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natromanxoff · 3 years

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Mercury Roadrunner's Interview about Freddie Mercury with Peter Freestone – Part I

Thanks very much to Mercury Roadrunner (Pavel Strashnyy) for letting me share his amazing interviews! Originally shared here. Check the tag "MR interview with Phoebe" to see the other parts.

Here are the 5 topics of this interview, beginning of each topic is written in bold:

1. Live Aid

2. The Works tour

3. "Mr. Bad Guy" album and recording period

4. "Heaven For Everyone", Freddie's habits about listening to music, opinions on Madonna, Montserrat

5. Swimming and memories about Los Angeles, Ibiza, Japan

Mercury Roadrunner: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We welcome you to the unofficial Russian Queen fan club special program. You can find our website at www.vk.com/queenrocks. I am knownn as Mercury Roadrunner. This year marks the 50th anniversary of Queen. And I’m very happy to say that this evening we have a very, very special guest here with us, and it is an opera critic, a book lover, biographer and writer, and close friend, confident and personal assistant of Freddie Mercury, Mr Peter Freestone. Hello, Peter. How are you? Peter Freestone: Hi. I am… okay. I’m good, I’m good. What can I say? I’m good. PS: You are good and you are very happy to join the other Queen fans who would be very happy to hear you finally talking. And the first topic is about your personal memories. It’s a historic date but what are your own personal memories of 13th of July, the Live Aid day, what were your feelings in general on that day? PF: For me, I suppose, it was just another show… [laughs] PS: Really? PF: Because I worked for Freddie and he was going to do a show. I didn’t separate that from all the other performers that were going to be there, that made it such an incredible day. And not only in London, when they were also performing in America as well at the same time. When the satellite was showing something from London, then it showed something from Philadelphia, then back to London again. So to say, for me it was… another day. It wasn’t even as though there were such a big show because we’d played stadiums in South America. So, it wasn’t the size of the audience. I suppose, when it really struck me what was happening was when the band went onto stage. And the roar from the crowd was absolutely amazing. Again, it wasn’t so different from normal shows because they’d actually rehearsed for their twenty minutes. You know, there was four days’ rehearsal. So to say, it was normal, it was normal work, it was a short show. But then, thing is, it was in daylight and Freddie could actually see the audience. And from the back of the stage, we could look through holes in the back, you know, the screen in the back. And we could see what the band could see. And… then it sort of struck me that, actually, this is something very special. And then I was really so very, very proud of them. At the end of their set, when, again, the audience reaction was indescribable. What they had done in those twenty minutes, they had picked up the whole audience, shook it around and put them back down again. PS: Indeed. PF: So, yeah, that was what I felt. PS: And do you remember some of Freddie’s jokes, maybe, during the day, the way he interacted with other superstars, like David Bowie or others? PF: The thing is, he [Freddie] was just one person amongst his peers, you know. All of the bands were names, they were bands. And the thing I have found, and this goes all the way – the real professionals are the most normal, approachable people on earth. It’s the wannabes who have the attitude of “Don’t you know who I am?” and who behave like stars, because stars behave like human beings. Real stars, they can be just like the rest of us. There was a time when Freddie just wanted to be on his own, you know, with just his friends, with his group of people. But I mean, there’s a few photographs of him chatting with various people, like Elton John and David Bowie. I remember seeing them with him, and Adam Ant. And, of course, he had friends along; I think Wayne Sleep was there as well. In his life, he [Freddie] needed people around him that made him laugh. And so, he still had that. David Bowie and he had been friends for so long. Elton [and he] had been friends for even longer. So, it was actually a chance for them to sit and catch up rather than, you know, being in front of the world press. They liked to spend time on their own, you know, talking to each other, really talking, not putting on a show. PS: So, I imagine that backstage on that day Freddie felt pretty much joyful and relaxed, right? PF: Yeah, on the day of the show, I never really saw Freddie nervous…

because, the thing is, it was too late by then [to be nervous]. You know, there was no point in being nervous anymore because the show was going to go on whether you were nervous or not. So, why be nervous? Just, you know, get on and do the show, enjoy yourself. PS: And do you remember, where did the idea of Freddie and Roger joining the Band Aid on stage in the final song, “Do They Know It’s Christmas”, came from? Or was it totally a spontaneous idea for them to join the others? PF: I think the idea at that point was that anybody who was around, who would stay on to the end – because don’t forget the show had started in the afternoon, so not everybody was going to be waiting – but then anybody who was left, who wanted to join, could go and join. There was no strict “You must do this, you have to do this, you have to be there”. It’s “If you want to, by all means come and do it.” PS: And we even have a picture of both of you, Freddie and you, on that day when Freddie wears a white shirt for “Is This The World That We Created”, and you stand right next to him and it’s a beautiful picture. PF: And Queen were the only band that actually kept their dressing room. Because all the other bands had to vacate their dressing room half an hour after they’d performed, so that the next band could come and use it. But because Brian and Freddie were performing “Is This The World That We Created” at the end, they got to keep their dressing room from the time they arrived. [laughs] PS: So they spent the rest of the day after the show in their dressing room? PF: Well, in or around their dressing room, yes. PS: They, like, had their Royal Queen place there. PF: That’s it. Anybody else had to go into the Hard Rock Café. There had to be a tent, you know, hospitality tent there. And most people ended up in there because they were not allowed into their dressing rooms, they didn’t have dressing rooms after that. So… that also helped Freddie relax. [laughs] PS: Like, his little bit of his own, right? PF: Yes. PS: All right. So, the second topic is about you, Peter. And you are credited as a “band party” member on The Works tour. Can you please clarify what a band party meaning is? Because I am assuming it’s like an entourage but it will be nice to hear the expanded definition from you. PF: Yeah, the band party, I think, was about ten or twelve people. It was the band members, their assistants – me, Chris Taylor was there, and Paul Prenter was there. If Jim Beach was on the tour at the time, he would have been part of the band party too. And some of the time Gerry Stickells was there. But often he would be ahead, making sure that everything was ready for when the band arrived. But that was it. There was about ten people. And there were baggage tags for each member of the band party. That’s why I know because I had Number 9, I think. And there were about twelve, I think, altogether, because at one point at the beginning I used to have to collect the band party baggage, so that’s why I always knew which were, even though I wouldn’t know whose bag was what. It would have one of these crew tags on it, so I just picked up and I knew that there were going to be twenty bags, so I just picked the twenty bags. But they were easy to identify because of these tags. PS: I see. And what is your own favourite memory about The Works tour and about this time, like, 1984, 1985? Maybe the Rio shows? PF: Yeah, I mean Rio was… amazing. The feeling from that crowd… you know, something like 350,000 people. Oh, you can’t beat that. And when you’re flying in a helicopter over that crowd, it was stunning. But the thing is, I know this sounds really, really stupid but [laughs]… one thing I will always, always remember from that tour was, remember, in the back of the stage you had these wheels that turned every now and then, not constantly but just every now and then. That was because there was… the guy looking after Roger’s drums and me who actually turned those wheels. And there was no set cue or anything that, “Oh, it has to start on this bar, on this song.” No, it

was when he wasn’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, we’d say “Ok, let’s go and do it.” And we turned the wheels for a couple of minutes and then left them alone. He had then to do something for Roger and I would just sit there like I always did. And then you’d go back and you’d turn the wheels, like a hamster. We were like hamsters… So, that’s my memory of The Works tour. PS: And how technically did you operate those wheels? How was it possible? PF: With your hands. You just grabbed hold, you know, because it was like cogs on a wheel, and you just grabbed hold of them. Because we would be behind, I mean, I was always on John Deacon’s side, so I was hidden behind his bass setup. And you just pulled on the cogs because the whole wheel was on a metal axle and you just held there and you just pulled it down. PS: And the wheels actually were the real wheels, the big ones, right? PF: The very big ones in the back that moved, yeah. And they were made of, I think, polystyrene and plywood. So they weren’t very heavy. PS: So it was, like, actually you taking a part in the show, like, directing this? PF: Yes, I mean, you know, this is how things used to work in the old days before half of you were born. [laughs] You had to use your hands. I don’t think that a Queen tour as it is now is manual anymore. Everything is “push buttons” in it. PS: Yes, so it was indeed like the works, you had to work to make it work, right? PF: Yes, but nobody knew that’s how it works. They just saw these wheels turning every now and then. PS: It’s like a kind of magic indeed… PF: Yes, this was the whole thing with the Queen show – that people saw things happening but didn’t try and think “Oh, how do they do that?” If I see a big show now, I just think “How do they do that?” You’re not listening to the music anymore, you’re thinking “How do they get this to move? How do they get that?” But in the old days, you never did that, you just saw it move and it was part of the show. PS: You were just enjoying it, you didn’t have the time to analyse it. PF: Yeah. PS: I see. That’s a great memory, Peter. So, the third topic is about Freddie’s solo album, “Mr. Bad Guy” Freddie firstly wanted to name his solo album Made In Heaven and he even mentions that title in an interview with David Wigg. Why did he later decide to call it Mr Bad Guy? PF: I think he felt that Mr Bad Guy represented him more than Made In Heaven. And the lyrics to that song, everything. It sort of was very much about him. I think that’s why it changed. I actually love that song because it is real orchestra on it. And I was in the studio. I mean, it’s not a massive studio, so what they had to do, they had to record each section, so the strings section was there and recorded all their parts. And they went out. And woodwind recorded all their parts. Then brass recorded their parts. Then timpani came in and recorded. You know, they could not do everything together, so it was actually really quite complicated. But the end result, I think, is great. It reminds me very, very much of “The Carnival of the Animals”, the old classical piece. That was written by Camille Saint-Saëns. But that is what I’m immediately reminded of when I listen to “Mr Bad Guy”, you know. [starts to hum the song] You know, all the different pieces of the orchestra doing it, repeating it. Now, that for me is my favourite part. PS: I also enjoy it, I adore it. It’s truly a work of art from Freddie. PF: Yes, definitely, definitely. And I agree with him because it does represent him, multifaceted. You know, you never expect… He never gives you something that you expect. He always gives you something that will surprise you. PS: Yes. And why bad guy, why do you think Mr Bad Guy? Why bad? PF: Because… anytime in the press, there was never anything saying what a lovely man he is. So why not live up to his reputation? PS: Yes, it’s like “Yes, I’m everybody’s Mr Bad Guy,” yes. PF: Yes, this is it. This is what people want to believe, so this is what I will be. PS: Yes. And why do you think his first title was exactly not some

other track title but exactly “Made In Heaven”? Why was his first idea about exactly this song, to call the album this way? PF: I don’t know, I really cannot answer that one for you. I don’t know why he thought of that. Maybe he thought that would be the most popular track. A very popular track. PS: Yeah, it’s a hit song, totally remindful, yeah. And what was Freddie mostly like during the recording? What’s your favourite memory of him in this period? PF: That’s a lot more difficult because it was a difficult time. Munich. It took him far too long to create it. In the end, he was more interested in going out and spending time with Barbara Valentin than he was in creating work. I mean, the amount of time… he would turn up in the studio at two o’clock. Because he always turned up at two o’clock. It was pointless staying or coming at ten because he wouldn’t. And the thing is, it’s a singer’s voice, he’s not really ready to use [it] until later on in the afternoon. Once he’s warmed up properly and everything else. But the thing is, by four o’clock the phone would be ringing and Barbara was bored, so Freddie would run over and go out with her. So it was hard. And sometimes it felt like he was forcing himself to enjoy himself. Because he also felt bad, because he knew he should have been working, but he was letting his arm be twisted very, very, very easily. Yeah, I mean, okay, yes, he did enjoy himself when he was with Barbara, but he also had in the back of his mind that he was supposed to be working. PS: But the final result, I think, is totally great, he’s so much presented there. PF: It wasn’t the commercial success that people were expecting, but I think Freddie was happy with it in the end. PS: Yeah, it’s, like, his self-portrait songs. PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. It got that music out of his system so that when he was back with Queen he was thinking more of the band stuff than, you know, things that the band would be happy with and just him happy with. Also, the thing is, Freddie did miss the rest of the band. He would never admit it but if you listen to some of the instrumentals on some of his solo tracks you could imagine Brian playing the guitar, you could imagine John playing the bass. You know, he missed having the band around him. PS: I see, I see. Even though it was his only first experience as his solo work, he already missed the other boys. PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Because the thing is, all his recording before Mr. Bad Guy had always been with other people around. You know, even when he was producing the Peter Straker album, he had friends around him doing things. This was him on his own and it was all on his shoulders. PS: Yeah, and he worked on this album perfectly, it’s absolutely a masterpiece, yeah. So, the fourth topic is about Freddie’s and Roger’s connection. There is a story that Freddie heard Roger’s song “Heaven For Everyone” and he liked it so much that he wanted to sing it, and in the end The Cross, Roger Taylor’s band, released a version with Freddie’s vocals on it. And do you remember, had Freddie ever listened to Roger’s solo albums at home? PF: Freddie didn’t really listen to very much of anybody’s music at home. The only thing I remember... well, okay, yes, I remember putting on videos of Prince. But, musically, we would put on, we would buy every one that came out. It was a series of CD’s and albums, of course, before the CD’s, Now That’s What I Call Music. And what it would be, would be the sort of top hits of two months or something. And they would all be on Now That’s What I Call Music 1, then Now That’s What I Call Music 2. I think it’s on to Now That’s What I Call Music 373 at the moment. I don’t know. That was the music that he would put on, it was the music of the time. Because, you know, for his own music, for Queen music, that was work for him. And what concerns Freddie listening to Roger’s albums - probably what it would’ve been he would’ve listened to it when he and Roger met up. But it wouldn’t necessarily be at home they would put on the album. They would meet up and Roger would say,

“Oh, you must hear, listen to this, you have to hear this. This is something I’ve been working on,” you know, that sort of thing. PS: I see. And, you mentioned Freddie enjoying Prince, and it connects me with the fifth topic and it’s about the musician of the same age as Prince and it’s, like, a connection of Freddie Mercury from Queen and the Queen of Pop who is known as Madonna. What was Freddie’s attitude to Madonna? Because it’s almost impossible to imagine that he never ever mentioned her or never talked about her. PF: He admired her as… a woman surviving and winning in basically a man’s world. Yeah, because she was a power. And for that he admired her. Some of the music he quite liked. But there’s also the other side of the coin. Freddie, for all he was, had one security with him whenever he went out or everything. And Freddie felt that Madonna was actually attracting attention to herself rather than protecting herself. When she would go running in Hyde Park with ten security, you know, he said, “If she went with one person, people wouldn’t even notice her, but because she’s got ten people around her, then the whole world is going to notice. And you are best safe not like that but if you have just one person.” So, I mean, for that side he didn’t understand her thinking, but for her musical acumen and for her performance he thought she was fine, she was good. PS: And what is your personal attitude to Madonna? Do you like her? PF: Again, some of the things she’s done I think are very, very good. I don’t know, the more recent stuff I’m not so keen on. But all the first ten years or whatever of her stuff, I loved it. Yeah. Because, again, she never copied, she always did her own thing, and she never repeated herself. And I love originality. PS: And what is your own favourite memory about Freddie and Montserrat, Barcelona story in general? PF: I suppose it would have to be the actual recording of “Barcelona” because that was the first track that was completed. Freddie had sent Montserrat a tape giving her a guide vocal. Mike Moran had written out the music for her and sent it. So when she came in, when she arrived, she was fully, fully prepared for what was going to happen. But I remember being with Freddie after she’d done the first tape of her vocals for Barcelona, and… there were almost, almost, I mean, there were tears down his face. He was saying, “I now have the greatest voice in the world singing my music.” And that will always stay with me, always. PS: I see, so it was, like, very deep for him. And what is your favourite memory of Montserrat as a person? PF: Ah, a lot of memories. I went to pick her up at the airport, took her to the hotel, I would go and meet her at the hotel, go with her to the studio, all of that sort of things. And I was only in the studio when Montserrat was there. And when she was actually putting her vocal tracks down, the track was basically finished. I saw her so many times after the recording as well. You know, I went to see different performances of her. And it was because of her that I was actually at the Palais Garnier in Paris. You know, the opera house in Paris. Because she actually did an AIDS Gala there. And she invited me to go. I think… her laughter. It’s just like Freddie’s. Because whenever people ask me what’s my first memory, what is the memory that first comes to my mind of Freddie, and it’s always him laughing. And it’s the same with her. Whether she’s just finished a performance or actually when she’s doing a recital or a concert. And during her encores, she is always giggling and laughing. Amazing giggle. Because she likes to bring the audience in during the encores. And she’s got this infectious giggle. She invited me to the first night ever of her performing Isolde in “Tristan and Isolde” in Barcelona. And talking with her afterwards, I said, “You must know how wonderful it is for me to be coming here, to be seeing it, to be listening to you.” And she says, “Of course, you’re part of the family.” So, that really has always stuck with me. PS: So, the next topic for

today is Freddie spending time just making any kind of normal activities. And the question is firstly about his swimming skills – could Freddie actually swim, and if yes, did he enjoy it? PF: I never saw him swim. Never. I don’t know if he could swim. I’ve often thought about that and I never saw it. He didn’t… thinking about it, we went on a motor boat when we were at Pike’s hotel in Ibiza one time. And he didn’t look the most comfortable. So, I really don’t know if he could actually swim. I never saw him in a swimming pool or anything like that. Even when there was a swimming pool around, I never saw him in it. PS: But speaking of other activities, for example, you mentioned your staying at Pike’s hotel, he liked to play tennis there, right? PF: Yes. And, of course, when he was younger he was very good at table tennis. So, yeah, he enjoyed tennis. When we were living together with Freddie in Los Angeles, in that house, there was a tennis court as well and he played there a few times. PS: I see. And what are your other memories of Los Angeles? PF: Los Angeles. Also I remember in Los Angeles it was in L’Ermitage hotel when Queen were designing the Hot Space album cover there. They were there, maybe, even rehearsing for a tour or something. That’s the hotel I was staying in at that time. It was just this concrete glass and… stainless steel… and chrome. It was a very, very modern hotel. I remember, there were all band members, I was there, Chris Taylor was there, Paul Prenter was there. And they were throwing ideas around. And that’s where Freddie came up with the colours. “That’s the hot space, the space is the colours, hot colours.” PS: Ah, so it has something to do with image, with colour as you see it… PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. PS: The hot like the bright one, right? A definitive one. PF: Yeah, yeah. PS: And he drew, like, a draught of the cover, right? Because he is credited as designer. PF: They were talking about which colours and then who would be which colour and then what they would put on each colour. You know, when they started talking about, not necessarily a profile but just picking out the aspects that people recognize from each artist, like Brian and his hair, Freddie and his moustache, you know, that sort of thing. PS: And so, each member chose the colour for himself by his own, right? PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. PS: And how do you think, why Freddie chose the red colour? PF: Because it’s the colour that sticks out the most, although red was not his favourite colour, his favourite colour was yellow. But red is the one that you first look at. If you look at every sale, you know, big sale signs and everything, it’s always red on white. Because red is the colour you notice more. Apparently, whether it’s true or not, I don’t know, but in the old days police stopped more red cars than any other car. PS: Oh, really? PF: Yeah. Just psychologically red is the colour that stands out. PS: And Freddie being so outstanding wanted to strike everybody. PF: Yeah. PS: I see. And you mentioned Freddie and you spending time at Pike’s hotel. And what is also your personal favourite memory of this time. PF: I suppose the swimming pool was actually something nice. To actually think that we were in the swimming pool where Wham had recorded “Club Tropicana”. I mean, yeah, Pike’s. It was a nice hotel. They treated you well. They treated you personally, you know, they took care of you. And so it was a nice place. You really felt well-treated. PS: And what was, like, the top of the top on Freddie’s 41st birthday? What are your memories? PF: The most ridiculous thing is when guests went off into a corner and started smoking, so they weren’t smoking at the table and set light to the decorations. There were all these paper decorations hanging down the walls and everything. And people were there smoking and not looking at what they were doing, and they set light to them with their cigarettes. And then they started throwing alcohol to try and, you know, because it was wet they thought they would put the flames out. I mean, some people are not

very, very bright. [laughs] PS: I see. And what was your favourite memory of his previous one birthday, in 1986, the hat party? PF: Now, the hat party was a one-off, there was no other party quite like that, in Garden Lodge. Not with two hundred and something guests. Because the thing is, the thing that I loved about the fact was that nothing was put away. None of his vases or, you know, anything was put on tables. All the antiques and everything. Everything was left there. Because, okay, there were two hundred people but he actually knew them. He knew he could trust them. PS: And what was it like for him when he arrived back from his magnificent journey to Japan? PF: The thing is, it extended because he was then back home opening up all the packages that had arrived and the crates that had arrived. Because everything was sent over as soon as he bought it. So, the big room, the small room. Everything, all the rooms were full. And these, he had twelve of them. So, it was like Christmas. You know, a six-week Christmas. Because he was away enjoying himself and then opening up and putting it all around the house. PS: So, he was actually in Japan for six weeks, right? PF: No, no, he was in Japan, I think, for about three weeks. But then when he came back, he had three weeks of opening up and putting them all out. PS: So, he had a chance to enjoy his presents one more time, like, actually having them all. PF: Precisely, precisely. PS: So, it was, like, double joy – first to buy it and then to enjoy it at home. PF: Yes, yeah, yeah. PS: And mostly he bought antiques, right? PF: Yeah, I mean, he did actually buy some modern porcelain and things, but almost everything was antique. Almost everything. PS: I see. It was indeed a magic year for him. The Magic tour and the magic holiday… PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Definitely. PS: I see, I see. So, as we are ending our first part by now, I’m saying to you a very, very big thank you, Peter. It’s amazing to hear all these stories about Freddie. PF: It’s been a pleasure, it’s a pleasure. SPECIAL THANKS TO VALUREX FOR CONTRIBUTION AND ASSISTENCE TO BE CONTINUED

#MR interview with Phoebe #queen #queen band #freddie mercury

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illconsidered · 2 years

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man like i remember in 2009 and 2010, at least 80% of what i listened to was muse. which is like, a bit unfortunate but I’ll forever hold that from showbiz to absolution their output was pretty good. they’ve put out absolute flaming hot garbage since 2011 though. i just gave a quick listen to their new album and it was probably the saddest thing I’ve heard in years lol. i was gonna say something along the lines of “how could the band who made origins of symmetry make an album like this” but the signs were all there… from Matt Bellamy being a freddie mercury wannabe to the bourgeoning glam rock persona to the milquetoast *~experimenting with synths~* that was done really poorly, the signs were all there from the start. it’s just so disappointing but it’s even worse to not even be slightly surprised… it’s just airbrushed, boardroom-tier derivative garbage

#that’ll do i reckon

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sophiamcdougall · 5 years

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EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here.

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on. Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter.

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo) a minor drama has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row.

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello.

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings.

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello -- it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!” wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess.

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(... it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus. TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No. Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo, who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all.

They start to play. Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked. The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them. And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium.

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves.

youtube

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing. The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers. Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along. And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati.

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ? And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up ..

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it.

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me.

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history.

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles.

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day.

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance. And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn.

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly, poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else.

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left” or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts. (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

#Explaining Sanremo #Explaining Sanremo Part 2 #Sanremo #Sanremo 2020 #Achille Lauro #Amadeus #Fiorello #Amadello #sanremo 70

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jorgecrespo · 4 years

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If wtfock did a karaoke what would each character choose as a song to sing and rank how well they would be I know we didn’t hear most of them sing but lol this is creativity

So I literally looked up most popular karaoke songs for this one, I did my research

So Aaron would definitely start it off with a rousing performance of YMCA. His singing doesn't really matter since he's basically just screaming it and getting the crowd hyped. Someone eventually will tell him it's a super gay song and them he'll be excited that he's so #woke

Amber and Luca would sing Wannabe together. I mean, technically it needs more than two girls but they make it work. Singing needs improvement but it's all about the passion behind it and they're serving it

Moyo really kicks it off with Lose Yourself. It's right up his alley with his music taste and everyone knows the lyrics (which helps with crowd participation). He kinda nails it and everyone goes wild

Yasmina (who absolutely didn't want to do this) sings Dancing Queen because she knows it'll make everyone happy. Her singing is surprisingly good and she really gets into the performance, because it's ABBA and that's just what happens

Milan would absolutely sing Jolene. It's a gay staple and we all know he loves a gay staple. Is he good? No. Does he bring every bit of emotion into it? Obviously. It's a fantastic performance

Up next is Jana who's drunk and wants a lot of crowd participation to help her. So she picks Come on Eileen, which was the correct choice. She just shouted the lyrics along with the crowd, which made everyone happy

Senne is a classic boi so he went with Don't Stop Believing. His shouting rock singing voice is passable and he gets a lot of high fives at the end

Jens knows what he's doing the second he walks in the door. It's Mr. Brightside. It's always Mr. Brightside. He's really good and everyone hypes him up so much that he almost does an encore until Zoë shoves him out of the way

My lil feminist bitch picks These Boots Were Made for Walking and guess what? She absolutely murders it. The song itself isn't super difficult so it's all about the sass. And Zoë served it on a silver platter

Finally we have a duo (which makes everyone roll their eyes) Robbe and Sander who sing, of course, Under Pressure. And it's terrible. Its a disaster. Shockingly Robbe can't sing as well as Freddie Mercury and we all know Sander's tenuous grasp on the lyrics of this song. But you know what, at the end of the day karaoke is all about having fun. Or something like that because I've never done that shit

#i actually worked for this one so i get to tag #wtfock #wtfam

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yourstrulydiamond · 3 years

Text

All the reasons Queen is better than Prince:

Prince

-vocals are awful

-why is he screeching like that

-he speakin dolphin

-Micheal Jackson wannabe

-He's so ugly lmao wtf

-probs a womanizer

Queen (basically about Freddie Mercury though)

-Original

-Voice is smooth and beautiful

-Music is creative and diverse

-Queer icon

-FREDDIE MERCURY?! THIS MAN IS BEAUTIFUL

#🎞was here #this hurt to write #get hacked

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ylly22 · 5 years

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Posted • @filmtourismus “So, tell me... What makes Queen any different from all of the other wannabe rockstars I meet?” 🎸 •

This is what John Reid (“Littlefinger” Aidan Gillen) asks Freddy Mercury (Rami Malek) and the other band members in the biopic ”Bohemian Rhapsody“. 🎬 I discovered the filming location for this scene in Hammersmith, London. It‘s the 1849 opened pub The Rutland Arms situated on the bank of the River Thames near Hammersmith Bridge.🍻

#bohemian rhapsody #movie #ben hardy #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #rami malek

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emotionally-imbruised · 5 years

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In AIL, do harry and y/n consider the song Accidentally In Love *their song*?

Oh, 100%. It most definitely is their song™️ , and everyone knows it too.

Accidentally In Love: No Escaping Your Love

One night, you and Harry went out with some friends. The small group of you had decided to go to a little hole in the wall pub in London together as a small celebration for Harry’s upcoming Rolling Stone and The Face cover launch, as well as the eventual release of his second album.

Although you and Harry were not together during the era of his first solo record, you were fully aware of the whirlwind of things that would happen afterward seeing as you experienced it all before, as his friend. The interviews, the guest appearances, the future tour dates that you, Gemma and Anne would all plan to attend together were soon going to happen again; but this time around, you’d be cheering him on as his girlfriend… And you knew life would become a whirlwind of events because of it.

That night out was the calm before the storm. The magazines were set to drop in the upcoming weeks and the album not too long after (which you knew thanks to being one of the few people he actually told the release date and even let listen to the album itself.) It was one of the last chill nights you knew you’d share with him for a while because, after that, the album and new era was his primary focus.

Harry never let you fall under the radar by any means, but there was still this invisible weight that seemed to rest on your chest whenever you thought about it all. Specifically, the fact that your relationship with him still wasn’t public knowledge.

The almost eight months the two of you had been together by that point had been nothing short of amazing. And one of the best parts? It was private.

Only a few close friends and family knew about your relationship with him, and although neither of you cared all that much about the word getting out; deep down, you liked your little bubble. You’d grown so accustomed to the world not being in yours and Harry’s business, but you also knew that would soon change because neither of you was going to deny it when people started asking questions.

Regardless of those facts though, you refused to let anything bother you while out with your friends because frankly, the night wasn’t about you. It was about Harry, and you were completely ok with that.

The dinner was lovely. It was great catching up with your friends before flying home alone to LA a few days later; only to be joined by Harry again when he flew back to California as well, but closer to the end of the month. Gemma and Anne were there, naturally, as were a few others and that just made the night even more special.

Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling the entire night, which you found infectious. Each time he talked about his upcoming projects‍, there was a certain glint of excitement in his eyes that brightened each time he spoke, and it made your heart swell completely.

You hadn’t been able to put into words just how proud of him you were, but luckily, he was able to tell that you were and would reassure that whenever he gently placed his hand on your thigh and rubbed soft circles with his thumb.

As dinner came to an end, you were more than ready to just head home with Harry and have the rest of the night to yourselves. You hadn’t really intended to get too rowdy and were quite content with just spending some quality time with your boyfriend; however, before you could make a move to leave; the workers at the pub brought out a karaoke machine.

The way your friends (who were definitely a little tipsy at that point) lit up with excitement made you smile, and it didn’t take much for them to convince you and Harry to stay a little while longer.

The pub was rather quiet seeing as it was getting late, which was a contributing factor in you even considering getting up on the makeshift stage and singing a song; but eventually, you did.

After another drink and a few rounds of your friends singing some songs, you and Gemma were able to absolutely nail an off-pitch version of Wannabe by the Spice Girls with zero shame. Everyone went up on the stage at least once, including Harry who attempted to sing the entirety of Bohemian Rhapsody alone and did an overly dramatic duet of Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart with his mum. But as the night came dwindling to an end and everyone was just about ready to head on home, one last song was requested.

“I think you and Harry should do the last song, Y/N,” Gemma spoke up from the other side of the table, loud enough for everyone to hear and agree by nodding their heads.

“Are you kidding? He’d put me to shame.”

Everyone around the table started chuckling but proceeded to tell you how you should stop being a chicken and just do it.

Just as you were narrowing your gaze at Gemma for even proposing such a thing, Harry gently nudged you with his elbow to gain your attention. You were quick in glancing towards him and couldn’t help the butterflies swarming in your stomach as he smirked down at you.

“I mean, I’m all for it,” he rasped, his voice a little rough from trying to hit Freddie Mercury’s high notes. “But only if you are, love.”

You couldn’t find it in you to say no to him with the way a glint of childlike excitement shone in his eyes, and he knew it too. So, with an exasperated sigh, you linked your hand with his and stood up from your seat.

“Ok, fine.”

Harry let you lead him towards the stage and got into position with one of the microphones, but you stopped at the edge of the table to look through the book of songs the two of you could possibly sing. However, just as you were about to reach for it, Gemma snatched it away.

“What are you up too?” You asked your best friend skeptically as she started rapidly flipping through the pages.

“I’ve got a song idea for the two of you, just gotta make sure they have it,” she replied without looking away from the book. You glanced over your shoulder at Harry to see if he knew anything about what his sister was plotting, but with the way he just shrugged, you knew he was as stumped as you were. After another minute of searching, Gemma’s eyes finally lit up, and she smiled widely. “Ok, you can go up there now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at how she just nonchalantly shooed you away, but regardless, you listened and got up on the stage beside Harry.

“Do you know what song she chose?” He asked while leaning towards you.

“Not a clue,” you answered. “But she’s up to something, I just know it.”

The two of you then moved your gaze back to the table. Everyone was snickering as Gemma showed them what song she had chosen and much to your surprise, they all started pulling out their phones to record you just as the music started playing.

The all too familiar intro of Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows started blaring through the speakers, and you had to try really hard to not smack your palm to your forehead. Of course, she chose that song.

Harry burst into laughter as you glared at Gemma, but had to recollect himself quickly when the words popped up on the screen so he could start singing.

“So she said what’s the problem baby? What’s the problem? I don’t know, well, maybe I’m in love.”

A stupidly wide grin stayed plastered on your mouth as he sang the entire first part of the song and you joined in for the chorus. The second verse was all you, which you absolutely crushed as you found yourself getting lost in the upbeat tune from Shrek 2 and began going all out with your performance.

As the song went into its second bridge, both you and Harry were far too into it by then. The two of you had gotten closer on the stage and were circling each other as you repeated how you were accidentally in love, smirking at each other playfully as you did so. Once the beat picked up again, you broke away from each other and finished up the song with a bang. There was jumping, hair whipping, and an impromptu air guitar all up until the two of you got closer again and sang the last line.

“I’m in love.”

Everyone that was in the pub erupted into cheering once the two of you finished. The waiters, bartenders, as well as your friends and family all stared at the two of you in awe as they clapped and laughed at what had just happened.

You let your gaze trail to Harry, who was busy trying to catch his breath just as badly as you were, but as soon as his eyes met yours; his grin became more full, and he wasted no time in closing the space between the two of you by pulling you in for a kiss. He smirked against your lips, mumbling how good you were, before breaking away and pulling you into his chest for a warm hug.

Once your little moment with one another ended, Harry kept one arm wrapped around your waist and guided you off the stage and back to the table.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” you said to Gemma as you sat back down to gather all your things and pay for your food.

“Was everything I could have ever wanted and more,” she replied while winking at you.

The rest of the table continued conversing about yours and Harry’s performance and how it was a great way to finish off the night, which had you feeling all warm inside.

Just as everyone was finishing paying their bills, one of your friends spoke up once again before everyone started leaving.

“If they were like that into that song just by singing it at karaoke, I could only imagine what they’d be like singing it at their wedding.”

At that, your eyes widened, and a blush started burning its way across your cheeks. Harry noticed your sudden shift in attitude, and couldn’t help but smile at the thought as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I mean, it is basically our trademarked song by this point, yeah? Would definitely want it played at our wedding.”

“You’ve thought about our wedding?” You asked quietly enough just so he would hear.

“Lots of times,” he replied nonchalantly. “No rush, but I already know it’s gonna be the greatest day of my life if m’being honest. That is if you were to say yes.”

“Well, you haven’t given me a reason not to say yes, yet,” you told him smugly before leaning in to peck his lips. “But it’s too soon for that.”

“I know,” he agreed with a soft smile. “But also hope you know that I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for you to say yes.”

With that, you simply nodded, but couldn’t stop grinning like a total idiot. The two of you then got ready to leave and parted ways with your friends. You continued smiling to yourself as the two of you drove back to Harry’s flat before eventually diving into more intimate activities. However, the giddy feeling returned soon after you were done as you curled up against his bare chest and began thinking more about your future with him; feeling quite content with the thought of being with him forever before drifting off into a deep sleep.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles preferences #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #1dff #god it's been a while since I wrote for this series #ail #ail!concepts

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

I Don’t Like You or Your Band

John Deacon x Reader

Summary: Reader is a music journalist, and a very popular one at that. She knew Deaky when they were teenagers. She’s written a pretty harsh piece about Queen.

Word Count: 10K

Tag List: @someone-get-a-medic @deakysgurl, @polarcrystall, @queer-heart-attack, @dewdarkdemon, @qweenly, @smittyjaws, @caborhapch, @amelialio, @flyawayhay, @hannahfuckingsucks, @hotspacedeaky, @julessbrown, @reavenedges-lies, @simmisblog, @anna-1946, @ziggymay, @retromusicsalad, @catch-a-deak, @winterssoldierrs, @casafrass, @cranberribread, @strawberry-lemonade0, @ilovetacos1267

A/N: This gets very smutty at the end, but that was the whole point! Also, this fic was inspired by the song, “I Don’t Like You or Your Band” by Kate Rhudy. Go check her out on Spotify, her whole album is awesome :)

Your cigarettes, your leather shoes You, your friends, and your middle class white boy blues You’ve become something I can’t stand Don’t even miss holdin’ your hand And I don’t like you or your band

Monday I was in love with a good, good man

He was kissing you. Shy and sloppy, reflecting the innocence of the moment. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking. He went to do the same, his fingers tracing the hem of your sweater. It was soft and pink, as virginal as you were.

Your eyes snapped open. A tear leaked out and slid down your cheek. Why were you dreaming this now? Then you remembered. The Queen article was going out today. It was scathing. The thought made you nervous. Would the band see it? Would he see it? Did you care if he did?

You wiped your face and got up. You put on a simple dress and heels, pushing all thoughts of your past to the back of your mind. You didn’t want to think about him now. You didn’t want to think about him at all, really.

As you walked into you office, you said hello to the receptionist as you made your way to your empty desk. You usually had a copy of the week’s issue waiting for you, before they hit the shelves. Your brow furrowed.

“Y/N,” said your editor, Charles, as he sauntered over to you. “You ready for today’s issue?”

He waved the magazine in front of you before letting it fall onto your desk with a slap. Queen was spread across the front page. You looked away.

You nodded at Charles, resolving yourself to your pride in your work. Your history with John Deacon was irrelevant. In fact, you had not even disclosed it to Charles - or anyone - because you felt that it mattered that little.

“Hey, you’re from the same town as the bass player, right?” Charles asked.

A nervous twinge went through you. “Um, yeah.”

“Did you know him?”

“No,” you lied. “No, not really.”

***

“This is shit!” Roger cried, throwing down the magazine as he entered the studio. “Have you all read this review?”

“Oh, God, what is it now?” Freddie wondered, rolling his eyes.

“Listen,” Roger said irritably. “‘Queen is a band with talent that could best be described as above average. Their most redeeming quality is their frontman, Freddie Mercury, but even his eccentric style and quality vocals can’t make up for the fact that they’re just another wannabe Zeppelin. Only they don’t have half the lyrical depth or musical skill.’ What the fuck?!”

“Who’s the author?” Brian wondered.

“She’s a really well-known reporter,” Roger said. “She did that whole profile on Elton John last year that everyone loved. Y/N Y/L/N.”

John choked on the sip of water he was taking, and the other three turned eyes on him.

“Do you know her?” Freddie asked.

John coughed for a moment and had to catch his breath. “Yes.”

They all still stared at him. He cleared his throat. “What?”

“How do you know her?” Roger asked.

“We sort of went out when we were in school,” John explained. “I guess you could say she was my first real girlfriend.”

“Well - Christ, Deaks, what’d you do to her?” Roger wondered.

“Nothing!” John insisted. “I mean - I suppose we - well, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Could you speak in complete sentences?” Brian asked cheekily. “So the rest of us might keep up?”

John ran a hand down his face and groaned. He mumbled something that the others couldn’t hear.

“Deaky, just tell us!” Roger cried.

“We were each other’s first times!” he finally came out with. “We were seventeen and it was weird and then I fucked off to London shortly after.”

Freddie burst into giggles. Roger sighed and Brian rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you just ring her and apologize?” Roger suggested. “Maybe she’ll take back what she said.”

“Oh, come on,” John returned. “That article couldn’t possibly be a reaction to something that happened years ago. It’s probably just her honest opinion.”

“There’s no way that’s her opinion because the album isn’t shit and we’re not Zeppelin wannabes,” Roger insisted. “If anything, we also have an influence from Yes.”

“Which she also mentions,” Brian interjected, looking at the article again. “She really knows her stuff. Even if she is wrong about us.”

“If she really knew her stuff, she wouldn’t be wrong about us,” Roger said stubbornly.

“That gives me an idea,” Freddie said.

They all looked curiously at him.

“What is it?” Brian asked.

“Let’s invite her here,” Freddie said. “Let her see how our work comes together and how original we are. That is, if it isn’t too uncomfortable for you, Deaky, dear.”

“Look, it wasn’t like I left without saying anything,” John further explained. “We had a normal breakup, I thought.”

“Great!” Freddie said with an excited clap. “It’s decided! She’ll join us for the week!”

“Hold on, nothing is decided!” Roger argued, but Freddie was already gone to use the phone. “Well, I’m not going to be nice to her.”

“She wasn’t very nice to us first,” Brian said as if that settled the matter.

***

You were going through some papers on your desk as preliminary work for your next article. Your phone rang and you picked it up lazily.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N,” said a strangely familiar voice on the other end. “This is Freddie Mercury.”

A chill ran down your spine and your heart nearly stopped. “What?”

“We’ve read your piece on our music, and I must say, darling, we believe you’re mistaken,” he said. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Look, Mr. Mercury,” you said, finding your voice again. “I was just doing my job. If you don’t like what I say, that’s your problem. At this point, Queen should be used to bad press.”

It was a low blow, but you didn’t care. Freddie only snickered.

“I like you, darling,” he said. “You’re feisty. But I’m about to make you an exclusive offer.”

“I’m listening.”

He arranged to meet you at a cafe between your office and their studio. You told Charles about the call.

“Y/N, are you serious?” he gasped.

“Do you want me to cancel?” you asked, concerned by his tone.

“Hello no!” he cried. “Take the meeting, and whatever exclusive they’re offering you. Find out everything you can about them. Dig up the dirt. Find me something we can use to take them down.”

“Take them down?” you wondered. “I don’t want to make shit up about them.”

“You won’t have to,” he said. “But get me something.”

“I’ll do my best,” you said warily.

“That’s a good girl.”

You clenched your teeth as you left the office. You hated when men talked to you like that. You were a grown woman, out on her own. You were not a little girl who needed the approval of anyone, especially not a man.

You went to the cafe where Freddie asked to meet. You spotted the band right away. Brian’s fluffy curls gave them away, but you first noticed John. He looked quite different with his long hair and fancy clothes. But he was still John. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. You loved the John you knew dearly. But he also hurt you.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N,” Freddie said, getting to his feet and shaking your hand. The others offered you no such courtesy.

“I am,” you said. “Obviously, I know who all of your are.”

“Obviously,” Freddie said slowly, with a mischievous grin. “We wanted to talk to you about your article and offer an opportunity to...correct it.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t need correcting. The appeal of music is entirely subjective. Not everyone is going to think you’re the greatest band to walk the earth.”

“There’s no need to get defensive,” he said. “Especially since you haven’t heard our offer.”

“Well, make it then,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“She’s right to business,” he remarked. “I like it.”

“You wanna make an arrangement or do you wanna fuck around?”

He laughed. It was charming in its own way. You tried not to let it infect you, but you felt the corners of your mouth nearly twitch. It didn’t help that you were ignoring John’s intense gaze.

“Spend the week in the studio with us,” he said. “See what we do. How we put our unique sound together. I guarantee you’ll change your mind.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him and then gestured to the rest of the band. “And you’re all on board with this?”

You scanned them. Roger glowered at the ground and didn’t answer. Brian nodded stiffly. Finally, you met John’s eyes. It took him a moment to respond, but when he opened his mouth, Freddie spoke.

“Deaky told us you’re old friends,” he said.

You weren’t looking at him, but you could feel his smirk. You continued to look at John and your gaze hardened.

“Oh?” you said coldly. “I don’t recall.”

You cut away from his stare, but you saw his mouth drop a little before he quickly closed it again. Your eyes found Freddie’s, and laughter danced behind them.

“What do you say?” he asked, ignoring his clear urge to take a dig at his friend. “One full week behind the scenes with Queen. And you’ll write a new story.”

“What if my opinion stays the same?” you challenged.

“You write it exactly how you see it,” he said. “If you don’t change your mind - although I’m sure you will, darling - you can write even more about how terrible we are.”

“You’re awfully confident,” you replied.

He shrugged. “Take it or leave it, love.”

“I’ll take it,” you said. “But just so you know, everything is on the record.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With the deal in place, you went with them to the studio. You walked there right from the cafe since you had your notepad in your bag. You followed behind them, but John dropped back to walk beside you. You resisted rolling your eyes.

“Y/N,” he said. “It’s - uh - good to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” you returned, not looking at him.

He grabbed your arm and yanked you to a stop. You glared at him and wrenched yourself free.

“What’s up with you?” he demanded quietly so the other guys wouldn’t hear. “I thought our relationship was meaningful...that we still cared about each other.”

“You did?” you spat. “Well, imagine my surprise.”

He blinked. “What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do,” you said. “Everything you fucking forgot when you left home, including me.”

“I never forgot you,” he insisted.

“You could have fooled me,” you bit back.

He looked away, clearly stung. You didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him.

“Is that why you wrote those things about Queen?” he asked.

You laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. You’re not important enough to be my reason to write anything.”

With that, you jogged ahead, away from him. You made a silent vow to yourself that you would not go there again with him. That from here on out, you would keep everything professional. There was no need to face what had happened. That was behind you. And you weren’t going that way.

The first day with the band went smoothly. You didn’t interact very much with them, just quietly observing them from the booth. You had to admit they worked hard, overcame small disputes, and were experimental.

You noticed your eyes lingering on John throughout rehearsal. His face looked the same as it used to when he was concentrating on learning a new line for a song. He looked natural behind the bass, and for a moment, you forgot you were angry at him. It was like the old days, when he was with The Opposition, and you were just a young girl with doe eyes, and he was the rock star of your heart.

You shook your head to clear it. No. It would never be that way again. You knew only too well how that story ended.

Tuesday You left me unamused and unimpressed

The next day, you skipped going to your office entirely. You had called Charles from the studio and explained what they had offered, and you were pretty sure you heard him cry on the other end of the line. He again reminded you to find something “juicy” while you insisted you would still only report the truth. You could picture the way he rolled his eyes when he sighed at you.

“Must you be so annoyingly ethical?” he wondered.

“I’m a journalist, Charles, not a gossip columnist,” you returned, and hung up the phone.

So on Tuesday morning, you came straight into the studio. You heard voices in the booth. Knowing them to be the band’s, you stopped and listened. Since they didn’t know you were there, this was obviously off the record, but you were just curious.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you ever saw in her,” Roger said.

“She didn’t used to be…” John trailed off.

“Such a bitch?” Roger finished.

“I guess so,” John agreed. “When I knew her she was honestly the sweetest person I’d ever met. A really lovely girl.”

“Are sure it’s the same Y/N Y/L/N?” Brian joked.

They all snickered.

“Well, she mostly looks the same,” John said.

“I will give you that she’s a looker,” Roger said. “But it’s hard to believe that woman was ever a ‘really lovely girl.’”

“She was,” John insisted. “Really, she was. Her nickname in school was Judy because she reminded everyone of Judy Garland.”

Just hearing that endearment again - especially from John’s lips - drove a knife through your heart and twisted it.

“Judy Garland?” Roger returned, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

You decided to walk in now, lest this conversation go further into John’s memory of a girl that no longer existed.

“Morning, gents,” you said coolly.

Roger groaned, departed to the studio, and started fiddling with his drum set. He left the door open, but the rest of the band did not follow him just yet. Freddie looked at you.

“Sorry about him,” he said.

You shrugged. “I don’t care that he doesn’t like me. I don’t need anyone’s approval. Especially not some Cornish pixie drummer boy.”

Roger froze, dropping a drumstick, and scowled at you. Freddie cackled. John clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Even Brian let out a small chuckle. You just stared Roger down, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him. He said nothing, but he did flip you off through the window. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on the couch.

Brian joined Roger in the studio, picking up his guitar and slinging it across his body as he began tuning it. You watched how careful he was. Roger was too. They were meticulous about sounding exactly right. You observed this the previous day as well but thought they were just doing that because you were there. Clearly, this was their normal routine. You were just barely impressed.

They started playing through a song, but quickly began bickering about tempo. Roger accused Brian of going too slow, whereas Brian thought that was appropriate for the song. Voices were raised, insults were tossed, glares were exchanged. Freddie was giggling as he watched from the booth. John kept glancing at you, but you resolutely ignored him.

“Darlings, darlings,” Freddie said to Roger and Brian. “Please. We can settle this. Deaky, what do you think? Roger’s tempo or Brian’s?”

“Roger,” John said.

“Of course you side with him,” Brian snapped, rolling his eyes.

“Christ, Brian, it’s not personal,” John argued.

“Yeah, it’s because I’m right,” Roger added.

“I happen to side with you, Brian, dear,” Freddie interjected before it could escalate again. “So it’s a tie.”

“We don’t have a tie breaker,” John said.

Freddie smirked. “Sure we do. Y/N.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“What do you think, darling?” he asked. “Brian or Roger?”

“I have no opinion,” you said flatly.

“We all know that’s not true,” he returned.

“This is all very democratic of you,” you said with a sigh. “But if I participated in the making of the music I’m supposed to be evaluating, wouldn’t that create a conflict of interest?”

“Don’t be difficult, Y/N, just tell us what you think,” John said shortly.

You shot him a glare. “No.”

“Why should she decide?” Roger chimed in. “She doesn’t even like our music.”

“All the more reason to believe she’s being honest,” Freddie pointed out.

“Or just petty,” Roger muttered.

“Did you even hear what she just said?” Freddie said. “She’s got principles.”

“I have been described as annoyingly ethical,” you said.

“Principles be damned, I don’t give a shit what she thinks,” Roger said.

You shrugged.

Freddie turned to you. “Just for fun. Off the record. Who do you think is right?”

“Off the record,” you repeated firmly. “Roger is right.”

Roger threw you a surprised look before a smug smile claimed his face. He looked triumphantly at Brian.

“What happened to not giving a shit what she thinks?” Brian spat.

“My opinion doesn’t count,” you reminded them. “It’s still a tie.”

Roger frowned. “Who was it that described you as annoyingly ethical?”

“My boss.”

“Smart man.”

“Look, let’s just count Y/N’s vote so we can move on,” John suggested.

“No,” you said. “You can’t.”

“Don’t worry, it was off the record,” Freddie said. “No one will know.”

“We’ll know,” you argued.

“And we shall all take it to the grave with us,” John said sarcastically. “Lest you be known as a music reviewer with a bloody opinion.”

“Oh, fuck y-” you began, but Freddie cut you off.

“Roger wins the popular vote,” he said. “Deaky, get in there and help them out.”

Your eyes bored hatred into John’s back as he entered the studio. You slumped back onto the couch, feeling a bit like a pouting child as you continued to observe them. John’s mouth was drawn downward as he grabbed his bass roughly. He licked his fingers before plucking at the strings. A motion that almost made you gasp. It was...sexy. You shook your head and crossed your legs with a huff.

You spent the rest of the day scratching your notes down harshly, lips pressed together with irritation. As they finished up, you started to put away your pen and paper. You slung your purse onto your shoulder and started to head out when your pocket knife slipped out of your bag and onto the floor. You reached down to pick it up, but John beat you to it. You snatched it out of his hand without even thanking him and stuffed it into your bag.

“Why are you carrying that?” he asked.

“Experience taught me I had to,” you replied.

“Experience?”

“I got fucking robbed, John, what do you want from me?”

“When?!” he wondered, eyes going wide.

“My first day in London,” you told him, unsure where this honesty was coming from.

You didn’t tell him that they man who did it made you strip, taking everything you had on you including your address book and money, so you shivered naked in an alley until a kind restaurant owner came out, saw the pathetic state you were in, and took you inside. She gave you a spare uniform and then offered you a job and a place at her flat until you could pay her back. Which you did in full. You also didn’t tell him you had only come to London looking for him.

His eyes searched yours. He found a hurt there that was bone deep. You were like a wounded dog, whimpering for a helping hand but prepared to bite the first one that touched you. Your glare was like bared fangs. Still, a part of him ached to reach out and risk you sinking your teeth in.

“That’s terrible,” he said, knowing exactly how lame it sounded.

You held his gaze. “I’ve been through worse.”

With that, you left the studio. John sighed and looked at the floor.

“She’s awfully cryptic, isn’t she?” Brian remarked.

“She’s so angry,” John said, half to himself.

“Forget about her,” Roger said, clapping John’s shoulder. “Let’s get a drink, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

Meanwhile, you walked to the pub you usually patronized in the evenings after work. It was actually the place you had worked after that first horrific night. The owner was still there and tended the bar on weeknights, so you went to see her. She always offered you a drink for free, but you never took it. She had already done too much for you.

“Y/N!” she called as you came through the door.

You beamed at her. “Cora!” You came around the bar to embrace her. “How are you?”

“I’m just fine for an old lady,” she replied. “How are you, my dear?”

You sighed, unsure how to answer her.

“I know that face,” she said. “You’re in need of a drink and conversation.”

“The drink I could use,” you replied. “The conversation, I’m not so sure about.”

She poured you your favorite, gin and tonic. You took a sip and thanked her.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’, just gotta pop in the back and get some wine glasses,” she said.

You stood up. “I’ll get them, Cora.”

“You don’t work here anymore, love,” she said with a grateful laugh.

“I’ll always take care of you,” you returned. “Besides, the doctor said you shouldn’t strain your back.”

You set your drink on the bar and then headed into the dish pit.

While you were in the back, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John walked in. They took seats at the bar, leaving a few chairs between themselves and where your bag and drink sat. John thought it was yours, but wasn’t quite sure. Cora walked over to them and took their drink orders. You emerged again, carrying the rack of glasses and groaned when you spotted the band. Still, you brought the dishes behind the bar.

“Oh, Y/N,” said Freddie. “Do you work here too?”

“What, writing rubbish about music not paying the bills?” Roger jabbed.

“Piss of, Roger,” you snapped. “I don’t work here, but I used to.”

“Are these friends of yours, Y/N?” Cora wondered, eyes flickering between you and the band.

“Cora, this is Queen,” you said gently. “I’m re-evaluating them.”

She released a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. “Oh, my! Well, it’s not every day we have real rock stars in our little pub! Welcome, lads!”

“Thank you, darling,” said Freddie.

Cora just grinned widely at him. A warm smile danced across your lips as you took in her excitement. John’s eyes landed on you and he saw, for a fleeting moment, the girl he knew. But at that moment, a man approached you and asked you to join him at his table. You agreed, wiggling your fingers at Cora as she watched you cross the room.

“You two seem very close,” Brian said casually. “How long did she work here?”

“Just over a year, actually,” Cora said. “But she lived with me too.”

“How did that happen?” John wondered.

“Well, I found her right outside this building,” she explained. She told them all how she found you, to their shock. Even Roger felt pretty sorry for you.

“I couldn’t just leave her out there, shivering and alone,” she continued. “My Christian heart wouldn’t let me. So I took her in. But she took care of herself really once she started to make some money. I know she did some...unsavory things to earn the extra. I offered to help her, but she refused to take even one penny from me.”

“Why didn’t she just go home?” Roger asked.

Cora shrugged. “She said - and I’ll never forget the words she used - ‘I came to London looking for someone. He’s lost, so I’ll find myself instead.’ Seemed quite poetic to me. I knew from there she’d be a writer.”

“Did she ever tell you who it was she was looking for?” Freddie asked, glancing at John.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “She refused to speak of him. Some chap from her hometown, though, that’s all I knew.”

At that moment, you came back over to tell Cora goodbye, since you were leaving with the man from before. You kissed her cheek before turning to the band.

“See you lot in the morning, I suppose,” you said.

They gave you odd looks, but you pushed your confusion away. You left with David, heading back to your flat, which wasn’t far from the bar. But as you took David up the stairs to your front door, the look in John’s eyes haunted you. Something like pity swam behind them. Pity mixed with guilt. It infuriated you.

Then David’s chapped lips were on yours, cracked and unpleasant. He shoved his talentless tongue into your mouth as he pushed you gently onto your bed. You bunched your skirt up to your hips so he could tug your panties off, but he stopped.

“Would you suck me off first?” he asked.

You smirked. “You wanna keep your cock?”

“W-what?”

“If you wanna keep your cock, keep it the fuck out of my face,” you warned.

“Shit, alright,” he gasped.

“Now take my knickers off and fuck me.”

He obeyed, pulling his pants down to his ankles. You weren’t quite wet enough so it stung a little when he pushed into you, but you bit your lip through it. Only, his fucking was as awkward as his kissing. His thrusts were sloppy, and he failed to even graze your g-spot. Your clit, he completely ignored. He clearly thought he was doing great from the noises coming out of his mouth. Gasps and groans, and some semblance of dirty talk that you didn’t even hear. You sighed, exasperated, and pushed him off of you.

“You’re shit,” you said. “Get out.”

“What the fuck?!” he cried breathlessly.

“Get your pants on and get out of my house,” you ordered.

“I’m still hard,” he complained.

“That’s not my problem,” you returned.

He narrowed his eyes at you and scrambled off the bed. He tucked himself into his trousers and glared at you as he put his shoes back on.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

You grimaced at him. “So I’ve heard. Bye now.”

He muttered under his breath some more as he left, slamming the door behind him. You got up and followed, locking the door just in case. Then you returned to your bed. Flopping onto your back, your mind showed you John’s eyes again. You remembered kissing John all those years ago. The ways his eyes looked the first time you’d kissed him.

You pictured John now. Different, but much the same. More talented, less awkward. You remembered him licking those fingers of his before playing his bass. His mouth in a slight pout as he focused. Your skin felt hot. Your lower stomach churned with desire. You dipped your finger between your thighs and pressed onto your clit.

“John…” you sighed.

Wednesday What a shame it is that the rock I thought you were turned out to be sand

You arrived to the studio early the next morning. It was raining heavily as thunder rolled in the distance. Cosmically, John was the only other person there. You didn’t let the fact that you’d gotten off to the thought of him throw you. You just took your seat on the couch, ringing out your hair, and waited in silence with him. You pulled out the book you were reading and dove in. The only sound was the patter of the rain on the roof.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to you when you came to London?” he asked suddenly.

You snapped the book shut and looked at him icily. “I didn’t realize that was any of your business.”

“I know you’re not this person,” he said. “When you looked at Cora yesterday, you were yourself again.”

“You don’t know anything about who I am, John Deacon,” you said. “A lot has changed since we left Oadby.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re assuming you have a right to an answer.”

“I think I do have a right,” he said hotly. “A lot of this anger you’ve got is clearly directed at me. Maybe if you stopped biting everyone’s head off and talked about it, you wouldn’t be so pissed off.”

There was that look again. The pity guilt combination that made your stomach roil.

“Fine,” you snipped. “You wanna know what happened to me? Yes, I got robbed and left naked behind a building. I took a job as a waitress to scrape by and pay back a fraction of debt I owed Cora. And there were a few regulars at the bar who I fucked for money. Anything else?”

“How’d you get a writing position?” he asked levelly.

“One of the regulars introduced me to an editor friend of his,” you said. “I submitted my first article to him, and he took me on. I got better and was eventually offered the job I’ve got now.”

“Okay, how is any of this my fault?”

“Is that what you think?” you laughed. “I don’t blame you for any of that shit. You weren’t even in my life anymore.”

“Then why are you so angry at me?!” he demanded, getting to his feet.

You jumped up too. “I’m angry at you because you lied to me!”

“What?!”

“You did!” you cried. “You broke up with me, and it broke my heart. But it was okay because we were supposed to be friends. And yet I was the only one who made any effort. Then suddenly you were off to London and then I never heard a thing from you! And I wrote you every day! Every day until I came here looking for you! And you promised you’d write to me, John!” You choked on his name as your throat got thick with the old wound.

“You promised,” you repeated with childish stubbornness.

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly.

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want from me, John? My forgiveness?”

“Well, it was only letters,” he said.

“Only letters?” you repeated quietly. “John, it’s not about the letters. It’s the fact that you didn’t give enough of a shit about me to pick up a goddamn pen. Our relationship meant that little to you. I meant that little to you.”

You had scarcely gotten the words out when Roger and Brian walked in, both rain soaked, and flicking water off their coats. They were already quarrelling about something regarding the song again. You and John turned eyes on them.

“Y/N, what do you think, off the record -” Roger began, but you cut him off.

“Oh, no,” you said. “I’m not falling for that again.”

“Damn, I don’t know how else I’m gonna win this one,” he muttered.

You giggled. All eyes fell on you as you clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Y/N, did you just laugh?” Roger asked, a smile on his face.

“No,” you insisted, but the corners of your mouth were still turned slightly up.

“I think she did,” Brian added.

“Could it be that there’s a real, human heart in that chest?” Roger continued. “I thought it was just a hunk of ice.”

“Shut up,” you said through another laugh, but they let you have that one.

“Is Fred here yet?” Brian asked John.

John shook his head. “Late, as usual.”

You and John locked eyes briefly before you started getting out your pen and paper again. Freddie arrived within a few minutes, and they got right to work. You did actually admire their focus and professionalism. They took their craft seriously. More seriously than most musicians you had met. And you had met a great deal of them.

Today they had fewer arguments. It seemed that the rain was making everyone too tired to fight. That was more than okay with you. You couldn’t stand the bickering, especially between Brian and Roger. You wondered how they were the founders of the band since they rarely seemed to agree on a concept for a song. It was maddening to listen to.

John was stuck somewhere between staring intensely at you or avoiding you like the plague. The conversation from before was not a comfortable one, and it was so clearly unfinished. Unsaid words hung between you like clothes on a line. When your eyes did meet, it was like stepping onto a balance beam. You were unsteady and wobbly, but clinging to the very thing that put you there.

By the afternoon, you heard a rough run through of a new song. You would never, ever tell them this, but you liked it.

When the day was over, you packed up your things and for the first time, the band said goodbye to you. Roger only offered a wave, while Brian and Freddie said the words. John actually asked if he could walk you out.

“I can get to the door myself, thanks,” you said.

You weren’t sure where you two stood after the morning’s conversation. You feared another emotional line of questioning.

“Please,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, then.”

You walked down the hall together, but he was behaving strangely. He kept glancing into every doorway you passed, and would sigh when there were people inside. When you reached the end of the corridor, he pulled open the door to what appeared to be a closet. He took another quick look around before pushing you inside.

“John, what the hell?!” you demanded as he shut the door.

“I want to speak in private,” he said.

He reached up and pulled the string to turn the light on. It was a tight space. Your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. It made heat rise in your cheeks to be so close to him. You looked up to meet his eyes. When had he gotten so tall?

John swallowed as he looked down at you. The feeling of your breasts against him was enough to drive him crazy.

“I still feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, focusing on your face.

He was so close you could feel his breath on your face.

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” you returned.

“Y/N, please,” he groaned. “We were going so well this morning.”

“Well?” you questioned.

“Yes, you were opening up,” he said. “You’d softened to the point where you laughed.”

You sighed. “That was a fluke.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he said. “Tell me one thing.”

“What do you want to know?”

“After you had some money, why didn’t you go back home?” he wondered. “Why put yourself through all of this? You could have been back with you mum -”

“She left, John,” you said. “She left me in the middle of the night.”

John knew already that your father was not in your life. You and your mother were on your own back in Oadby. She had made quite a life for herself and seemed devoted to you. This revelation clearly shocked John, as he would have stumbled backward had there been space to do so.

“She left you?”

You nodded. “Yes. She left a note that said she couldn’t do ‘this’ anymore and she was leaving, but she knew I would be okay. I started to write you, but you hadn’t been answering my letters, so I took the money she left me and came looking for you. Because I needed my friend. I needed you, John.”

Emotion threatened to overwhelm you again. This was something you had never told anyone. Not even Cora.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I left you in the dark...I’m so, so sorry.”

“Just tell me why,” you breathed back.

“Because I missed you so much,” he told you.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you missed me, why would you ignore me?”

“I couldn’t ask you to be with me again,” he said. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Elaborate on that.”

“I wasn’t sure that I was going to be successful,” he said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to have a career in electronics, and music was still something so unsteady. All I wanted was to be with you again, but I didn’t want you to give up home and security. I didn’t think I was worth it.”

“So you thought the solution was to just shut me out?” you said. “Without even telling me why?”

A tear slid down your cheek, catching you by surprise. Gently, John brought his thumb to your face and wiped it away. The feeling of his touch made goosebumps erupt over your skin and sent a shiver down your spine. And yet, anger sat on your stomach.

“That is a piss poor excuse, John,” you spat.

“I was a kid,” he argued.

“We’re the same age, and I knew better,” you said.

“I said I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

You held his gaze for a moment. You didn’t know what else he could do either. Your feelings weren’t clear to yourself. You weren’t sure you were at a place where you could forgive him. As you looked into his eyes, you wanted to. You desperately wanted to. His eyes flicked down to your lips. Slowly, he began to lean forward. Your heart hammered against your chest and cheeks warmed as he inched closer. You were suddenly absurdly aware of his hand on your face. His eyes began to close and you pressed your hand to his chest.

“John, wait,” you said, sounding even less sure than you felt.

He opened his eyes and looked at you questioningly.

“I can’t do this,” you told him. “I don’t know how I feel about you.”

His hand trailed down to your neck, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath. He noticed, but he let you off the hook.

“I know how I feel about you,” he said. “I don’t like the ice queen we met earlier this week. But the woman you are beneath that is someone I’d like to know again.”

He pressed his lips to your cheek and you closed your eyes at the contact. When you opened them again, he was pushed the door to the closet open. He offered his hand so he could help you out. You accepted, needing the balance to step over all the items on the floor. As you headed to the front of the building, you said nothing else to each other. When you reached the door, you faced him again.

“Have a good evening, John,” you said.

“You too, Y/N,” he replied.

He gave you hand a small squeeze and then left. You took a deep breath and went out the door. The sun shone. The sky had cleared.

Thursday Maybe you should get your shit together

You sat in the studio taking notes, your eyes flicking between your notebook and John. He occasionally looked back at you, in which case you would look sharply away. You had to bite your lip to keep from smirking. You couldn’t tell if he noticed or not.

You were a little embarrassed at how quickly the band hand begun to sway your opinion. You usually considered your opinion resolute. Perhaps it was growth that you could change your mind. About Queen, and the desires of your own heart.

Suddenly, Charles walked in. He was carrying your notepads from the last three days and looking livid. He waved them in your face. You shot him a confused and offended look.

“What?” you snapped. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re damn right there’s a problem!” he cried. “Is this really all you’ve got from the last three days?”

“That’s three notepads full,” you replied. “You really think I’m keeping stuff from you?”

“Do not sass me, girl!” he shouted.

Quietly, the band came into the room, though neither you nor Charles noticed, too caught up in the argument to see.

“Don’t call me girl!” you retorted, getting to your feet.

“Look, I didn’t give you this assignment so you could give me this choir boy version of the band!” he continued.

“Roger literally does coke on the second day, but yeah, I got choir boys,” you spat. “I’m writing the truth -”

“LISTEN!” he bellowed. “I told you I needed an exposure! Something to fill the headlines! A take down piece! So unless you wanna put some heels on and fuck me for an hour, you better stop acting like a little bitch!”

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. The words had hardly left his mouth when John tackled him to the ground. He drilled his fist into Charles’s face repeatedly. You watched through teary eyes as John defended you. Blood burst from Charles’s nose as John’s fist made hard contact, over and over again. Charles was resisting weakly, blindsided by this attack.

“John!” you cried, reaching for him. “Stop! Stop it!”

Brian grabbed your arm to keep you out of it. Freddie and Roger stepped in to drag John off, but he struggled against them. You stared at him, amazed and horrified. Charles got slowly to his feet, shaking as he peeled himself off the floor. He glowered at John, breathing heavily. Then he wiped his bloody face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“You will be hearing from my lawyer,” he growled. He rounded on you. “And you, little groupie whore, are fired.”

You blinked, letting a tear fall down your cheek, and bit your lip to hold back the sob threatening to escape from your throat. Charles spat on the floor before limping out of the room. Roger flipped him off as he held John back. Freddie just sighed. Brian turned eyes on you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you choked out. Then you looked at John. “Let him go, guys. I need to speak to him.”

Freddie and Roger released John’s arms. He shrugged them off and followed you out of the booth and down the hall to an unoccupied office. John looked expectantly at you as you turned to face him.

“Close the door, please,” you requested.

He did. As soon as it clicked shut, you flared up.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you demanded. “We’ve spent all week despising each other and now you’re fighting some guy because he insulted me?! Who are you?! I don’t know where your head is at at any given time! How can you -”

He cut you off with a searing kiss. Your eyes fell shut as his lips moved against yours and you plunged your hands into his hair. It was frenzied and needy, all teeth and tongue. His hands slid over your shoulders before he grabbed your breasts and squeezed. You moaned into his mouth, feeling like you might faint.

He pulled back from your lips to pepper kisses down your neck. He nipped at your soft skin before swirling his tongue around the same spot to soothe it. High, breathy moans fell from your lips as he went. You pressed yourself closer to him and you could feel his hardening cock against your stomach. It sent a powerful jolt of arousal to your core. Your panties dampened.

“Mmm, John,” you sighed.

When you said his name, it fanned the fire in him. He grabbed you roughly, turned you around, and pushed you against the desk. You let out a small squeak of surprise as he bent you over. He yanked your skirt up around your waist, revealing your legs and thong to him. You shivered as the air hit your warm skin. John ran a hand up the back of your thigh, making you tremble with anticipation. He moved his hand away only to bring it back down sharply on your ass. The sound cracked like a whip in the empty room and a guttural moan tore from your throat. It only made you that much wetter.

“So damn strong willed, Y/N,” John growled into your ear, rubbing your stinging skin. “But this is what you really want, isn’t it? Someone to take care of you?”

You judged yourself a little for the pathetic whine that came out of your mouth. He wrapped his arm around you and dipped his hand into your underwear. Quickly, he ran his fingers up and down your slit, coating them in your wetness.

“Oh, God,” you moaned as his pointer finger found your clit.

You took hold of his arm, gripping it tight as the pleasure built. He made light circles on your clit, picking up speed with each rotation.

“F-fuck, John!” you cried. “Feels so good!”

“I see the way you watch me play,” he teased. “How badly you want these fingers inside you, princess, huh?

“Please, please, please,” you begged.

His middle finger nudged your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so sexy begging for me.”

Finally, he sank it into you. You groaned and your head slumped forward, lost in the feeling of it. He pumped in and out of you, slowly at first as he curled his finger into your g-spot. The heel of his hand put pressure on your clit and you saw stars.

“So bloody proud,” he said, kissing your shoulder softly. “But so needy.”

You couldn’t answer him. Your brain couldn’t even form words. His hand was working you right up to your orgasm. When he added a second finger you nearly screamed.

“M’close,” you mewled. “So close, John - fuck!”

You were clenching around his fingers, hurtling toward the edge. He sped up. You were grateful for the desk beneath you because your legs completely gave out.

“Go on then,” he encouraged. “Cum for me, princess.”

His permission was all you needed. You came completely undone with a choked cry of his name, riding out your high on his hand. As you came down, your whole body shook. He kept his hand at your center, lazily stroking your folds.

“Ready for my cock?” he asked, grazing your clit again and making your hips twitch.

You nodded.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urged.

“Yes, please, John,” you whined. “Want you to fuck me…”

You caught your breath as he unzipped his trousers and pulled your thong down to your ankles. You moaned when he pressed his tip against your entrance. All your senses were heightened by the pleasure coursing through you. The head of his cock right at your core, the silky feeling of his shirt against your back, the tickle of the ends of his hair on your cheek. All of it was just John.

He pushed slowly into you. He was quite big, but you were so wet, he met little resistance. You groaned as he entered. He filled you up, bottoming out inside you and he stopped so you could adjust.

“You’re so tight,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

“Move, please,” you told him.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He started at an easy pace, but quickly picked up. He must have been needier than you realized because his cock twitched inside you. So he was close. His finger found your clit again, circling it to the rhythm of his hips. His free hand gripped one of yours, interlocking your fingers. He pounded into you, his tip hitting your g-spot and making you whimper with every thrust.

“Can I - hng, fuck - can I cum inside you?” he asked breathlessly.

Just the thought of it made you squeeze around him and he let out the filthiest groan.

“Yes - oh, God - yes,” you practically sobbed.

One, two, three more thrusts, and you finished together, his hot cum coating your pulsing walls as he collapsed above you. You were shivering from the intensity of two such rapid orgasms, so his weight warmed and stilled you. He pressed his lips to your shoulders and neck, easing you down before he pulled out. You whimpered at the empty feeling. Then he pulled your underwear back up and readjusted your skirt. There was something touching about him redressing you before tucking himself back into his pants.

You just barely managed to push yourself off the desk. “John...that was…”

“Sorry I just pounced on you,” he said, looking at the floor.

“No, don’t apologize,” you said. “You were...you were incredible.”

“I just had to have you,” he replied bashfully.

You smiled. “John, I’ve never…”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’ve never orgasmed from a partner before,” you admitted.

“What?!” he gasped. “Never?!”

“That’s what I said,” you replied.

“Even when we - y’know - before?”

You laughed. “John, we were teenagers. No, I didn’t fucking cum. But you certainly made up for it now.”

It was his turn to smile. Then, he took your hand and pulled you close to kiss him. He was softer now. All anger and frustration gone. He rubbed your sides before wrapping his arms around you and just holding you close.

“Next time, we’ll make love properly,” he said into your hair.

“There’s going to be a next time?” you questioned.

“If you’ll let me,” he returned with a smirk. “You proud little thing.”

“I’m not so proud,” you said. “I did just let you bend me over a desk and fuck me.”

He chuckled. You returned to a comfortable silence and holding each other. You dug your fingers into his shirt as he embraced you. You buried your face in his chest. The girl you were - one who was hopeful, sweet, and romantic - was clawing her way out to meet the stronger woman you became. John’s return to your life showed you that they could exist together. His arms around you reminded you that she was a part of you and though you had changed - you both had - she was a remarkable and formative part of your story.

“I’m sorry again,” he said, pulling away to look in your eyes. “For letting you feel like I didn’t care about you. I thought about you all the time. And when your letters stopped, I hoped that you had found something that made you happy. I have only ever wanted that for you.”

You cupped his face in your hand. “I know that, John. I forgive you.”

“I like this woman, Y/N,” he said. “Who you are. Can we get reacquainted some more over dinner?”

“I would like that very much,” you said with a smile. “And I suppose it’s not a conflict of interest anymore since I’ve been fired.”

“Oh, shit.”

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I’m a good enough writer that I’ll get another job. Plus, I was going to have to eat my words and I really didn’t want to.”

“You were?!”

You nodded. “So thank you, John. You spared me that.”

He only laughed. You kissed him again.

“Actually, I think I will write the story,” you said. “We had an agreement. I’ll sell the story to another magazine. When the public eats it up, Charles will be sorry.”

He grinned, kissing your forehead. Then you left to go to your dinner date.

Friday I look pretty, I’m lookin’ pretty in my dress

The next morning, you woke up next to John. Your dinner date went well, and you brought him back to your apartment for more of what you called “making up for lost time.” You gazed at his sleeping face and wondered at your own heart. How quickly this man had softened you. You couldn’t help pressing your lips to his chest. But when you got close to him, you noticed that he was hard. You stifled a giggle and then gently nudged his chest.

“John,” you said. “John, wake up.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “What is it, love?”

“Can I touch you?” you asked sweetly.

“Fuck, yeah, of course,” he said.

You sat up, straddling him across his legs. You brought your hand to his cock and just stroked it with your finger, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. You kissed his chest again. Softly, you nipped at his collar bone before trailing down to his tummy. Your tongue flicked out at the places that made him moan. When you reached his hips, you wrapped your hand around his shaft and he arched up with a soft gasp.

You never understood what men loved so much about fucking a woman’s mouth. You understood even less why women willingly gave men head. It brought them no pleasure. For the first time in your life, you willingly took a man’s tip past your lips. The beautiful little whine that came out of John’s mouth made it make sense. The knowledge that you made him feel this good was incredibly hot. You rubbed your thighs together for some friction.

You lowered your mouth onto him, taking him all the way down until his tip hit the back of your throat. You hummed around him and he whined, holding himself back from bucking up. He had no idea how grateful you were for his allowing you control in this situation. You bobbed up and down, taking his cock as deep as possible with every stroke.

“Fucking Christ, Y/N,” he sighed. “Your mouth is incredible.”

You didn’t answer, but kept going. You couldn’t believe what giving him this kind of pleasure was also doing to you. The sounds me made, the way he looked with his head thrown back and mouth hanging open...it was sexy as hell.

You reached up to massage his balls and he couldn’t stop his hips from jumping at the contact. He apologized, but you waved him down. You continued. He finally pulled you off him because he was so close.

“S’okay,” you said. “I want to finish you off with my mouth.”

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned.

You smirked before taking him down again. You went a little faster now, eager to get him there. His chest became as flushed as his cheeks.

“Ah - Y/N - I’m -”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, as he released inside you. You swallowed as you worked his cock through his high. He panted beneath you. You came up with a soft pop and showed him your empty mouth.

“Oh, God,” he shuddered. “You’re so sexy.”

“That was fun,” you said with a smile. “You got so worked up.”

“It felt good,” he returned simply.

“I never understood before why blowjobs were fun,” you told him.

He just looked quizzically up at you.

“Never mind,” you said, shaking your head.

He didn’t press you, which you appreciated. You didn’t want to talk about that now anyway. Without warning, he gripped you by the hips and flipped you over. You yelped with surprise.

“What are you doing?” you wondered.

“Returning the favor,” he said.

He kissed your lower tummy, exploring your skin and making you giggle. Then he turned his attention to your thighs. You rocked your hips up toward him impatiently.

“Relax,” he said.

“I didn’t tease you like that,” you reminded him.

“Never said I was playing far,” he shot back.

Even so, he finally licked a stripe up your slit, making your hand jump to his hair. He swirled his tongue around your clit and you sucked in a breath. Your heels dug into the mattress as he built up speed. Then he lined up his fingers with your entrance.

“So wet already,” he said. “You enjoyed sucking me off that much?”

“Shut up,” you groaned.

He chuckled and returned his mouth to your throbbing clit. He pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them perfectly. It was almost overwhelming how good he made you feel. No one had ever gotten you this aroused before. You couldn’t even get this hot on your own. John brought out something primal in you that made you just melt to his touch. He knew what the fuck he was doing and did it well. Your toes curled as heat spread through you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

You looked down and met his gaze. His pupils were blown wide with lust, but adoration lingered behind it. He kissed your clit as he maintained eye contact and you nearly finished from that.

“John, please,” you whined.

“Don’t hold back for me, Y/N,” he said. “Fucking cum if you need to.”

“Faster,” you instructed.

He obeyed. He devoured you like a starved man as his fingers pumped in and out at an almost brutal pace. Your mouth fell open and you began writhing beneath him.

“John - John - oh - fuck!” you cried.

“Like I said, cum when you’re ready,” he told you again.

“Close,” you sobbed.

Your orgasm washed over you, your body jerking as is wracked through your muscles. John let you ride it out on his face. When you stilled, he crawled back over you, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on him.

“You want to keep going?” he asked. “I could get it up again if you want.”

You shook your head. “After yesterday, last night, and now I can’t take anymore.”

“Alright, love,” he said, settling beside you and pulling you under his arm to spoon.

“Don’t you have to be at the studio?” you wondered.

“We can lay here a while longer,” he assured you. “I don’t…” he trailed off.

You turned your head to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t want you to ever again feel like I’m abandoning you,” he said sheepishly. “Even for the small stuff.”

“Oh, John,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

When you did go to the studio, you arrived together, hand in hand. Roger, Brian, and Freddie looked at your hands, then your faces, and back again.

“What’s this?” Freddie asked.

“We got reacquainted,” John said.

You beamed.

“Who is this?” Roger questioned, looking at you. “A smile? Who are you and what have you done with the real Y/N Y/L/N?”

“The real Y/N Y/L/N is whoever I want her to be,” you said. “I’ll still call you a pixie, Taylor. I’ll just smile while I do it.”

“That sounds more like it,” he returned with a smirk.

“Well, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Brian asked. “I mean, you were fired.”

You explained to them what you told John. You were going to write the article as a freelance writer. You were certain another magazine would be interested.

“And what is this article going to say?” Freddie wondered.

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” you said. “It’s not ethical to let your subjects read the piece before it’s published.”

“It’s also not ethical to fuck your sources,” Roger pointed out, grinning.

You and John exchanged shocked looks.

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Brian said.

Your face went bright red as Freddie laughed. Before long, you were all laughing with him. It was rather funny.

As they prepared for their day, you took out your paper and pen again. You weren’t sure exactly what you were going to say about Queen after seeing what they did. You weren’t sure how you could convey their style and friendship. You weren’t sure you could get it all in one article. But you knew you would somehow. There had to be words to describe Queen.

That night, Freddie hosted a party at his house and invited you to attend. You told John you would meet him there, since you weren’t sure who else was going to be there and you still had to pitch the article.

As you got ready in your room, throwing on a beautiful red dress with some strappy heels, you became a bit nervous. You wondered if Charles had told others in the industry about what happened. But you didn’t know how you came out of it looking like the bad guy if he told the truth. That was the hang up. Had he told the truth?

You decided firmly to forget about that and just have a good time tonight. What would come, would come. You had faced much worse and stayed strong. You could do so now.

When you arrived at Freddie’s, he answered the door. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek before leading you inside to meet some of his other friends. It was crowded, which made you nervous, but you kept your eyes peeled for John. When you entered the living room, you spotted him. His smile faltered as he saw you in your dress. You couldn’t help but smirk.

He walked over, a hungry look in his eye. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” you said with a grin.

He kissed your cheek. Your skin lit up at his touch.

“The dress looks great, but I really can’t wait to take it off you,” he whispered in your ear.

You shivered as you took his hand. Roger approached, so John just slipped an arm around your waist and faced his friend.

“Wow, Y/N,” Roger said. “You clean up nice.”

“You too, Rog,” you returned.

You chatted and mingled for the night. The whole time, John was at your side, with a hand on you. Whether it was your waist, your back, your arm - it didn’t matter. You felt him there with you. Reassuring and safe.

You went back to your place afterward, unable to keep your hands off of each other. By the time you were through the door, your dress was halfway off and John’s shirt was undone. Your mouths crashed together as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. Then he pulled away.

“Y/N, hold on,” he said. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him. “What is it?”

“What do you want from this?” he asked.

“What?”

“I love what we’re doing,” he said. “I’m just wondering if it’s...more than it is.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Are we in a relationship?” he asked outright.

He was suddenly the John from home. Unsure, but hopeful. You vividly recalled the day he first asked you to be his girlfriend. He was so shy and a bit awkward. You were so endeared by him. You felt that again as he looked at you now. Overwhelmingly, you wanted to be his again.

“I know I hurt you before,” he said. “So I understand if you’re hesitant, but -”

You cut him off with a sweet kiss.

“John, if I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t,” you said. “As it is, I do. So, if a relationship is what you want, then that’s what I want too.”

His smile was like sunshine. You could have melted into a puddle right there. Then, of course, he absolutely ravished you.

Two Weeks Later

“Have you all seen this?” Roger wondered as he entered the studio, carrying a fresh magazine.

“Y/N’s article came out?” Brian asked.

Roger nodded.

“How’d she do?” Freddie questioned.

“Listen,” Roger began. “‘Queen is a unique band made up of unique individuals. Their differences work together to create some of the most cohesive work in rock music. No matter the year or the style, Queen sounds like Queen. And not just because of frontman Freddie Mercury’s unmistakable and outstanding voice. The work of guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon are vital parts a body of work that is more than signature. It’s a fingerprint. All of this is made possible by the professionalism and hard work of one of the greatest rock bands I have had the pleasure of seeing in action.’ She goes on, of course.”

Brian took the article and scanned it. “She really is a great writer.”

“I’m just glad she’s on our side now,” Freddie said. “What do you think, Deaky?”

John shrugged. “What can I say, I’m proud of her. That’s my girl.”

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