ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖⁱᵉ

˚₊‧꒰ა 🎤 ‧₊˚

[ we will rock you ]

𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. "I want a new boat," he stated.

"And I want another baby," you countered, glancing up at your husband, who began to stand up and walk over with a smirk.

"We can make that happen. There's a soundproof room, just down the hall-."

"Shh! I'm working," you cut off, writing some notes in the numerous stacks of papers and manila folders on the table. Jim chuckled, looking over at the pair beside him with a fond grin; you with furrowed brows as you read through the statements, and Roger, with his arms slinking around your waist as he peppered kisses across your cheeks.

"Didn't you say we were going to see him?" Deacy asked Veronica.

"I've got an hour left," she responded.

Brian, who was sitting on the risers, glared at the door, before muttering, "Screw him." He stood up, quickly calling for everyone's attention, "Everyone up on the drum risers! Up on the drum risers."

Chrissie stood up, quickly following her husband's instruction, "Come on!" she urged to everyone.

"Thank you, Chrissie. Showing some enthusiasm," he thanked, quickly kissing her. 

"Wives and everyone, Brian?" Deacy asked.

"Me?" Veronica questioned. 

"Yes! Come on, John. Everyone. Even you, Y/N," he said, pointedly staring at you. You clicked your tongue, but stood up nonetheless, abandoning Jim with all the papers as you and Roger made your way up to the staging. "I'm not waitin' any longer! Come on. Get up."

"Bass?"

"No, you don't need it. Get up. Come on, Rog, take your time."

"Alright," Roger huffed, standing beside you. "What's this about?"

"You remember our last concert?" Brian asked. "The crowd were singing our songs back to us. I mean, it was deafening, but it was wonderful. They're becoming a part of our show. I want to encourage that, so, um... I've got an idea to involve them a little bit more. Let's start with this." Brian planted his foot twice, before stopping, and then repeating. "Stamp to this beat."

Roger glanced at you with a stunned smile as Deacy nodded, "Genius."

"Thank you, John," Brian grinned, watching as the drummer and bassist shared questionable looks and amused smirks.

"He's gone mad," you mumbled, Chrissie giggling from beside you.

"Come on," the guitarist pressed. Deacy and Roger did so, the latter wearing an expression of that of a prompting dog owner. The rest of you followed along, stomping your feet as Brian said, "Now, I want you to clap on the third beat." 

With each third stomp, you clapped together in sync, and you and the girls found yourselves oddly invested. "Don't speed up!" Roger playfully scolded, causing us to laugh. 

"Rog, keep that time!" Brian demanded, and the blonde nodded as he stepped away, rushing to the piano. Just as Brian pressed a key, he discovered Freddie, fashionably late by over forty-five minutes. "No Prenter? It's unusual to see you without your clone."

"It's unusual seeing you be so bitchy," Freddie rebuked.

"It's usually Roger," you joked, and the blonde shook his head with a chuckle.

"Ah, you kept time, Rog. Good," Brian praised.

Freddie followed after the guitarist, staring up at him. "What's going on?"

We all came to a stop as Roger answered sassily, "You'd know if you were on time."

"I'm a performer, darling, not a Swiss train conductor." Freddie lowered his voice as he stepped closer to Brian. "Sorry I'm late."

"Again," Deacy added.

"Alright. Now, will you please tell me why you're not playing any instruments?"

"I wanna give the audience a song they can perform, alright?" Brian informed. "Let them be part of the band. So, what can they do?" He resumed the rhythmic stomping and clapping, before you and the others, including Freddie, of course with more flourish, joined in. "Imagine... thousands of people doing this in unison. Huh? Well?"

"What's the lyric?" Freddie smiled.

📍𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝚀𝚄𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙴𝙽, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟶

Freddie and Brian couldn't have imagined it any better. Thousands of people clapped and stomped their feet rhythmically together, the echo deafening.

"Buddy, you're a boy,

Make a big noise,

Playing in the street,

Gonna be a big man someday.

You got mud on your face,

You big disgrace.

Kickin' your can

All over the place, singin'

We will,

We will rock you.

We will,

We will rock you.

Buddy, you're a young man,

Hard man,

Shouting in the street,

Gonna take on the world someday.

You got blood on your face,

You big disgrace.

Wavin' your banner

All over the place.

We will, we will rock you.

We will, we will rock you.

Singin'!

We will, we will rock you.

We will, we will rock you.

Buddy, you're an old man,

Poor man,

Pleading with your eyes,

Gonna get you some peace someday.

You got mud on your face,

You big disgrace.

Somebody better put you,

Back into your place.

"Do it!" Freddie shouted.

The crowd heeded his order, and continued the chorus, "We will, we will rock you.

We will, we will rock you."

The audience screamed as Brian started playing a solo, the music finally playing into the lyrics. Freddie stomped and spun in circles, the mic stand being an extension of his arm. 

The music ended, and Brian shared a smile with Freddie as the mob of people exclaimed and applauded. "Alright! I feel like taking a bit out of the Big Apple!" the singer grinned. "Who wants to take a bite out of me?" The screams rang much louder at his question. "Alright, play with me now. Eh-oh!"

"Eh-oh!" the audience repeated.

"Eh-oh!"

"Eh-oh!"

After the concert had ended, you had gathered backstage for a small afterparty of close friends and people who had brought backstage passes. Rufus was in your arms, playing with the necklace you were wearing as you spoke to Chrissie and Veronica. The boys had come back out with some beers, and Roger made his way over to you. Upon seeing his father, Rufus fussed in your arms, reaching out to Roger. "He wants his daddy," you smirked as the blonde returned to your side. 

"He's not the only one who wants me," he winked, taking Rufus from your arms. You chuckled, shaking your head as he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

"Never seen anyone interact with a crowd like that," John said in slight awe. Him and Paul were in the corner of the room, observing the band and the party.

"Bigger than any band, don't you think?" Paul wondered, earning a questioning smile from the manager. "I mean, Queen... how long can that last?"

"Did he say something to you?"

"Not explicitly. But we've had some interest from CBS Records about a solo deal," he informed, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a piece of paper. 

John opened the folded paper, and quickly read through it, before looking up at Paul. "Well, that's a big number."

"That's a Freddie-size number. You should be the one to propose it."

"Hi, guys. How's it going?" The sudden appearance of Jim had John quickly hiding the proposal away.

"Good," Paul nodded.

"Everything's great."

"John, another drink?"

"Eh, no, I'm fine."

Freddie entered the room in his mustard-colored robe, frantically looking around. His eyes landed on you from afar, and he mentally ticked off one out of two. But when he heard the second's voice, he turned around, discovering Mary. "Freddie."

"Oh, there you are," he breathed out in relief as she giggled. He suddenly swooped down, gathering her in his arms as he spun her around.

"Oh, God! Freddie! Put me down!" she scolded. He did as told, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. "You were brilliant."

"Ah, darling, that's only because I knew you were watching."

"I've missed you."

"We have so much to catch up on."

A man came from the bar, holding two drinks in his hands and Freddie glanced at him, reaching out for the beer. "Oh, thank you."

But he was positively perplexed when Mary curled her arm around his. "This is my boyfriend, David. David, this is Freddie."

The singer stared at her for a moment, before David praised, "Magnificent show."

"Thank you," Freddie mumbled with a smile, shaking his hand. "It's so kind of you, I appreciate you. Thank you so much." As Mary adjusted the strap of her bag, Freddie glanced down at her hand. "Where's your ring?"

She looked down at her finger, quickly thinking up of an excuse, "I just didn't want to travel with something so valuable."

Paul, who had been watching the exchange, walked over, planting himself next to the singer. "Freddie, there are some people here for you to see. You'd promise to say hello."

"Oh, did I?" he murmured, looking away from the couple in front of him.

"Mmm-hmm."

"You should go," Mary prompted as Paul walked away. "Will I see you soon?"

Freddie chuckled, shaking his head, "Yes, of course. Of course." He kissed her cheek, before looking at David. "It's a pleasure to meet you, David."

"And you. A-and well done again."

"... And you."

"Bye," Mary softly smiled. 

"Thank you for coming such a long way." The pair nodded, and he watched as Mary came to a stop by you, tapping your shoulder. 

You turned, and a large smile stretched across your lips at the sight of her, arms snaking around her before she had a chance to react. "Mary! When did you arrive?"

"Just a few minutes ago," she answered with a giggle. "Oh, I've missed you so much. And I've missed my gorgeous little godson," she cooed, tickling at Rufus' belly. 

"Hi, David," you greeted, the two of your quickly hugging and kissing each other's cheeks, before you looked at the drummer beside you. "I don't think you've met. This is my husband, Roger, and our son, Rufus," you introduced. 

"Pleasure, man," Roger nodded, sending him a smile. 

"It's a p-pleasure to meet you as well, Roger Taylor," David beamed. You and Mary pursed your lips, sharing an amused snicker at her boyfriend's obvious fangirling. "Hello, Rufus," he awkwardly greeted with a wobbly smile. 

For a few minutes, you and the couple made conversation, and Rufus made himself very comfortable in Mary's arms. You were laughing with the girl, before she settled and sent you a sad smile. "We have to go now. We're going to get some dinner and make it back to the hotel."

You sighed, "I'll see you back in London. We have a plethora of things to do."

She nodded, taking you in a hug and placing Roger back into your arms. You and Roger bid your goodbyes to the couple, before they made their way out. "He's a nice one," you stated. 

"Don't say that around Freddie," Rog joked. 

"He has to accept it. What did he think would happen? That Mary would spend the rest of her life, alone, waiting on his beck and call?"

"I see you're still pissed at him," he observed.

"I'm not," you huffed, closing your eyes. "I just... I feel as though... I don't know. He's changed. He's not my bubs." Your eyes caught onto Paul, and your gaze hardened. "And that carbon copy is the reason for it."

After the party had ended, Freddie found himself in the main limo with Paul and John, the latter spewing about his calendar and events. "Then you've got the MTV interview and... the place to Houston for the special back here on Friday." He watched as Paul handed Freddie a pill, the singer drinking it down with a glass of water. "Listen to me now. Do you know who sold 4% of all the records purchased last year? Worldwide? Michael Jackson. Not the Jackson 5. Michael Jackson. And I think you could do even better. In fact, I've had an offer from CBS Records. It's a lot of money for you, Fred, and I think you should consider it."

Freddie stared at John, before mumbling, "Are you asking me to break up the band?"

"I'm just pointing out what awaits for you if you go solo," John defended. "An end to your frustrations."

"My frustrations?"

John glanced at the observer from across the car. "Paul?"

"... I don't know what you're talking about, John."

John closed his eyes, scoffing quietly to himself. "Perhaps I misunderstood."

Freddie raised his hand to the roofing, where a button was. He pressed it, and the driver up front answered, "Yes, sir?"

"Pull over. Stop the car, pull over," the singer ordered. The tires screeched as the limo came to a stop. "Get out. Out now! Get out of this car."

"What the hell?" John questioned.

"You're fired."

"What're you talking about, fired?"

"I said get out."

"Freddie, you are high!"

"I said get out!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Out! Out or I'll kill you! Get out, you treacherous piss flap."

"You're not thinking clearly."

"Get your ass out of my car now. Get out! Out!" John glared over at Paul, who simply watched. Freddie, seeing as the man was not leaving, leaned over and pushed the door open. "Get your ass out of my car! Get out!"

"You're firing the wrong snake, Freddie," John stated. "You'll regret it."

"Get your ass out of here!" Freddie wrenched the door closed, heavy breaths escaping him. "Drive!" The driver listened, and the limo peeled off onto the road again. The singer took a drink of his whiskey, before looking over at Paul, who sighed. "Did you know anything about this?"

Paul rolled his eyes. "I warned him against it. Pure greed."

"Tried to break up my family."

"We can manage the band. We don't need him."

"What do you know about what I need?"

"I know what it's like... not to belong. A queer Catholic boy from Belfast. You know... I think my father would rather see me dead... then let me be who I am." Freddie looked away from the road at this. "I'm gonna take care of you now, Freddie. If you'll let me."