#and yes of course I want that fucking rockers poster are you kidding?

[blowflyfag]

World Wrestling Federation Magazine : August 1989

While it may be silly, merch catalogues are one of my favorite things in the WWF magazines. To me they’re so fun to flip through.

#ultimate warrior #Brutus the barber beefcake #hercules #Jake the snake roberts #Mr perfect #demolition #Bret hart #jim neidhart #Shawn Michaels #marty jannetty #the rockers #macho man #the bushwackers #and yes of course I want that fucking rockers poster are you kidding?

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Ready now; Queen x reader

*Author’s note*

To the anon who requested this from way back when, I first wanna thank you for being SUPER PATIENT with me.  I was going through a lot at the time you sent the request but I am slowly but surely getting through them. Eventually once I get the chance, I may open requests back up again.

Now there’s not really any serious warnings other than swearing, fluff, and angst.  I hope you all enjoy this fic and until next time stay safe, stay healthy, stay positive.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@platawnic

@queensdivas

@geek-and-proud

@queendeakyy

@kairosfreddie

____________________________________________________________

*Oklahoma city, Oklahoma, 1976*

It was like every other Wednesday night at COWBOY’S.  The live dancing, bull riding, and of course the famed karaoke night.  I’ve been coming to this club for as long as I can remember, in fact I think I was a kid when I first came here.  It was to see my mama sing for karaoke night and of course my dad is known around here as the world champion bull rider.

He kept that title from the time he was 16 up till just before I was born.  And because of his reputation, I (and I hate to admit it) but I get special treatment every time I go to Cowboy’s.  In fact the current owner, he was my dad’s longtime friend and fellow bull riding competitor.

As I walked inside I could already see the place was packed with people.  Line dancing and really lighting up the dancefloor making this club a real Hoedown. I first went up to the bar and there running it was the owner’s son, Jensen.  He and I go way back, even though he’s like seven years older than me, he treats me like his little sis.  Always keeping the boys away.

“Well, well, well, well, well. Look who walked in. It’s the singing sensation (Y/n) (L/n). Can I just say I am a huge fan of yours!” He teased me at the end.

“Oh Jensen stop it. You know I’m not famous yet.”

“Not yet, but you will be soon.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Okay hang on, let me get your usual and then you spill your guts.” He walked away and got my usual beer and filled it almost up to the rim.  He slid it towards me and he said as he leaned up against the bar, “Alright now talk.” I took a sip of my beer before saying.

“What if no one likes my song?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Jens you know as well as I do that no one really sings original pieces here. It’s always covers of famous songs, and the last time someone did do an original he was booed off the stage.”

“First off, his song sucked and he kept screwing up on the guitar. So of course he was thrown off the stage. But you—you’ve got a serious talent in song writing. And your voice—baby girl the only other female singer I can compare you to here was your mom.”

“You really think so?”

“Coming from a Texas man forced to move here when we first met, you’re bout the only good thing in this one horse town. Hell you’re way better than just sticking right here. Especially since—well you know.”

“I know. It’s……it’s been rough. Ever since the car crash mama’s been—well not herself lately. Music is bout the only thing I can do to make her happy.”

“So you get up on that stage and knock these cow-folks right off their boots. Now go relax on the dance floor and I’ll let my old man know you’re here.”

“Thanks Jensen.” I pulled out my wallet to pay for the beer but he stopped me.

“No need, this one’s on my tab tonight. But expect to pay me back once you hit the big time.” I smiled at him and pocketed my wallet back into my jeans.

“Thanks Jensen, you’re like the brother I never had.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you yah silly little day dreamer.” He teased as he placed his cowboy hat on top of my head, teasingly rocking my head from side to side till I stuck my tongue at him and took another swig of my beer.

I then headed off to the dance floor to cool off (dancing always helped me calm down, especially when it’s with a group of people) and I danced with some of my old friends from high school, just letting my hair down as I danced the first hour of the night away before they would call up the performers for karaoke night.

*3rd Person POV*

Unbeknownst to (Y/n), it was also on that night that the most famous rock and roll band would also be there on that night to see her perform.  Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon, otherwise known as the band Queen, had just arrived in Oklahoma city to do their two night concert they had scheduled for their “A day at the Races” tour.

To let down some steam and relax after a few days on the road, Freddie had heard about this club from a friend of his and convinced the other three to come along and check it out.  All four of them wearing cowboy hats, so that they wouldn’t stick out like sore thumbs, they entered inside and saw the whole place buzzing.

“Wow, this is even more filled than the Disco club Veronica and I met at.” Said John.

“Well Tony said this was the one place in America where you would get a traditional Southern treatment.” Said Freddie. “And I like it. It’s reputation proceeds itself.” He continued with a smile as he adjusted his hat.

“Remind me again why we had to wear these though?” Roger said.

“Don’t be such a party pooper blondie. Besides you see every man in here. Tony said that everyone in Oklahoma wears cowboy hats. Anyone who doesn’t is automatically labeled a stranger. And I don’t want no Wanted poster of me across the state for refusal to wear a cowboy hat.” Freddie said as he playfully shoved Roger.

“It’s not so bad.” Brian said as he fiddled with the string of his hat.

“You’re just saying that cause you can’t feel it on your head.” Quipped John.

“Alright, alright Deacy darling you’ve had your shot at Bri. Now I don’t want any more brawls tonight. I wanna enjoy this night, you three know how much I love to party. So don’t fuck this up for me.”

“If you wanted that Fred then you should’ve left Roger on the bus.” Brian said.

“You know what yah curly haired space poodle……”

“Gentlemen.” The four of them turned to see an old man around his mid-50’s walk up towards them.  He wore a traditional brown colored cowboy hat, his grey goatee reflected off the lights, and the spurs off his boots jingled with each step. “Now I get it we all need to let off some steam, but if you’re gonna cause any trouble I’m gonna ask you all to leave.”

“No worries my good sir. You must forgive my friend here, he didn’t quite have him fixed yet so his testosterone can run him ragged like one of your bulls.” Freddie sweet-talked the man.

“Watch it Fred!” Roger sneered as he took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Alright. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on your friend there. I get enough drunks brawling every night here, I don’t need another damage fee added to my billing. Bobby Singer, owner of Cowboy’s.”

“Pleasure to meet you Bobby dear. I heard about this place from a friend of mine and this place does not disappoint.” Freddie praised as he and Bobby shook hands with each other.

“Thank you son. Built this place myself with my own two hands before moving the wife and son up here.”

“How long has this place been here?” asked Brian.

“Well came up here around 51, bought this property at around 53-54 and the doors finally opened by the start of the 60’s so…..about 16 years this club has been around. And she’s still going strong.”

“Impressive.” Freddie praised.

“What kind of drinks do you serve here?” asked Roger.

“Well if you mosey on down to the bar, my son Jensen will lay down everything we got. We mostly do beer but if you can take something stronger, we got that as well. Enjoy yourselves boys.” As Bobby walked away, the boys bid him farewell.

“He seemed nice.” John said.

“A friendly old man, kinda reminds me of Miami. Firm, strict, knows when you’re starting trouble Rog.”

“Watch it Fred.”

“Alright come on, I think we can all do with a drink right now.”

“Yes.”

“Or ten.” the band members walked over to the bar to see Jensen cleaning out a mug.

“Excuse me darling!” Freddie cried out to Jensen.

“Yes can I he—he-ha-ha……oh shit! You’re….you guys are Queen!”

“Yes. I take it you’re a fan of ours?” asked Brian.

“Y-Yeah.” Jensen squeaked.  He then cleared his throat before continuing, “I mean yes. When I first heard Bohemian Rhapsody for the first time, it changed my life on how I look at music. Not even some of my favorite bands can do what you guys do.”

“Well thank you darling. Bohemian Rhapsody was a masterpiece.” Freddie said.

“But a complete nightmare to make.” Roger added in.

“So what can I get for you guys?” asked Jensen.

“What all do you got?” asked John.

“Well you guys actually came on a good day. Wednesday nights are our special’s night. Every drink at half price. We’ve basically got every beer imaginable, but we also do vodka, gin and juice, margaritas. And of course we have the basic water and soda for those sensitive to the strong stuff.”

“Well then my darling, we’ll go ahead and take three of your finest beer and a vodka shot please.” Freddie said.

“Coming right up.” Jensen walked off to prep the drinks for the four young band members.

“He seems like a nice chap.” Brian said.

“He does indeed.” Agreed John.  Before another word could be said, Bobby soon came up on stage and said.

“And that was Carol Anne with ‘Sweet home Alabama’.” The crowd then cheered. “And now ladies and gents, it’s time to be graced by our very own special songbird. Please welcome our very own Southern Belle. (Y/n) (L/n)!” the crowd cheered and it was then the four English rockers soon saw a young woman coming up on stage.

She looked to be about John’s age, maybe a couple years younger.  In her hand was a 12 string acoustic, she got onto the stool and adjusted the mic.

*My POV*

God my nerves were really starting to get the best of me.  What if no one liked the song? Oh god I wish daddy could be here, he always knew just how to calm me down.  I adjusted the mic and plugged in my guitar.

“Hello everyone. I uhh—” I cleared my throat. “Tonight I’m gonna do something a little different than my last few performances. This is an original piece I’ve been working hard on. Hope you all like it.” I turned towards the ensemble band and nodded to them.  They nodded back and as I began playing the opening on my mama’s guitar, Aaron came in with the violin and Jack soon came in with the bass.  

By the chorus, Daniel came in with a soft drum beat and as I passionately sung out the chorus, I could already hear some people cheering or whistling at me.

She was driving last Friday on

Her way to Cincinnati on a

Snow white Christmas Eve Going home to see her mama and her daddy

With the baby in the backseat Fifty miles to go, and she was running low

On faith and gasoline It'd been a long hard year She had a lot on her mind,

And she didn't pay attention She was going way too fast Before she knew it she was spinning on a

Thin black sheet of glass She saw both their lives flash before her eyes She didn't even have time to cry She was so scared She threw her hands up in the air

Jesus, take the wheel Take it from my hands 'Cause I can't do this on my own I'm letting go So give me one more chance And save me from this road I'm on Jesus, take the wheel

*3rd Person POV*

Everyone was involved in hearing (y/n) sing.  Like her mama before her, the adults all whistled and cheered for the young girl for she truly did sound like her mama whenever she sang, maybe even better than her.  But the one most intrigued by her was the leading frontman of Queen.

“Just who is that talented young lady?” Freddie spoke out as (Y/n) played a small instrumental break in the first chorus.

“That there is (Y/n) (L/n). Her parents were known in this club. Her mama for her singing and her dad, God rest his soul, he was the world champion bull rider. She’s got a gift with that voice of hers.” Jensen said as he cleaned out a mug.

“She does indeed.” Freddie muttered in awe as he continued to watch (Y/n) sing the next part of the song.

There was one point of the song where she held out a note so long, it felt like she was running on endless air.  The crowd all hooted and hollered as she held that note before finishing the song.  Everyone soon cheered as loudly as they could while (Y/n) smiled under the spotlight and stood up from the stool and took a bow.

“Wow she was amazing.” Brian praised.

“I’ll say, she held that note for like 10 beats. Not even I can do that.” Roger said.

“Excuse me, Jensen.” Freddie called out.  Jensen who had just gotten done serving another round of drinks for a bachelor party, came back over and said.

“What’s up?”

“Where can we meet that talented young lady?” he asked him.  The other three band members looked at Freddie confused.

“She’ll be out back. That’s where she usually goes when things get too hectic here.”

“Thank you so much darling.” He dowsed the last of his vodka and stood up and walked out of the club with the other three members behind him.

*My POV*

After the performance I went outside to cool off. I stared up at the starry sky and whispered.

“I wish you could’ve seen it daddy. It seems I really wowed everyone tonight.”

“You did more than just that dear.” I froze and slowly turned around and—pinch me I must be dreaming.  Cause right there in front of me stood my all time favorite rock and roll band Queen.  I closed my eyes and shook my head trying to wake myself up from this dream and found that I wasn’t dreaming.

Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Taylor were really right in front of me.

“You—you’re……”

“Yes darling we know who we are. But what I’m more interested in is who you are. How long have you had that lovely voice for?” Freddie said as he came up to me and actually wrapped an arm around me.

“Well I uhh—for a while I guess.”

“And that was an original song you sang back there?” Brian asked.

“Yeah just…..a little something I came up with. Was it bad?”

“Au contraire darling, it was unlike anything we have ever heard. And that’s saying something.” Freddie said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. The way you managed to have utter control of your voice as you belted out certain words of the song. Only one other person has been able to do that and that’s me.” Freddie bragged.

“Umm hello what about me?” Roger piped in.

“Oh yes you and your dog whistle range. That takes skill too.” I softly chuckled.  Man this was definitely not how I pictured this night would go (well except in my dreams). “Now then (Y/n). How would you like to be an opening number for our concert?” wait what?

“What?” I asked.

“What?” I heard the other three echo back.

“You’ve got the voice, the talent, you are too good for just singing at the clubs. What better way than to finally dive in and take this opportunity.”

“Uhh Fred can we talk to you for a second?” John soon spoke up.

“Just stay tight for a moment (Y/n) dear.” Freddie said as he bopped my nose before walking back towards his bandmates.  Okay what the hell just happened?

*3rd Person POV*

Freddie and the boys walked a few feet away from (Y/n) so that she couldn’t hear them.

“Fred are you crazy right now?” Roger hissed softly.

“What?”

“We can’t just go picking up random singers off the streets and ask them to open up for us!”

“I agree with Roger. No offense, but I don’t think Reid or even our tour manager Bill will go along with this.” Brian added.

“You don’t believe she’s worth giving a shot too?” Freddie asked.

“No, no it’s not about that. She is talented, beyond talented. We just—can’t do something like this. Picking up a random teenager and ask her to leave everything behind for the rest of our tour.”

“They do have a point Freddie. Plus how do we know she even wants this? I mean maybe she just sings for fun. To be honest I never thought we were that serious till our first album went on the shelf.” Deacy said.

“Okay first off that hurts Deacy dear. How dare you think that. And number 2, I have a feeling she does want it. She may not physically show it but there’s something in her eyes that show that she wants a chance at the real spotlight. And who am I to crush a fellow singer’s dream? Especially one as beautiful and adorable as her, just look at her!” they all turned towards her. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get an additional family member in our rag-tag band.”

“Whoa wait hold on now you’re saying we need another person involved with Queen?” Roger snapped.

“I’m thinking broadly Roger dear. Don’t be so dramatic about it darling. Now then, are you three with me?” Brian, Roger and John looked at each other and Deacy was the first to speak up.

“You’ll never let it go either way. I’ll say yes.” Fred smiled before turning to Brian.

“I mean—” he sighed heavily. “Okay fine, she can come with us. But only if her parents say it’s okay.”

“Well blondie?” Fred questioned as he turned to Roger.  Roger sighed heavily and said.

“I’m already ruled-out even if I say no.” Freddie cheered and hugged his bandmates before heading back over to (Y/n) to discuss his brilliant idea.

*My POV. 1 year later*

If you had told me that on the night I would perform my first original piece live before the people at Cowboys and then told me I would soon be standing before Queen, who not only saw me sing but also offered me the chance to perform alongside them, I would’ve called you crazy and laughed in your face.

But it happened.  With Jensen’s and uncle Bobby’s approval I was able to tour the rest of the North American tour with Queen.  I’ll admit it was frightening to perform in front of my first crowd of over 12,000 people, but once I got on that stage and just sang it felt good.

We had just gotten done doing a concert at the Hammersmith Odeon.  As par-celebration we all headed to a nearby pub the guys had rented out for the night and anyone who was involved with the concert was invited to come.

By 1am everyone was either completely drunk and were passed out on the floor, or they were having sex in the bathrooms. Wanting to perk myself up, I went to the restrooms to splash some cold water on my face but before I could walk around the corner toward the sinks I heard some girls talking.

“I mean don’t get me wrong Roger is amazing especially in the sack but why would he allow someone like her on stage?”

“Yeah all those songs she sings are soooooo boring!” I peeked around to see that the girls who were talking were some of Roger’s groupies.

“Queen is just being dragged by that little bitch who can’t sing for shit.”

“All her songs about Jesus or God or whatever. She doesn’t fit with them. I think they just pitied her so she could go on stage and sing her little country songs.” It was a stab to the heart.

I raced out of the bathroom and tried to contain my tears.  But it only got worse from there.  Walking pass the men’s bathroom were a few of the roadies who were talking about me.

“She brings to band down don’t you think? I mean her songs just aren’t up to par with where Queen is at. In fact I’ve seen sales going down at our concerts because of her.”

“Dorothy should’ve just stayed in Kansas singing for pubs. She’s nowhere near concert stadium material.” At that point a few tears ran down my face.

Was I? Was I really that bad? Did the guys really pity me? Was this all a big joke to them? I ran out the back way and just ran down through the streets of London.  

Not caring where I was going, or where I’d end up. I just figured the father I ran, the farther I would be away from those people and their cruel comments.

The next morning I was at my apartment (technically it was Freddie’s old apartment that he and his ex-girlfriend Mary had) lying on the couch holding the couch pillow close to me.  The things that the groupies and even some of the roadies said last night still rang through my head like a church bell.

Maybe I should give it up. I mean after all like they said, no one really listens to me perform.  So I decided to pack up my stuff and go back to America, back to Oklahoma, maybe try to get a job at Cowboy’s or something.  As I was packing up my last bag, the door suddenly opened and I heard Roger’s voice call out.

“Oi (n/n) you here?” shit why did Freddie have to give out spare copies of the keys?

“(Y/n) you in here?” I then heard Deacy’s voice speak up.  Oh great, not one but two of the Queens are here.

“Is everything okay poppet?” Brian’s voice echoed out. Great could this day get any worse?

“Everything’s fine.” I called out to them.  I quickly came out of my room and shut the door before walking towards the living room. “Hey guys what’s up?”

“Well you disappeared from the party last night darling so we came to see just why that was?” Freddie said.

“You didn’t sneak off with anyone last night did yah?” Roger teased.

“No! I—I felt kinda tired after last night’s concert so I just took a cab home.” I gave them a white lie.

“Why didn’t you tell one of us you were leaving? You know how dangerous the streets can be at night.” Roger said as he plopped himself on the couch.

“I’m not some fragile flower Rog. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. I just can’t help it sometimes, you’ve become like another sister to me, plus Jensen made me promise to keep an eye on you less he shoot me in the arse.” I rolled my eyes as I chuckled.

“(Y/n) dear~” Freddie sang out as he peeked from the hallway. “If you don’t have anyone here, then why is your door shut?” oh shit.  I quickly turned towards him and he just grinned as he raced towards my room.

“Fred no! Don’t!”

“Oh so there is a handsome beast you’re trying to hide from us!” I ran behind him trying to stop him from getting in my room. “Oh-ho-ho this must be serious then, he not dressed or something?”

“No Freddie there’s no guy now please don’t go in my room!”

“Technically it was my room first so I get first—” he opened the door and that’s when he saw the suitcases.  “What’s all this?”

“I didn’t want you guys to see that.”

“So what were you planning on leaving without saying goodbye!?” By now I’ve seen Fred literally explode on some major temper tantrums but this—this wasn’t anger.  This was disappointment, and when Fred lowers his voice, looks you straight in the eye almost to the point where it’s like his eyes are piercing your soul, that really tears you up.

And you never want to make Freddie Mercury disappointed in you.  Cause let me tell you, it is the worst.

“Fred—”

“No, no, no. Please I would like to know as well.” Roger’s voice soon rung out.  I groaned internally as I turned to see the remaining three band members standing right outside my door.

Roger’s eyes glaring right at me with his arms crossed over his chest.  Brian’s eyes in shock at seeing the suitcases, and Deacy—he looked like he was about to cry.

“Well!” Roger snapped impatiently.

“Hey Rog lay off on her will yah?”

“Brian are you not as upset as we are about this?!” Fred asked.  At this point the three hotheads began screaming at each other.  God this was a nightmare!  I was hoping to just leave without any drama and now I’ve done and caused it!  I held my hands to my ears and shut my eyes trying to drown out their shouting and screaming.

Next thing I know I feel a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and there stands Deacy. His eyes soft, not looking at me in anger or disappointment.  He gestured with his head to follow him and the two of us snuck out of my room.

We both sat down on the couch, him sitting close to me as his arm wrapped around me.

“Do you want some tea?” he asked me.  I shook my head no.

“Umm…..I don’t know if I’ve totally ruined this but—could I get a hug?” a soft smile spread across his face and immediately his arms wrapped around me.

“You know you will always get a hug out of me sis.”

Since Deacy and I were the youngest members of the band, we kinda clicked more than the rest.  Guess our shy natures also kinda mixed in together so we kinda had our own special psychic bond with each other.  We always knew what the other was thinking or needed, we would pull the other aside when things got too chaotic (just like now cause I never liked getting or hearing fights).

His fingers stroked through my hair as I adjusted my head so that it rested over his heart.  We sat there in comfortable silence (well besides the still arguing hotheads in my bedroom).

“I’m not good enough for you guys.” I finally confessed.

“What?”

“I—I heard some of Roger’s groupies and even some of your roadies literally talk about how I don’t fit with you guys. That I’m not even that good. Or that you guys just pitied me in order to help me get on stage.”

“I knew those tramps would be trouble.” I heard him mutter.

“But they’re right.”

“No they’re not.”

“Open your eyes Deacy!” I removed myself from his embrace. “My music and Queen’s music they just—don’t mix. I don’t do hard rock songs like you guys do. No rock fans are gonna wanna hear me sing just plain country or folk songs for 20 minutes. They’ll just be going out to get beer or go shag till you guys come up. I’m boring!”

“You’re not boring. Those arseholes are boring. If they can’t withstand a 20minute first act then they shouldn’t even be at one of ours. Because we most certainly perform longer than that.”

“Well you guys give a performance, not just a show. For me; it’s just me and my guitar. I mean yeah there’s people that may like a song or two from mine. Hell you guys allowed me to have a song on A Day at the Races and News of the World. But—in person I’m plain.”

“You’re raw.” I looked up at him confused. “I don’t mean raw in the sense of bad or disgusting. I mean you’re vulnerable. You don’t do the flashy lights, the loud hard rock of drums, or extremely, overbearing, long ass guitar solos.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It’s just you up on that stage. Just you and your guitar.”

“And people should see you as that.” We looked up and finally ceasing their arguments, Freddie, Roger, and Brian now stood there.  Freddie came up behind me, Brian knelt down in front of me, and Roger sat to my right.

“But they don’t.” Freddie began to massage my shoulders.

“Darling when I first heard you sing back in the states, It was like anything I’ve ever heard in a female singer. You have this rawness that can make anything a song. You could write a song about taking the piss and it’d be a hit.” I rolled my eyes.

“More like a flush down the sewers.”

“Oi you need to stop with the negative thinking!” Roger playfully growled as he took my head between his hands and playfully shook it, almost as if he were trying to shake out the negative thoughts out of my head.  I couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as I tried to free myself.

“Cut it our Rog!” I laughed.  He stopped then said as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Forget about what those rotter’s said. Never, ever doubt your talent. Because you have got something that not even Queen could ever have.”

“And just what is that?” I asked doubtfully.

“Rawness. Like John said, it’s just you up on stage. Most of the rockstars like us come up glammed out to the max, prance about the stage and do the headbanging hits. You—you connect with the audience just as yourself. And if people can’t see that, then they’re fools.”

“So you guys didn’t pity me when you asked me to join you guys?”

“Absolutely not! Whoever says that you just tell me and they’ll be dropped like yesterday’s rotten tomatoes.”

“Thanks you guys. I—I really needed that.”

“Hey, you’re part of this family now. We look out for each other.” Brian said as he gently took my hands in his, his thumbs gently stroking the back of them.

“There’s just one last thing that needs to be taken care of to ensure you’re feeling your normal happy self again.” Freddie said.

Oh no. Please not that!  At this point all four of them had the look of evil on their faces.

“No. Guys don’t you dare!”

“Too late lovie, we gotta make sure you’re back to your full-fledged happy self again. And we’ve got Jensen to thank for sharing with us your deep, dark secret.” I tried to make a run for it but it was too late, Brian trapped me in his long arms and soon I was gang tickled by Queen.

A couple weeks after that, we had just gotten done playing an arena in Houston, Texas.  Wiping the sweat off of my forehead (after not only doing a few of my own songs, but also joining alongside Queen playing guitar or piano) I accidentally bumped into someone.

“Oh sorry I—wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s quite alright. Say you’re the young woman who just performed alongside Queen correct?” this man had a strong Tennessee accent.  From underneath his cowboy hat I could see sandy blonde hair and he had the most striking blue eyes.  He looked to be about his mid-40’s.

“Yes.” I said wearily.

“Oh sorry I know this must seem a bit creepy, please allow me to introduce myself. Stan Singer.” Wait what? Oh my god!

“Wait, Stan Singer? The Stan Singer, manager of Glen Campbell?”

“The very same, you a fan of his?”

“Yeah. My—my daddy first introduced me to him when I was just 5 years old.”

“Man has good taste.” We both laughed. “How long have you been performing with Queen?”

“A year.”

“A year? Now that I don’t believe.”

“Well truthfully I’ve been performing on stage back home in Oklahoma for a few years at a bar a family friend of mine owns. Cowboy’s.”

“No kidding. I was just there last month.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Quite a shindig that place.”

“Oh yeah, it gets crazy some days. But it’s the best place to go to.”

“Listen (Y/n), While I have enjoyed managing Glen and don’t get me wrong he’s a great guy and a great singer. I’m also looking out to see if there’s a next big thing I could help mold. And seeing you up on stage, you’ve got that special little niche in the realm of country singers. How about joining me for lunch so we can discuss a contract.”

“Me? You—you want to sign me up for a record deal?” I asked ecstatically.

“You’ve got something I’ve never heard from any male artist. Here’s my card, just give me a call whenever you’re ready to talk.” He handed me a business card and said his goodbyes as he tipped his hat at me.

Wow I—I can’t believe it.  I’m actually gonna get a real shot with my own manager.  And Glen Campbell’s manager, nonetheless.  I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.

Wait….what about the guys? What would they say? Would they be mad if I took this deal? Left them when we’ve already grown so close with each other?

During our bus ride to the next city of New Orleans, I was looking at Stan’s card debating whether I should call him or not.

“What’s that?” Roger spoke up.  He soon plopped down beside me with his arm over me. “Ooh a name and phone number! Already got yourself a groupie huh?” he teased as he nudged my shoulder.

“No Roger it’s nothing like that.” I nudged him back.

“Hey did I just hear (Y/n) got someone’s name and phone number?” Deacy soon piped in peeking his head from the curtains of his bunkbed.

“(Y/n) you sly little minx.” Freddie teased.  Oh man was I really not gonna miss this.

“Alright you guys lay off of her will yah. Now just who was it that gave you their phone number (Y/n)? Will there need to be any—talks we need to do with this boy?” Brian said.

“I already told Roger Bri, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it? I mean normally a guy wouldn’t give you his number unless he wants a date or something else.” Roger spoke. Deacy came up and slapped Roger over the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For being an idiot.”

“It’s a business card guys! For Stan Singer. Glen Campbell’s manager.”

“Wait I’ve heard of that guy. Yeah he’s like one of the best country singers out there.” Roger said.

“Yeah. Well Stan actually saw the show tonight and well he—he offered to be my manager. He wants to sign up a contract with me.”

“Oh my god darling yes!” Freddie cheered as he came up and embraced me tightly.

“Congratulations (Y/n).” praised Brian.

“But—” I started off.  Fred separated from me and he said.

“But what dear? You’re finally on your way! This should be a celebration!”

“But what about us? You guys? What if—what if this is the last time we’ll ever see each other?” at that point the guys grew quiet. They looked at each other and that’s when Deacy spoke up.

“The future is uncertain. Maybe someday we will meet again. But (Y/n), if you don’t take this shot now you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“It’s like Deacy’s song says. Time to spread your wings and fly away.” Brian said as he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked between the four of them and they all had the same look.

Acceptance and love.

I felt my eyes watering up and I choked out.

“I’ll miss you guys.” They immediately hugged me and told me they would miss me too.  We remained in that group hug for the rest of the night till we arrived in New Orleans later the next day.

As soon as we got to the hotel, the guys sat with me as I called Stan up and told him that I would like to have lunch with him to discuss the contract.  Stan agreed to fly down to New Orleans and once that date was made, the guys brought me in one last final group hug telling me how proud they were of me, that they loved me and knew that I would become big in my own way.

On June 27th, 1977 I preformed my last concert with Queen as their opening act and the following day, I met with my new manager Stan Singer and together we went over the rules of my contract.

By the end of the 1970’s into the 1980’s my name had flown to the top of the charts in country artists.  So far in the 3 years of my growing career I had toured America twice for my 2 albums I had released under Sony records.

As I expected I was mostly popular in the southern states where country music reigned supreme on the radio.  But I did have some fans in the northern, Mid-west and western countries but I mostly toured around the South.

I was now performing back in my home state of Oklahoma to an arena of 20,000 people.  I had just gotten done preforming my biggest hit “Jesus take the wheel” and everyone went crazy for it.

“Thank you!” I turned and saw one of my roadies hand me a stool and I thanked him before setting it down right at the edge of the stage.  I adjusted the mic stand as I sat down. “This is a new song that I wanted to do especially for you my home sweet home. So you guys will be the first to hear this song coming up on my next album.” The crowd cheered. “But this song is also dedicated to four special men in my life. Without them—I wouldn’t even be up on this stage before all of you. It’s called Ready now.”

Then with just me on the guitar I began to sing my newly finished song “Ready now”.  As I sang the song, during the long instrumental breaks, I thought back to the guys.

All the fun memories I had with them while on the road with them.  Being there with them during their recordings, getting to do a song on their albums, or hanging out at the bars together after the shows.

Play video

You saw through me All this time I'd forgotten People are kind

I was hurting And you knew So you showed me What to do

You said, "I will listen Tell it all When you're finished We'll talk more"

But I didn't know how So we took it in turns And to my surprise We found my words

Feet firm on the ground We stood hand in hand The world seemed to tell me That I have a plan

Together we sang I'm ready now

Something new Something strange Ten feet taller I had changed

I believe you I'm not wrong Oh it suits me To feel strong

You said, "I will listen Tell me it all You don't like the ending Then we'll find on that's yours"

Oh, how did you know That's all we need A promise of hope Is enough to feel free

Feet firm on the ground We stood hand in hand And I told the world That I have a plan

Together we sang I'm ready now

By the end of the song, I heard the crowd cheer and as I looked up at the ceiling I did a silent thank you to the boys.  Even though we would never see each other in our career’s again, I would always keep their memories alive in my heart and mind.

Without them, I would never have been ready to even get to this point.  And I will always be grateful to Queen.

#bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody movie #bohemian rhapsody imagines #bohemian rhapsody fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody x reader #queen #queen band #queen imagine #queen imagines #queen x reader #queen x reader platonic #queen fluff #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #freddie mercury #freddie mercury x reader #john deacon x reader #brian may x reader #roger taylor x reader

[thesmalltowngal]

COC Snowbaz 14- C’mere

COC #14: Favorite Trope/Cliche

There was only one bed. Need I say more?

~Enjoy!~

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you utter imbecile.” Baz whispers under his breath, walking into our room. Well… what’s left of our room, anyway. It’s the first day of sixth year and I’ve already managed to fuck up a spell. I was using ‘Out, Out, Damned Spot’ to get a stain out of Baz’s bed (I knew he’d just blame me for it as soon as he got back otherwise), and, well. My world decided that it would bloody well be funny to torture me for a bit. Everything in our room (clothes, desks, posters) vanished except for Baz’s bed. (With the bloody spot still on it, no less.)

“Listen, Baz, I can-” He raises a hand to stop me. He seems to be looking everywhere but me at the moment, which I s’pose isn’t unusual, but it’s just… unsettling right now.

“No, Snow,” He spits. (He sounds tired.) “I know what you did. You did what you always do. Crowley, you managed to fuck up even more than usual this time, but it’s still as you do all the time. You complete arsehole. Christ, what the bloody hell, Chosen.” He only swears like a Normal when he’s angry (so only around me), but this time I deserve it, so I just let him go. He keeps on cursing and glaring and stomping around to inspect the room. Soon, he stops and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“Baz, I-”

“Save it, Snow,”

“No, it’s just that-”

“Piss off!”

“Baz!” I shout, magic pouring out. The word is drenched in it. He snaps to attention and he seems ready to listen, but he plays it off like it didn’t affect him. (I wish he wouldn’t do that- we both know it did. He never even gives me a chance to apologize.)

“Okay you fucking manky chav, spit it out, then. What’s going around in your barmy head this time?” He’s sneering more than usual, which I guess makes sense considering our predicament. 

“Just stop being such a bloody prat and let me talk, okay?” He nods but doesn’t look at me as he stands with his arms crossed, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “It’s getting late,” I gesture out our (thankfully still there) window. “How d’you think we’re gonna sleep?” He rolls his eyes, but he looks at the bed with uncertainty. I think we’re thinking the same thing (think because how could he ever be thinking the same thing as me?), but neither of us says it. 

“Do you, um…” Baz never stutters. Is he nervous? “We could just…” He trails off, never finishing his sentence. I roll my eyes. If he thinks he’ll lure me in that easily, he’s a nutter. Absolutely mad as a bag of ferrets. I scoff (as much as is possible for me, anyway) and grab a pillow from his bed before he can say anything about it. 

“If you think I’m going to sleep in the same bed as you while you plot to kill me, you’re off your rocker. You could kill me in my sleep!” He rolls his eyes. (He’s done that a lot since he’s gotten here.) 

“I could always kill you in your sleep, Snow. We live together.” He has a point, really. But something about sleeping in the same bed as my arch enemy is… uncomfortable to say the least. 

“Don’t be dead from the neck up. I’ll just sleep on the floor.” I huff over to the other side of the room and plop my pillow down, laying on the (cold and hard) floor defiantly. 

“Such a knob…” I hear him mutter as he spells the lights off. The moon shines through our window and lights him up as he climbs into the (comfortable) bed and slips under the (warm) covers. I curl up into a ball and close my eyes, trying to sleep. But since my bed is gone which usually smells of smoke, I can’t smell anything comforting. There’s a far off smell of cedar and bergamot, which has become a constant over the years, but it’s not close enough to lull me to sleep. I can see Baz breathing, but it’s not steady; which means he’s not sleeping yet. 

I think maybe I’ll ask if I can sleep in the bed with him. (Saying it like that makes me feel like a right uphill gardener.) I’m hesitant. Scared, of course. But I’m also cold, uncomfortable, and as bloody desperate as it gets. Before I can say anything though, I hear him let out a big sigh as he scoots to the far side of his bed and lifts up the covers. “Don’t be a knobhead, Snow. It’s just for a night.” I don’t think too hard about it- I just get up with my pillow and walk to the edge of his bed. (Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth- that’s what Penny always says. Micah taught it to her.)

Before I get in, I say, “Promise you won’t kill me?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Well now, Snow, you know I can’t-”

“Tonight, you twit. Promise you won’t kill me in my sleep tonight.”

“Well it would hardly be a fair fight if I-”

“Promise, Baz.” He sighs again. (Him and his sighs.)

“I promise, Snow. Just get in.” I do as he says and climb under the covers. This whole sharing-a-bed-thing might’ve worked when we were little ankle-biters, but we’re sixth years now; there’s no way to comfortably share a bed without touching. We’re both half off the bed, and there’s no way I can sleep like this. I scoot over so I’m fully on the bed, but my back grazes Baz’s. He tenses up, but doesn’t do anything. (He’s still half off the bed, but he makes no move to adjust. Maybe he’s as uncomfortable as I am.) 

Minutes go by and we’re still not sleeping. “Hey Baz?” I whisper softly. 

“Yes, Snow?”

“Tell me something,” He’s quiet for a moment, but scoffs and then talks.

“About what?” I think for a second, not wanting to pry too much. I decide it doesn’t matter because we’ll likely never talk about this night again anyway.

“Your mother.”

“Well, her name is Daphne and-”

“No, Baz,” I say softly, turning to face his back. “Natasha.” 

“Oh,” He breathes. He’s tense, and I get the impulse to reach out and rub his back. (I don’t.) “Well… there’s not much to say. I don’t remember much about her. But…” He stops talking, like he’s not sure if he should keep going or not. 

“But?” I prompt.

“I remember she used to sing to me when I was little. I Wanna Hold Your Hand by The Beatles. Every night without fail, she’d tuck me in and sing the song. Did you know Paul McCartney was magick? It’s why he was so good. But anyway. I would feel so special because she never sang that song to anyone else; not even the children at the nursery. She was never that… nice. When she died, I couldn’t sleep for months. There was no one there to sing to me anymore.” He’s crying. (Baz. Crying. Crowley, what dimension is this? Now we’ll really never talk about this again.) 

For some reason, everything combined (Baz crying, little Baz without his mother, Natasha singing only to him) makes me feel for the boy in front of me. I know that he’s my enemy (believe me, I know) but right now, in this moment, it doesn’t really feel like it. It feels like I’m just a boy laying in bed with another boy who is just as broken as me. With this sudden surge of compassion and empathy, I tap him on the back. He tenses even more. 

“Baz?” My voice is soft- like I’m talking to a small child. (Maybe that’s how he feels right now. Like the small child he was when he lost his mom.) “Baz, turn around. I won’t make fun of you. I promise.” I wait a moment until he turns around to face me, nearly falling off the bed in the process. 

“What, Simon?” His voice is open and vulnerable. (And he called me Simon.) I think I like this Baz. (I could be friends with this Baz.) Not the fact that he’s heartbroken (for reasons I don’t know), but the fact that he’s being open and (dare I say) kind. Well, maybe not kind. Maybe just… like the hidden Baz. Maybe he has layers. (Maybe he’s shedding them now. Is it too much to hope that they’ll stay gone?)

I open my arms out to him. “C’mere.” He scrunches his eyebrows and doesn’t move. 

“I, um-”

I sigh and open my arms wider for emphasis. “Just… just c’mere.” He does. He scoots in and lets me wrap my arms around his, my face buried in his soft hair. Right now, he’s safe in my arms, his cheek pressed against my chest. (He has to scoot down to be like that, since he always seems to have three bloody inches on me.) We’re in the dark, and there’s only one bed, and he’s so warm in my arms… so I decide it doesn’t matter that I carefully lace my fingers through his. 

“Oh yeah, I’ll… tell you something…” He smiles against my chest. “I think you’ll understand…” My voice fades out from sheer exhaustion as I let myself start to sink into sleep. I smell cedar and bergamot all around me, filling all my senses. (Until all I can think, all I can see, smell, taste… all I can hear is Baz, Baz, Baz.) 

We don’t talk about it again.

#COC 2019 #Carry On Countdown #Simon #Simon Snow #Baz #Baz Pitch #Baz Grimm Pitch #Baz Grimm-Pitch #Carry On #Rainbow Rowell #Snowbaz #Snowbaz fanfiction #Snowbaz fanfic #magic #love #there was only one bed #im a cliche #mlm

[eversall]

prompt: jimon + childhood friends AU !! always like those, and i always wonder how that would like... impact jace and simon if they had been childhood friends from the start

best friends for a long time is my ultimate weakness

“Hey.” Jace says, inviting himself into Simon’s room and sprawling onto his desk chair. “‘Sup?”

Simon’s lying on his bed, earphones half in, and he glares at Jace as hard as he can - which isn’t much, given the fact that his mind is currently drowning in sorrow, and he just wants to curl up and die.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear what happened. You’re here to gloat, aren’t you?” Simon snaps, and Jace shrugs. 

“I told you in fifth grade that that dude was bad news, it’s been seven years since then.” Jace reminds him. He’s looking at Simon’s posters now, not even looking at him as he says, softly, “You didn’t even think about listening to me.” 

“Sorry, yeah,” Simon bites out, “except he was the only one who invited me to prom and unlike you, I don’t have dates just lined up? So I can’t afford to be picky - “

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Jace says, exasperated, and Simon sits up in bed, furious, when Jace continues, “You would never let any one of us say that about ourselves, but you can say that about yourself? Anyone would be lucky to have you, Simon, you can’t settle.” 

Simon’s stunned into a furious silence, glaring petulantly at Jace, because Jace is right, and he hates that, hates that Jace knows him almost as well as Clary. And this boy, with his infuriatingly gorgeous body is nice to Simon in his own way, surprisingly sweet, and fuck it’s just not fair and it doesn’t help Simon get over the feelings he’s had for Jace for years. 

“Whatever.” Simon sighs, and flops back into bed. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Jace asks, and Simon rolls away from him so he doesn’t have to look at Jace sitting in his room like he belongs there. 

“You always are.” Simon says dully. 

There’s silence, and then the sound of Jace moving, the bed dipping as he sits near Simon. A tentative hand comes up to stroke his back, Jace’s long fingers burning a path through the thin material of Simon’s shirt. 

“You’ll be okay.” Jace says quietly. “You will.” 

“Like I was okay in middle school when Georgie Chen dumped her juice all over me for not being a cool enough date to the movies?” Simon asks wryly, and he hears Jace laugh, the small, throaty one that makes little dimples appear in Jace’s cheeks. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, I also dumped my juice over Georgie Chen for that, so I think that went fine.” Jace remarks, and Simon smiles at that, shaking his head as he sits up, sitting cross-legged on the bed and facing Jace. 

“Yeah, but that cemented your popularity. ‘Ooooh, I’m Jace Herondale, I’m too cool for the cool kids, I wore tiny leather jackets when I was in elementary school and my hair swishes in the wind like I’m in a commercial - “ Simon sings, adopting a falsetto and ducking as Jace throws a pillow at him, laughing. 

“I’m Simon Lewis,” Jace says, deepening his voice and turning his nose up, “I corrected the math teacher in ninth grade and now I’m the math nerd and I know ever single Nicolas Cage movie like nobody’s business but I like to wear graphic tees and pretend I’m a punk rocker - “

“I’m a superstar and you know it.” Simon says, making finger guns. 

“Damn, and we’re all just along for the ride.” Jace says, propping his chin up in his hands and looking at Simon fondly. Simon grins, because Jace is his best friend, and maybe prom didn’t work out, but - he still has this, still gets this side of Jace that no one else gets to see. And that’s enough for him. 

.

Three weeks later, his phone shrilly and insistently rings, rousing him from his Brooklyn 99 marathon on prom night. He blinks down at the caller ID, frowning as he picks up. 

“Hey,” he greets Clary, “shouldn’t you be getting read to go to prom, Fray? Izzy’s picking you up soon, isn’t she?” 

“Yes.” Clary says, and she sounds like she’s out of breath and running. “But change of plans, I’m getting ready at your house.” 

“Uh - “ Simon says, but then his front door rings and he slowly pauses the episode on his laptop as his sister goes to get it. 

“Clary?” Rebecca’s surprised voice echoes. Simon jumps up and runs to the front door, where he sees Clary lugging a huge duffel bag and two large dry-cleaning bags, whispering furiously to Rebecca. “Oh my god - yes, I approve - Mom’s not here - well, I’ll just do all the - yes, I love this plan!”

“What plan?” Simon asks immediately, narrowing his eyes at his sister and his best friend. “Don’t like the collusion that’s going on here, no, nope, betrayed by my very best friend in my house, under my roof - “

“No time for yapping, Simon.” Rebecca says impatiently, one hand on her hip as she makes a shooing motion. 

“She’s right.” Clary hums as she dumps the dry cleaning in his hands and tugs on his hands. “Come on, we’re already behind schedule.”

“Behind - what?” Simon asks, bewildered, as he follows her to his room. She throws the duffel on his bed and takes one of the bags, the plastic riding up to reveal the shimmery green dress he helped her pick out. “Clary, what?” He repeats helplessly. 

“You’re going to prom.” Clary says, beaming at him. “There’s someone that’s wanted for a very long time to go with you, and in a burst of bravery - and pain, because someone slapped some sense into them - they’ve decided to use the tickets they bought for the two of you and take you to prom!” 

“Who - what - you slapped someone into going to prom with me?” Simon blinks, feeling like he’s rapidly losing control of the situation. 

“Not me.” Clary says airily. “Though I wish I had. I promise its a good date, you’re definitely going to like it. Now go change into your suit, please.” 

“Suit - “ Simon looks at the bag in his hands and slides the plastic up, revealing midnight-blue fabric. “Holy shit this is way out of my price range, where’d you get this?” 

“Magnus, of course. Raphael picked it out from Magnus’ selection.” Clary answers. She pauses, and then very seriously takes Simon’s hand. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, “trust me, okay? This person really likes you, and all of us think that they’ll be good for you. You’ll like them. Let me help you get ready?” 

“All of you guys?” Simon swallows. “Even Jace approves?” 

Jace, who’s notoriously hard to please; Jace, who’s obnoxiously insulted everyone who’s looked twice at Simon; Jace, who’s quietly helped Simon through every disappointment and made Simon fall harder and harder for him - 

“Even Jace.” Clary smiles. “Ready?” 

Simon’s silent for a second, looking at the suit and thinking about how even if it’s not with Jace, he deserves to be happy. Maybe he should give this mysterious suitor a chance. 

“Alright.” He answers finally, and can’t help but smile in response to Clary beaming at him. “Alright, alright, you win, Fray!” 

“Damn right I do!” She says, pleased with herself. “Now go.” 

Clary manages to get him and herself ready in record time, and they’re both dressed, hair styled, in less than forty minutes. Simon stares at the person in the mirror, and can’t quite believe it’s him. The suit fits like a dream, makes his legs look longer and his torso broader. Logically, he knows he’s not bad-looking, but the suit makes it much easier to feel that way too. He looks at his carefully coiffed hair, and he nods, sliding his glasses off. 

“What are you doing?” Clary asks, slipping into her heels and fixing one of her earrings on. She looks gorgeous, impeccable in her makeup and curls, and Simon’s not sure what black magic she worked to get herself ready at the same time. “Keep your glasses on.”

“I look better with contacts?” Simon asks more than he says. He’s pretty sure that was the consensus among his friends. Clary shakes her head, smiling. 

“This person specifically told me to make sure you didn’t take them off, because - and I quote - they’re a part of you.” She says, and Simon can’t breathe for a long second, because that’s just about the most damn beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and it makes him feel like he could fly. 

“Okay,” he croaks out, sliding his glasses back on, “okay, this person’s a romantic.” 

“Hey,” Rebecca sticks her head into his room, “they’re all here, Simon’s date is ready.” 

“Finally.” Clary grabs her purse and moves to the door. “I’m gonna go out first, and you can follow right after, yeah?”

“Okay.” Simon says, his mouth suddenly dry and his hands clammy. Clary squeezes his shoulder before she takes off, and he’s left with just Rebecca. 

“Becks.” He says weakly, gesturing to himself. “I - “

“You look good, Si.” She says softly, smiling sadly at him. “You look just like Dad, you know. Except for the nose.” She taps his nose. “That’s Mom all the way.”

“Aw, Becks.” He says, flushing. 

“Don’t get sappy on me now.” She teases, and then she gestures to the hallway. “Well? Go find your date.” 

Simon nods, and bites his lips as he moves to the front door. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath with his hand on the door handle. 

This is going to be fine. This is going to be fine. 

He opens the door and looks out into the night; the path to the front door is lit brightly by the front porch lamp, white light glowing softly around a figure with soft blonde hair and unbearably adoring blue-brown eyes. 

“Hey,” Jace says, holding out a rose to Simon, a blinding smile on his face as he looks at Simon, “wanna go to prom with me?” 

“Jace?” Simon croaks out, taking the rose numbly, his mind not quite comprehending. 

“I got it on very good authority that all the time I was pining, it wasn’t actually as hopeless as I thought? So, uh,” he gestures to Simon, “I wanted to give you the prom you deserve. And I want to - try to be the boyfriend you deserve. If you’d let me.” 

Jace is wearing a black suit with a tie to match Simon’s, his eyes hopeful and sincere. He looks good, like a dream out of some fairy tale, and more importantly - 

He’s the boy that hit Simon in the face with a basketball in fourth grade and then led him around school for the rest of the day, holding his hand, because Simon couldn’t see out of his swollen eye; he’s the boy that taught Simon how to play the guitar in middle school and encouraged him to try for his first gig; he’s the boy that stood by Simon through everything. Simon’s never felt this way about anyone. 

Heart in his throat, he steps forward and curls his fingers in Jace’s tie and yanks him forward, kissing him on the porch, slow and sweet as the crickets chirp around them. 

.

Six years later, Jace leads him on a walk through his old neighborhood. 

“Hey.” Simon says, nudging him as Jace shivers. “You’re thinking too hard.” He reaches over and tightens Jace’s scarf around his neck, his fingers lingering against the underside of Jace’s jaw. 

“You don’t think enough.” Jace responds, smirking, as he catches Simon’s wrist and tangles their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. Simon hums and drives his foot down against a pile of dry leaves, relishing in the crunch that sounds from it. 

“Did you remember to drop the truck off at the mechanic?” Simon asks absently. Jace’s coffee truck is doing well enough to have expanded into two more trucks, run by his employees. 

“Yeah.” Jace abruptly stops, turning to look at Simon. “Hey, remember this wall?” 

Simon looks at it and laughs. It’s a little alley tucked away behind the driveways of the houses, and it’s got graffiti from the generations of kids that have lived there; Rebecca and her friends are by Simon and Clary’s heart with their initials in it, Jace’s barely legible scrawl across it all, with Izzy and Alec beneath that.

“I was so angry when you wrote over our names.” Simon recalls, and he squats down and traces over the heart he and Clary drew over their names when they were eleven. “Here Clary and I were, promising to marry each other when we grew up, and you just came in and scribbled all over it.”

“I was jealous.” Jace laughs a little. “I wanted to have all your attention, and instead she got it.” 

“You always had my attention.” Simon stands up and smiles at Jace, who grins and hooks his hands in Simon’s pockets to bring him closer, walking him backwards at the same time until they’re pressing against the wall, kissing softly. 

They break apart when they hear a car passing by, and make the trek to the Lewis house, bumping shoulders. 

“You think I can go back and scribble the heart out even more?” Jace wonders as they climb the front steps. “I don’t want our kids to one day find that Aunt Clary and Dad had a heart thing going on.” 

“Our kids?” Simon grins, something warm and soft fluttering in his chest. Jace looks at him like he’s the stupid one. 

“Of course.” Jace says. “I’ve had you for thirteen years, Lewis, you think I’m ever going to let you go now? Is it not obvious that you’re stuck with me?” 

“It is.” Simon kisses him again, quick and chaste, before he rings the bell, his heart swelling. “It is.” 

.

That night, before they go back home to the apartment, they add a postscript to the graffiti heart: 

P.S. - JH + SL Forever

#jimon #shadowhunters #jace herondale #simon lewis #sh fics #i write sometimes #i love this trope #<3