform the entire Live Aid concert.

Besides actually being there and seeing them perform from the wings that day over 30 years ago, this was about the greatest concert performance I had ever seen.

The boys in full costume had everything down. Gwilym channeled Brian's solo on Bohemian Rhapsody, Ben was pretty impressive on the drums, Joe had Deacy's rhythmic moves down, and the young man playing Freddie he—it was beyond what I could imagine. He wasn't just moving like Freddie, it was like he knew why Freddie would move a certain way to a song.

I was in awe cause it felt like I had actually traveled back in time and was watching Queen's most historical performance once again. I stood behind Brian and wrapped my arms around his shoulders leaning up against his head smiling from ear to ear, I felt Brian take one of my hands and gently patted it every now and then.

When the Aye-Oh's happened I could help but lowered my head and holding my laughs of joy. I swear when this is over, I need to talk to this new actor playing Freddie cause unlike Sacha, this was our Freddie. Soon Hammer to Fall came on and I couldn't help but bop my head along to the song.

I felt a tap at my shoulder and I turned to see Emily holding her phone out with the notes app open. In the app it read.

'Is this how you remember it Aunt (y/n)?' I walked towards her and gestured for me to have her phone. She handed it to me and I typed out.

'Everything and more. God I wish your cousin Kelly could've been here to see this as well as your uncle Jack. They would've loved it.' I showed her my message and she came up and wrapped her arms around my shoulders as the two of us smiled happily up at the stage.

When Hammer to Fall concluded, the extras and even me and team Queen applauded. I let out a loud whistle from the sidelines as I applauded and took pictures with my own phone to show Jack and the kids later. Now I recall that it was at this time the guys ended up surprising me and the world with our duet "Set it all free" instead of the planned 'Crazy Little thing called love'.

Now I've been skeptical about having a biopic film about me, even though I knew both Queen and Elton were starting theirs at the same time, hell one of the producers Dexter Fletcher is currently directing Elton's film 'Rocketman' as we speak right now. So I didn't know if they would plan to do Crazy little thing or if they'd go the set as it was all those years ago.

I got my answer however when Ben started to play the drum intro to my song.

"You guys didn't." I muttered.

"We wanted to be historically accurate with the Live Aid set." Brian started.

"So we cooked up a little surprise for you." Roger said. It was then I heard the actor playing Freddie began chanting out along with the audience "An-gel! An-gel! An-gel!" it was then I saw a young girl come out and—by god it was like looking at my younger self from that day.

She was dressed exactly how I was with a pregnant belly suit underneath her shirt. Her hair was designed the same way as mine was, everything just took me back. Instead of a playback that the Freddie actor was using for all the singing, this young woman was actually singing and she had a pretty good voice.

I continued to watch in awe as the young woman basically became me doing each step or movement I did that day on Live Aid. I felt Brian and Roger wrap their arms around me as I couldn't even take my eyes off the young woman up on stage. I could hear the extras singing out the lyrics, even some of the crew members were bopping their heads and singing along.

She walked across the stage at the second verse right towards the Freddie actor and just like Fred and I did, they stood forehead to forehead singing the duet before she walked back out and went back to center stage. When the guitar solo came on, my eyes turned to Gwilym and he amazed me that he actually could do my hard rock solo.

After the song was over, the crowd applauded and cheered and I turned to the guys and hugged them and whispered into their ears.

"If this is you guys way of trying to get me to sign onto a biopic film......I'm highly considering it after seeing her."

"We'll introduce you later." Said Roger as we separated from the hug and we turned our attention back to the guys as We Will Rock you now began playing. I couldn't help myself by stomp my feet to the rhythm and mouth out the words.

I was just amazed by not only Gwilym's guitar playing but also the young man who moved just like how I remembered seeing Freddie move, using the mic stand as Fred always did (the cheeky man), even the facial expressions that he made were exactly like they were.

It wasn't until when 'We are the champions' came on that I could barely hold my tears in. Seeing not only Fred's actor but my actor singing the famed Queen anthem that has literally been played in every victory sport or award winning singing competition.

Seeing the two of them interact with each other, it was pure nostalgia.

By the end of the song, tears welled up in my eyes and I looked toward the heavens hoping that Freddie could see this and running through my mind I already knew what he'd say.

"Amazing jobs my darlings, not as fabulous as me but very, very close." When the extras and even some crew members cheered, Brian, Roger, Peter, Emily and myself all applauded and cheered for the boys and that's when the director called cut.

"This.....is gonna be a great movie." I said.

"I think so too. After just seeing them come together like that, I think we've finally casted the right people to play us." Said Brian.

"I agree you two, I'm liking what I've just seen so far." Roger said.

"And—I'm sure he would've liked this too." I said solemnly. I felt Roger gently rub my back and Brian said.

"I know he would."

After a few more takes of filming the Live Aid concert, the director said that it was enough for today. I walked around the set to find the producer Graham King and when I approached him I asked him.

"Graham tell me, who's the young man you got to play Freddie?"

"Oh his name is Rami Malek. His recent project was a show called Mr. Robot."

"Ahh yes I've heard of that, my Freddie is obsessed with that show. Never misses an episode."

"When we were casting Freddie I happened to come across an episode and when I saw him I—just thought I was looking at Freddie. So we brought him in, he gave us a mock interview as well as an audition that your boys saw when they first met him. And from then on it just fell into place. Do you approve of him? Is there a problem Mrs. Kline?"

"Absolutely not. Do you know where I can find Rami at right now?"

"Probably in hair and makeup getting undressed."

"Well, when he is done would you be so kind as to bring him to my trailer?"

"Of course (y/n)." I nodded in gratitude and walked off to my trailer.

I sat there once again on the chair looking through an old photo album. Each picture held a deep and personal memory for me, I thought back to the day that each picture was taken and remembered exactly what was going on at that very moment.

A knock was soon heard at my trailer. I composed myself with a deep exhale and said.

"Come in." the door opened and there without costume or the tache was Rami Malek.

"Graham said you wanted to see me Mrs. Kline?"

"Yes Rami, love please come in." he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Take a seat." I gestured towards the couch. He sat right where Joe had sat down earlier this morning and I said. "Would you care for a biscuit, or as Americans call them cookies?"

"Uhh yes please." I smiled and handed him a tray of biscuits I always kept around me (hey a woman's gotta have her sweet tooth fix right?) and handed him my best plate of chocolate chip cookies (all thanks to my mother in law's secret recipe). He thanked me as he took one and took a bite out of it. "Mmm. Oh my god," he cleared his throat and closed his mouth before finishing the biscuit up. "This is so good."

"Thank you, it was my mother in law's secret recipe. She passed it onto me shortly before Kelly was born." He took another bite of it and swallowed that piece before saying as he set it down on a napkin that I had also provided.

"What-what was it you needed to see me for Mrs.—"

"Before we continue, I'll ask you to call me the same way I've asked the other three of the band to call me. Call me (y/n)."

"Yes of course, (y/n). What was it you wanted to see me for? Is it to talk about what you saw out there? Did I screw it up already?"

"No, no dear relax. This is nothing in the way you're thinking." I saw him take a sigh of relief.

"Oh good. Cause I know I obviously wasn't the first choice for the job."

"In my books Rami, you should've been the first one to be called for the role."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, but first there's a couple of questions that I want to ask you that Brian and Roger might not have asked you, and I want you to answer them as Freddie would've."

"Okay." I smiled softly and stood up from my seat as I set the phot album aside.

"Who is Queen not without?"

"That's easy. It's you darling. There's no Queen without their beloved Rock Angel, and no Rock Angel without her four aging Queens." I felt my heart clench at hearing Rami speak with a British tone. The softness of his voice almost sounded identical to Freddie's voice. I turned towards him and walked towards the kitchen area of my trailer.

"Who is it that you trust the most?"

"Mary. Mary is the one I trust the most. For she knows me like no one else ever will." I reached the kitchen and rested my hand against the island.

"Who are you?" Rami looked at me before finally answering something that would forever stun me.

"I've been asked that all my life. By my family, student peers, professors, the entire world. I've been told who I should strive to be but I say fuck what they say. They don't define me. No, I decided who I am. I'm going to be what I was born to be. A performer who gives the people what they want." He pointed towards the ceiling as he whispered, "touch of the heavens." He dropped his hand before finally answering, "Freddie Fucking Mercury."

My lips quivered and I ducked my head as tears began falling down my face for—god knows how many times right now.

"Oh (y/n) I—I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you cry, I—did I say something wrong?" Rami said urgently as he stood up and stood in front of me.

"No." I choked out. I sniffled and that's when he handed me a tissue. Oh ever the kind gentleman and concerned about my wellbeing, just like Freddie was. "No you—you've prove to me that you know just who Freddie truly was."

"Didn't want to be put in a certain category or be stereotyped." He said. I nodded as I wiped my tears with the tissue he had given me.

"For as long as I have known Freddie, especially to his last, various people have chosen one of two sides. There's the one side that the press made him out to be. The one that-that—bastard Cohen wanted to portray Freddie as. The wild, crazed, homosexual drug addict. That he deserved what he had gotten because he was so reckless and stupid. That AIDS was his form of suicide. Never did I want to punch and murder so many people. Every time I got asked about whether Freddie's death was his own fault, I just wanted to rip the interviewer apart."

"I can see why. I bet a lot of true fans and the people who knew Freddie well would've done what you've felt like doing."

"But people like you Rami, who understand that Freddie wasn't just a frontman or greatest performer to ever live. That he did come from a harsh background but rose above all the trials and tribulations that came his way to define himself as he sought out to be. That's why he was my biggest idol." I grabbed the photo album and sat down on the couch and opened it up taking out a picture that was always a favorite of mine.

It was a picture that Deacy took of Freddie and I together just after my very first performance as the Rock Angel at Madison Square Garden. Fred's arms wrapped around me as he had picked me up, huge wide smiles were spread across our faces. I felt a dip on my left side I looked up to see Rami sitting close beside me. He looked down at the picture before saying.

"Was this your first performance?"

"Yes. Out of four members of Queen, it was Freddie Mercury who truly believed that I could make a name for myself in the industry. Taught me everything there was into getting the self-confidence I needed to get up on that stage. Sure we had our ups and downs, but through all the falls we had, he never gave up on me. He gave up on no one that he loved. And Rami," we looked at each other and I told him the utmost truth, "If he were alive today, he would've loved you."

He smiled as I gently touched his cheek and the two of us looked through my photo album of every picture Freddie and I took throughout the 11 years I knew him.

At the end of the day, just before the four boys left to go hang out at a pub nearby, I stepped in and offered.

"Why not have dinner over at my place boys?"

"Oh we couldn't impose." Said Joe.

"Nonsense Joe, I insist and I won't take no for answer. Plus it'll be a more homely environment. You boys can't live on catering and pub foods for the next several months to a year. No I absolutely won't have it."

"Best go along with her boys, she got her persuasion from the best there was." Roger added in.

"Well—if you think it's a good idea." Said Gwilym.

"Of course it is. Now come on, you four can fit in my car. Let's go. Meet you there Brian and Roger?"

"We'll be right behind you love." Said Brian. I gestured the boys to follow me to my car. Ben sat up in the passenger seat, Joe sat behind him, Rami was in the middle and Gwilym sat behind me. I turned the engine on and told everyone to buckle up (mama instincts what can I say?) and we pulled out of the gate and I drove us on home.

"So (y/n), what other kind of music do you listen to?" asked Joe.

"Whatever song has a good voice and a good beat, with no autotune I will love. You can look through my Spotify and see what I have." Ben took my phone out of the phone holder and turned around as Joe took over the controls and went to my Spotify.

"Wow there are a lot of songs. And I thought you would've just stuck with what you grew up on."

"Unlike most rockstars like Roger who think everything after 1979 basically became trash music with the rise of pop or as they called it 'disco'. I'm a little more open minded. But I deny all songs that use explicit language every three words, degrading women, or promotes violence."

"You even got some old Christina Aguilera songs on here?" asked Rami.

"Who do you think helped produce her?"

"Shut the front door. You produced Christina Aguilera?"

"Yeah. I even gave her rights to a song that I wanted to do. But even singing it brought back some old wounds. So since I was helping her produce her album at the time, I turned to song over to her."

"What song was it?" asked Ben.

"Fighter."

"Shut up! That was literally my jam."

"I can attest to that. Throughout the filming of The Pacific, he would never shut that song off when getting into Eugene's character for certain episodes." Rami rose his hand.

"Yeah. I have an entire playlist of some songs I helped produce or make. You can play that playlist if you'd like. Or my typical playlist my boys best songs."

"I think in the light of our first day filming, we should go with Queen. What do you guys say?" Joe asked.

"Agree."

"Yep."

"Oh yeah."

"Aright then Joe, we'll each pick our favorite Queen song. You're up first little Tim." He grinned and scrolled through my playlist until Somebody to love came up on the speakers. "Read my mind Joseph." The piano began playing and that's when I vocalized alongside Freddie and the five of us began singing the song at the top of our lungs.

The entire car ride contained each of us picking our top favorite songs. Ben did 'White Queen' which I commended on him cause people nowadays tend to forget the old Queen songs, Gwilym picked Love of my Life, Rami chose Radio Gaga, and I, of course chose Bohemian Rhapsody.

Thanks to Wayne's world (yes I saw the movie and yes it was silly but just the opening scene alone made the movie worth watching) we basically did the same motion by motion that those boys did in the film when the operatic section came on. And of course when the headbanging rock out came on, the boys proceeded to bang their hands while I did mine not as aggressively (responsible driving kids!)

We continued to rock out to the song and it wasn't until by the end of the song that we soon arrived at my home. I pulled the car up into the garage and hit the clicker button which opened up the garage door and I pull inside just as the last line came up and Roger's gong rang off. I shut the engine and said.

"Here we are boys, welcome to casa de la Kline." We all exited out of my car and right behind us as scheduled were Brian and Roger with Bri getting out of the driver's seat. "Bout time you two got here, I was beginning to worry that I'd need to call in an ambulance."

"We're old dear, not dead." Roger sassed at me.

"But I still love you old coots. Just like I said all those years ago."

"That I do remember, the day right after you got so shitfaced after your 21st birthday. You remember that Brian?" Roger said.

"Indeed I do Rog, I even remember what we did to her to get her to apologize, think we need to do it again?"

"That might have to be arranged."

"Oh no you guys don't! We're not doing that now, now let's get inside before we all catch a cold." I guided them all inside. Once we stepped through the backdoor of the garage I could already smell something cooking, and I knew who exactly was cooking at this rate. "Baby! I'm home!" I called out from the hallway.

We turned the corner and soon came to the kitchen where a young man of 19 (going on 20 in a couple months) stood by the oven. He shut it off and turned around. He was every bit like his father when I first met him back in '83, but he had my eyes. When he saw me, he softly smiled and I came up to him.

"Sorry I didn't call in advance telling you that we would have more guests than your uncles."

"No worries mom. You know I've always cooked way more than I should." I smiled and cupped his face and we kissed each other's cheek. "Uncle Brian, uncle Roger."

"Hello Fred." Brian greeted.

"Hey lad, how's school been?"

"Oh you know, NYU's a challenge but I manage." He then directed his attention towards the young actors but when he eyes landed on Rami, he quickly grabbed my arm and whispered to me. "You didn't tell me you'd be bringing Rami Malek to our house!"

"Again slipped my mind." I teased him.

"Mom how dare you bring my celebrity crush here without telling me, look at me I'm a mess."

"Oh you're fine. Now best behavior." I wrapped an arm around my son and said. "Boys, this is my youngest son Freddie Mercury Kline. Fred, these are the boys that will be playing your uncles. This is Joe Mazzello, he'll be playing your uncle Deacy. Ben Hardy who's playing your old uncle Roger."

"Watch it lion cub." Rog warned me. I gave him a cheeky look before continuing the introductions.

"Gwilym Lee will be playing your uncle Brian, and you know Rami, he'll be playing the man you were named after."

"Uncle Freddie?"

"Yes. And—from what I've seen so far, you'll finally get to meet him through the screen."

"I don't doubt that. I'm a big fan of yours Rami, your role in Mr. Robot has been—amazing."

"I'm honored."

"Alright since we've all had a long day today, let's get some grub. Everyone grab a plate." I grabbed some extra plates from the cabinet and handed four plates out to the actors and we all assembled around the island to grab a piece of lasagna, peas, mashed potatoes with gravy and Hawaiian rolls.

Once we gathered around the table I set out the iced tea Jack had made a couple of days ago as well as some champagne or wine. "Okay guys, before we dig in I want all hands on deck." I extended my hand out.

Freddie immediately placed his hand on top of mine, Brian and Rog soon followed after and it was then Rami, Gwilym, Joe and finally Ben placed their hands on top.

"Thank you for this family, thank you for this meal. Thank you for this day. It'll be a wild ride, but I feel this movie will soar, and—that this new family will forever stay." I said ending the traditional family prayer. The young actors looked at me with warm eyes and soft smiles.

"Alright, let's dig in. You boys will never eat the same way again once you taste (y/n)'s cooking." Roger said.

"That bad?" joked Joe. I gawked at the young cheeky actor.

"On the contrary she's the best chief on this side of London. Even when she was an intern she made us this one Christmas pudding that was to die for." Brian spoke on my behalf.

"It's true. She put all the other PTA mom's to shame when it came to my school's bake sales." Freddie said as he took a bite of his lasagna.

The entire dinner was filled with talks about our lives, stories and embarrassing moments in life. Not a single person was excluded from a conversation. After dinner, Rami and Gwilym helped Freddie with the dishes while I got some other scrapbooks out and bonded a bit with Ben and Joe about my time with Rog and Deacy.

"Now this Joe was taken during my first Japan tour. At the very garden where Queen went to near the Tokyo tower, Deacy refused to let me leave without having a cherry blossom crown."

"He seems to be doing good in the picture."

"Except one twig got so tangled in my hair it literally took 15 minutes just to get it out." We both laughed before I turned the page and found a great picture of me and Roger. "Now this picture Ben, both Roger and I have this picture, this was taken after my first Hyde Park performance."

"She performed to an audience of half of what Queen did when we performed at Hyde Park." Roger spoke.

"She could've performed for more but times changed and better security measure for the public's safety prevented it from happening again." Brian added.

"One thing's for sure, I was damn well proud of her for performing at her biggest crowd at the time just barely two years into her career." Roger spoke again. I looked up and winked at him.

"You guys really do have that father-daughter bond don't you?" Joe said.

"Have ever since she gave me the real 1 and 3/7th's sugar."

"It wasn't until Brian told me the next day that Roger just says that to pull people's leg. God I felt embarrassed after that."

"Aww lovie, but it was due to that I became your favorite. And I don't regret it as I'm sure you don't."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." As Gwilym, Rami and Freddie came back in I continued going through the scrapbook sharing my photos of my days with Queen with the boys, and allowing Freddie to finally hear all the stories that he was denied cause of my grief.

As the night got darker and darker, the young actors at this moment were so full of food and exhausted from a long day's filming they actually passed out along my living room. Joe and Ben cuddled up on the couch, Rami asleep on the recliner, while Gwilym was curled up along the loveseat.

Meanwhile I was watching over them and couldn't help but think it was like seeing my boys all over again. I remember back when I was still an intern and would see the guys all passed out whether at Freddie's parties or in the studio, I always had to provide the guys comfort (which I never minded). So seeing these four young men passed out just brought me a sense of nostalgia.

"I got the spare blankets mom."

"Thank you dear. Your uncles tucked in the spare bedrooms?"

"Uncle Brian's in the room across yours and dad's and uncle Roger is in Georgie's old room."

"Good boy." I then proceeded to cover up and adjust the young actors. I wrapped both Joe and Ben in the same blanket and closed Joe's mouth gently so that he wouldn't drool in his sleep, followed by giving them each a soft kiss goodnight. Without trying to wake him up, I uncurled Gwilym from his pretzel position and covered him up.

I gingerly stroked through his hair before placing a soft kiss to his temple. He groaned and lifted his head up which allowed me to place a pillow underneath him. He hummed in content as he snuggled into it. I then went over to Rami and adjusted the seat so that he would be more comfortable. Pressing the button on our automatic recliner, his legs slowly rose up before finally stopping in full recliner mode.

I tucked him in while looking down at him. God even without the tache it was like looking at Freddie from when I first met him in person at a concert, long before I became an intern. I gently kissed his cheek before faintly stroking his cheek.

Sitting outside along the deck, Freddie and I were looking up at the stars.

"So you think this movie's gonna be a hit?"

"Critics are always hard to please, no matter if it's music or movies. From what I've read of the script yes there's misinformation but that's why it's called a biopic. There's some truth but it's the touch of Hollywood in order to make the film not a boring documentary. But those four boys, they are just how I remember your uncles being when I not only worked with them, but grew up with them hearing their music."

"I wish I had gotten the chance to meet uncle Freddie." Fred said after a brief moment of silence. I turned to him to see him looking down sadly.

"So do I love. He would've loved you as much as he did your brothers and sister. And he would've been over the moon had he found that I had named you after him." I brought my baby close and he wrapped his arms around me as we both looked up at the moon and the stars together.

The star right by the moon glowed the brightest, the very same star that shined just as bright the night after the tribute concert we did back in '92. I couldn't help as a tear slid down my face and a smile spread across my face.

I knew that it was Freddie's star, telling me that he was watching us and that he was proud.

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

Part 6 of Jimercury Kid series

‘I still think Brian is being unreasonable.’ Freddie complained as he lifted his head briefly from Jim’s lap to take a sip from his teacup. ‘The song already has a guitar solo in it, I don’t see why we need another one right at the end.’

‘I completely agree.’ Jim replied, though he wasn’t really listening. The family had taken up residence in the lounge, Freddie ranting away on Jim’s lap from their spot on the sofa while Khaleel sat on the floor with his toys, the cats occasionally wandering through the open doors in search of affection.

It had taken a little while for the cats to grow accustomed to sharing their space with the latest addition to the family; up until Khaleel’s arrival, they had always been Freddie’s children and the singer was concerned that Khaleel’s presence might be perceived by his beloved felines as some sort of a betrayal. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry; most of them took to the little boy almost immediately, particularly Delilah, who would always run to greet him whenever he entered the room and weave herself between his short legs to steal all the attention. Even the brutish Romeo was a complete softie around the toddler, allowing Khaleel to feed him treats and rub his belly without so much as a hiss.

The only one who gave the kid a wide berth was Goliath, but it was nothing personal. He hated all children.

Miko was currently curled up on the rug beside Khaleel, as he played around with the miniature train set Jim had made for him, making soft chugga-chugga-chugga noises under his breath. When he noticed the tortoiseshell stirring from her nap, he reached over and gently petted her with his small hand, smiling as she stood up and arched her back in response to his touch. However, when she started to walk away, Khaleel was upset; he wanted Miko to stay and play with him! Before she could leave, he grabbed onto her tail and gave it a hard tug, trying to get her to come back.

Miko immediately yowled, causing Freddie and Jim to leap out of their skin, Freddie narrowly avoiding spilling his tea all over himself. Before they even realised what was happening, Miko had launched herself into Jim’s arms, ears flat back against her head as she mewled in pain, hiding her face in his shirt.

‘What on earth?’ Freddie cried, looking over at Khaleel whose eyes were wide as saucers. ‘Kenny, what happened?’

Khaleel’s bottom lip quivered, ‘I-I touched Miko’s tail, a-and she screamed.’

Jim glanced at Freddie, still stroking Miko softly in an effort to calm her. It didn’t take long for them to put two and two together.

‘Khaleel, come here.’ Freddie said quietly, setting his tea aside. When he noticed the worried look on Khaleel’s face, he added, ‘Bijou, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble.’

Hearing his nickname, Khaleel visibly relaxed and toddled over, letting Freddie scoop him up and set him on his lap.

‘You have to be very gentle with the kitties, Khaleel.’ Freddie explained. ‘You can’t pull their tails because it will hurt them. You wouldn’t like it if someone pulled your arm, would you?’

Khaleel shook his head vigorously.

‘Here.’ Freddie took his son’s hand and moved it over to Miko’s fur, guiding it up and down in a light stroke. ‘See? You have to be nice and gentle.’

He released Khaleel’s hand to let him stroke on his own and eventually Miko moved her face away from Jim’s chest, letting out a few hollow purrs.

‘That’s perfect, sweetheart.’ Jim smiled. ‘Nice and gentle.’

Awwwwww I was waiting for an interaction between Khaleel and the Cats of Garden Lodge. And lmao, I can imagine Goliath hating all children. He's... Goliath. Lol.

This may seem like a minor thing, but Khaleel making train noises in his lil baby voice is so cute😭 And oof, Freddie and Jim teaching their baby how to interact with their other babies is such a heartwarming image. My heart is going to explode😭💙

This was so lovely! Also, I hope you're feeling better, my dear🧡

(More drabbles by writer anon)

[melancholyblues0]

𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊

𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒 : 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝓎

brian may x reader series

warnings : swearing, alcohol, future chapters will have smut so... be aware of that ig lol. like tiniest mention of weed

a/n : thinking of making this a bit of a series but we’ll see ? i also have a heavy week of exams next week but i am free from school for like three months (yay fucking hey) so i’ll try to prepare a second chapter because we all know i won’t revise lol. also loosely based off of a roger taylor x reader fic i read a while ago ! i can’t remember the name/author, but if i find it again i’ll tag the author. all characters are mine, aside from brian may/anita. thank you for reading ! this is set in 1994, and freddie doesn’t die/ john doesn’t retire because we’re not gonna deal with that kettle of fish in this fic.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

it wasn't raining today, surprisingly. it wasn't as if it was unusual for the uk - it was always like this - rain, and then a week straight of blazing hot sun. you could even say you'd grown to love it. you'd enjoyed playing with little anya colston the day before, the thirteen year old who lived next to your parents. you'd been in the pool her parents owned, when you heard of a new couple moving in two doors down. rumours had gone round of the husband being famous, but for what you nor anya knew. you both just hoped they wouldn't be as dull and empty as the other adults were (something you and anya had bonded over - your mutual hatred for prissy adults).

~~~

"y/n, darling, please hurry up. you know your father and i don't want to be late." your mother called up the stairs, watching as y/n slid down the bannister. "and the countless times you've slid down the bloody bannister. you'll break your neck one day." she added, sighing as she gave you a once over. "where's xavier ? xavier, hurry up !" she called, and the heavy footsteps of her older brother sounded above them. "why is he always allowed to be the last one out, but i get a bollocking if i am ?" y/n groaned, sitting on the step. "because, you know how xavier's like." your mother said, sighing as xavier finally made an appearance. you huffed as she stood up, and stalked towards the door, xavier not far behind you. 

the second the family entered the maybank home, your mother made a beeline for the champagne flutes on the breakfast bar; your father to the men outside (also where more alcohol was), and xavier followed suit, albeit reluctantly. and although you could think of nothing worse than talking to the women, you followed your mother - entirely for the champagne. "y/n ! how are your a levels going ?" diane asked, peering at you over her wine glass. "i think she's doing alright - she did drop literature for psychology, but i suppose it's better than what she could've chosen." your mother smiled patronisingly. "oh ! darling, this is anita - she's just moved in." diane smiled, gesturing to the woman next to her. you had to admit, she was beautiful. and even better, she didn't share the same patronising smile your mother and the other women donned constantly. "it's nice to meet you, anita." you smiled, taking a sip from your flute. "not too much, sweetheart," your mother said. always the one to take the fun out of everything - and what was the point in not being able to drink; these gatherings were hardly tolerable sober, and you were seventeen. "i'm gonna go find the kids." you muttered, snatching your glass from the table. 

soon enough, you found three girls, only a few years younger than you, sat by the pool. "y/n ! c'mere !" anya called, waving her hand. you made your way to the girls, and anya introduced you - louise was the older girl, recently turned fifteen, and emily the younger, was ten. they were the daughters of the new family, so you and anya made sure to give them the run down on who was who. dominique and otis rains, your own parents; they only had you and xavier. diane and emanual colston were anya's parents (admittedly the least snobby), and had anya and carlson, who was louise's age. then there was adrianna and henry maybank, who had mina (the only girl your age, but after her parents found the pot you frequently smoked under her bed, they sent her to boarding school somewhere out west in the country). florence and alistair bohr (florence was the youngest and prettiest, but the one who tried the hardest. alistair was a sixty - something year old ceo. in your eyes, a perfect match). then finally, there was louise and emily's parents, anita and brian may. they said they also had an older brother, jimmy, who, when you looked over, looked deep in conversation with xavier. the girls appeared to sound equally as disdained by the adult snobbery as you and anya were (mina also - speaking of, it was a shame she wasn't here. you thought she'd broken up from school by now). you warned the girls of the sunday brunches too. it was either you tired yourself out by playing tennis, or you drinking sangria's and champagne with the women, who all ogled the fit male tennis players and bartenders, and seemingly had endless shit to talk.

you glanced up at the men - the very people you found trying to avoid at all costs, but you were curious as to who this brian was. you could've sworn you recognised his name, but from where you couldn't recall. as you scanned the group, you noticed an unfamiliar mop of curly hair - in which became familiar to you very quickly. how could you not know ? that was when the memories of your poster clad walls, concerts that left you and mina with sore throats, and various records with those four faces adorned across the front strewn across your bedroom floor rushed back. "one second." you murmured to the girls, as you got up, and dusted off your skirt, making a beeline towards the group in a spurt of confidence. 

"y/n ! i was wondering how you had been with those women for so long, i didn't see you leave. this is brian, our knew neighbour." your father smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "my youngest, y/n." your father grinned to brian, and you looked up at him. and christ, you knew he was tall, but he was a bloody giant. "i think what my father really means is that it'll be nice for another man around. he's getting bored of these three dinosaurs." you grinned, the same cheeky grin you'd inherited from your father. "glad to know you don't seem like the others." he laughed, shaking your outstretched hand. "god no, i like to think i taught her better than to end up like those women. in secret, of course, the missus would slaughter me." your father laughed, the others following suit. but you liked the look of brian, a lot. more than you should, but who could blame you ?  you'd practically been in love with the man since you were twelve. not that you would tell him of course. and then you heard the squeal, one you'd known all your life - mina was here. "i'll be back." you smiled uneasily, and rushed inside to find the tall brunette in the doorway. "get here you silly bitch !" she shouted, barrelling into you, tackling you to the ground. "language, mina." adrianna sighed, tossing the keys onto the shelf near the door. she too, like your mother had, rushed to the wine and the women. she needed a drink, after picking up her spritely daughter and managing to cope for a two hour car ride. you and mina rushed upstairs into her bedroom, and you slammed the door behind you. "right, do not freak out. we have new neighbours." you began, looking at mina's flushed face. "and ?" she asked,

"it's brian may."

"it's who, now ?"

"brian may."

"brian may ? the new - new - new guitar guy ? the man we've been gushing over since before we had tits ?"

"yeah, that's the guy."

mina laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "good god. glad you haven't pounced him yet. if it was roger, i know i would've." she smirked, making sideways glances to her own queen poster above her bed - that had been signed by every member during their '86 tour. "well, not only is his wife and three kids downstairs, he was bombarded by males. shame, really." you joked. 

"kids ?" she gasped, hopeful they were like anya. 

"thankfully, louise and emily are exactly like anya." you smiled. 

"i'll finish this later. i wanna meet the newbies." she wiggled her eyebrows, running out of her room, with you tow.

[briyourmotherdown]

Give It All For You, Part 1 (Brian May x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 10.45k 

Warnings: Strong language (I’m British, it’s to be expected), slight innuendos???, possible historical inaccuracy, ANGST. 

Description: You have loved Brian May since the first time you met him. Trouble is, he’s nearly impossible to tie down, and you’ve become cemented in the role of the best friend. 

A/N: Okay so I’ve been working on this little mini-series for months. Literally too long. It’s still not even done, BUT I wanted to get the first part out at leAST. Uni and life have made finding creative inspiration a major struggle as of late. I think there will probably be around 3 parts to this?? I’m not quite sure yet, it could be a couple more if I find the motivation. BUT ANYWAY I really hope you enjoy it even though it’s angsty and I can’t write ajdgsdbskjbkdhgs. 

Spring, 1977

 “C’mon,” you slur,  your red dress shimmering in the dim lights of the local pub, “dance with me.”

  The bass is heavy in your chest and you feel alcohol coursing through your veins, but you’re only intoxicated by the man in front of you. His eyes glimmer like stars, hooded, sizing you up before shaking his head with a laugh.

  “You’re drunk.”

 “So are you.” you push yourself further into him in an attempt to push him onto the dancefloor, but more of a reason for you to get closer to him, to feel him.

  “But you’re plastered.”

 You roll your eyes, “Isn’t that the whole point?”

 He rolls his eyes right back, wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you, “Fine, one dance.”

  His hazel eyes are hooded, focussed solely on you, and you bask in his gaze. His hands on your body send electric shocks over your skin, and you tell yourself over and over that he doesn’t feel the same; he is only your good friend. That’s all you will ever be to him.

 “Is that how you ask a lady to dance?” you tease, cocking a brow.

 “You asked me!” Brian laughs, amused, “Alright, m’lady, may I have this dance?”

 He holds his hand out to you, dipping his head like a gentleman, and you take a moment to take a mental snapshot before accepting his hand, tugging him into the centre of the pub to dance.

  So you both danced, and for that night, just for that night with his hands on your hips, you could almost pretend that he was yours. And as he stared into your eyes, you let yourself fall into that false sense of security of imagined love.

   But let’s start from the beginning, from the moment you met on a cold winter’s night in 1972...

  “Christ, it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here,”

  Your best friend, Freddie, shivers as he hops up and down to warm himself up, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and jaw,

  “Why did you want to open up the stall today, of all days? Even that old git Brutus has closed up shop.”

  You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shuffling the secondhand clothes on their hangers, “I need the money, that’s why. I’m about to be homeless if I can’t pay my rent.”

  Freddie hums, kicking a stray pebble on the floor, “You know, my friend has a spare room in his flat he’s trying to fill. He needs some extra money too. I’m sure he’d offer you the room for cheap.”

  “Which friend?”

  “His name is Brian, Brian May.”

  “Ah,” you wave your hand in recognition, remembering his name being brought up a few times, “the guitarist one, yeah?”

  “That’d be the one! I think you’d like him, actually-”

  “Like who?” your other friend and coworker, this one much more blonde, chimes in as he strides into the small stall, very much late. Roger.

  “Brian.” Freddie answers.

 “Oh yeah, she’d definitely like him.”

  You shoot them both a look, “And what makes you say that?”

  Roger holds up a fringed kimono up to himself in the mirror, “He’s quiet, reads a lot, likes the stars; basically a total nerd. You’d love him.”

  “And he always wears matching socks. It’s bizarre, he literally has a thing about matching socks.” Freddie adds.

  You chuckle, “And when will I get to meet this nerd?”

 “Well, tonight. We have a gig.”

 “Hm,” you pretend to think, “I’ll have to clear a few things from my schedule…”

  Roger nudges you with his shoulder, knocking you slightly off balance,

 “Alright, alright! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Later that evening you meet your friends at the pub where they're playing for the night. It’s a dingy dive that you never would usually go, but you’d do anything to support your friends on their journey to success.

  You’re dressed up all pretty in your flares and platforms, leaning up against the bar as you wait for Queen’s set to begin. Though the weather outside is freezing, the inside of a pub is always hot, air thick with the scent of ale and sweat, but the moment Queen steps on stage, it’s easy to forget your surroundings. You’d heard Freddie sing, and you’d certainly heard Roger crash about on his drums, but you’d never seen them like this.

  They were magnetic. You were all absorbed. Freddie’s outfit caught the light each time he flounced across the stage, but his voice was what captured everyones attention. He was full of passion and power; he owned the audience, he could control everyone with one simple snap of his fingers.

  Roger was his usual self, exuding sex-appeal and confidence. Girls fawned over his long blonde locks and plushy lips. The thing about Roger was that he was the total package of beauty and intelligence, that is if you could tie him down.

  You’d never met the bassist, John, you think his name was, but he managed to capture your attention in the most unsuspecting way. He was all shyness and modesty, but not radiating an ounce of hesitancy. You can tell, even at first glance, that he would be the perfect fit for Queen. He would bring balance.

 That leaves one final member, the oh-so nerdy space loving boy who Freddie and Roger believe you would adore. But he doesn’t look so nerdy when you see him. He’s pure mystery, almost as though he’s surrounded by a navy blue mist, an aura- or something ethereal. He’s breathtaking, is all you can think. Long legs adorned in velvet, dark curls fall in front of his eyes as he looks down at his guitar. He’s focussed, bottom lip jutting out in concentration, but he takes a moment to glance up. That’s when you know you’re done for. He scans the pub, small enough to make out everyone’s face, and his eyes land on yours. It’s fleeting, but you can swear they linger. Maybe that’s just what you want to tell yourself. Suddenly you want to feel his eyes on you all the time. You want to be in his daydreams, in his thoughts, you want to be his muse.

  You float through the rest of their set, eyes glued to Brian as he plays expertly. You sway to each song, ignoring your surroundings and focussing solely on the music, and when it’s over, you cheer as loudly as you can.

  “I want to have your children, Roger!” you scream, bursting into a fit of giggles as the blonde scans over the room to see the source of the scream, and upon seeing you, chucks up his middle finger with a laugh.

  You make your way to the small stage, well, it’s more of a two feet high platform, and open your arms up widely to Freddie.

  “You,” you tackle him into a hug, “were fucking incredible! You’ve been hiding this side of yourself from me for how long?”

  He blushes, returning to the Freddie you know, “You must have brought it out of me, love,” he turns to the rest of the band, “Y/N, this is John Deacon, isn’t he lovely?”

 Freddie gestures to the bassist as he smiles shyly, offering you a wave and a small, “Hello.”

  “You were amazing out there, seriously!” you compliment him, and he blushes, though his smile widens.

  “Now, darling, this is Brian May!”

  Upon hearing his name, Brian looks up from where he is putting away his guitar, standing up straight and brushing his hands off against his trousers.

  “Brian, this is Y/N, she hangs around Roger and I sometimes.” Freddie shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes.

  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” you reach a hand out to shake, which you so usually wouldn’t do, and it sends embarrassment right through you. But to your luck, he takes his hand in yours with no hesitation.

  “Likewise,” he smiles, still shaking your hand, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Oh God.

  “All good things I hope?” you realise you’re still holding his hand and let go, letting your hand sit awkwardly at your side.

  Jesus, you’re so nervous.

  “Mostly.” He winks, and it sends you reeling. His eyes are dangerous, and they travel up and down your figure in a way that sets you alight.

  It goes quiet as you stare at each other, Freddie glancing between you two with his eyebrows raised. Though he says nothing about it. Instead, he claps his hands,

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink!”

  1977

  The next morning, you suffer through your pounding headache, wanting to just wallow in your loneliness.  

  Of course, Brian went home with someone else last night, sneaking away through the back door to avoid flashing cameras and prying eyes, leaving you to call yourself a taxi back home, where you cried for an hour before passing out.

  It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it still makes you feel pathetic every time.

  There’s a knock on your door, and you heave yourself out of bed despite the spinning in your head and the nausea churning in your stomach. Whoever is at the door will just have to deal with your dishevelled appearance.

  “Y/N? Jesus, you look like hell.”

  Alas, the infamous Roger Taylor stands on your doorstep, mouth agape at your messy hair and leftover smudged makeup.

  “I’ll slam this fucking door in your face, Taylor.”

  “Hostile,” he laughs, hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve just come to pick you up for lunch, or have you forgotten?”

  Feeling like a total ass, you smack your hand to your forehead, “Shit, Rog, I’m so sorry. Come in.”

  He follows you into your flat, eyes scanning over the slight mess. He turns to you, concerned; you’re not usually one to let your flat get so messy.

 “We don’t have to go, Y/N, we can reschedule, it’s not a problem.”

 You scrunch up your face, searching the kitchen for a glass of water and ibuprofen,

 “No, no, I want to go, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

 “Long night?” He teases, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter to stare at you.

  Shooting him a glare, you slide passed him and into your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. Roger follows you,  leaning against the doorframe.

  “You know, I think you owe me an explanation as to why you forgot about our lunch date, and threatened me.”

  Clicking your tongue, you turn to him, “I went to a pub with Brian last night, got plastered, now I’m hungover. Simple as that.”

  He raises his eyebrows, almost knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“No need to be so sassy with me, I'm only asking.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry,” he smiles, “now get out, I have to piss.”

You slam the door and hear him laugh from the other side, “What a lady!”

 “Bugger off!”

  Finally feeling human again after cleaning up and getting dressed, you slide a massive pair of dark sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and head out to where Roger parked his car.

  “Ready, princess?”

 You shoot him a sickly sweet smile, “You act as if being called princess bothers me.”

  Roger laughs, starting the engine and getting into gear, “You got me there.”

  The drive to your local favourite cafe is short, a totally walkable distance if you didn’t feel like death warmed up. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until pulling into a parking space, when Roger turns to look at you once again. Your head is pressed against the window, eyes closed beneath your sunglasses, lips slightly parted as you take careful breaths to avoid nausea.

  “Christ, love, you really do look like shit,” he chuckles softly, a hint of concern laced in his insult, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  With one look at him, tears well up in your eyes against your will, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Roger’s eyes widen, and in an instant, you’re pulled into his arms over the console as you begin to cry. He shushes you softly, one hand running up and down your back,

  “Shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” you’re thankful for having such a good friend like Roger, especially when he puts up with your hungover mood swings. However, you must look like an absolute trainwreck with your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, “Let’s go inside and get some food and a cup of tea down you, yeah? Then if you like, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

  You nod, sniffling and wiping away your tears on the back of your hand. Roger jumps out of the car and rushes to the passenger side, where like an angel, he walks you into the cafe with a hand on your back.

  You attract a few disparaging stares when you both sit down at a table, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. Roger, now across from you, looks puzzled, “What’re you laughing about, hey?”

  “Everyone’s staring.”

  He scans the room indiscreetly, a smile taking over his features, “God, they are, aren’t they? Haven’t they ever seen a hungover girl crying before?”

  You scoff, “Bugger off, they’re obviously staring at your trainers.”

  He gasps, looking underneath the table to examine his sparkly pink converse, “What have you got against my trainers?”

  “Me? Nothing. But a bunch of elederly ladies out for lunch might. I’m sure they think your hair is a disgrace too. You should cut your hair like McCartney had it at the start of The Beatles.”

  Roger scoffs, pulling out a cigarette, “Yeah right. Been there, done that.”

  As Roger lights up a smoke, you look at the menu set out in front of you, deciding on something that won’t aggravate your fragile stomach. Then you proceed to give Roger puppy dog eyes until you persuade him to be the one to go up and order it.

  When he’s gone, you take a moment to think over what you and Roger must really look like to some people. Roger, all bleach blonde hair, brightly coloured clothing and a smirk that could make even a nun go mad. And you, puffy eyed, sunglasses indoors, in an oversized button-up shirt that you’d definitely stolen from one of the boys at some point. You both probably were the most exciting things that some of these people had seen in awhile. Something new to gossip about.

  A glass of water is set in front of you by the one and only roger, while he sips tenderly at a cup of sweet coffee, “Drink.” he commands.

  “But I ordered coffee,” you pout like a child, “You’re kicking me when I’m down here, Rog.”

  He rolls his eyes, “Coffee doesn’t help hangovers, love. Drink up.”

  You frown but nonetheless begin sipping in silence, tapping your nails against the table as Roger stares at you, “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re going to tell me what got you so upset earlier?”

  You let out a sigh, long and weary, fiddling with an opened sugar packet, “Would you believe me if I said that it was just hormones?”

 “Not in the slightest.”

 You let out a short laugh through your nose, “I just let myself get heartbroken again, that’s all.”

  Roger pretends to choke on his coffee, spluttering dramatically and ignoring all the stares that he attracted, “Someone managed to break Y/N’s cold, dead, heart?”

  “If you were quiet for a moment you’d notice I’m not laughing.” You roll your eyes at him.

  Noticing your demeanour, he quiets down and leans in close to you, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you never let yourself get to the point of being able to be heartbroken,” he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, “you know, you told me about a year ago that love doesn’t exist, and dating is just a trial period until you decide that maybe you can put up with that person for the rest of your life.”

   “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did, word for word.”

  You stay silent, but your top lip twitches into a smile- it does sound like something you’d say.

  “Anyway,” Roger continues, “who broke your heart? I’ll rough 'em up a bit.”

  “Surely you couldn’t rough up a member of your own band.” You speak under your breath, arms crossed, but Roger hears you.

  “I knew it!” He shouts, and you kick him underneath the table, “sorry,” he blushes, “I just knew it. I had a feeling you were in love with Brian.”

  Your eyes widen, “I’m not in love with him!”

 Roger smirks, “So it is Brian, then?”

 Your jaw drops at his trick, “You bloody asshole.”

  He sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face, coffee cup in hand, “So, tell me about it.”

  You scoff, “You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?”

  “You love me all the same.”

  You roll your eyes for the thousandth time, as you always seem to do around Roger. You stare at him, arms crossed in silent defiance and attempt to communicate with your eyes ‘I’m not going to tell you because you were a dick.’

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms to place his elbows on the table, “Come on, I’m sorry! Please tell me what happened?”

  A server comes over with your breakfast, allowing you to torture Roger for a few moments more as you chew a bite slowly. After you swallow, you finally sigh, “Fine. Ask me what you want to know.”

  Roger’s eyes light up, “How long have you loved-” he stops when you gives him the eye, “liked, him?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “Bloody hell, Y/N.”

  “I know! I know. It’s not good. Trust me I’ve tried to get over it.”

  “And you’ve never told him how you feel?”

  You scoff, “Of course not, that’s suicide.”

  “Why?”

  You put down your fork, finishing your mouthful of food, “You act like you haven’t seen the way Brian is,”

  Roger stays silent, waiting for you to continue, “He’s so…elusive. His shyness and sensitivity make him a real fucking magnet if you haven’t noticed. And he has this thing where he needs to constantly be pining after someone, and it’s just never been me.”

  You take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the rim of your glass, “He’s just not interested in me as more than his best friend, and I think that’s okay.”

  “Why do you think that’s okay?” Roger asks softly.

  “Because if I don’t accept that, then I won’t have Brian in my life at all. And that’s worse than the heartache.”

  Roger is silent, looking at you with sad eyes, but they don’t hold an ounce of pity. That’s something you love about him, he never pities you for feeling any sort of way, he’s just there to listen.

  “Well fuck, I can see why you got plastered last night.”

  You laugh, thankful for him shifting the mood to something more lighthearted.

  After lunch, Roger drops you off back at your flat, but not without a comforting pat on the top of your head and a promise to go for a drink soon.

  You smile to yourself as you fish your key out from your bag, twisting the lock and stepping inside.

  “Y/N.”

  You squeal, whipping around to see a lean figure standing up from your sofa, “Bloody fuck- Brian, what are you doing here?”

  Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, partly from being scared half to death, partly because Brian looks so good in a hoodie. He doesn’t often wear cosy clothes anymore since Queen gained more fame. Seeing him looking all soft in a navy blue hoodie makes your heart flutter. It reminds you of the times when you had first met. The both of you snuggled up underneath layers of blankets in his dingy flat when the heating broke (which was often), drinking copious amounts of tea and emptying his kitchen of all his food.

  “You gave me a key.” He scratches the back of his neck. Yeah, he knows he’s guilty.

 “I would have appreciated it if you’d rung me first.”

 Annoyance settles in as you remember last night, when he ditched you at the pub and left you to get a taxi home. If anything, he owes you the fare.

  “I did, you didn’t pick up and I got worried.”

  “I was out.”

  “I can see that now.”

   The room falls silent, Brian rocking back and forth on his heels. You cross your arms, waiting for him to speak. To explain himself.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that last night. I was drunk-”

  “So was I.”

  “I’m-” he stops, sighing, “I’m really, really sorry. I’m a total prick…” he fades off as if he’s lost in thought, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and eyes worried. He looks genuinely troubled, as if he is really upset that he ended up ditching you.

  Against your better judgment, you sigh and uncross your arms, voice softening up, “Look, just don’t do it again, okay? It puts me in a really bad spot.”

  His eyes brighten at your acceptance, rushing over to give you a hug. You stand stiff as a board when his arms wrap around you, head nestled against your neck. Your pulse races, but you know better than to view this in any other way than just a friendly hug. You wrap your arms around him anyway, closing your eyes and just for a moment, pretending it is otherwise.

  “I want to make it up to you,” his voice is muffled against your shoulder, but he doesn’t dare let go, “I packed us a picnic, let’s go to the park. You can feed the ducks.”

  You pause, eyes opening and closing as you take breaths. You battle against yourself. Could you manage doing such an activity with Brian? One that feels like a date? Of course you can. Don’t be silly. He’s your best friend, how could you be casting his feelings to the side because of your own?

  “Can I feed the pigeons too?”

  He laughs, gripping your frame tighter, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Then you’re back in his car, a newer one, different from the cheap beat up one he had when you had first met. But still, it’s familiar, the scent of him mixed with leather. A basket and a blanket sits in his backseat, bringing a small smile to your face. This is the side of Brian you cherish the most. The side of him that cares so deeply for his friends. You’re not even sure if you could call it a ‘side’ of him. It’s just the way he is. He doesn’t ever intend to hurt or upset you. Suddenly, you feel guilty for being upset with him. He doesn’t owe you anything, he has every right to go home with other women.

  “So, where did you go earlier?” Brian asks, one hand on the wheel as he glances over at you and then back at the road.

  “I went out for lunch with Roger,” you smile at his side profile, the way his hair moves against the breeze through his open window, the way his nose hooks ever so slightly, “he nursed my hangover.”

  Brian’s lips seem to flick into a frown, but shift back into a smile before you could really register it, “Seems as though I’ve been replaced.”

 You roll your eyes, “No one nurses my hangovers as well as you do, Bri, don’t worry.”

 You giggle fondly at the memories of the both of you nursing each other through your hangovers, Brian always better at dealing with them than you were. He’d be up bright and early, pop two ibuprofen, down a cup of coffee and be well on his way to recovery. Whereas you’d sleep until noon and be unbelievably moody until eventually someone forced you to do something with your day.

  Brain somehow always knew how to pull you out of those moods, though, whether it be bringing you a plate of pancakes and cracking stupid jokes until eventually you had no choice but to laugh, or by sitting with you in silence and pushing a glass of water and painkillers in your direction. He just always seemed to know exactly what you needed in the moment.

  “I’d hope not,” he tuts, “otherwise I’d have to find another hobby, and I quite like taking care of you.”

  Your breath catches, skin burning, but you play it off with a scoff, “You make me sound like a child.”

  He laughs, a bellowing laugh that you always love to hear, “A child? Certainly not. Children swear a hell of a lot less.”

  “Fuck off!” you swat his shoulder lightly but can’t help your grin. It feels good to fall back into the rhythm of normalcy with Brian.

  The sun is high when you reach the park, the sky a bright blue except for a few sparse clouds. The two of you walk silently to the pond, laying out the blanket on a soft patch of grass.

  “I know you already ate,” Brian says as he sits down on the blanket, “but I bought a packet of custard creams because I know you like them.”

  The small gesture makes you embarrassingly happy, grinning at him as he passes you the packet, “You can never be too full for biscuits, you know that.”

  “Very true,” he smiles at you almost in adoration, you think, “I also got a bag of bird seed because people still feed the ducks bloody bread.”

  You hum as you bite into a custard cream, staring into space as you get lost in thought. Spring weather in London is one of your favourites, when the sun shines just enough to warm your skin, but you still have to cosy up a bit. And today,  it’s the perfect temperature for a picnic.

  “Hey, so I was thinking,” Brian begins, opening up a sandwich for himself and taking a bite, “Since the band doesn’t have to start recording again for a bit, we should all go on a road trip somewhere.”

  You look over at him, eyebrows raised, “Where were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Wales maybe? I just thought a change of scenery might help us all write new songs.”

  Nodding your head slowly, your lips twitch up into a smile, “I’d love that. Have you mentioned it to the boys yet?”

  “Briefly, and they seemed to like the idea, but no plans have been made.”

  You hum, “Well, let’s set the date and they’ll just have to clear their schedules.”

  Brian laughs, “Alright, next thursday. We can stay until Monday.”

  “Perfect.”

  The two of you chat for a while longer, before packing up the basket and walking alongside the pond, throwing bird seed for the ducks and laughing as they all fight for the same pieces.

  It feels so idyllic, walking through the park with Brian. It seems to be all couples here today, holding hands or staring at each other with looks of adoration on their faces. It almost makes you feel queasy. Perhaps it’s just eating those custard creams right after eating lunch with Roger. Either way, your stomach twists and leaps with too many indescribable feelings. You wish it would stop.

  Brian tips the last bits of bird food out of it’s bag, before scrunching it up and putting it in his pocket. You both watch as the birds eat the remaining seed, before looking up at you for more. Once they realise there’s nothing else for them, they drift gracefully away, to the opposite side of the pond where someone else may feed them some more.

  Then you continue your stroll, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your faces and the crisp air in your lungs.

  But then Brian looks down at his watch, swearing underneath his breath and turning to face you, “Y/N, I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to cut this short.”

  Your eyebrows furrow into a frown, “Is everything alright?”

  You both begin to walk in the direction of his car, “Everything’s fine, I just forgot I have to meet someone in an hour.”

  Your stomach drops. Brian never usually says ‘someone’. His friends are your friends and you’d always refer to them by name. ‘Someone’ means someone you’ve never met, and almost always it means a girl.

  “Oh, okay,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, “that’s totally fine!” you force a wide smile.

  He grins back at you as you both get into his car, “I’ll make it up to you, love.”

  You return his smile, but deep down you know. He said that earlier, too.

  Soon you’re back at your flat, waving goodbye to Brian from your doorstep and letting your smile drop into a frown as he drives away.

  The clock reads 4 o’clock when you reach your bedroom, sighing deeply as you get changed into comfier clothes and slump down on your sofa with a cup of tea.

  God, it’s so tiring.

  The sun is still high outside, your favourite aspect of spring and summertime, the longer days, but tonight you almost wish it was late so that you could fall asleep and not have to think about Brian.

  But alas, he swirls around your brain as you stir your tea, looking down into the cup as it whirlpools. You wonder if Brian could be seeing the girl he went home with last night, or someone else. You don’t want to wonder, you’re not even sure if you actually want to know who it is. It would push you into the deep darkness of insecurity, and you’d compare every aspect of yourself to whomever it is.

  So instead, you flick the telly on and melt mindlessly into the arms of whatever is on, not even really focussing on it.

  Monday morning, you’re at work again, typing up documents all day as you’d usually be doing. The monotony could kill you, and your fingers hurt from the stiff keys of the typewriter. It’s times like these where you feel envious of your best friends’ profession- for the boys of Queen, monotony is never an issue. They can complain about recording studios all they want, but they would never dare to wish for your job, and they know that.

  You asked your boss early if you could get Thursday to Monday off, and by some sheer miracle he had agreed, but not without massaging your shoulders in a way that made your skin crawl. It was one of the biggest downsides about working in an office amongst mostly men. While they spent their days barely working, and instead drinking the day away together while playing mini golf in their offices, you worked until your fingers went numb and the back of your neck felt like it was being jabbed with fifty needles. Yet they still believed they were entitled to touching you whenever they liked.

  Either way, you had managed to get a few days off to go on a road trip with all of your best friends, and that’s what keeps you going throughout the week. You daydream about exploring castle ruins and walking along the beach with Brian, allowing yourself to dip your toes into the idea of a relationship. While you were confined within four blank office walls, the thought of Brian kept you sane.

  He phoned you two days after your picnic, confirming that the boys had all agreed to a road trip and booked a hotel for Thursday afternoon. Things were all going smoothly, even as you packed your bag on Wednesday evening in preparation to set off early the next morning. You float happily around your flat, humming along to your records and planning out outfits for the trip. When you fall into bed that night, you can barely wait for dawn to break.

  But as they always say, be careful what you wish for. Because when you step out onto your front steps on Thursday morning, bags in hand and a grin like the sun, you notice not one, but two cars. Brian’s and John’s. Your smile falters, you thought you were all squeezing into Brian’s car?

  “Y/N!” Freddie exclaims when he sees you, rushing to help with your bags and put them in the boot of Brian’s car, “God, I’ve missed you, darling!”

  You pull him into a tight embrace, “I’ve missed you too. You don’t have time for me anymore with all your wild parties.”

  He scoffs, “If only you’d attend them, lovie, then we’d see each other more!”

 You roll your eyes playfully and look around at the two cars. The driver’s seat of Brian’s car opens, a small but almost seemingly nervous smile on his face.

  “Hey, Y/N,” he scratches the back of his neck, “how are you?”

  You narrow your eyes, and you feel Freddie’s body language stiffen beside you as if he knows something you don’t.

  “I’m alright?” You reply as a question, curious to why everyone seems so nervous.

  “Good, good,” he nods, inhaling before saying, “You wouldn’t mind sitting in the back seat, would you? Natasha already took the passenger side.”

  Your lips part slightly, realisation setting in. He brought a girl.

  You turn to Freddie in silent shock, asking with your eyes what the hell is happening? He leans over to whisper quietly, “I offered to take your place and you sit with Rog and John, but Brian was adamant.”

 You gulp, turning back to where Brian stands, “Sure, that’s fine.”

 He grins, sitting back in the driver’s seat. You turn to Freddie, eyes like a deer in headlights. A five hour drive. With Brian and his possibly girlfriend. He pats your shoulder, giving you another hug before getting into John’s car.

  You have no choice but to slip into the backseat, sighing into the leather. The radio is already on, all the windows down to let in the cool early morning air. You glance to the front of the car where a woman sits in the passenger side. You can see her face in the wing mirror, insecurity eating away at you already as you examine her. She’s gorgeous, with thick auburn curls that frame a sharply defined face. You can even see that her eyes are a taunting shade of emerald green.

  Clearing your throat. You lean forward and hold your hand out, forcing a smile on your face, “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

  She turns to glance at you, but not before giving you a once over, sharp lips not so much as twitching into a smile. She takes your hand into a weak handshake, shaking once before letting go and letting her hand rest back into her lap.

  “Natasha.” She says bluntly. You glance over to Brian as he drives, waiting for him to react in some sort of way at the way you’ve been greeted, but instead you’re met with his usual kind smile and eyes that gleam with blissful ignorance.

  You sniff awkwardly, leaning back into your seat and getting comfortable against the window. You can see Natasha staring at you in the wing mirror, but you try your best to ignore it. It practically sears your skin, making you squirm in your seat. You hated feeling intimidated by people, absolutely despised it, but Natasha was everything you weren’t. She had Brian. And the passenger seat.

  The radio fades into one of your favourite songs, one of Brian’s too, The Air That I Breathe by The Hollies. You’d often drive with the windows down, belting out the lyrics and laughing at who could sing the loudest. The memory brings a smile to your face.

  “I love this song, can you turn it up-”

  “God, I hate this song,” Natasha interrupts, “I didn’t even like it when it came out three years ago.”

  Brian looks torn, eyes flickering to you in the rearview mirror. You challenge his gaze, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly to gauge his next move. Your stomach sinks as he drops your gaze in guilt, flicking to the next station.

 The smug look on Natasha’s face just adds salt to your wound, her eyes like a snake’s, sly and dangerous. In that moment you decide that your best friend must be an absolute idiot. You also decide that you really, really don’t like Natasha.

  Five hours does not go by in a flash, much to your dismay, and you’ve had to listen to Brian gush over Natasha for the majority of the ride. Even when you all stopped halfway to get snacks, Brian came to your side when Natasha went to the bathroom, nudging your shoulder with a dopey smile on his face.

  “Isn’t she something?” He asks as you pull a few bags of crisps off of a shelf. You try your best to bite your tongue. After all, as long as Brian is happy, you’re happy.

  “She’s definitely something.” You reciprocate his smile, albeit forced.

  “I think you and her will be great friends.”

  You refrain from rolling your eyes. Even if you wanted that, Natasha made it very clear that she did not want anything of the sort. How could Brian be so unaware of the dynamic that took place between you and her? Are men really that thick? You can barely believe it. For someone as intelligent as Brian, he’s being incredibly dense.

  But regardless, you nod, “Totally.”

  Natasha steps out of the bathroom and makes her way over to where the two of you stand, completely ignoring your presence, “Let’s go to the car.”

  She grabs Brian’s arm, and before you can so much as complain, the food Brian had grabbed is dropped in your arms, leaving you alone to pay. Your eyes follow them as they leave, hand in hand as they laugh. They look good together, you can admit that. Two perfect people.

  You sigh, turning to glance around the small petrol station shop, shaking your head to yourself and going to pay for yours and Brian’s snacks.

  And then the remaining two hours or so blur by as you lean yourself against the window, blocking out the sound of Brian and Natasha’s conversations and simply watching the world pass you by. You try to think of the green grass, the blue morning sky, the yellow sunflower fields that you pass.

  Brian’s hand rests on her thigh and he looks at her with something like a sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly you wish you stayed home. Maybe if you’d caught a cold or your boss didn’t give you time off this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Maybe then you could have ignored the fact that Brian has got a new woman in his life.

  Once you pull into the hotel car park behind the rest of Queen, you nearly jump out of the car, immediately taking your bags out of Brian’s car, “What’s the room situation?” you ask Roger when he steps out of John’s car.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Roger winks playfully, “Nah, we have our own rooms, apart from them.” he nods towards Brian.

  You lean in to give him a pathetic hug, leaning heavily on his shoulder as you quietly groan, “I don’t even have the energy to tell you to fuck off right now.”

  He laughs, gripping your shoulders tightly, “You look like you need a drink. Or a nap.”

  “Or both.” you retort.

  Brian and Natasha walk up to where you stand, Natasha plastering a fake smile on her face as she greets Roger, “Roger, I didn’t realise that Y/N was your latest fling, how sweet.”

  Roger tenses, as do you. Now she’s insulted both of you in one. But just as you’re about to speak your mind, Roger tightly wraps his arms around your shoulder, “Actually, Y/N’s my girl.”

  You glance up at him in shock, lips parted and eyes wide. You turn back to Natasha, noticing that Brian is staring at you with a look of shock on his face, maybe betrayal? You’re not sure, but he looks angry. His fist clenches at his side absentmindedly.

  And that makes you angry. Even if you were actually dating Roger, what does that have to do with him? So you decide to put a wide smile on your face, lifting your arms to hold Roger’s around your shoulders. You don’t speak, but your actions say it all. You giggle, melting into his embrace. It feels strange, but Roger and you are close enough to know that this is fine.

  Freddie and John walk over, looks of confusion on their faces, but decide to stay out of it when they see the looks on Natasha and Brian’s faces.

  “You’re seeing each other?” Brian asks incredulously, ignoring Natasha’s presence beside him.

  “That’s right,” Roger replies before you can, “Is that so hard to believe?”

 “Yes,” Natasha laughs, “It is.”

  Roger’s grip tightens around you. You recognise this side of him, the fierce protectiveness he feels over his friends. Roger has been known to get into fights if someone speaks badly about his friends. He simply won’t tolerate it.

  His actions are strictly platonic, but he’s not going to let someone speak badly of you. Especially not Natasha, now that he knows about the way you feel about Brian.

   “And why is that?” He grits his teeth, and you squeeze his arm gently to communicate that it’s okay. You don’t need his protection, you can manage.

  “Well,” Natasha begins, and you glance at Brian’s expression. He stares directly at you, gaze unfaltering. He isn’t even hearing what is being said, “You usually tend to go for much more...visually appealing women.”

  Ouch.

 You’re not gonna lie, that hit you right in the ego. It’s not as if you had much confidence before anyway.

  That’s when Brian breaks his stare to look at Natasha, a dumbfounded look on his face, “What-”

  But Roger interrupts, anger prevalent in his tone, “I don’t think you’re one to gauge who’s visually appealing and who isn’t, Natalie.”

 You hold back a giggle, albeit a hurt one, trying to hide your pain behind an unbothered smile. But you fear that your body betrays you as you tilt your head down, hands dropping from Roger’s arm to cross over your stomach.

  Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but Freddie intercepts, “Alright! Okay, we should go find what rooms we are in and freshen up. I need a beauty nap.”

  You’re thankful for Fred, giving him a discreet nod to which he responds with a wink. You take one last look at your supposed best friend, Brian, not a trace of sympathy for him on your face. How could he not defend his best friend of years from his girlfriend he’s probably only known for a couple weeks at most?

  Baffled and dejected, your feet move mindlessly along with Roger as he steers the both of you into the hotel, muttering underneath his breath, “Dick.”

  “Who?” you whisper.

  “Brian.”

  You say nothing. You know it’s true, but it hurts a hell of a lot when your own best friend doesn’t stick up for you.

  Roger follows you into your hotel room when you reach it, watching as you flop into the soft white sheets with a long, weary sigh.

   Roger sits at the end of your bed, “Natasha’s a right pain in the arse.”

  You sit up, hair mussed and eyes tired, “I meant to ask, have you met her before?”

  He nods with a wince, “Unfortunately. She’s like that all the time. It’s baffling that Brian hasn’t noticed it yet. The lad’s usually quite level-headed.”

  You nod with a hum, staring out of the window behind him. You get most in thought momentarily, thinking about the way Brian was so truly oblivious to the way Natasha acted. He’s almost gotten into bust ups with men at bars who have disrespected you, but it seems to be okay when Natasha does it. Maybe love really is blind. The idea of them in love makes your guts churn.

  “Anyway,” Roger starts, standing up, “You should take a nap. I’ll come to wake you up in a couple hours for dinner, alright?”

  You smile, “Thanks, Rog. For everything.”

  He shoots you a cheeky wink, “Anytime, love.”

  So you gladly lay down in the cool white sheets once Roger is out the door, staring up at the ceiling until eventually you let your eyelids flutter closed.

 Two hours later, you’re up, bathed, and dressed, fiddling with the hem of your midnight blue dress in the mirror.

  Insecurity eats away at you each time your eyes scrutinise yet another perceived flaw. As much as you hate to admit it, Natasha’s words echo around in your mind. She’s right, you're not visually appealing. How could you be, when Brian won’t even look twice at you as more than a friend.

 A knock sounds at your door, Roger’s voice coming soon after, “Are you ready, love?”

 You snap out of your trance, pushing all the self-hatred aside to open the door. Plastering a wide smile on your face, you take his arm in yours.

  He raises a brow.

  “I’m not the one who told everyone we were dating,” you lightly pat his arm, “so hold tight, loverboy.”

  You meet the group outside by the cars once again, John leaning up against the side of his car and Freddie perched gracefully on the bonnet. Brian and Natasha however, are nowhere to be seen. You frown and ask Freddie where they are.

  “Not a clue, my dear. If they aren’t down in five minutes I’m leaving without them.”

  As if on queue, the couple in question walk out of the revolving doors. Brian’s face is flushed, Natasha’s smug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they’re late.

  You catch eyes with Brian and watch, hurt, as he looks away bashfully. Your chest pangs, just a bit, as you glance down at your dress for distraction.

  Roger squeezes your arm comfortingly, “Do you want to ride with us?”

  You shake your head, “Would it be bad if I said I wanted to keep an eye on them?”

  He smiles, “Cheeky.”

 You force a tight smile.

 In all honesty, you aren’t quite sure if you’ll be fine, but when you take another look at Natasha’s smirk, you let your anger be the driving force that pushes you into the back seat of Brian’s car.

  Luckily, they seem to behave themselves while you’re in the car. Well, Brian does. Natasha often tries to place her hand on his thigh, but he always pushes it off. You notice that something has changed since the drive earlier, a shift in Brian’s mood. He’s more bashful than ever, staying practically silent with his cheeks seemingly tinged pink permanently.

  Eventually, Natasha gives up with a huff, crossing her arms and looking out the window as the radio hums a tune none of you are paying attention to. Brian is looking straight at the road, and you’re watching him as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The sun is just beginning to set beside him, silhouetting his face like an eclipse. He’s so beautiful, even when you’re annoyed with him, and even when he looks annoyed himself.

  He pulls into the car park, killing the engine and turning around to face you in his seat. You furrow your eyebrows as he stares, “What-”

  “Nat, could you give us a minute?”

  “But-”

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

  She stares at him baffled, looking at you and back to him, before rolling her eyes and getting out of the car. She slams the door and beelines to the entrance, leaving the rest of the boys no choice but to follow her. Roger shoots you a concerned look through the window, to which you return a reassuring smile. It does nothing to reassure yourself, though, as Brian’s fiery gaze is pointed directly at you.

  The car remains silent as both of you challenge each other to see who will speak first. You stand your ground and hold his glare, crossing your arms in defiance. He speaks up,

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Rog were together?”

  Your eyebrows shoot up, so that’s what this is about?

  “Why do you care?”

  He scoffs, turning away from you to look out of the window, “I don’t know, maybe because you’re my best friend and he’s my bandmate?”

  “Why does that matter?” You challenge.

  He just shakes his head with a spiteful chuckle, dodging the question, “Roger doesn’t date.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s just going to leave you for another woman, or worse, he’ll just do it behind your back.”

  “And I suppose you’re any better?”

  Your words are harsh, and you regret them the minute they came out. Especially when he turns to look at you with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Brian’s had his own share of infidelity, but he’s always felt guilty over it, as if it haunts him. You suddenly feel sick. He confided in you and you’ve just thrown it back at him.

  Without another word, he opens his door and steps out, slamming the door behind him. You watch as his figure retreats into the restaurant, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Shit.

  You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes momentarily. You stand on trembling legs and make your own way into the venue, fingernails digging into your palms.

  Everyone is already sitting at the table when you join them, so you take your place in between Roger and John. Both of them look equally concerned, Roger’s eyes flickering to Brian across the table. You dare to glance up to where he’s glaring, fiddling with the tablecloth. His upper lip twitches like it always does when he’s angry, a tick that only you’ve ever noticed about him. His warm hazel eyes seem cold, but you can almost see the flames behind them. He’s pissed. More than pissed.

  Roger unwittingly adds fire to the flame when he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Everything alright, love?”

  You look at Brian once more, his napkin now clenched in his fist, you turn to Roger to whisper, “I think he’s mad.”

  Roger chuckles, “You think? The bloke looks like he wants to castrate me.”

  “I think he probably does.” You sigh.

  Thankfully, always the life-saver, Freddie begins reenacting a run in he had with a fan in a public toilet the other day, and everyone begins loosening up. Well, except for Brian. He’s pretty much silent throughout dinner. Even when Natasha tries to pat his arm or whisper something in his ear, he keeps the same disgruntled look upon his face. You find yourself becoming angrier with every passing moment.

  Who does Brian think he is? How can he let his girlfriend walk all over you, then he insults you, and then he somehow has the right to be angry with you?

  It’s bullshit, and you shoot daggers at him over your dessert. You don’t even want it. It’s your favourite and everything.

  You turn to John, ever the organised one, “Hey, do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  He tilts his chin up and chews on one side of his mouth as he thinks, “I think we planned to visit Conwy Castle.”

  You nod, humming, “Cool.”

  It’s only the first night, and the trip still has five more days, but you find yourself anxious to return home. Especially in the dim lights of a small Italian restaurant as Brian stares at you with that unforgiving gaze, you wish to be anywhere but.

  Brian and Natasha left before everyone else, skipping their coffee and choosing to head back to the hotel. They didn’t so much as question how you’d be getting back. Instead, they left you with the remaining three Queen boys, all of their curious eyes on you.

  They want answers, you can see it on their faces. It’s the first moment all of you have had together without Brian and Natasha there and they want to know what the bloody hell is going on.

  You shake your head at their silence, taking one final bite of your dessert, “Don’t ask me anything, because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  You huff as you flop back onto the bed. It’s far past sunset, and your hotel room is dim except for the orange glow of the street lights outside your window. Roger, John and Freddie decided to go find some sort of bar to finish the evening, but you asked them to drop you off at the hotel so that you could sleep. Except you couldn’t, your mind wired with so many thoughts of Brian that you couldn’t so much as close your eyes. You decided that staring up at the ceiling wasn’t helping, instead it was making the thoughts worse, so you got out of bed and walked to the balcony and stared out over the sea, letting the cold air of the night nip at your bare skin.

  Just as you close your eyes, there’s a knock at the door, echoing through the sound of the waves in the distance. The tiny clock at the side of your bed reads just past midnight as you pad through the dark to get to the door.

  You open it a crack, “Who is it?” you ask gently.

  “Brian.”

  Your pulse jumps slightly as you open the door the rest of the way and take in his appearance. His eyes are tired and sunken, his hair mussed as if he’d been tugging on it. You wonder if it was him who tugged on it, or someone else, but based on the way his head is bowed, you don’t think anything of the sort happened.

  “Hi,” you gulp, treading lightly, ashamed of the words you threw at him earlier this evening, yet anger still fizzles within you softly.

 “Hi,” he breathes, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “did I wake you?”

 “No,” you shake your head, “couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither.”

  “Is Natasha awake?”

  He pauses, looking at the floor and then back at you, “She’s asleep.”

  You nod, quiet after his response. What now?

  “Do you...want to come in?”

 You step aside after he nods, quietly walking through the doorway and into the dimness of your room, and then out onto the balcony. You follow, mind racing a million miles a minute, watching his back as he leans against the railing.

  You join him, staring out at the starry reflection of the moon against the sea, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He turns to look at you, though you don’t return his glance. Instead you bask in his gaze upon your face as the wind flutters through your hair and the moon glitters against your skin.

  “It is,” he whispers, his own hair rustled by the wind as he continues to stare at you.

  Neither of you speak for a while, just watching the water as it shimmers like diamonds, though you’re both aware of the words unsaid and the words that were. But for a few moments the two of you decided to ignore the rift between you, and instead let the soft silver gleam of the moon heal your aching hearts.

 But things must not go unsaid for too long or they will fester, and you’re the first to speak, “Why’d you come see me, Bri?”

  He sighs, looking down at his hands, “I came to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about Rog, he’s a good guy.”

  You stare at him for awhile, “He is a good guy,”

 Brian’s eyebrows seem to fall, which causes your own to furrow. You continue, “but did you mean what you said?”

  He looks into your eyes and you know instantly that he did. The only reason he’s come to apologise is because he upset you.

  “I did.”

 Though it angers you, you admire his honesty. You can’t be so frank with him, you’d end up spilling your feelings.

 “Is it so unbelievable that someone like Roger would like someone like me?”

 It feels odd talking about Rog as if he’s actually your boyfriend, but you’re hurt. Natasha’s earlier words cut like a knife, and hearing Brian think the same would cut like no other.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re just…” he trails off and looks back at the sea, shaking his head.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re...perfect. You’re too good for someone who will hurt you”

  The sound of the wind fills your silence, a sense of confusion and joy fluttering in your stomach. You wish you could tell him that you appreciate his concern, but he’s been the one hurting you all this time. However it’s not his fault, and you remain quiet. He called you perfect.

  You search his face for any sign of anything, any twitch of his brow that might give anything away, but he’s stoic as always.

  “But you can’t be the one to make that decision for me.” you breathe, choosing to ignore what he said. Perhaps you’re scared of him taking it back, or claiming it was nothing. You want to hold onto the very feelings you feel now, after Brian has called you perfect underneath the moonlight.

  “I know.” he sighs, looking down at his hands. You’ve always loved his hands, his long slender fingers that are often adorned with a couple silver rings, usually on his pinky finger. You’d often imagined the way they might feel against your bare skin, but each time you dared to delve into that idea, you quickly shut it down.

  The fact that you’ve been lying to Brian about Roger makes you feel wretched, eating away at your insides as you chew on your bottom lip. It feels as though you’re seeing a bit more of Brian’s private thoughts, and he’s only shared them with you because he thinks you’re dating Roger.

  The confession is right there on the tip of your tongue, a loud exclamation of truth ready to erupt from inside of you, “Brian-”

  “-Y/N” he begins at the same time, and immediately all courage is lost. The boiling truth returns to a simmer, and your racing heart begins to still.

  You both chuckle, a sense of normalcy returning for the first time tonight as he scratches the back of his neck, “You first.”

  Shaking your head, you give him a small smile, “Not important, you go.”

  He nods, taking a breath as if to build his courage back up, turning his body to face you entirely. You do the same, concerned at the sudden seriousness that’s returned to his face. You watch in silence as he takes yet another deep breath, the dread inside of you intensifying.

  “I…” he begins, and you want to grab him by the shoulder and shake, tell him to spit it out already because you feel nauseated.

  “It’s terrible of me to say this, and I know I have no right whatsoever to do so, but...I don’t want you to date Roger.”

  You’re taken aback by his blatant request, baffled at why he is so against the idea of you and Roger being together, “Why not?”

  He looks just as irritated as you, all civility that you’d built up just moments before knocked down like a house of cards. It’s as if the idea of you not listening to his request infuriates him, and in return that makes you equally angry.

  “I told you before.”

  “But we agreed that this isn’t your decision.”

  At this point, you aren’t sure why you’re continuing to act as if Roger is your boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve let it go too far and to confess now would damage your dignity. Or maybe you want to see how far Brian is willing to go with his request. Surely he won’t force the two of you apart.

  “It’s not my decision, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?!” you raise your voice. This conversation is going in the complete wrong direction, but you can’t seem to stop it, or stop yourself. The two of you are both passionate people always speaking for what they believe in, and in this case you are on opposing sides. Like fire and ice, or darkness and light, the two of you battle against each other.

  “Yes! Uncomfortable!”

  “Go on then, explain to me why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

  “He’s my bandmate-”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “You’ll be a distraction!”

  “I’ve known you all for years, and suddenly now that I’m dating one of you, I’m a distraction? Nice, Brian.”

  He goes to speak, but you interrupt, “And what about Natasha, huh? Is she not a distraction? Or is it just me then?”

  “She doesn’t come to the studio with us like you do.”

  “You were the one who told me that you love when I come to the studio.”

  He looks flustered, “I do, but-”

  “You’re not making any sense,” you say, exasperated, “what is the big deal about me dating Roger?”

  He doesn’t answer, instead staring at you with a burning intensity behind his caramel irises. A siren blares in the distance and a cloud sheathes the moon in a grey cast. It’s as if his answer is in his eyes, but you just can’t catch it. You’re both speaking two different languages.

  “I should go,” he says finally.

 Muddled thoughts race through your head. You want to say so many things but nothing comes out, your mind a jumbled mess of intertwined wires. Goddamnit,  Y/N, say something.

  He turns to walk through the hotel room, and you have no choice but to watch his back as he retreats. But then he stops in his tracks, turning to look at you once more. He has hurt written across his face, you can see it even in the darkness.

  “Where is Roger, by the way?”

  He tilts his head to the side, challenging you to answer him. You stare in silence, no answer on your tongue.

 He nods, his own point proven to himself as he goes to turn back around, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

[quinnmorgendorffer]

also i refuse to listen to any rolling stone ranking of songs or artists because okay i know this stuff is subjective but...

their top 100 singers list is a fucking MESS!! not to pull out this card but i have two fucking degrees in vocal performance and um what the fuck?

they put bob dylan in the top ten???????

above singers like fucking FREDDIE MERCURY (widely considered one of the bEST rock singers of all time while bob dylan himself considers himself to be not a good singer???) and fucking MICHAEL JACKSON???

they said JOHN LENNON was better than freddie and michael too are you kidding me??? john lennon sounds like any fucking basic white boy in a show choir!!!! 

aretha franklin (very fairly listed at number 1) is the only woman in the top 10 and only one of two in the top twenty??? reaLLY? 

i ADORE johnny cash but it’s for his writing and his style and his badassness, not for his voice, he should in nO WAY be #21, above singers like JANIS JOPLIN? DUSTY SPRINGFIELD???? PRINCE??? BUDDY HOLLY????? KAREN CARPETNER??? **FRANKIE FUCKING VALLI***???????? FUCK YOU

and while i’m no professional, i studied percussion for over five years, including lots of drum kit work, and their list of top drummers is pathetic

ringo starr in the top 20???? as in “ringo’s not even the best drummer in the beatles” ringo starr???

didn’t even rank roger taylor of queen OR dave grohl 

honestly rated travis barker way too low, that guys a fucking BEAST and should definitely be above ringo fucking starr 

also, don’t come for me with the whole ‘ringo was left handed’ bullshit, you use both hands playing the drums and yes normally the right hand in a standard kit is used more but if you wanna play the drums you can learn to adapt to that that god damn it people do it every day, you think there aren’t left handed pianists, for example, who spend hours getting better at their right hand???

honestly phil collins should be higher than 43 for “in the air tonight” alone

i can’t speak as much for their guitarist list but

at least they put brian may on it (#26) - and he was one of the voters

john lennon is lower (#55) which is good, though i have no idea how he still beat out kurt cobain (#73) and joni mitchell (#75) or buddy holly (#80) or even bruce springsteen (#96) like....

speaking of bruce, i love the man i obviously do, but he has no business being so high on the best singers list (#36) like honestly if you switched his guitar with singer ranking i’d find it a lot more believable 

prince was such a highly regarded guitarist taht ranking him at 33 seems a lil low to me but alright

top bassist list isn’t uploaded anywhere but their own site which is seriously the worst website of all time to operate but i’ll say

at least carole kaye made the top 5, though she should be higher with how influential she is as a sessions player like we’ve all grown up listening to her more than we know it

yet again not including queen when john deacon created one of the most memorable bass parts in history like fucking “under pressure” and “another one bites the dust” like how could you not.....

their general obvious hatred and disinterest in queen makes literally zero sense to me and is shown in slights like the above and in the lack of any of their songs in the top 100 even of best rock songs.  in general i want to believe their lack of queen is just their obvious bias for american musicians but like fucking YIKES.......

[warren-lauren]

Lessons in love... 80′sProfessor!Brian May x Student!reader pt1

WARNINGS: swearing, student/teacher relationship, age gap

>Part 2>

Starting the school year by being late on your first day was not how you wanted to start, but alas, here you were already in the bad books with your; let's not lie, gorgeous, professor. After three years of having classes in the same rooms, or near one another, you were taken off guard when you discovered at the last minute your 'Physics' class was at the other end of the building. It required you to run, and fast.

'If you can't be here on time, then don't be here at all.'

Professor May did all he could to ignore you, only ever picking you out of the crowd to humiliate you (which you strangely enjoyed) and to try and catch you out with trick questions. It had been a hard three months but you'd made it to December which meant half of the month you were technically allowed to be drunk.

You stared up at the man in front of you with an open mouth, unable to believe what you were seeing. In a tight black tank top and tight jeans, a couple of necklaces around his neck and a few rings adoring his fingers with his dark curls unruly, looking even more gorgeous than when he's stood up at the front of class, was Professor Brian May.

When your flat mate dragged you out one night before you welcomed the new year in, you were reluctant. You rather be studying, if you were being honest, but your friend wasn't having your excuses and dragged you out behind her.

Then when you saw who was playing guitar and singing backup vocals in the band playing in the bar you were taken to, you were even more reluctant. And perhaps a little horny.

Your friends hadn't a clue who he was, having never seen Professor May so they just thought he was the sexy guitarist. I mean, he was but he was Professor May.

"I need a drink!" You called out to your friend as the band finished.

Your friends answered back with something about talking to the band. That was the last thing on your mind, talking to your sexy Physics teacher after drinking alcohol and having stared at him all night.

"So, you rather be studying tonight?" You let out a startled gasp, looking over your shoulder. "Hello, Miss Y/L/N," Professor May smirked at you as he leaned on the bar beside you.

"H-Hello, Professor May," You whispered, finding yourself nervous as you looked up at him.

He let out a little chuckle before turning to catch the bar tenders attention. "I think you can call me, Brian, just this once, Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat, hearing your name leave his mouth. You'd never heard him say your name before, it was always 'Miss Y/L/N'. "But, sir-"

"I won't tell, if you don't." He sent you a playful wink before ordering the two of you a drink. "Your friends were saying they had to drag you out, away from your books."

You nodded with a gulp, looking away from him and down to the drink now in your hand. "Much rather be at home right now." You sighed.

"Sorry to be such a bore," Brian chuckled.

You shook your head panicking. "Oh, no, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, love, I was only teasing," He winked at you making you blush. "I didn't take you as someone who'd choose my boring lectures over boys and drinking." He chuckled.

You frowned, "Believe it or not, Brian, but I take my studies seriously." You turned away from him.

Brian let out a heavy sigh, stepping a little closer to you. "Yes, I can see that from your grades, Y/N."

Your frown stayed on your face as you looked back to him. "So why are you so mean to me, then?" You pouted.

Brian smirked, rather enjoying the way you were behaving. "I'm not mean, love," He licked his lips and leaned in closer to you, pressing his lips against your ear. "I'm hard." He whispered.

You gasped, taking a step back from him. He was smirking at you, his eyes filled with something new.

"I should be getting back to my friends." You spun around quickly, needing to get away from your seriously hot professor. You took a step forwards to rejoin friends but stopped, not seeing them anywhere. "Oh-"

Brian took a hold of your hand and began to lead you through the crowded bar as if he wasn't your pysics professor and you'd known each other all your lives. "C'mon, we'll ask Fred where they went."

You held your breath the whole time your hand was enclosed in Brian's. It should have felt wrong, but it didn't. It felt almost, exciting.

"Freddie," Brian called out as he walked up to his friend whom was surrounded by people.

Freddie turned his attention to Brian, briefly glancing to you. "And what can I do for you, darlin'?" He smiled brightly.

Brian smiled back at him, "Don't suppose you know where Y/N's friends have gone, do you?" He asked and looked down to you with a slight smile.

You felt your face heat up under his gaze, quickly moving your gaze down to your feet. It was just the alcohol.

Freddie looked at you once again, thinking for a moment before he nodded, "Yes, darlin'. I'm afraid they left, said you wouldn't mind because you'll be leaving for home soon." He gave you a slight sadened look.

You nodded, pulling your hand out if Brian's grip and pulled your small jacket tighter around yourself. "Oh, sure, right... I was, going to get off, so," You gave Freddie something of a smile before you excused your self. "I'll, see you later then." You gave Brian a curt nod before you left, quickly and embarrassed.

Brian's brows knitted together as he watched you wonder off, alone.

"Who was that, Bri?" Freddie asked as he stood by his friends side.

"Oh, hm, someone... Unexpected." He let out a soft sigh turning to his friend. "I'm gonna get off, Fred. Speak to you later." He said as he began to leave, not giving his friend chance to speak.

Your whole body shivered as you stood outside the pub, searching in your bag for your keys the best you could in the little to no light. Fuck, Lucy had them. You could cry. All you wanted was to go home and get into bed-

"Y/N?"

You looked up at the sound of that familiar and oddly calming voice. "Oh, Prof- Brian," You gave him a shy smile.

Brian let out a soft chuckle as he walked up to you, the door behind him shutting and leaving the two of you in near silence, the soft hum of the music from inside the pub the only thing you could hear.

"Everything okay, love?"

You nodded, glancing down to your bag before you let out a heavy sigh. "Actually, no, it's not." You frowned, "I have no bloody house keys thanks to my mate buggering off." You pouted with a little huff.

The corner of Brian's mouth quirked up, he really did like you this way, all sad and pouty, like you were begging to be taken care of. "Ah. I see." He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets and took a quick look around. It was just the two of you. "Well, how I see it, you've got two options. One, go home and wait on the doorstep until your flat mate gets home."

You frowned up at him. "Like a cat, I don't think so." You scoffed making him smile. "What's option two?"

Brian let out a soft sigh and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "You, hmm, come back to mine until the morning."

You stared up at him, your Physics professor, with wide eyes. He couldn't be serious? "Oh, I-" You had no other option. "You won't get into trouble, will you?" You asked, looking up at him with big innocent eyes taking Brian by surprise.

He hadn't expected you to be worried about him getting into trouble. "Uh, no, love, I won't. We're not doing anything wrong, are we?" He smiled softly at you, making you blush once more. "C'mon, my car is just round the corner." He began to lead the way, not waiting for you to decide whether it was a good idea or not.

He wasn't being rude, he just needed to get some distance from you before he spent longer than a couple of hours with you in a small space.

The car ride to Brian's was filled with silence and the radio playing quietly. Brian noticed you were staring up at the night sky, softly muttering to yourself as you moved your head every now and then, and the tip of your index finger drew patterns on your bare legs. What were you doing?

"It's not much," Brian shrugged as he shut the front door behind the two of you.

You smiled to yourself as you looked across the large living space that was probably the same size of your flat your shared with Lucy. "If this isn't much then my flat is a shoe box." You let out a soft giggle turning back round to face Brian.

Brian let out a small chuckle, "Ah, student life." He sent you a wink before he walked off in front of you, thankfully missing the way you blushed and looked away. "Unfortunately, I only have one bedroom," He sighed as he walked over to one of the two doors on the right, "But, the sofa is actually very comfortable and I often fall asleep on the bloody thing anyway so, for tonight, my bed, is yours." He smiled at you as he pushed the bedroom door open for you.

"Oh," Was all you could manage as you walked into the room first.

You weren't surprised at all when you walked in. It was very him. The furniture was all dark colours, grown up, neatly kept, there was no clutter - everything had its place. You smiled as your eyes landed on a couple of books about space and other sciences, and there was a telescope set up too.

"Would you like something to sleep in?" Brian asked.

"Oh, hmm," You glanced down to your tight dress and nodded. "Please."

Brian smiled and pointed over to the wardrobe. "Help yourself to what like. I don't know what you girls like to sleep in so," He let out a nervous chuckle and turned to the bedroom door. "I'll just be, hmm, out here."

You nodded, waiting until Brian had left and shut the bedroom door before letting out the breath you'd been holding. This was insane. You kicked your heels off and moved over to the wardrobe, pulling it open to have a look at what you could put on.

You pulled out a plain white shirt that looked like it could be a nightie on you. You decided not to have a look for any bottoms knowing they wouldn't fit you. Professor May was a tall man, 6ft something definitely, his legs went on forever.

Once you had your dress pulled off, you took your bra off, hating to sleep in the thing and then slipped the shirt on. The thing came to your thighs, covering everything it needed to once you had it buttoned up. You grabbed a hair tie from your bag and tied your hair back, it really caring how it looked before you made a move for the bedroom door. You were nervous, Brian was going to have to see you like this.

"Hmm, Brian?" You Called our into the living room once you stepped out.

"Just a minute," He answered before stepping out of another door on the opposite side of the room. His eyes widened a little, "Oh, I- Yeah?" He cleared his throat.

You blushed as you looked down at your bare feet. "Am I okay to use the bathroom? Just, need to wash my face and, hmm, what have you."

Brian gulped, nodding. "That door there." He pointed to the door a little further down from you. "Towels and what have you, in the, hmm, cupboard, in... There... Hmm..." He turned back to the door he'd just come out of before looking back to you as you slowly made your way to the bathroom. "Would you like a drink? I've just put the kettle on."

You nodded, "Tea please, sir." You answered without thinking, opening and closing the door without looking back.

Brian walked into the kitchen as he let out a deep breath, closing his eyes. Fuck.

By the time you had washed off your make-up and calmed your nerves, Brian had made a cup of tea for the two of you and placed it on the coffee table. He was sat on the sofa when you emerged from the bathroom. His right leg was thrown over his left, his arms resting on the back of the sofa with his head back.

He sat up once you stepped back into the living room. "Hmm, wasn't sure if you took sugar so," He pushed the sugar and tea towards you on the coffee table.

"Oh," You nodded with a slight smile, moving over to sit beside him. "Thank you."

Brian shook his head with a soft smile. "It's fine."

You shook your head as you picked your mug up and stood from the sofa. "I'll leave you to-"

"Stay." Brian cleared his throat as he sat up . "I mean, you can stay out here, until you've finished." He blushed a little looking away from you.

"Oh," You nodded. "Okay." You smiled shyly as you sat back down beside him.

Silence settled between the pair of you as you sipped your tea. It wasn't as awkward as you expected it to be, must have been the alcohol.

"Do you hate me?"

Brian looked up to you, surprised by your question. "Why would you think I hate you?" He frowned, turning on the sofa so he could look at you.

You shrugged, pouting into your cup. "I don't know, you just, always seem to be mean to me. Nothing I do seems to be good enough for you. I try my hardest, that's why I didn't even want to go out tonight. I really want to do good, for you." You let out a heavy sigh.

For him? Brian's mouth slowly curled into a smile. He reached forwards and placed his tea back on to the coffee table, letting out a slow exhale. "Y/N, you're one of the most brightest people I have ever met. You have nothing to worry about. You shouldn't feel like you can't go out and enjoy yourself every now and then." He smiled, "I'm sorry if I've made you feel like you're not doing good enough, but, I only push you to be better, because I know you can."

You looked up to meet his gaze with a soft blush, your lips curling into your own smile. "Really? You don't hate me?"

Brian let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head causing his curls to bounce. "Certainly not, love." He smiled, "Quite the opposite."

You blushed even more. "Oh," You gulped looking down to your tea. "Well, what it's worth, I quite the opposite you too." You giggled.

Brian grinned with a nod. "Glad to hear it." He let out a heavy sigh as he glanced to the clock on the wall before looking to his tea on the coffee table. "Well, I don't know about you but I certainly won't be going to bed any time soon. Want something a little stronger to drink?" He asked with a soft smile.

You looked down at your half drank tea, biting your bottom lip as you looked up to his hazel eyes. "As long as you answer all my questions about you being in a band." You grinned at him, giggling as he let out an embarrassed groan.

"Okay, deal."

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 11

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 11 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 10 / Part 12

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

Historical Inaccuracies:

Not sure that Veronica went with Queen to Ridge Farm at all, but hey— creative licence!

Word Count: 6.9k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You woke up late, and this you knew because from downstairs you could distinctly hear arguing, and it was rare that any of the others deigned to get up before eight in the morning, which was when you normally awoke.

You wandered into the kitchen with your hair still quite mussed by sleep, but in the very least you were dressed. Unlike Queen, who were waltzing about in pyjamas and dressing gowns.

“It’s just a bit weird, Roger,” Deacy was saying.

“Weird? It’s just a song, John!”

“Just a song?” said Freddie. “Then tell me, darling, why it is you’re pushing so hard for it to be on the album, hm?”

“With my hand on your grease gun?” Brian recited from a piece of paper, glasses on his nose. “Really, Rog?”

“It’s a metaphor, Brian!”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N,” Freddie addressed you.

“Hello everyone,” you said, amusement still on your lips.

“Morning,” Deacy responded, while Roger grumbled something.

Brian smilingly handed you a cup of coffee. “Back me up on this, would you?”

You leaned against the countertop, next to Brian, whose posture was so positively awful that you could almost look directly into his eyes. But you avoided that carefully; his pyjama top was only half-buttoned, and the pale skin of his chest was visible beneath the open collar. It reminded you of how he had looked on the album cover of Sheer Heart Attack, how your eyes had fallen to where he lay with wide eyes, parted lips, his shirt unbuttoned. Borderline indecent. And outrageously attractive. As he was now.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t know, what’re we talking about, exactly?”

John rolled his eyes. “Roger’s car song.”

“Car song?”

“Mm,” Brian sipped his coffee.

“You’re just jealous that I’ve written something on guitar that’s better than anything you’ve written,” Roger sniffed.

Brian looked affronted. “I’m the guitarist, I have a right to be offended, and no, it’s not better than mine.”

Roger scoffed. “You’ve written exactly two songs—”

“Two and a half,” said Brian pointedly.

“Oh, sorry, two and a half. And exactly one of them is written with an electric guitar piece, and the other one is on... what?” Roger searched for the word. “A ukulele?! This is rock ‘n’ roll, Brian, not bloody folk music!”

“Folk music?!”

“You play the ukulele?” you interjected.

Brian glanced at you. “Not very well, but—”

“He’s going to learn to play the harp too,” Freddie added. “For my new song.”

With a smile in your direction, Deacy said, “You know he plays the piano as well, Y/N?”

You blinked at Brian. Talk about multi-talented.

“Concentrate for a fucking second!” Roger exclaimed, and everyone jumped. “No, don’t concentrate on Y/N, Brian.”

Brian sputtered, throwing up his arms, “I wasn’t—”

“It’s not going on the album, Roger,” Deacy shrugged. He seemed not to dislike the concept of the song, so much as to be getting back at Roger for discrediting his own song writing abilities.  

Roger turned to Freddie, pleadingly.

Freddie sighed.

Roger’s face was at this point red with frustration, and he marched from the room.

“Roggie, we can discuss this,” Freddie appealed.

“Can’t,” Roger called back.

Freddie took one look at you all, and you followed him as he hurried after Roger.

You heard a slam! and then a clicking noise, and you frowned, puzzled. Roger had disappeared.

“Roger?”

“Roger, stop this. Where are you?”

“Rog?”

“Go away,” came Roger’s muffled voice.

Deacy raised his eyebrows, catching on before the rest of you. “This trick is getting old, Roger.”

“What the hell—” Brian yanked the handle of a cupboard door. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

Roger had locked himself inside the cupboard. Just like he’d locked you and Brian in the kitchen.

“Oh, I’m serious,” said Roger. “Put the bloody song on the album, or you’ve lost your drummer.”

“To a cupboard?” inquired John politely.

“...Yes.”

Freddie barked a laugh. “You’ll starve, Roger.”

“Uh,” you began, “sorry to be a downer, but uh, he won’t starve.”

“What?”

“That’s the pantry,” you muttered.

“Why the hell does it have a lock?!” cried Freddie.

“I don’t know! I didn’t design this place!”

Brian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t you have a key?” he said.

Your mouth fell open. “God, I’m actually stupid.”

“No, you’re noooot,” sang Roger from inside the cupboard. “I’ve got it.”

Freddie mumbled something along the lines of, “Well. Fuck.”

“Anyone feel like picking a lock?” Deacy ran a hand through his hair, rested his hands on his hips.

“Or you could just put the fucking song on the fucking album,” said Roger.

“Are we sure you’re the one with the temper, Bri?” you asked.

There was silence. Freddie nodded at you solemnly, eyes wide.

Brian sighed, his hand slipping from your shoulder. Instinctively, you reached up to touch the spot where his fingers had previously curled, soft and warm.

“No one’s winning any points here, Freddie,” Deacy said diplomatically, after at least a full minute of silence. “Let’s just put the song on the album. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It is just a song, after all, you know.”

“Listen to the wise man,” Roger intoned.

“That’s a good line…” Brian mused. Then he sighed again. “You’re so full of yourself, Roger.”

“So that's a yes, then?”

“Fine. But you owe me a siding.”

“A siding?” you asked.

“Next time there’s an argument,” John explained, “which will quite frankly be very soon, Roger has to take Brian’s side.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding.

“Freddie?” Roger piped. “I’m not coming out of here until you say yes too.”

Freddie tapped his foot against the floorboards. “Fine, but only because I’m nice, you bastard.”

“That’s actually rather contradictory, Freddie,” said Deacy.

“No, it’s not. I’m the nice one, he’s the bastard.”

“Okay Fred,” Brian replied, unconvinced.

Just then, Heather entered the hall, dressed in a kimono-esque garment you were sure was Roger’s. “Morning, all. Has anyone seen Roger?”

“Ha!” said Freddie. “No, darling. Not for the past few minutes. But god, we’ve heard him. Makes a frightful racket when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Heather smirked. “Oh I know.”

Deacy laughed.

Freddie shook the cupboard handle, “Roger, are you coming out of the closet or what?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” There was a rattling, and then the cupboard door swung open. Roger stood there, eating a strawberry licorice rod.

You crossed your arms. “You can’t possibly have got hungry in so little time.”

“Peckish,” Roger shrugged. “Good morning, beautiful,” he swept over to Heather and they embraced.

“Ick,” Freddie waved a hand. “Get a room.

“They have a room,” Deacy pointed out.

Brian muttered, “Well, get back to it.”

You laughed.

“Mm, well, anyway, I came to ask why the hell you left our room in such a mess,” Heather jabbed Roger’s chest with a finger.

“You sure that’s not your mess, sweetheart?”

You looked at Heather. “You just came here to kiss your boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“Maybe… Yeah. Sorry Rog. But I also came to ask Y/N if she’s coming with us..?”

“Where’s who going?”

“To town. Veronica and Mary and I, I mean. When we get back, we’re going down the hill to play tennis. We saw your dad earlier, and he showed us where to find the rackets and everything.”

You paused, considering.

“Decisions, decisions,” said Brian.

“Shush, I’m thinking,” you poked his side, and he yelped, leaping away. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh, he’s ticklish,” said Freddie helpfully.

A devilish smile formed on your lips, to which Brian shook his head slowly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flushed in response.

“Y/N? Coming or not?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, about that...”

“Or you can come with us to the studio,” suggested Brian.

You didn’t really want to go into town, and Brian had just given you the perfect excuse not to.

Freddie seemed to register your disinclination as well because he said, “Never mind, Y/N. You took too long to decide, so now you don’t get a choice. I need you in the studio with us.”

Heather seemed to accept this explanation, though really, as your closest friend, she should have known you wouldn’t have wanted to go into town. Her lack of friend-intuition likely stemmed from the fact that the two of you had been spending less and less time together as of late. You were hanging out more with Queen, and you supposed, though Heather and Roger were often together, that you were beginning to be closer with the members of Queen than you had ever been with Heather. The thought struck in you a great feeling of melancholy, and for a moment you thought of changing your mind about going with her and Ronnie and Mary, so as to spend more time with her, your best friend.

But Heather wasn’t struck by any such notions of pensive sadness. “Oh well, it appears you’re needed here,” she said. “Want anything from the shops?”

“Wouldn’t mind a chocolate bar,” you smiled.

“Done,” Heather winked at you. “Bye, Rog,” she kissed his cheek and departed.

“Now,” Freddie clasped his hands, “let’s get to the studio.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Right,” you said decisively. “Try ‘People of the Earth’ again.”

It was four weeks since Roger had locked himself in a cupboard to make the others accept his car song onto the new album, and every day since that had been spent hard at work, with only the evenings devoted to relaxing.

Every morning, you would rise at seven and be in the studio half an hour later, where Roadie-John and Crystal would help you to set up, in time for the others to come and tune instruments and arrange various things at about eight o’clock. The days were then spent writing and recording demos, though mostly writing, as tapes had to be done on handheld recorders, since the studio was not yet fully furnished— your dad still had to install a soundbooth and proper recording equipment.  

In the late afternoons and evenings, there were fiercely competitive tennis matches, particularly between your dad and Deacy, who got along as well as ever. There were trips to the pub where your mum greeted you all with discounted pints, there were games of croquet and pool, and everywhere you looked, there was Brian, with some camera or another, from Polaroid to Pentax to an Iloca Rapid stereo camera.

From candids to posed shots, he took pictures of you all, all the time, at every spare moment, though Brian himself always avoided being in front of the camera. You got the feeling that he was, strangely, camera shy. You found it very sweet, though, and so it became a challenge for you to try to take pictures of Brian. He countered this with a challenge of his own, and soon the two of you were fighting a photography war. The result was far too many rolls of film peppered with blurry and out-of-focus images, but Brian didn’t seem to mind that his film was being used on this. He was always smiling when he was taking pictures.

It had yet to be warm enough for you all to take advantage of the swimming pool, but as the days got longer and the sun rose higher in the sky, the indoors would grow stuffy, and the sparkling blue-green water would become a sight for sore eyes.

Freddie now had three songs completely finished, with at least another two in the works. One in particular was quite dear to him, and enthralled you all; it was segments of several different songs woven together in an incredibly artistic manner, and for every day that passed, Freddie added even more segments. He went to such lengths to ensure the song’s perfection that one day, he even declared your dad’s piano unsuitable, instead having a piano of his own, a white grand piano, moved in. It had been an absolute ordeal to get that piano into Ridge Farm’s little studio, and you were sure you that even if you lived to be a hundred and four, you would never forget the shouting and the swearing and the sweating and the laughing and plotting entailed by the piano-shifting day.

Brian, on the other hand, still had only managed to write two songs, and bits and pieces of a third; you teased him that he was becoming more the band’s photographer than their guitarist. Roger continued to work on his car song, but poor Deacy had yet to write anything at all.

Today was Friday, and the five of you had been at work for hours, stopping briefly for a lunch of sandwiches in the garden. You were acting both manager and producer for Queen, and currently, the four of you were trying to help Brian to develop his half-song. It wasn’t going particularly well.

The midafternoon was warm, and the touch of sunlight upon your skin was making you drowsy, and making the others overly finicky and short-tempered. Especially Brian, to whom the pressure was presently applied.

He was running his fingers through his curls every few minutes, and his posture seemed worse than usual when he paced the room, unable to stand still for the frustration of not being able to bring into existence the whisper of a song that danced around his head.

“Vocals, I assume?” said Freddie.

“Yep. Let’s do that.” Your eyes were on Brian, who had kicked off his shoes and was chewing his bottom lip. He didn’t really look up to yet another failed attempt at harmonies and melodies, in fact, he didn’t look up to anything. But you were on a schedule and had to power on, at least for a little while longer.

“Count us in, Y/N?” Roger asked, and you nodded.

“One, two, three, four…”

Oh, oh, people of the earth!

"Listen to the warning," the prophet he said

For soon the cold of night will fall

Summoned by your own hand

The harmonies rose and the four of them made it successfully through a verse, sung as it would have been live, meaning that John was contributing too, though he declined to do so for any of the actual recordings that would happen in the future. A whole verse was quite a feat, one that hadn’t been achieved for the past hour, and you motioned for them to continue through the next verse.

Ah, ah, children of the land

Quicken to the new life, take my hand—

On this line, Brian’s eyes flicked to yours, and in them you saw desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. Take my hand seemed a cry for help.

“You know what,” you interrupted quickly, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Thank goodness,” said Deacy at once, stepping away from the practice microphone he had been sharing with the others. “I’ll go out on a limb here and say a swim is a good idea..?” He looked around, and the others nodded with defeated temperaments.

Brian in particular concerned you; he was basically swaying at this point. Roger seemed to notice this too.

“Brian, mate, have you had enough water to drink today?”

Brian shook his head, dazedly.

Freddie frowned.“No, I think not.”

“Here, have mine.” You retrieved your water bottle and brought it to Brian. He clutched it but said nothing, and worry roiled in your stomach. Deacy took his arm and guided him over to sit down on the piano bench.

You gathered around Brian, and Roger nudged his hand. “Go on then, have some water.”

Bri unscrewed the cap of your water bottle in a mechanical manner, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking slowly.

“Far too hot in here,” you muttered. “Really must get dad to fix the blinds and the fans.”

“‘S alright,” Brian managed, but he still seemed rather faint, his skin pale and clammy in appearance. The others looked worried, and you wondered if they’d been faced with a similar situation before.

“Come on, darling,” said Freddie. “Let’s get you outside, some fresh air, yes?”

Brian nodded, and together, you and Freddie helped him up.

Outside, you locked the door to the studio while the others deposited Brian on a conveniently-placed bench.

For a few minutes, you and Deacy sat with Brian in silence while he sipped his water and kept out of the sun, and Freddie and Roger had a smoke.

Then Brian finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said, handing back your empty water bottle. “Sorry I drank all of it.” He winced, and you hoped that it wasn’t because he still wasn’t feeling well.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Plenty more water where it came from. And I’m sure you’ll need more. Don’t want a second incident of overheating.”

He chuckled softly, and you knew then that he was on the mend.

“Shall we join the others and go for a swim?” John suggested again as the five of you walked back toward the main house. Amongst you, it was quickly agreed to meet by the pool in ten minutes, and so all went their separate ways to get changed.

Eight minutes later, you had swapped cotton for nylon, coated your skin in sunscreen, and slung a towel over one arm. The pool was down the hill, by the tennis courts, and as you followed the path, the others came into view.

Mary and Heather were lying in a pair of yellowed sun chairs, chatting, while Ronnie and Deacy appeared to be having a water fight in the pool, teamed up against Roadie-John and Crystal. The Tetzlaff-Deacon forces were winning, pushing Crystal and Roadie-John farther and farther to their side of the pool, but then again, the roadies seemed to be going easy on their enemies, seeing as Ronnie was nearly nine months pregnant. Roger was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs in the water, his face turned to the sun and his sunglasses ever-present on his face.

Freddie came down the path behind you, and when he made it to the pool, he threw down his towel and dove straight in.

When Freddie bobbed back up to the surface, Roger splashed him, as payback for having been splashed. Freddie retaliated by pulling Roger into the water by his legs, to which the latter yelped.

“It’s COLD!” he shrieked, and Freddie laughed.

Spotting you, Freddie motioned toward the water. “Come in, darling, it’s lovely.”

“I think I believe Roger more than you, Freddie,” you narrowed your eyes.

“Oh,” said Heather, “don’t. He’s a bit of a wimp, you know.”

“Hey!” cried Roger indignantly. “Then why haven’t you got in, Heather?”

Heather glanced over at Mary, who shrugged. “Your funeral,” she said.

Heather tugged off her coverup, and before Mary could object, grabbed her arm and leapt into the pool, Mary screaming before the two of them plunged under.

“Oi!” said Deacy as they splashed himself and Ronnie, and Heather giggled while Mary shook her drenched head of hair.

“Oh come on, Mary,” Crystal splashed her. She glared, then splashed him back, laughing.

“Y/N, get in!” Ronnie called to you.

You’d put down your towel on a sunchair, and now stood eyeing the pool warily.

It was a large pool, both long and wide, which meant there was more than enough room for all the people already in it. But it wasn’t the pool’s occupancy that deterred you, so much as its temperature. And the fact that Brian was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know, Ronnie…”

“The more the merrier!” said Roadie-John.

Roger shoved him. “Don’t say that. It sounds creepy when you say it like that.”

Roadie-John looked at Crystal, who nodded. “Yeah, mate…”

“Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that, it’s just…”

“Spit it out, lovey,” Freddie said, and now everyone was looking up at you.

Add self-consciousness to the list, check. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Has anyone seen Brian? He did almost faint, you know.”

“Oh, she’s worried about him, poor love,” cooed Mary. The others made similar noises, Roger contributing kissy faces.

You gave them a murderous look. “Seriously! Are we sure he didn’t just go inside and pass out somewhere?”

“No… We can’t be sure, if we haven’t seen him…” Freddie pursed his lips.

“So you haven’t seen him?” Your hands were growing sweaty, and you wrung them.

“No,” said Deacy, “not until now.” A sly smile spread across his face.

You frowned. “What—”

“Hello, love.”

Arms wrapped around your waist and soft breath tickled your skin, but you had no time to register any of this, because suddenly, you were flying through the air toward the swimming pool, and the water was rushing up to meet you, and you were squealing.

You went under, and the water really was cold, but not like ice, just enough to shock the last of the drowsiness from your being. It was quite nice, actually, to feel awake for once.

In a rush of bubbles, you returned to the surface and whipped your head about wildly, searching for Brian as the others laughed. It turned out that he was right behind you, again, smiling brilliantly and smoothing down his curls.

“Oh, you bastard!” you cried, giving him a hefty shove, and he laughed, splashing you. You shook your head, spraying him with water. “And to think I was worried about you, Bri.”

“Awh, worried about me? What’d I do this time?” He tilted his head to one side, gazing at you expectantly, all doe-eyes and soft lips. With a jolt, you realised that you wanted to pull him to you and kiss the gentle curve of his mouth till he melted against you.

You blushed.

Freddie gasped delightedly. “Oh look, she’s blushing!”

“Awww,” Roger chimed, and you considered drowning them both.

You rolled your eyes in their direction, regaining your composure before looking at Brian again.

Oh, how hard it would be to look at Brian now, when such thoughts had stumbled through your head. But you forced yourself to do it, because you had a façade to uphold.

“You were feeling a bit faint, earlier?” you said casually. “I know your type. Slightly weak constitutions, I’m afraid.” You paused to examine your nails, frowning at invisible specks of dirt.

“You know my type?” Brian crossed his arms over his slim frame, narrowing his eyes. But a smile played on his lips. “And is it yours?”

Your eyes widened, you dropped your hand.

Roger spoke your thoughts, “Bit forward, Brian?”

Brian shrugged his angular shoulders, nonchalant. “Only a question. She must have experience, if she’s asserting she knows my type.”

You crossed your arms too. “Oh yeah I have,” you drawled. “I’ve got loads of experience.”

Deacy practically snorted with laughter. Brian raised his eyebrows at you.

You stepped toward him, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin. “Does that bother you, Brian?”

The sun cast shadows across his face, and his hair fluttered in the breeze. The cool air whispered across your skin, but you didn’t shiver, you weren’t cold. You felt hot all over, even as you stood motionless beneath his hazel eyes.

His lips parted, and when he leaned down, his voice was low, a hum.

“Should it?”

A piece of your precious façade crumbled.

The others couldn’t possibly have heard what he’d said, and he’d clearly meant for it to be this way. But it had brought you back to reality. The reality which was that had you pulled him down to kiss you, he would have pushed you away.

Oh, how wrong can you be. Desire had very briefly blinded you to his lack of the same for you. You wouldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” you said, “but this should!” You splashed him and he gave a cry, and a small water fight ensued.

This then led to Roger’s organisation of a water war, where he insisted upon teams of girls vs. boys, until Freddie pointed out that the uneven numbers would place Roger on the girls team, “Seeing as you look the part, Rog”. Roger quickly changed his mind, though not before whacking Freddie. The teams ended up with you, Roadie-John, Freddie, and Mary pitted against Brian, Roger, Crystal, and Heather, while Deacy settled Veronica against the cushions of a sunchair.

There was no way to count points, so the war, which was really more of a battle, finished after about half an hour, when more than one person had complained of tired arms, and the rest of you had realised that it was impossible for either side to win.

Half of the party stayed swimming, but you, Mary, Freddie, and Brian were cold, and elected to join Ronnie and Deacy on the deck.

Unfortunately, the sun was more harsh than some people— i.e. Brian— had anticipated, and so, after a good long drowse on the deck, some people were starting to look a bit pink. Actually, a bit pink was putting it nicely.

He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the light, curls falling partially over his eyes. His skin did not have a tendency to freckle, but his cheeks were rosy and the little lines at the corners of his eyes were deepened by the sun, giving him the glow of someone who smiled often, even when his lips were slack and soft and the expression could not have been farther from his serene features.

Having laid your towel down beside Brian’s, you now reached over to tap his hand.

“Bri?”

“Mmm?” He barely stirred, but he had not been asleep, only dozing, his exhale gentle and his shoulders relaxed.

“Did you put sunscreen on?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Oh shit,” he murmured, and he couldn’t have said anything more prettily. “Am I burnt to a crisp?” he asked languidly, the corner of his mouth turning up.

In a breath, your eyes skimmed over his bare waist, back, shoulders, returned to his face and his half-smile.

“Very nearly,” you said. He shifted an arm experimentally, then winced. Pressing his face into his towel, he let out a groan.

“Whatever is the matter, Brian?” Freddie said over a cup of tea, tipping his sunglasses down his nose.

“Burmpt,” he mumbled into the towel.

“He’s got a sunburn,” you translated for Freddie.

“Ah.”

Deacy, hearing your conversation, leaned over to his wife. “My dear, didn’t you say you brought aloe vera, just in case?”

Veronica blinked sleepily before registering what John had said. “Oh, yes, I did. It’s in the downstairs bathroom, in my toiletries bag. You’re welcome to it, Brian.”

Brian raised his head again, squinting at Ronnie.

“Darling,” Freddie interjected, “he doesn’t know what your bag looks like.”

Veronica gestured to you, “Y/N, you know the one, the cream-tone bag with the silver edging.” You nodded, and she turned back to Brian. “Just take Y/N with you, she’ll show you.”

Brian sighed, then rolled onto his side and sat up gingerly.

He held a hand up over his eyes. “Feel like a stroll, Y/N?”

You stood, stretching your legs. “I would be a terrible friend if I said no.”

“And you’re not, you’re a wonderful friend, so you’re coming with me..?”

“You don’t have to ask. Come on.”

You picked up your towel and slung it over your shoulders, starting back up the path.

Brian was right behind you, taking careful steps to avoid particularly sharp pieces of gravel because he had once again neglected to wear shoes. It was never proper shoes with Brian; he alternated between clogs and socks and being barefoot entirely. With this, and his delicate countenance and curling hair and faraway thoughts, he was afforded the air of some woodland nymph or fairy.

He was beautiful.

You were very well aware.

Inside the house, you quickly found Veronica’s bag and the aloe vera.

Entering the living room where Brian was waiting, you triumphantly tossed the bottle into the air and caught it again. “Ta-daa,” you presented your find to Bri.

“Oh, brilliant!” he said as you passed him the bottle. “It is actually beginning to hurt quite a bit.” He touched his shoulder absently, then grimaced.

“Now that,” you said, “does not look like fun.” You made a face, then went into the adjoining kitchen to get a glass of water.

“How come I’m the only one who got burnt?” you heard him ask petulantly.

“Because, Brian dear, the rest of us put on sunscreen. And you are on the pale side of things.”

“Oh hush,” he said with exasperation, “you’re starting to sound like Freddie.”

You laughed, but you had also been in the process of drinking your water, so it came out like more of a cough.

“You alright in there?” Brian called.

“Yeah, fine,” you said, wiping the water from your chin. “I just can’t drink water like a normal person.”

“At least you don’t forget to, then nearly faint into your bandmates’ arms.”

“True,” you conceded, and he scoffed.

“Make me feel better, why don’t you?”

“What about you? You okay in there with that aloe vera?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t taste very nice.”

You rushed into the living room, “Brian! You’re not supposed to drink it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said, laughter in his eyes at the look on your face. “Christ, love, you’re like a deer in headlights.”

Your stomach tumbled— there it was again, the endearment.

Never darling or dearie, like Freddie; never sweetheart like Rog; never dear, as Deacy occasionally dubbed you. Always lovely, or love, as though he had such to give to you. And when Brian loved, it was fierce. You could see that from how the passing or his aunt haunted him, and how he still missed the cat he’d had in his childhood. His love for those around him was wholly consuming. The disapproval of his father picked him apart from the inside, he defended his friends with valour and gall when not physically pulling them from a fight, and it was plain that he would continue to do so for as long as he lived. But whomever he loved and however it was he loved, he did not love you.

And would never, for as long as he lived.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, lost my train of thought,” you shook your head.

His brow furrowed. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Doin’ alriiiiight,” you sang.

Brian gave a laborious sigh, rubbing aloe vera over his shoulders. “You really need to spend less time with Freddie,” he said.

“What?” you leaned against the doorframe. “And spend more time with you instead?” You couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. But Brian took it in stride.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said with a smile, and you were glad you were leaning against something; your legs couldn’t have carried you at that moment, had your life depended on it.

“Y/N,” Brain began hesitantly, “there’s something I have to tell you—”

“Knock knock!” came a shout from the front door, and you and Bri turned toward the sound. Veronica waddled into sight a few seconds later, and you went into the kitchen to greet her. “Found the aloe vera?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brian nodded. “Thank you.”

“No trouble,” Ronnie eased herself into a chair by the dining table. “And I’m sure Y/N could—” She gasped.

“Ronnie?” you asked, as Brian said, “Are you okay?”

Veronica raised her eyes slowly. “I think my water just broke.”

“Uh,” you began. “And what day is it..?”

“It’s the eighteenth of July,” said Brian.

“That’s… early,” you frowned, rooted to the spot because you were quite clueless as to what to do.

Then you looked at Veronica. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking, and she’d gone quite pale. “That’s why I’m panicking!” she cried.

“Right,” Brian sprang into action, sweeping over to Ronnie and helping her up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to go, Veronica. The contractions won’t be long now. Y/N, would you run down and fetch John— and Roger, since he’s the only one with a car— please?”

He looked at you almost pleadingly, as though you would ever have said no.

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, and hurtled out the door.

You rounded the corner to the swimming pool and tennis courts almost before you could notice how far you’d run. You’d never run this fast in your life, and after today, you did not intend to do it ever again.

“DEACY!” you shouted, and he got up from his sunchair immediately. Everyone else looked equally alarmed, no doubt with the same questions in mind that John voiced.

“What is it? What’s happened? Are you alright—”

“Yes, yes, god, I’m fine. But Veronica’s water just broke.”

“Oh fuck,” Deacy swore, throwing on a t-shirt and losing his sunglasses in the process. Freddie picked them up swiftly, put them back on John’s head.

“Roger,” you called, “we’re gonna need you to drive.”

“I’m coming,” he said, pulling on his shoes whilst hopping from foot to foot. “Deacs,” he clapped his friend on the back because Deacy had gone completely still. “Let’s go.”

Deacy nodded, swallowed. “I’m going to be a father,” he croaked.

“Yes yes,” said Freddie, “and a wonderful one at that. Now, away with you, darlings.” Freddie gave them both a push toward the path. “And what do you need from us, Y/N?”

“Stay here and make sure you’re by a telephone,” you said. “I’ve got to go with them— to give directions. And please tell my parents where we’ve gone, if you see them!”

“Will do,” Freddie was all business. He called to Deacy, “Good luck, dearie!” and the others echoed similar sentiments from about the pool.

You resolved that one more run wouldn’t hurt too much, and followed Deacy and Roger’s jog toward the main house.

Inside, Brian was waiting with Veronica, a glass of water and a packed bag of her things sitting beside her as he rubbed her shoulders. Brian himself had put on a button-up shirt, but had once more left his top two buttons undone. The sight of him undid you a little bit.

“See, John’s here now,” he said soothingly, and Ronnie gave a little cry, arms outstretched for her husband. “Her contractions have started,” Brian explained.

Deacy ran to his wife and hugged her gently. “Shhh, my dear, I’m here now. And Roger’s got the car keys, so we can go.”

Roger held up his keys triumphantly, then rushed back outside to start the Alfa Romeo. In response, Veronica only nodded mutely, burying her face in Deacy’s shoulder and clinging tightly to fistfuls of his t-shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Brian murmured, and he and Deacy helped Ronnie to walk toward the door. “Y/N, would you take that bag, please?”

“Yep,” you grabbed the bag and followed the others outside, shutting the door behind you.

Deacy and Brian aided Veronica into the backseat of Roger’s car, and you hopped into the passenger’s seat as Roger shifted gears and pulled out of the driveway.

Roger drove toward town, and made it successfully through in less than thirty minutes, by the combined efforts of speeding and ignoring traffic laws entirely.

“Now, help me out, Y/N,” he said, as a crossroads was reached, and you began to give directions.

In total, the drive took about forty minutes, and with Veronica’s contractions getting closer together, it was a relief to everyone involved when you told Roger to pull into the car park of the Royal Surrey County Hospital.

Out of the car went Ronnie, and you all hurried into the hospital building.

Deacy was swept away with his wife, leaving you and Roger and Brian to stand around aimlessly in the lobby.

The rush of urgency that had pounded through you in getting to the hospital had diminished and slowed now that you knew that your friend and her future child were in good hands, accompanied by the loving husband and father to-be. Deacy may have gone stock still when you’d first arrived by the poolside with the news of Veronica’s condition, but like Brian, when faced with the situation itself, he was a natural, and it was easy to see that he was going to be a wonderful father.

“Well, thank god that’s over,” Roger said, falling back into a chair.

Brian scoffed, taking the seat adjacent. “For you, maybe. The poor woman’s still got to go through labour for christ knows how many hours.”

“And once again,” Roger sighed, pushing his hair from his face and adjusting his sunglasses, “I am glad that I am not a woman. I was stressed enough driving up here, as it was.”

“Were you really,” said Brian dryly. “I had no idea.”

“Well then you’re a bit daft, aren’t you?”

“Sarcasm, Rog. That was sarcasm.”

Roger only rolled his eyes in response. “Come sit down, Y/N. We probably won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

You sat down in the chair next to Brian, though not intentionally; it was the last chair in the row.

“Blimey, these chairs are uncomfortable,” you remarked, having tried to straighten your posture and only succeeded in ailing your back more.

“I’ll second that,” said Roger, shifting in his seat. “And we’ve only been here for two minutes.”

But Brian looked at you more closely. “Back giving you trouble?” he asked.

Your back was giving you trouble, because since coming home to Ridge Farm, you’d been playing guitar every day for two hours at a time, outside of the hours Brian still taught you on Thursday nights, and your posture was getting worse and worse for every session you practiced.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I have terrible posture, and given that I’m teaching you, you’ve probably learned from the worst.”

“You two are getting old,” said Roger.

“With every revolution of the Earth we are aging, yes,” Brian replied. “But as are you, Roger, so don’t get too cocky. The universe might just throw an asteroid in your direction, out of spite.”

“No science talk, please,” Roger flapped a hand. “I’m on holiday.”

“I thought Ridge Farm was for working on the album,” you said.

“Work, play, it all sort of blurs together,” Roger sighed. “And anyway, I’m not the one turning twenty-bloody-seven tomorrow, Brian.”

Brian winced.

But this was news to you. “Your birthday is tomorrow?”

“Mmm…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why,” Brian smiled, “were you planning on getting me something?”

You folded your arms. “Well, I would have, only there’s no time now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Y/N,” Roger said, “he doesn’t like a fuss. Silly ol’ Bri always spends so much time fussing over everyone else that it gets to be too much when people fuss over him.”

Brian sank farther into his chair, his cheeks flushing. “If I didn’t tell you to do your washing, Roger, you never would.”

“Yes, mum,” Roger made a face, then picked up a magazine from the side table, obviously not interested in discussing his lack of homelife skills.

Brian blushed again, and smoothed a hand across his cheek.

Why he was embarrassed for being a genuinely caring and thoughtful person, you did not understand. Brian was the one whom everybody turned to for help, no matter the situation, and even when they did not ask for help, he knew instinctively when he was needed, waiting by their side to take them by the hand and make everything all right again.

At least, that was how you saw it.

“That’s not silly, though,” you murmured. “If everyone acted like that, the world would be a far better place.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Brian, “but thank you, Y/N.”

But you weren’t finished. “Back there with Veronica, I had no idea what to do. I just stood there.”

He touched the side of his nose, looking down at his feet. “Nothing special. Just instinct. I could have done more, really.”

You shook your head. “But it is something special, Brian. People don’t think like that.”

Brian looked up. “You do,” he said, unwaveringly.

“Not enough to act on it.”

“I—”

“Just shut up and accept the compliment. You’re a star, Bri.”

Faint amusement flitted across his face, as though he didn’t quite believe you, the corners of his eyes softening. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, glancing down with that adorable half-smile still on his lips.

Then he reached over and took your hand from where it lay on the armrest of the chair.

He dipped his head as you looked up at him, his curls falling over his face and shrouding you both in shadow, creating a little world that existed only for the two of you beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby.

His slender fingers tightened around yours, and his gaze warmed you, like basking in sunshine by the seaside.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and your heart followed.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: i slipped into a bit of borhap dialogue there, oops... also, ‘the prophet’s song’ was originally named ‘people of the world’, so that’s why that’s like that :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​ @brianmays-hair​ @iamsuperconfusedallthetime-dead @im-an-adult-ish​ @ilikebigstucks​​ @doing-albri​ @killer-queen-87​ @n0-self-c0ntro1​ @archaicmusings​

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

[youre-in-the-psycho-circus]

One Year of Love | 16

Pairing: Roger Taylor/Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,028

Summery: Roger is smitten with a girl he can’t have in more ways than one

Masterlist

That Saturday, the drummer woke up alone for the first time in many months. He was so used to her being beside him he almost went into a panic when he realized he was on a couch rather than their bed. He had spent the night back at his old flat with Freddie...he was getting married to the love of his life today. Freddie strode out of the bedroom in nothing but his pants with a yawn, stretching before crossing over to the kitchen to put on the kettle. He saw the blonde sit up with a groan. “Morning sunshine! Today’s the big day.”

Roger smiled softly as he gently rubbed his face. “I’m getting married today…”

The day went by so painfully slow. Brian came over a few hours later and the three of them set off at making themselves presentable for the event at the registrar's office. Nothing too fancy but enough. They shared a few rounds of whiskey, Freddie and Roger partaking in wedding cigars given to them by (Y/N)’s father before Freddie and Brian’s girlfriends arrived for them to head to the venue.

Roger stood in the room it was to happen nervously, Freddie standing next to him as his best man. His parents sat in a couple of chairs that had been set up within the room to accommodate their small gathering of friends and family. They were so proud of their son for finding love after he had been such a wild child. There was a knock from outside the door, signalling the bride had arrived. Freddie quickly straightened the drummer’s tie before Brian, who had brought his guitar with, began to play a soft but still pretty rocking rendition of ‘Here Comes the Bride’. The doors opened and in walked (Y/N) with her parents on either arm. Roger couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across his features. She looked so beautiful clad in white, like a goddess even as she practically floated down the small aisle to where he stood. She beamed at the drummer, gently kissing both of her parents cheeks before they handed her off to Roger. “You look beautiful…” Roger whispered, trying not to cry as they turned to the justice of the peace.

The ceremony went as most wedding ceremonies go, and soon came time for the vows. (Y/N) went first. “Six months ago...I would’ve never pictured my life with you in it...now I can’t imagine one without you in it. You are my twin flame Blondie...you are without a doubt, the single greatest thing to have ever happened to me in my entire life…” She smiled, sniffling ever so slightly as she tried to hold herself together. Roger reached out, gently capturing a few tears on his thumbs to help spare her makeup. “You’ve given me your heart and your soul, and I can only hope to be half as good to you as you are to me. I can’t wait to spend my forever with you, because without you, I’ve no reason to live. I swear, I will spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, loving you Roger...and even in death my love will only grow. I love you more than life, Blondie.”

Roger bit the inside of his lip trying desperately to keep his emotions together. Forever...that wasn’t going to be a long time. “I thought...all I could ever want in life was “sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll” to quote a phrase...you showed me there was so much more to life that...and I was missing out on some of the best experiences of my life because of it. Now all I want in life is you, (Y/N).” Roger smiled, his ocean blue orbs collecting a few tears as they stared lovingly into her (e/c) pools. “I’ve been whipped for you since the day I accidentally knocked you over...I know now that was no accident. I was supposed to knock you over that day, we were supposed to meet...and I know within my heart I’m supposed to be standing here today, marrying you. I swear...I will spend the rest of my life loving you no matter what, I will protect you and care for you always...I’m a better man because of you...you are everything I could ever ask for and more…”

“The rings?” The justice asked Freddie who took the rings out of his pocket holding them out to the pair. “Roger, you first.” Roger nodded, slipping the same ring he had used to propose, because they both liked it so much, onto her wedding band finger. “Now repeat after me…” The justice went through the ring exchange and soon after it was (Y/N)’s turn. “(Y/N), The fitting of this ring with its unending circle, symbolizes my everlasting love for you…”

“The fitting of this ring with its unending circle, symbolizes my everlasting love for you…” (Y/N) smiled sweetly at the drummer.  

“The placing of this ring on your finger is the fulfillment of my dreams to have you as my friend, my love, my husband, to live as one forever…”

“The placing of this ring on your finger is the fulfillment of my dreams to have you as my friend...my love...my husband...to live as one forever…” She began to cry softly, and as much as he hated to admit it, so did Roger. He loved her, and knew no matter what happened to them, she would always be with him forever.

“Roger Meddows Taylor, do you take (Y/F/N), to be you lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” The justice asked the drummer.

“Without fucking question, I do.” Roger smiled chuckling softly as his mother sternfully glared at her son for swearing at such a blessed event.

“And do you (Y/F/N), take Roger Meddows Taylor, to be you lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” The justice asked the female.

(Y/N) smiled softly, her (e/c) eyes brimming with tears of happiness as she smiled. “I do...I really do.” Her voice quivered as she nodded.

“Then by the powers invested in me by the church of England, I do hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” The justice smiled at the drummer.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Roger smirked, sweeping the girl into his arms, dipping her before pressing his lips tenderly to hers as their friends and family began to clap and cheer for the happy couple as Brian began to play another little ditty.

Roger pulled back after a few moments, staring down at the female, feeling elated and in a state of pure euphoria. “I love you Mr. Taylor...so much…”

“I love you too Mrs. Taylor. More than you’ll ever know” He smiled as she placed her hands on his cheeks before they kissed again.

They had a small reception with music and dancing at their favorite pub/restaurant, not super classy, but just what the new happy couple wanted. After a few drinks, and before the dancing began, Freddie and Brian got up on the small stage of the pub, getting the crowd’s attention. “For their first dance as husband and wife, Brian and I would like to play this beautiful couple, our rendition of Percy Sledge’s When a Man Loves a Woman.” Freddie smiled as the crowd moved to the edges of the small dancing space for the couple as Brian began to play the first few chords of the song before Freddie joined in with his ever powerful vocals. “When a man loves a woman, can't keep his mind on nothin' else. He'd trade the world, for a good thing he's found.” Roger smiled softly, offering his hand to his new bride. She curtsied respectfully with a giggle, before taking his hand as they began to sway to the music.

“I can’t believe it...you’re really Mrs. Taylor…” Roger smiled, gently resting his forehead on hers.

“I was there and I still can’t believe it myself.” She giggled softly.

“If she is bad, he can't see it, she can do no wrong. Turn his back on his best friend, if he puts her down.” Freddie sang, smiling at the sight of two of his best friends so happy and in love, completely forgetting about everything bad in their lives for however brief a time.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Roger smiled as he spun them in a circle.

“A few times, but you know, you could stand to mention it a few more times.” She giggled, gently pecking his lips.

“When a man loves a woman, spend his very last dime, trying to hold on to what he needs.”

“You’re looking pretty handsome yourself today Blondie. You’re making it very hard to resist you until we’re alone again.” She smiled, brushing a lock of his ever growing golden hair behind his ear.

He chuckled softly, pulling her closer to his body. “All in good time my love, all in good time.”

“He'd give up all of his comforts, and sleep out in the rain. If she said that's the way, it ought to be.”

“There’s going to be plenty of time for all of that from now on. It’s just you and me against the world from this point forward.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better partner in crime than you Blondie. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“I’m sure I’m not all great. There’s got to be something about me you don’t like.” He chuckled softly.

“When a man loves a woman, I give you everything I've got (yeah). Trying to hold on, To your precious love, Baby please don't treat me bad.”

“Well I’ll admit, you are a little too pretty for your own good sometimes, but I’m willing to overlook that little discrepancy for a lifetime of happiness.” She rolled her eyes playfully at her husband.

“Good, because lord knows I’d knock out all my teeth and shave my head for you if I had to.” He chuckled. “I’m going to do everything I can in order to remind you each and everyday just how much I love you. In every word, in every small gesture.” He gently pecked her lips.

“When a man loves a woman, Down deep in his soul, She can bring him such misery.”

“You keep up like that, Mr. Taylor, and you’re liable to spoil me.” She giggled softly rubbing her nose against his.

“Well you deserve to be spoiled every now and then. Nothing is too good for my Mrs. Taylor.” He winked.

“If she is playin' him for a fool, he's the last one to know. Lovin' eyes can never see.”

“Mrs. Taylor…” She sighed happily. “I’m never going to get tired of being called that… (Y/F/N) (Y/M/N) Taylor…”

“Rolls off the tongue doesn’t it? Not that your name wasn’t always the most beautiful I’ve heard, but it's even more heavenly with my name instead.”

“When a man loves a woman, he can do her no wrong. He can never want, some other girl.”

“You’re such a flirt.”

“Only to you. I’ve never craved a woman with every fiber of my being in the way I crave you every waking moment of every single day. I love you more than anything…”

“Yes, When a man loves a woman, I know exactly how he feels.”

She smiled softly, gently stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb. “I’ve been in love before, Roger...but you’ve shown me what real love is...its this, its what we have right now and if I have to have anybody by my side for the rest of my life...I’m glad it’s going to be you...from now until forever Blondie...I love you Roger Meddows Taylor…”

“'Cause baby, baby, you're my world, when a man loves a woman....”

“I love you too, (Y/F/N) (Y/M/N) Taylor…”

Part 17

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 5) John Deacon x Reader Series

GIF: @johndeac​

Apologies for the delay! Work has been an absolute shit fest. The big show I’m on got canceled, but we still have to finish the season at some point so oof. Also, my boss is moving to Italy? Pray for my sanity, folks.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

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

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety. Angst (oooo!)

Chapter Notes: I've rewritten this chapter so many times that I don't even know what it is anymore. Angst is hard, my dudes! Why can't it all be flirty glances and quick banter?!

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Moonlight in Vermont - Frank Sinatra

Blues Run The Game - Jackson C. Frank

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady @theresalexis @uglipotata72829

- - - - - - -

September 1982 - The Music Inn, New York City

“Bri, get a load of all these fucking maracas!”

Brian makes his way over to where Roger is gazing at a massive wall adorned with shaker-filled shelves, dipping his head low to avoid the sea of guitars hanging from the ceiling above his long frame. 

Queen was back in New York for their first-ever appearance on Saturday Night Live. Finding time in between the intensive rehearsals during the week had been hard, but Freddie insisted they would make the time for his favorite New Yorkers. When the time was finally found, he, of course, was unavailable, off antiquing at some of Manhattan’s luxury spots but promised to meet up with the group later on. 

The Limbs managed to snag the other three men for a trip to the historic Music Inn. Nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, the dingy treasure trove was located a stone’s throw away from the city’s most prominent folk clubs that boasted discovering the talents of Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel. 

You were quite confident that your newfound English friends would love it. Every visible space was stuffed or covered with an abundance of musical paraphernalia. So much so that you had been in the store dozens of times without ever finding out what color the walls were. Its layout was always changing to fit the ever-growing amount of items displayed, the familiar specks of dust that sparkled in the sunlight being the only constants.

“Hey, Jeff!” Steve calls out to the eccentric owner. “Where are these from?” 

The aging hippie shuffles over. “Mostly South America,” he explains in his usual gravelly drawl. “A customer brought back some new shekeres from West Africa last week that have a nice sound to them.” Jeff motions up the sprawling wall. Roger immediately grabs a few, testing the sounds out against the ones Steve is already playing with - the two of them like kids in a candy store.

Jeff had been a good friend to The Limbs since their early teen years, having let the group spend hours on end attempting to learn every exotic instrument they could get their hands on. Anyone who entered the shop could count on him as a spirit guide of sorts to a wealth of worldly music. And while The Limbs had kept their first album fairly plain in context, they were already itching, particularly Steve, to experiment on the next album. Whenever that would be.

Now that a few more of their singles were moderately successful hits, Columbia Records was focused on milking it for all that it was worth. The execs were currently setting up an extensive American tour of the Mid - West Coast part of the country, all the major cities they hadn’t hit on their first tour. 

“Y/N,” Jeff gestures for you to follow him, probably excited to show you a new find seeing as you were always eager and willing to give them a test run. You make your way down the staircase lined with large balalaikas to the musty lower level filled with various sound equipment and electronic instruments. 

“What on god’s green earth would you use that for?” you hear Rich’s deep voice implore. He rolls his eyes as Eddie moons over an ornately engraved mandolin.

“It worked for Rod Stewart, didn’t it? That mandolin solo in Maggie May shredded,” he retorts. “Plus, look how pretty she is!”

You watch your feet as you carefully maneuver around the amps and pedals haphazardly strewn around the floor, following Jeff to the back of the room - taking special care to step around John, who is crouched low looking over the wiring of a particularly grody-looking amp.

Upon entering the store, he had taken off on his own right away, immediately entranced by the sprawling selection all about him. But you had caught the worn, far-off look in his eyes when he greeted you with a short wave earlier. You try not to let the lack of attention bother you as you pass him without so much as a glance up. The heartfelt conversation you had the last time they were in town had rooted itself in your memory. Spilling your guts like you did that night wasn't a common occurrence for you- figuring you were already easy enough to read due to the panicked expression often etched onto your face. 

Why him? Even your bandmates weren’t privy to the babblings of your intimate thoughts. It couldn’t just be his boyish tooth-gap or the pleasing line of his straight nose. Maybe it was the confusing mix of nerves and comfort you felt whenever in his presence. It was unlike the persistent butterflies you were used to when around attractive humans. Feeling instead like a gentle humming that you somehow sensed everywhere at once.

You’re brought out of your swimming thoughts as Jeff clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You must’ve been staring blankly at the floor for quite a while. He gestures to a bulky item draped in a tarp, as you give him a small apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, very pretty,” you smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes as he attempts to sweep the tarp off in a dramatic reveal, but in reality, it gets stuck. The man scrambles to uncover it, and as soon as it peeks out, you gasp.

“A theremin!”

You gaze at the ordinary-looking wooden cabinet in awe. It must be old, seeing as they were mostly compact now.

“You haven’t had one in ages,” you marvel, locking eyes with Jeff.

“Which means it’s been a while since I’ve heard your ambient screeches plaguing these walls.”

Your finger points to him in protest. “Hey, I was getting better until you sold the last one on me!”

“Well, I didn’t see you making a bid for it,” he playfully shrugs.

“Let’s hear those screeches!” Eddie yells out. Rich claps his hands excitedly beside him. You poke your tongue out at them, but your eyes catch John’s, and you quickly close your mouth. Still crouched, he looks on with mild curiosity wrinkled on his brow. He lightly raises them at you in silent encouragement.

You slowly make your way behind the instrument as Jeff plugs it into the wall. Turning one of the knobs, it hums to life as you check the metal attachments protruding from the wood frame. It really is old. You have no idea how to even begin to calibrate it. Taking a deep breath, you timidly bring your hands up in position.

It lets out a high pitched wail that burns your ears from being so close, and you yank your hands away from the field of current. Eddie and Rich erupt into cheers while John slowly stands, moving a bit closer to see the mechanism properly.

Jeff lightly pushes you back towards it in a gentle coax. This time you slowly bring your curled hand a reasonable distance away from the pitch antenna, keeping your other low on the one for volume. Squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the tone, you slowly move until you find your starting note. It was all about sense memory and your ears to fill the gaps with nothing to physically touch. 

Uncurling your fingers, you begin the opening notes of Moonlight in Vermont - the one song you had somewhat taught yourself through hours of painstaking practice. You fumble a bit, eliciting a squeak or two while trying to remember the hand placements that produce the proper notes. While you might “play” many instruments, you were middling at many, master of none. You make it through the first verse before your head starts to pound from your jaw-clenched concentration.

“Fuck the mandolin, let’s get that for the next album!” you hear Rich tell Eddie.

“Ah, yes, you’ve heard Pet Sounds. Now prepare your ears for The Limb’s sophomore attempt, Ghost Sounds,” 

Their banter is drowned out as John chimes in. “How on earth did you learn that?” You meet his struck expression and shrug lightly.

“Don’t downplay it, Bun. It’s pretty fucking cool,” Rich assures you. “And her knowing ASL also helps,” he explains to John.

“Sign language?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s mom is deaf,” Eddie reveals bluntly. You shoot him a look.

“Sorry, hard of hearing,” he holds his hands out in defense.

John is silent for a moment as he mulls the information over, causing a speck of tension in the room.

“Your mother’s never heard you sing?” he asks incredulously as if he can’t possibly imagine it.

You give a small smile. “No, I guess she hasn’t. But I was in the car with her the first time I heard us on the radio. I turned the treble down and the bass all the way up and she bopped along to the beat pretty well.”

Rich chuckles lightly at the story. “She’s always been hoot, hasn’t she?”

You nod gently. “Aptly put. That’s how she describes herself as a matter of fact.”

John shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he takes a look around the room, his cheeks a light pink. You're unsure of why.

“I’m gonna head out for a quick smoke,” you decide, patting Jeff on the shoulder. “I know how you hate it.”

He gives your hand a light squeeze before you make your way upstairs, hoping to catch John’s eyes, but he avoids yours yet again. 

A pleasing blend of harmonies can be heard as you hit the landing. You peek your head around a large assortment of bongos to find Brian strumming a small acoustic on the other side of the store. Roger, Steve, and Lawrence all crammed around, the four of them singing a rendition of Blues Run the Game. 

Your heart warms at the sight, remembering the times when you and the boys would sit around a campfire and croon out the same sad tune. Eddie and Rich will be pissed they missed this. Steve notices your presence and silently ticks his head for you to come join. You hold up your pack of Marlborough’s in response to him before finally slipping out the front, trying your best to not jingle the adorned bells too much.

A cool breeze promptly passes through the knit of your sweater. It’s late September, and New York has begun to really cool off. You pull down the sleeves to cover your hands as you light your cigarette, wincing a bit on the first inhale. It was a leftover habit from your college days- scarcely used, only in social situations, or to get out of awkward ones.

Taking in the familiar street, you can’t help but giggle at the day you were having. To be showing Queen around your old hangout still felt absurd. No matter how genuinely they seemed to like the company of your band, you couldn’t fathom them wanting to spend the day with you all. Weren’t there bigger and better musicians in this city to be hanging out with? 

The sound of a lighter flicking to life comes from your left, and you turn. John leans against the faded wall as he takes a drag, his eyes trained on the dirty sidewalk. 

“I’m sorry, i- if I offended you with my comment about your mother,” he professes quietly. 

Your brows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“We have a friend whose father is deaf. A lovely man. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” He sighs, finally turning to face you. “It’s just that the memory of hearing your voice for the first time isn’t something one can easily shake. I mean that in a way that- it’s just a shame really. For her to not be able to share in it when it’s something so...” he looks as if he’s racking his brain for an appropriate word. “Well, singular.”

You suck in a breath at his words. In all your years, you had never gotten that as a response to your mother’s disability. It was mostly a polite, “Oh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that.” His honesty and consideration for your feelings knock the present hum of your body up to 100. 

You flinch as gentle burning hits your fingers, and you look down at your forgotten cigarette, quickly flicking it to the ground before crushing it under your heel. John shifts his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off of you while he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“I write out my lyrics for her so she can read them as poems,” you state simply, smiling up at him. “Sometimes she makes up her own melodies and sings them around the house. It’s not the easiest on the ears, but she’s pretty inventive.” His eyes crinkle as he returns your grin - his first genuine one of the day.

“So she’s heard music before?”

“Oh yeah. She has nerve deafness, which didn’t start till her late twenties. She actually spent a lot of time around here when she was younger. Bitter End and The Gaslight are just a few blocks away.”

He hums lightly as he stares at you- like you’re a puzzle whose pieces are just beginning to fit together.

“Can you teach me something in sign language?”

Once again, your brows shoot up, shocked by his response. You blink a few times, trying to think of what to say. Going with the only thing that pops to mind, you sign out a phrase as he watches your hands intently.

“And what does that mean?”

You smirk, “You are a cheesy cow.”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs out.

You repeat it back slowly while signing along. “You. Are. A. Cheesy. Cow. It’s the first thing my mother taught me how to sign.”

He runs his hand over his jaw as he chuckles. “Rich was right. A hoot she must be.”

“I’m pretty shit, to be honest, and she read lips, so it’s mostly used for snide comments during extended family gatherings.”

You watch as he puts out his cigarette and carefully takes a step closer to you. “I’m assuming your colourful vocabulary extends to those instances as well.”

“Right you are.”

“Freddie will love that,” he snickers. “He always seems to collect vulgarities in other languages wherever we go.”

Your attention is torn away as a sleek black car rolls up to a stop at the curb. It’s out of place in the middle of the street filled with old and worn buildings, which can similarly describe the people who mill about.

“Speak of the Queen herself,” you laugh as a sunglass-clad Freddie steps onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, isn’t this quaint!” he exclaims, peering into the shop window. He straightens as he turns to you, hands-on-hips.

“Deacy. Thumper. Are we fans of freezing our tits off, or shall we go inside?”

You give John a small smile and push yourself off the wall, making your way over to Freddie, who immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. The bells against the door ring out as you all enter the shop.

“Ah, Deacy,” Brian pokes his head out from one of the narrow aisles, still in a constant crouch to avoid the instruments above his head. “I was looking for you. Found these adorable teeny guitars I thought might be good to bring back for the kids. What do you think?”

“Kids?” you mumble to yourself as John makes his way over to inspect them.

“Brian has two, and John’s already up to 3. Maybe we should’ve nicknamed him Bunny.” Freddie laughs, nudging your arm. “You know… fucking like rabbits,” he expands due to your lack of chuckling.

He leans into your field of vision as he studies your statue-like expression, eyebrows knit in confusion. His eyes take in your ashen face and your lifeless expression. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. When you lock your eyes with his, you know he understands from the sheer size of how big they become. He straightens up, glancing around quickly as if looking for something to put out a fire.

“Freddie!” Steven dances over, clicking a pair of castanets in his hands. “I wanted to show you thi-”

“So sorry, love, we can’t. Y/N promised to come to a fitting with me, and we’re already late," he announces loudly, pulling you by the arm and out the door before anyone can react.

- - - - - - -

You blankly stare at your reflection in the long mirror. Freddie had instructed his stylist to pull some outfits for you to parade around in as he tried on a bevy of metallic coats.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell the girl staring back at you.

Freddie sashays over, a shag jacket swaying with him as he places his hands on your shoulders, surveying the strappy dress you were currently squeezed into.

“Oh yes, this will do for the after-party,” he instructs.

“I’m not going.”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Darling, you already refused the ticket I got you for the show. You’re coming to the party,” he declares, turning away to look at more options.

“This isn’t really me…” you mumble, gesturing to the dress.

He regards you with a small smile. “Exactly. I say this with love, but you need a look, Y/N. Something that makes you feel unstoppable,” he gestures to his body as he twirls towards you. “Don’t you want to shock them?”

You chew your lip as you ponder that sentiment. Dawn usually just shoved you into whatever ensemble she had picked for you - leather jackets, monochromatic sets, tight jumpsuits. She kept hoping you’d find a style you fancied, but you had yet to find anything remotely likable under the lights of the stage.

“To be honest, I just want to be able to feel comfortable out there," you sigh. "But I can’t strut around in flashy outfits or conduct a whole crowd like you do." Huffing as you collapse onto one of the white couches around you. He perches beside you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa.

“Then don’t,” he says simply.

You snort a response as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but have you tried showing them a bit more of yourself?”

“I can’t do that.”

He turns to you now, grabbing your attention with his eyes.

“And why not?” he questions.

You gaze down at your hands, which you’re now wringing together in your lap. “What if it’s nothing spectacular?” you whisper out the criticism that you'd drilled into your mind for the past year.

Freddie laughs lightly as he stands. “Let’s not start lying to ourselves, shall we?” He moves in front of you and kneels, now at eye level, making so you can’t look away.

“Sometimes people go to a concert for an escape. A big bloody show with dazzling lights and petite men galavanting around a stage in spandex tights,” he smiles. 

“But most of the time they just want to find a piece of themselves in it, don’t they? Commonality. They want to hear you, see you, and feel just a little less alone than we all know we are. I saw just a slice of it at your concert, and it was indeed something spectacular. So take that as you will.”

You’re not one to cry much, but your eyes soften as you take in the icon of a man in front of you. A man loved by millions, who was currently filling in as your personal rock n’ roll fairy godmother.

“You’re a fantastic person, you know that?” you tell him genuinely.

“Yes,” he quips as he gets to his feet. “Now, are we done scurrying around the real problem at hand?”

You sigh as you look away, firmly willing yourself not to break the dam of bottled emotions threatening to spill out. Why couldn't you just feel numb? It would be better than the wave of childish self-pity you found yourself in.

Freddie huffs at your reaction. “Oh, you brat. Sorry to tell you, but you’re an open book, my dear. And not one of those big pompous things Brian reads. A bloody children’s book. One filled with pictures.”

You're sure you’ve now bitten through the entire top layer of your lip as you contemplate how to even begin.

“I’m an idiot,” you shrug to yourself yet again.

“No,” he points a finger at you. “You’re decidedly not. Though I am curious as to how someone who’s as big of a fan as your friends say you are, missed out on that detail.”

“I’m not sure either. I mean, I listen to your albums and go to your show, but I guess I didn’t pour over the tabloids or press interviews or anything like that.”

Freddie nods along as he sifts through another rack of jackets, choosing an incredibly tight white leather number.

“I assumed you knew,” he answers while glancing at his reflection. “And I would say Deacy should know better, but he’s not quite himself at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” you press, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

He turns to you, palms up in explanation. “It’s not that he wouldn’t normally be charmed by your shy presence and occasionally crass mouth… But I’m a bit worried he’s finding comfort in your smiles for the wrong reasons.”

“Huh?”

Sighing heavily as if debating if he should keep skirting around his words, he holds your gaze. “An impending divorce is crippling lonely, even if it is somewhat amicable.”

His mouth is brought into a pout as you suck in a sharp breath. 

Divorce. All your previous interactions play through your head from a different angle. Pity sneaks up on you as you remember John’s advice he’d given you. The concept of home is a funny thing. You scoff out loud at how your childlike crush had skewed your interpretation of your relationship with the man.

“I’m usually the one singing his praises,” Freddie muses, breaking you out of your inner monologue of resentment towards yourself. “But he seems more lost than usual at the moment.” 

He gently lifts your chin. “I don’t normally meddle in- well, actually I do. Just don’t want to see you get hurt, Bunny. Not when the world is soon to be at your feet.”

"I'm fine," you lie, gently brush away his gesture. "I barely even know the guy. I was just shocked to have my silly fascination with him interrupted. Stupid, really."

"Don't do that," he exhales. "Don't put it on yourself. You'd have to be blind to ignore the fact that he's quite taken with you."

"I'm fine," you repeat, making your way into the back to change out of the ridiculous dress that suddenly felt even tighter now.

Shutting the door slowly, you let out a deep breath. It's all good, you tell yourself. Of course you got caught up in the attention of a world-renown musician. Who wouldn't? It's nothing special. As Freddie said, he's not even acting like himself. Although you were indeed in true form- getting caught up by the slightest of interactions. Unconsciously playing them as a loop in your head. You can't help but cringe at your own escalation of the situation.

Squaring your shoulders, you take in the image of yourself in the dress again. Perhaps it was time for you to shock them all.

- - - - - - -

“And so my grandfather goes out to the alley and sees her just wailing on this scrawny man. I mean, really going to town. So he pulls her off him, and the dude’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. And he’s like, “Thanks mate, thought she was gonna kill me there.”

Roger ruffles your hair in response to your poor attempt at a British accent. The group of cast and crew around you chuckle at the gesture. 

You had decided that if you were going to be forcibly dragged to this after-party by your bandmates, you would at least aim to make it worthwhile. A debut of your new mentality.  One where you weren't just acting the part of a rising rock star, but living it. 

Which is why at the moment, you found yourself the center of attention, surrounded by the cast and crew of SNL laughing along to your amusing story. But this was all hinged on you carefully, avoiding the presence of John Deacon at all costs. Which, in reality, wasn't very hard to do- you had yet to see him since arriving an hour ago.

“Oh my god, who was it?!” the young cast member beside you presses. You think her name is Julia, but the sheer amount of people you'd been introduced to was dizzying.

"That's exactly what we asked him when he told us. All he said was that it was some man with big lips who was in a fur coat and looked like he hadn't eaten in a month..."

The cam op across from you gasps, "It was MICK JAGGER? God bless your grandfather, I would've wept if she murdered him."

"So would my mom AND grandmother," you laugh. "Give us each a glass of wine, and it's basically a Mick fan club."

"Who else?" Brian taps your leg, surprisingly urging you to divulge more gossip.

You can't help but smirk as the group leans forward intently.

"Robin Williams?" you tease as their eyebrows all raise.

"Horrible tipper, but he makes up for it by performing dirty puppet shows with the napkins."

"Sounds about right," funnyman Brad Hall confirms, offering you another drink.

You politely decline, determined to keep your wits about you this evening. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Anyone want anything?"

The group shakes their heads, but Lawrence jumps up to join you on your trek to the crowded bar.

"Wouldn't it be insane if this was us one day?" he exclaims as you weave your way through the mass of bodies littering the Capitol Grill. 

You smile up at him, "Dream big, buddy."

"Oh, I intend to," he confirms you as you spot Eddie and Rich waving you over from a spot at the bar. 

Rich promptly wraps his arm around your shoulders as you join them. He always had a stoic way of letting you know he saw through the cracks in your poorly constructed armor. Taking the role of a caring older brother, more so than your own.

"Have we lost Steve again?" Lawrence asks the group.

Eddie nods across the room. "He's exactly where you think he'd be," he scoffs as you catch a glimpse of Steve, trailing Freddie like a lost puppy.

"Um, excuse me?" a short girl mumbles from behind Eddies' denim-clad shoulder. He turns, glancing down.

"Hiya," he regards her casually, causing her a deep blush to creep across her cheeks. She shoves a napkin and pen at him.

"C-could I get an autograph? Please?"

Eddie smirks at her flustered appearance, making sure to brush her fingers as he grabs the items out of her trembling hand.

"And what beautiful name should I be making this out to?"

She lets out a jarring high pitched giggle as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, uh, Shelley."

"Well, here ya go, Shelley," he hands the napkin back to her, now adorned with his messy scrawl. "Maybe I'll see you later."

She squeaks as she hurries back to her shrieking friends who are huddled conspicuously off to the side.

"Gross," you state. "She's a child. Probably one of the executive's kids." 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Gotta keep em' interested, Bun. As the heartthrob of the group, it's my sworn duty."

"Slow your roll there, Rob Lowe," Rich interjects. "I think Y/N's giving you a run for your money in this dress."

You glance down at the Freddie approved ensemble. It was eye-catching for sure, precisely what you were going for. It's black suede straps crisscrossed strategically against your body, giving peaks of the skin underneath.

"It looks good, Bun," Rich assures you.

“Guys,” you all turn your attention to Steve, who has just joined the circle clumsily. His pupils are blown wide from his current blood alcohol content, and he sways slightly on his heels.

"I- I have something to say," he announces to the group, getting your attention. You all wait patiently as he hesitates, clearing his throat twice before lowering his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”

You glance around to the other boys whose expressions mirror your own warm smile. You’d all known Steve was gay since high school, not that any of you had talked about it. You had just assumed it was something unspoken. That he’d tell you whenever he was ready or met someone good enough to introduce to you all.

Steve gapes at your expressions. "Where is the shock? I was expecting shock and awe, people!"

"Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m assuming we’ve all known for a while," Rich says gently. You all nod lightly in agreement.

"How?"

"Do you remember the types of girls who used to throw themselves at you? Like Becky Whale? Man, I would’ve killed for Becky Whale to throw something at me. But you never took them up on it," Lawrence elaborates.

Steve smiles around at all of you, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“I had a crush on Eddie in high school,” he confesses.

Eddie pumps his fist lightly. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lawrence exclaims. “You just had to boost that ego, didn’t ya? I know pretty boys are great and all, but I’m the one with the big soft cuddles. People love big soft cuddles!”

Rich expands his arms as he brings you all in for a hug. 

You kiss Steve gently on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, bud,” you whisper.

"Thank you guys, I just felt like it was time. And now that that's out of the way," Steve grunts as you all untangle yourselves. “I’m gonna go find Freddie. He said he’s taking me out to a club after this!”

He skips away with a grin, back towards Freddie, who catches your eye with a knowing smile and winks. It seems you weren’t the only band member who had found a fairy godmother in Mr. Mercury.

You all lightly laugh affectionately at your friend until Eddie and Lawrence wander off to scope out the food situation. You lean against the bar next to Rich, glancing around at the loud laughter erupting from the outgoing crowd. One person noticeably sticks out. A sullen John Deacon sits at the end of the bar, hunched over what looks like a glass of whiskey.

"Looks like he's in need of a friend," Rich surmises.

You tear your eyes away from the sorry sight to look at him. "They're around here somewhere," you shrug.

He rubs your arms up and down lightly before slinking into the crowd, knowingly leaving you alone. 

You sneak a peek over at John. He runs one hand through his curls as the other absentmindedly stirs the straw of his sweating drink. You watch him sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and gulping down the spirit without so much as a wince. 

Hesitantly making your way over to him, you rub your clammy hands over the expensive material of your dress. This is the opposite of avoidance, you scold yourself, silently willing your feet to change direction. But your willpower has seemingly left the building.

You carefully perch yourself on the stool next to his, as not to disturb his brooding. He glances over quickly, doing a double-take when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, hello there," he greets you with a small smile. "I didn't know you had arrived."

You nod your head lightly. "How could you? It seems you set up camp over here."

"Ah, yes," he breathes, straightening his posture. "Wasn't our best tonight, I'm afraid. Not much to celebrate."

You take a sip of your water as you continue to nod silently.

"Actually," he begins, angling his body towards yours, almost slipping off his stool as you notice his apparent intoxication. "I was thinking about that conversation we had. When I met your spritely grandfather."

"Oh?" you question. Keeping your face neutral even though your heart was already buzzing at the fact.

"Yes. Mostly about how naive I was—all that bloody nonsense about finding a home. Do me a favor and never take my advice, will you? You'll end up completely wrecking yours."

This was a bad idea.

"It's just- you draw these lines for yourself in the sand," he drawls, waving his hands about in front of him. "A stupid phrase, really. Where did it even come from?"

"The Bible," you tell him quietly.

He lets out a big sigh, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Well, it's gotten it wrong before, hasn't it?"

You simply hum an acknowledgment, too scared to probe for fear of where this was going.

"Anyway, you draw these lines. Moral, physical, promises you make to yourself, things you swear you’d never do, dreams to accomplish," he lists out. "But sand moves about, dunnit? It blows all over the place. Makes a mess. Gets in your sandwich. And those lines blur. Or fade away. And all of a sudden, you've crossed them without even knowing! Broken those promises. Skipped right over those dreams."

He's too far gone in his rant to register the growing panic sweeping across your features.

"You were right. Sometimes you look in the mirror, and it's just a complete stranger staring back at you, isn't it?"

Trying to keep your breathing steady, you stare at the crumbling man before you. He runs his large hands along his face before ducking back into his former position, signaling for the bartender to bring him another drink.

This is precisely why you should've stuck to your original plan. What were you supposed to say to the man who was so obviously hurting from his failed marriage? So much so that it was pouring out of him. You know that if it weren't for the alcohol, he wouldn't be confiding any of this to you.

But there was a reason the boys called you the mom of the group, and it wasn't because you were the only female. You feel a pang of need to comfort him. You gaze at him, not with pity, but an overwhelming sense of empathy for the man and make up your mind.

You clear your throat to answer, brushing away your own warnings about how it would only sink you deeper into your fascination with him.

"I was wrong, actually," you start as he brings his head up to look at you. "And you know what phrase I hate? That people don't change."

He furrows his brow but remains silent as you continue.

"Maybe we're not made up of lines in the sand. Maybe we're the wind?" You try not to cringe at yourself and your poor use of metaphor. "And winds sometimes blow in different directions... but that's okay because it's where life is supposed to take them." Falling silent, you decide to quit while you’re ahead. 

You're not ahead. You're not even out of the gate. What the fuck was that?

A slow smile inches onto his face as he holds your stare. "How did you get so wise for someone your age," he teases.

"And what age would that be?"

His mouth opens and closes as he studies your face. "Twenty?"

"Mm, close. Twenty-four."

"Really?" he ponders. "Freddie mentioned you dropped out of university."

"Ah, yes. The university I could only go to after working to afford it," you explain. 

He continues to stare, the look in his eyes shifting slightly as he takes you in. A look that matches the color and intensity of uncharted, open water. You need to get out of here.

"Well, that explains your extraordinary use of analogy then."

Dragging your eyes off of his, you glance around at the party you were missing. Gladly missing, unfortunately. 

"I should go check on Steve. He's having a bit of a night," you tell him as you stand. "Try not to drown yourself in those," gesturing to the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

"How can I drown myself? I thought I was the wind," he points out with a grin.

Before any more banter can ensue, you simply smile and make your way back to your friends. Thinking to yourself that maybe lines in the sand weren't so bad. And that perhaps it was time for you to start drawing some of your own.

[j0hn-deacons-perm]

Bizarre Love Triangle

‘86 John x Reader, tail end of the Magic Tour. 

word count: ~3.7k

Based off Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order (I recommend listening to it while reading) also the song just slaps

Also a quick author’s note. Did I write this until about 6 AM because I couldn’t sleep? Yeah, my dudes. There might still be a few mistakes and will fix them when found but hey, I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~

Last show. The bloody last show of this summer. Tour life has been nothing but stressful but to your surprise, even more rewarding simply with the audience reception. Every show packed with fans, many singing and bopping about like you were on the side lines. Despite being there for nearly every show, the anticipation never ceases to creep up on you. Shivers can be felt in your bones, ready for whatever is to come and you're not even the one on stage in half an hour. 

Standing and grabbing drinks, you sit next to John. His knee bouncing as he reads the paper, spotting he's on the current events. Sighing gently, you roam your eyes around the space around you. Brian is tuning his guitar with Fred and Roger sitting next to him. You spot a scrabble board on the table and Roger looking frustrated as he picks letters from the box's top. Most people on your team are racing around, making sure everything is where it should be and in working order. Hearing a sound from John, you look over and watch him skip over the obituaries. However, seeing a name that surely sounds phallic encites a laugh on your end. He raises an eyebrow in your direction.

"Dark comedy your thing, eh?"

"More like potty humor. I see a name like Medick and it's reflex to chuckle."

He scans the page and you laugh again.

"Damn it John, you're looking at Medick."

You determine the laugh he gives you is one out of pity with how bad your Scottish accent was. After apologizing for assaulting his senses, he gives you a smile and asks the time. Looking at your watch, your co-worker announced to everyone the fifteen minute mark before they were expected on stage.

"I hope that answers your question."

His eyes crinkle around the corners and your heart melts at the sight. Answering you with "It does, yeah", he folds the paper up and places it on the empty seat next to him. Attention now on you.

"Any plans post tour Y/N?"

"Besides catch up on nearly a month of lost sleep and time with Tom, probably nothing for a few days. At least that's the hope."

You can see his face shift into a slight discomfort but it might be out of reflex. Two weeks in you began missing your boyfriend back home and requested no one bring him up in conversation, even yourself. Knowing you slipping his name must have been reflex for him. Right?

"Can't imagine what you'd be losing sleep over besides trying to keep track of four old ladies."

"You guys are a lot. Especially you, Deacon. I swear sometimes it's easier looking after a toddler."

He fakes hurt, hand on his chest and a pronounced distressed face paints his features. The rest of the time passes far too quickly for your liking as the boys are rushed off to play their show. You follow behind, overseeing things go smoothy. Grabbing things they may need between songs and making your way off to the side, you nearly jump as the rise in audience volume increases. The floor beneath you shaking as the first few notes play. Hearing the opening lines to One Vision, you calculate the time to sing along but with the lyrics you happened to hear when bringing them their copious amounts of coffee into the recording room. What you didn't expect is John looking over to see you sing 'one dump, one turd, two tits, John Deacon' followed by 'chicken feet, babe' in his direction. You can see him smile when he looks down at his bass.

As the songs pass, your dancing picks up as well as his. You thought John was called Disco Deacy due to his taste in tunes but turns out he's a regular Belle of the ball. His spins and hops always melted your heart, watching him enjoy the music and play. You bop along with him more often than not, enjoying the beats you've heard now countless amounts of times. When I Want To Break Free ends and Brian's solo begins, he heads over in your direction. Grabbing a towel and a vodka tonic, he pats himself dry while watching from your usual view.

"I swear, this solos get longer with every tour."

"And I swear your hair gets bigger with every tour."

"Optical illusion, my dear. Brian's been getting smaller."

He winks and finishes off his drink. His company is gone as quick as it came, or at least it feels that way. The last half of the show plays out along with two encores. Fatigue dampens down on everyone as the crowd starts to disperse and the roadies begin taking apart set ups. Walking back with the boys, you hand them their normal robes and towels as they head to the dressing room. Making your way back to your post and sitting down, the realization of this is the end dawns on you. A month of tours finished. A month of pain, suffering, blood, sweat, and many tears but also a month of pure bliss. A month of becoming even closer with the band that you've come to know the much more this past year. Seeing them outside of the studio was a shock at first but tour life seems to mellow them out in ways. Less ego if that was even possible knowing them in the first place.

Knowing you probably should attend the after party the hotel Freddie booked, your feet ache as you rise up. Feeling the ripe ol' age of 87 at 29 is a sensation you've grown used to but hearing your joints crack as you rise really made you feel ancient.

"Here I thought I was the old one. I heard that all the way over here!"

John laughs at your cracky joints, walking over to give you an arm to support you. A bird is flipped in his direction and he smiles wider. You can tell someone's got more alcohol in their system.

"Now, Y/N, you ready for one last hurrah before a hangover and drive back home?"

"You're speaking my language, Deacy. I'll meet you at the ballroom, okay? Not really digging the uniform look at the minute, you know?"

"Don't be too late, I might be a goner by the time you arrive."

Following his lead to the bus, you and the rest of the group pile in. John walking up the steps in front of you gave you a view you didn't expect to enjoy so much. Those pants really doing him some favors. Shaking your head, you walk the few steps up and look around for a seat. Taking the only empty one next to Freddie, you lean over to congratulate a job well done and yet another successful tour on their end. Feeling eyes on you, a look over shows a poofy haired bassist waving at you once he has your attention. Waving back and turning back to Freddie, you can tell he has a question burning his tongue.

"You and John sure have gotten close over this tour."

"I guess so, yeah."

"Playing favorites? I see how it is, dear."

You slap his shouder with a 'piss off' and a cackle on his end.

"Are you still mad about the scrabble match the other week, Fred? Don't break up the Y/LN and Deacon dream team."

The last night in France ended with drama and an almost scratched cornea as scrabble pieces went flying. Deciding since Jim was present that night, even teams could be made. Brian and Roger, Fred and Jim, then you and John teamed up and no one's surprise, Freddie's normal strategy of adding one tile to make a bigger word didn't work out in his favor. What did come as a surprise was Brian and Roger not taking the win that night. Tempers flared as you and John danced about. When turned, you couldn't see the rogue piece flying your way. Luckily you blinked in time to save you from a more serious injury. 

"Please, I'm not mad over a silly fucking game."

"Yeah, one that nearly took out my eye!"

He rolled his eyes but smiled regardless of what he's trying to front. Pulling up to the hotel, you grab your luggage and is soon presented the key to your room. Not wanting to deal with an overly drunk John Deacon, you slightly rush to get ready. After party outfits normally consisted of a tank top, shorts and sneakers but considering it's the last one, you go more formal. Feeling very gussied up in heels you never thought you would wear at all this tour and a dress, you turn to the bathroom with your makeup bag is tow. What you already had on was fine but needed a touch up. Looking over your appearance and adjusting oddly fitting sections, you deem yourself offically ready. However feeling slightly over dressed and maybe showing more than what you're used to but hell, it's August. Realizing that it wasn't too late to call Tom, you dial the number that's branded in your brain at this point and wait for the phone to pick up. 

"Hello?"

He sounds slightly tired but the call was quick so you didn't feel too bad about it.

"Hey, just wanted to call and say I'll be home in the next couple days!"

"Oh shit, that time already? I've already got so used to you being gone!"

You couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"We're throwing one last bash before this ends for good. Freddie's doing of course."

"Well don't let me stop you, go and have fun!"

"Love ya, Tom."

"Love ya too, Y/N."

Hanging up and taking a breath, your chest feels odd. Putting it up to just this being nearly over, you stuff your keycard in your bra, spray on one more mist of perfume. The feeling in your chest worsens as you walk into the ballroom crowded with people, nearly completely naked women servers and the sight of John sitting back and flirting with one of them while talking with Brian. Grabbing one off the nearest tray, you down it then grab another immediately. Shaking your head and walking over to the two men in question, they greet you with side hugs. 

"Where are the other two?"

"Around somewhere."

"You know I'll hear it from both of them if I don't come say hi during the party."

Brian smiles, knowing far too well how they get with you at times. 

"Regardless, cheers! Cheers to a successful tour and good friends!"

You three clink your glasses together and conversation flows. Brian talks about his plans when arriving home to the wife and kids along with possibly making plans with some actress he's a fan of. Spacing out and looking at your surroundings, the music is pulsing through your lungs with the bass pumping through the speakers. You recognize the song easily, Blue Monday filling your ears and the bass matches your heartbeat once you turn back to your friends and hear John conversing with one of the women attending the party. Watching him shift so she can sit next to him, her body pressing against his while he whispers in her ear, you're in need of a change of scenery. You finally figured out what the sinking feeling in your chest was.

"Hey Bri, care you dance?"

"Not really. Not really my kind of music, Y/N."

"Please?"

Batting your eyelashes in hopes of hiding how uncomfortable you are, it fails and he picks up on your body language. 

"I guess you caught me in a good mood."

Sitting up, you two walk over to the other dancing party goers and while stiff as a board, Brian tries to do something with his body.

"Is everything okay? You seemed a bit off when you came in but now I know something's up. Did you call Tom?"

"How dare you say his name?!"

"Figured it'd be safe when you see him in, what, two days?"

"I'm taking the piss and I did. He seems happy to have me back but I think something's happened."

"He's not cheating on you, is he?!"

"Oh god no! I.....I think I've developed feelings for John."

You're pretty sure if he had a drink in his hand, it would've crashed all over the floor. 

"Want to head somewhere else and talk about it?"

"Please."

Taking your arm and leading you through the crowd, Brian leads you two outside. A handful of people occupy the space but mostly to get a smoke in quick before heading back in. Spacing yourself away from the others as far as possible, you and Brian sit on one of the benches. Your breathing is unsteady and worsens as you try to calm it down. He puts a hand on your knee and rubs gentle circles in hopes of doing something for your nerves.

"I'm not going to lie, Y/N, can't say I didn't exactly see it coming."

"Gee, thanks Bri. Exactly what I want to hear."

"Is this a recent development?"

Thinking back, it started in the studio. It was around the time they started recording the album and you started just watching them play behind the producer. Wasn't until you watched John lick his fingers before playing the strings on his bass again where something flickered in you.

"....Shit."

That was almost a year ago. 

"Well, around the time you guys started recording the new album."

His eyes widened. Blinking slightly resembling that of a reptile in its speed.

"Your 'shit' is valid."

"I know! The more time I spend with him, the more I realize I really care for the guy. But I can't just up and leave Tom. I can't just...hurt him like that. He doesn't deserve it in the slightest."

You sigh, feeling tears wanting to trickle out of your eyes any second.

"But I've been finding my feelings for him fading the more I'm with John. What if I leave Tom, then what? Just go up to John and be like 'oh hey, I have some strong feelings for you. Wanna do something?'"

Brian wraps a curl around his finger, pulling as he thinks. He lets out a sigh of his own.

"Honestly, I'm going through the same thing right now with Chrissie. That actress, Anita...we've been talking and I've developed some feelings for her. Ones I haven't had with Chrissie in a while, now. I have a wife and kids but should I persue this?"

You give him a sympathetic look.

"We're fucked, aren't we?"

"Maybe a little bit. But at least you're not married."

You look at each other in solidarity. Knowing each other's struggles far too well. He brings up the fair point that you aren't married. You also think back to how things were before you left for tour and it wasn't the best. You missed Tom, you really did. But was the passion there like it was previously? Not especially. Sometimes it just felt more like a friends with benefits situation rather than a full blown relationship lasting three years. 

"You know what? I'm going for it."

"Positive, love?"

"I think so." 

Sitting up and brushing off your dress, Brian stands with you.

"I think I might have a talk with Anita and go from there on how to do this. Chrissie doesn't deserve being left for another woman but sometimes people outgrow each other. Relationships evolves and sometimes they become stagnant."

Walking back to your previous place inside, you're greeted with the sight of the woman gone and replaced with Freddie and Roger. Bending down and asking a quick 'Can we talk?' to John, you two head over to the hallway. You're shaking and can't look him in the eye. Trying to get your sights on him, he lifts a hand to your chin, using a few fingers to guide your sights towards him.

"You're scaring me a bit. Did something happen, love?"

There is not enough alcohol in your system to make this easier.

"I was talking with Brian and came to some conclusions that have been....cloudy for a little while now."

His eyebrows are furrowed together in concern, he's never seen you like this. Nervous was normal in aspects of your job but like this is completely uncharted territory for him. Not knowing how to tread the waters, he takes the hand that was on your chin and rubs your upper arm. 

"You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

You swallow, feeling like you're nearly choking on air. 

"John I...god..."

Before you could mutter even something resembling a syllable, you hear John's name being called. Turning your head slightly to see it's the woman he was flirting with earlier, danging her bag in front of her.

"Finally remembered where I put the damned thing. You ready to go, Johnny?"

You want to vomit on the spot but knowing if you would, it would be Exorcist levels in the amount purged. Your eyes threaten to release the waterworks and you look up to put the tears back in their place. Beginning to walk away, you feel a grip on your shoulder.

"Sorry but my friend here is going through something. Raincheck, yeah?"

Obviously very annoyed, her eye roll was puntuated with her heels clicking away. He looks over at you and immediately notices tears running down your cheeks. Wiping them away, he leads you out of this area of the hotel and back to his room. Turning the key, your heart beats to the point where it leaves you breathless. He leads you inside and onto the bed but before you get to talk, he doesn't sit quite yet. Grabbing the unwrapped toilet paper roll from the bathroom, he hands it to you then sits down at your side. 

"What's going on, Y/N?"

As he rubs your arm again like he did in the hallway, your brain struggles but comes up with some sort of coherent sentence to present.

"I think Tom and I might be over."

He blinks at you, much in the same fashion as Brian had. But before you knew it, he wrapped you in a hug. His head on your shoulders and hand smoothing over your back. He says your name softly followed by an 'I'm so sorry'. Staying like until the tears stop flowing, he peels away from you. You wipe away your tears, noticing your mascara has somehow held up. 

"I...I don't mean to pry but, well, what happened?"

The question you were dreading but this band-aid needs to be ripped off.

"I realized we've sort of...grown apart. Also..damn, not again.." as you rip off a piece of toilet paper and dab your eyes. Catching your breath took a minute but you finally get their in due time. With a sigh, you finally let it out.

"I've developed feelings for another person."

Watching him with blurry eyes didn't give you the opportunity to see his shoulders drop slightly or lips tighten.

"They're incredibly lucky to have caught your attention, Y/N."

"I think I'm lucky to have met them is a better statement. He's really great."

You sigh again and finally clear your vision. His expression is hard to read. Almost, seeming disappointed but that's probably your imagination trying to cope with rejection. Rejection that hasn't happened yet.

"I'm sure he is."

He moves away from you and grabs the television remote, flipping through channels until one catches his eye. Sitting back beside you, he looks back at you.

"Sorry, felt like background noise might've been welcome."

"Maybe a bit, yeah. Do you want to hear about him?"

"Am I going to have a choice in the matter? You're destined to bring him up."

"Guess you're right. But you're...already quite familiar with him already."

"It's not Brian, is it? I know you two talk or maybe.." This time putting in air quotes around "Talk". 

This time it's your turn to be stunned.

"No! I asked him advice about this guy. So, well...he's a bass player for a pretty well known group, I'm a pretty big fan of his work and writes some absolutely amazing tracks. Some may say he's had some questionable hair choices but I'm a big fan. Also he has these...gorgeous green eyes."

"Is it Paul McCartney?! I know you met him during Live Aid but damn, Y/N. Linda would kick your ass."

"It's not Paul McCartney you dumbass!"

A laugh erupts from you, making him laugh along with you. He dodges the slap on his arm but moving up the bed, sitting up against the headboard. You mirror him, eyes on the television screen. A comfortable silence washes over the room, the soft hum of the air conditioner adds background noise with the show playing before you. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into almost an hour of contemplation. Should you say something? You've grown close to him this past year, even closer this past month. He's one of your few confidants, a dear source of comfort. Possibly never seeing his smile again gives you literal heartbreak. But what if the risk is worth the reward? What if he views you in that way as well and you're just overreacting? Doubtful but not completely out of the realm of possibility.

It's when it turns into an hour and fifteen minutes when John starts yawning. If you wait, you'll never do it. You'll lose all nerve. You mutter a 'fuck it' under your breath.

"It's you."

He slowly turns his head in your direction. 

"What was that? I was zoned out for a while, there."

"The guy I was talking about....it's, well...."

You can do this, you just did it. Come on.

"It's you, John Richard Deacon."

You've never seen someone's eyes go that big in your life. His jaw goes slightly slack as he just looks at you. You see his eyes dart around every point on your face. Before you can even start registering what's happening, His lips assault you. Kisses on your forehead, kisses on your nose, kisses on your cheeks, kisses on your jaw but finally he reaches your lips. One hand laces its fingers in your hair, the other placed just below your jaw. Your breath is completely and utterly taken away and when he pulls away, lips swollen, your chest fills. What fills your heart to capacity is him whispering.

"I've been waiting, Y/N....I've been waiting for that moment when you say the words I couldn't say."

~~~~~~~~~~

May formatting it to be tumblr friendly to read pay off and if you read this, you are a sweet cherub angel and I love you a little bit. Also damn, my first fic published on Tumblr, they grow up so fast.