#reading the lyrics by paul and pulling my hair btw

[icriedforthemoon]

Hello little girl || Written by John Lennon, 1957

I saw her standing her || Written by Lennon-McCartney, 1962

[milkchu]

❝anyway the wind blows❞ seven.

Summary: (Y/N) Mercury’s journey of love, fame, and pain, alongside what would become one of the most legendary bands ever, Queen.

Pairing: Borhap!Queen x Reader, eventual Brian May x Reader

A/N: this chapter was a pain in the ass but here it is! btw (Y/N/N) means your nickname. happy reading! 💓

Warnings: swearing and some angst if you squint.

{previous chapter} {next chapter}

You watched as Brian played his guitar solo inside the recording booth, almost getting lost in the music. You’ve been together in the band for quite a long time, but he never fails to amaze you with his guitar playing.

Staring at his form with an almost enraptured gaze, you almost forgot about Paul’s burning look as he stood behind you, inhaling deeply as he dangled the cigarette in between his fingers.

When Brian finished with his solo and John had turned the recorder off, Brian asked, “What next?”

Grinning, you moved towards the microphone and spoke, “That was pretty damn good. Brilliant. I love that.”

Brian shook his head, pointing towards his ear, “Press the button, (Y/N).”

Before RT could even show it to you, “I know, I know where it is.”

Pressing the button, “Knock, knock.”

“Good,” Brian nodded.

“It’s good, um, you know, play it like you wrote it.”  

“Well, I did. I wrote that part.”

Grinning, you joked, “Taking a piss.”

Brian chuckled, before replying, “Okay, are you happy?”

“I think it’s beautiful. It’s almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“Yes, give it more rock and roll!” You grinned at your curly-haired friend.

“I’m always up for that, (Y/N/N).”

“Put your body into it!”

Brian let out a chuckle, “Right. Okay,” He moved his hips, “Put my body into it, I got it.”

You laughed at his movement, “Not like that!”

“No, I got it, I got it. Bit more soul, yeah?”

“All right, give it more heart.”

Brian nodded, “I’ll do that, we good to go? Roy, you good?”

“Oh, and then there’s the operatic section,” You added, grinning at Brian.

He nodded slowly, as if he was uncertain, until you clapped, “You’re gonna love it!”

“The operatic section?”

You shrugged, “I know, it sounds crazy.”

“I love it, (Y/N/N). I love it.”

“I don’t know, it could be a flop. It could work-”

“I love it!”

You chuckled, looking at Brian, “What have we got to lose?”

He looked at you with probably the happiest smile you’ve seen on him for a while as he shook his head, “Nothing.”

“If you say so,” You giggled.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You looked back towards John, signaling him to start the recording, “Deacy?”

And on he went.

Galileo! Galileo Figaro!

You pressed stop on the recorder before Roger asked, “How was that?”

John looked towards you, “(Y/N)?”

“Higher,” You replied monotonously, Brian letting out a sigh as he lounged on the couch.

“Can you go a bit higher?” John asked Roger.

“If I go any higher, only dogs will hear me,” Roger countered.

“Try.”

“(Y/N)’s note, sorry,” John spoke into the microphone.

Roger groaned, “Go on, roll the tape.”

“Overdub 24 of ‘(Y/N/N)’s Thing’.”

Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me!

Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro! Magnifico!

“How was that?” Roger grinned, “Better?”

“Higher,” You said once again before Roger groaned, “Jesus, how many more ‘Galileos��� do you want?”

“(Y/N) wants to do a few more overdubs,” John replied.

“Do we even have any tape left?” Roger fumed.

“I do have to say the tape is wearing out,” John looked back, towards the poor recorder, “It can’t take much more.”

“Yeah, we can’t afford much more,” Brian chimed in, “We’re already three weeks over schedule.”

Before Brian could even finish his sentence, you already pressed play on the recorder.

“Uh, Dub 26 of ‘(Y/N/N)’s Thing’.”

Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me!

“One more, one more.”

Galileo!

“One more!”

Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro!

“Again.”

Galileo!

“Go on, roll the track.”

Galileo Figaro!

“Who even is Galileo?”

Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro!

“My nuts feel like they’re in my chest right now. Are we done?”

John replied, “That’s it. She loves you.”

I’m just a poor boy and nobody loves me

“He’s just a poor boy from a poor family,”  Roger sang as he pointed towards you.

You smiled at him, “That’s it.”

“Spare him his life from this monstrosity.”

Brian looked over to you with a smile as Roger sang, before you grinned, “It’s beautiful!” You clapped, “Love it!”

Easy come easy go will you let me go

Bismillah!

“No!” You all sang as you were in a circle around the microphone inside the booth.

“Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me for me for me,” You screamed into the microphone, before you all just started jumping around, causing some of you to fall to the floor and knock over the panels behind you.

Before John could even reach the ground, he tried to grab the closest thing he could find to prevent the fall but failed.

You all had laughed as you sat down on the floor, before you even realized that John’s hand was on the left side of your chest.

“Ooh, Deacy, darling,” You smirked.

John’s eyes widened as he couldn’t move his hand away before Roger laughed, “Do they feel nice, John?”

The poor man blushed profusely before he rapidly pulled his away, softly mumbling a “Sorry, (Y/N).”

Nothing really matters

You sat back in your usual seat in Foster’s office, breathing softly as you listened to your song, fiddling with the cigarette in your hand.

Nothing really matters to me

As the song was coming to an end, Brian looked over to you with a proud smile, watching as you swayed your hands to piano.

Anyway the wind blows

When the gong had signaled the end of the song, Brian patted Roger’s shoulder before you proudly walked over to the record player to turn it off.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure that’s the album you promised us,” Foster said.

“No, it’s better than the album we promised you,” You paced back and forth in front of Foster’s desk, “It’s better than any album anyone’s ever promised you, darling. It’s a bloody masterpiece,” You grinned.

��Christ,” Foster sighed.

“It is a good album, Ray.” Reid chimed in, before Roger replied, “We prefer masterpiece.”

“It’s expensive, and as for… Bohemian…”

Brian replied, “Rhapsody.”

“Rhapsody. What is that?”

“It’s an epic poem,” You said.

Foster looked over the lyrics, “It goes on forever, six bloody minutes!”

You scoffed, “I pity your wife if you think six minutes is forever.”

Paul snickers at your remark, before you continued, “And do you know what? We’re going to release it as our single.”

“Not possible. Anything over three minutes and the radio stations won’t program it, period. And what on earth is it about anyway? Scaramouche? Galileo? And all that Ismillah business! Ishmillah?”

“Bismillah,” You corrected, looking outside the window.

“Oh, aye. Bismillah. What’s it about anyway? Bloody Bismillah?”

You replied, “True poetry is for the listener.”

“It ruins the mystery if everything’s explained,” Brian added, arms crossed.

“Seldom ruins sales,” Foster interjected, “Three minutes is the standard. John?”

Reid sighed before explaining, “Yeah, we need radio. Format is three minutes. I have to agree with Ray. I actually think the single’s Love of My Life.”

Brian shook his head at the mention of the song, “No.”

“Okay, how about John’s song, You’re My Best Friend? You know? ‘Ooh, you make me live,’ Catchy, stronger,” Reid continued before Foster chimed in.

“What about I’m in Love with My Car?”

Roger looked towards Brian with an open smile, before you all groaned.

“You’re joking.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

As you were sitting down, you kicked the coffee table in front of you in frustration.

“I love it,” Foster said before he retorted, “Well, that’s the kind of song teenagers can crank up the volume in their car and bang their heads to! Bohemian Rhapsody will never be that song.”

“It’s a band decision, Bohemian Rhapsody.” Brian argued, “That’s it.”

“You’re My Best Friend, and it’s my money,” Foster countered before you stood up from your seat.

“BoRhap. Period.” Roger commanded.

You swiftly took the record from the player and looked at Foster, “Or we walk.”

“MacArthur Park was seven minutes long,” Paul tried to reason, before everyone just shook their heads at him, “It was a hit.”

“Look, I’m not arguing Bohemian whatever’s-”

“Rhapsody.”

“-musicianship. But there’s no way in hell the station will play a six minute quasi-operatic dirge comprised of nonsense words! Bismillah? Bullshit!” Foster slammed his fist against the table, “I paid for this record, so I say what goes!”

Brian looked over to Miami looking at one of the records on the wall, “Have we no legal recourse on this?”

“Ray, you did Dark Side of the Moon, didn’t you?” Miami pointed at the record, before Foster nodded, still fuming, “I did.”

“Yeah, I absolutely love that record,” Miami replied, before he turned over to Brian, “Legally, no. No, he’s got all your balls in a vice.”

“It’s a different matter in the court of public opinion, of course.” Miami continued, “Ray Foster’s a giant name in the music industry, but to the average person…”

“Say the name Queen, on the other hand. Ears prick up.”

Everyone looked towards Foster with mixed expressions, waiting for his final decision before Foster sighed, “We’re going with You’re My Best Friend. Done.”

“We know what we have, even if you don’t,” You leaned over the papers on Foster desk, before extinguishing your cigarette on it, “It’s called Bohemian Rhapsody.”

You all swiftly walked towards the door, before you pointed at Foster, “You will forever be known as the man who lost Queen.”

Storming through the halls, Brian placed a hand on your shoulder, “What the hell do we do, (Y/N/N)?”

You grinned, remembering your good friend, Kenny Everett, “Oh, we’ll find a way.”

Brian looked at you in confusion before shaking it off, all of you finally reaching the exit.

As you all exited the building and out towards the streets, your eyes landed on a big rock sitting on the ground. Grabbing it, you looked around the building before landing on a certain window.

Tapping Brian’s shoulder, you asked, “Is that Foster?”

“Mark these words. If they’re not careful, by the end of the year, no one will know the name, Queen.”

Crash!

“Christ!” Foster screamed, looking back towards his now broken window.

Paul ran to the window, opening it to find the four of you standing outside.

“You can take that out of our royalties!” You screamed, “Twat!”

“Wanker!” Foster countered.

“You can shove your gold disks!” Brian shouted, John bursting into laughter, “You made a mistake, Foster!”

“Asshole!” You added.

“You’ll never have a gold disk, you medium talent!”

Foster shook his head, 

“And to think, I worked with Hendrix.”

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