#some stans seriously need to pack it up. this is freddie and brian's song. it has been for decades.

[theprophetsaid]

Someone: Did you know that Freddie wrote Love of My Life for Mary—

Me: False. Also, did you know that Freddie and Brian arranged the song for live performances so they'd be alone on stage? Did you know that they performed it together for a decade? Did you know that, when Freddie died, Brian went on his solo tour trying to flee from Queen as a whole? And despite this, he still performed this song alone on stage each night, even though he had tears in his eyes; even though he could barely sing? For Freddie? Did you know he turned this song into a tribute all by himself? For Freddie. Did you know that sometimes, while performing the song, Brian gets furious with grief? "I'm looking at my friend, someone I shared so much of my life with, and in a sense he's here because I'm performing with him. And in a sense, he's not. And that still makes me angry. That still makes me sad."

[gotboredwrote]

I’ll Keep You Alive // RMT

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.5K Style: One-Shot Warnings: Medical discussions including seasonal allergies/appendicitis (w/blood added in), angst, fluff, swearing Summary: Just because he’s in a band that’s doing really well doesn’t mean Roger doesn’t care about what he used to study. No, he doesn’t want to be a dentist, but he still remembers a bunch of stuff from his biology studies. Little does he know, he would be putting it to use on tour. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: Request/idea from @bensrhapsody, but changed a little bit to better fit what I feel comfortable writing (I got permission, don’t worry). Also, I have her to thank for the title partially as well because I’m a dumb dumb who can write the story but not the title. Never written for Roger before, so hopefully this is up all your alley’s, Roger-stans! (#dontcomeaftermeifitsbad #please #rememberimadeakybabe)

Masterlist

~

Being a roadie had its perks, sure. For one, you got to get close and personal to bands that you otherwise would never be able to afford to see live. Among other things, you got to travel the world, get in shape from moving around so much, and you got paid to top it all off. Not such a bad gig, if you were the one being asked. You had gone on one tour with Queen before, and they liked you enough to ask you to come back for a second one. Of course you took the job, it was never a dull day around the four of them. They each had such distinct personalities, and despite being literal rock gods, all four were wildly smart. Each in different realms, too. Which came in handy from day to day. Brian could tell by the look of the night sky before if the weather was going to be good or bad, John could always help with any tech that broke or malfunctioned, Freddie was a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy, so he helped out where he could, and if anyone was ever not feeling good, Roger could usually tell them what they needed to feel better easily, cheaply, and quickly. You hated feeling like a bother, but one day, you seriously needed Roger’s help, because you feared for your life.

~

[flashback start]

You knew first hand that Roger was really good at helping people get better when they fell ill. On the first tour you went with them, your allergies started kicking in towards the end of the tour, considering it ended in April that year. You were almost debilitated because your body was taking in new pollens and whatnot that it was not used to defending off. Your body was trying its best, but in the end, it was futile because you fell ill anyway. To top it all off, you forgot to pack your usual allergy medication, so you had nothing to help you fend off the sneezing and coughing. Obviously, you really could not hide being sick. Someone will pick up on it, whether the tone of your voice is one octave lower than usual or they hear you sneeze six times in a row. One night, it got really bad, and you were having choking fits every single time you came close to drifting into a slumber, promptly waking you up. Little did you know, you were loud enough to wake up the bandmate on one side of you, and someone from the costume department on the other side of you. The costume designer just checked up on you in the morning, not really thinking anything of the noises coming from your body. The bandmate felt differently. You coughed out of surprise when you heard someone knocking at your door at almost 2:00 in the morning. Slowly, you crawled out of bed, tossing a throw blanket around your shoulders because you felt cold to the touch despite your body breaking out in a sweat. When you got to the door and looked through the peephole, you saw a rat’s nest of blonde locks going in every single direction, leaning up sideways against the door. Before moving your hand to the handle, you knocked quietly to signal to Roger that you were going to open the door so he would not fall sideways into your room. When you looked back through the peephole, hand now on the handle, he had gotten your message and was standing facing the door. You lightly pulled it open, grimacing slightly at the bright lights of the hotel hallway.

“Hi, Roger. Why are you awake?”

“It’s your fault, love. I’m right next to you and I can hear you hacking up a bloody storm.”

“I’m sorry, Roger, it’s just my fucking allergies.”

“You sure? It sounds worse than that.” As if on cue, you hunched over into what felt like the four hundredth cough attack that night, and when you finally stopped, your breathing had turned into wheezing.

“Alright, go sit on your bed, I’ll be right back. I’ll prop the door open so you don’t have to get back up.”

Before you could ask him why he was leaving already, he was out the door, so you just trudged over to your bed, plopping down on it making it bounce lightly and squeak quietly. You were only alone for about fifteen seconds and then Roger came back in, holding a medium-sized black make-up bag. He shut your door and walked over to stand in front of your bedside table.

“Roger, I’m not sure what they taught you in biology school, but make-up is not going to make me feel better.”

“Oi, shut it. Want my help or not, Miss Sarcasm?” He spoke through a smug smile.

“Fine, yeah I want your help. What do you need from me?”

“First, I need you to tell me you trust me.”

“What? Why?”

“Are you really going to make me explain why?”

“Um, yeah. You can’t just say that and make me not be concerned about trusting you.”

“Fine. Basically, on a previous tour, one of the roadies, her name was Maria, got really sick. Like, caught the bad flu strain that was going around that year. I offered to help her by giving her some medication for the nausea and lightheadedness, stuff you can get over-the-counter, but she assumed I was going to drug her. She came about one piece of paperwork away from filing a lawsuit against me and the band. I really don’t want to go through that again when all I’m trying to do is be a nice person.”

“You know, for a drummer in a rock band, you’re pretty eloquent and thoughtful, Roger Taylor.”

“…um…”

“That’s my way of saying I trust you.”

You could hear him breathe out a sigh of relief, probably a combination of knowing he was not going to get sued as well as not having to hear you cough for much longer. He asked you to tell him what all was happening with you so he could see if he had any medication that would cover most of your symptoms. Turns out, everything you described really was just severe seasonal allergies, and he happened to have a stronger allergy medication than what you normally took. He just told you to keep the bottle and use them at your discretion. Follow the instructions on the bottle and you should be good as new within a few days.

“Thanks, Roger. You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know that. But at least this way we both get some sleep, eh? I’ll let myself out. See you tomorrow, love.”

“Goodnight, Roger.”

[flashback end]

If only what you were currently dealing with felt like seasonal allergies. It was not even allergy season, it was the end of November. And the tour had just started less than a month prior. At first, you assumed that you were just having back muscle spasms. You had never experienced them before, so you just guessed this is what they felt like. When the pain first started, it started on your lower right side, and just felt like you pulled something. It went away after a few minutes and you never thought anything of it. Then it happened again, but a little bit more forceful.

“Jesus, is this what contractions are like? Count me out for that.”

Trying to make a funny situation out of the pain you were feeling was not really the smartest plan of action, but it was the only one you could come up with at the moment. The pain kept coming in waves, and each wave was worse than before. Eventually, after a few hours of dealing with the pain on your own, it stopped. Out of thin air, it just went away. Normally, that would be the kind of thing to make a person do a double take and ask themselves ‘what is going on?’ Not you, though, you were just thrilled that the imaginary back contractions were over and done with. Moving on with your day, showtime nearing, you kept doing your job, exchanging words with other roadies and the band here and there. Not once feeling uncomfortable again. You watched the show, and for the first time in four shows, nothing went wrong. All the electronics performed the way they were supposed to, Brian did not snap any strings, nor did John, and Freddie managed to keep his mic stand in once piece. Roger threw a drumstick during a particularly fast song, but you had gifted him a cup to put on his drum kit so he could keep spares in there to grab in case of such an event. It came in handy more often than he would like to admit. After the show, you congratulated the boys on another performance well done, and proceeded to travel back to your hotel room. You guys did not have to travel tonight because they had two sold out shows in a row at the venue they were at, so it was nice to have an actual bed for once. This time around though, you were on a floor that was just crew members. All the band members had rooms on the floor above you guys. Not that any of you minded, it was not like you had a reason to mind. Around three in the morning, you awoke to the feeling of those strange back contraction pains again, this time accompanied by some serious chills. Then you felt it – the pit of your stomach dropped, and you were over the hotel toilet in record time. Initially you thought that maybe this was how your body handled food poisoning, considering you had never had that before. Then you looked at what had come out of you. Bloody.

~

“Roger…Roger?”

You were dragging yourself up the stairwell and down the hallway to his room, calling out to him hoarsely. You knew that he would never have heard you, but you tried, nonetheless. You got to his door, knocked once, and then collapsed on the floor. Startled, Roger shot straight up in bed and sprinted to the door, only in his underwear but not caring. When he opened the door, your head fell flat onto his floor, and he could hear the strangled moans coming from your throat. He could also see the sweat pooling on your forehead, a small bit of dried blood and vomit on the corner of your mouth, and how you were hunched over in the fetal position clutching your stomach.

“Roger…it hurts so much.”

He did not even say a word. He ran over to his hotel phone, and you could barely hear him utter the address of the hotel before you passed out. The next thing you knew, you were woken up by the feeling of an IV going in your arm, as well as the feeling of a moving vehicle. An ambulance. How did you get here? Why was Roger looking at you like that? Then the waves of pain struck you again, and you remembered everything that had happened not thirty minutes prior.

“Oh…God…”

“Ms. Y/L/N, please try not to talk or move, we are trying to prepare you for emergency surgery as soon as we get to the hospital.”

“Emer…gency… surgery? For… for what?”

“Relax, love. You’re gonna be fine.” Roger’s voice broke through all the beeping and liquids sloshing around, grounding you in the scary situation. “I’m just glad you came and got me when you did.” You could feel his hand clamped around yours, sweaty. “I may know how to help with allergies, but this is out of my area of expertise, love.”

“Roger…”

“Hush, love. Try to relax. We’re pulling into the hospital now. I’ll be right by your side when you wake up.”

You tried to respond, but you felt the general anesthesia hit you, and you were out like a light. Roger watched as they moved your body from an ambulance gurney to a hospital gurney and usher you down the hallway following the signs that said “OPERATING ROOM.” He followed you as far as he could, until a male nurse held his hand out flat in front of Roger, forcibly stopping his movement and almost knocking the wind out of him.

“What the fuck mate—”

“Sorry, sir, you can’t go further than this. Please wait in that waiting room right over there. I’ll be sure to have a surgeon assistant come update you throughout the surgery.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s hospital policy. If you could, please make your way over to the waiting area.”

Roger huffed angrily and full of worry, but did what the nurse told him to do. He sat down, seeing all the magazines and children’s games sitting on the tables in front of him. He was too distracted. He was terrified. The last time he knew someone who had to have emergency surgery did not make it out alive. Those two words strung together instantly usher a sense of panic into him that he does not have a way of controlling. The last thing he wanted was for you to not feel good in the first place, but having to sit face to face with the knowledge that you laying in a gurney could be the last image he saw of you was too much. He started to sob. Sobbed himself to sleep. The nurses just watched in pity.

~

“Sir?” Roger felt someone nudge at his shoulder, but he did not fully stir awake yet. “Sir?”

“Huh, what…”

“Sir, I just wanted to update you on the girl you came in with.”

Roger was brought back to reality when he fully opened his eyes. The bright white lights shining above him, the smell of cleanliness, and a lady in scrubs. A little bloody.

“Y/N?”

“Yes. We’re done the hard part. Her appendix has been removed successfully, before any serious rupturing happened. Some small ruptures here and there, but nothing major. Now all the doctor has to do is remove any fluid in her abdominal cavity and stitch her up. Once she’s finished, we will wheel her to recovery and bring you over to her as well. This should all happen within the next hour or so. Is that okay?”

“Yeah… yeah. Thanks for the update, I’m, uh, going to try to go back to sleep now.”

If he had not fallen into such a deep sleep, he would have had more to say. More questions for the nurse. But the nerves he had felt when he saw how broken you were earlier took all the energy out of him, and once he sat in something even the littlest bit comfortable, he passed right out. Just like you had when you hit the floor of his hotel room. Roger laid his head back down on the side of the chair, thinking of your smiling face as he drifted back into the land of sleep. Almost praying that he would get to see it again.

~

Like clockwork, the same nurse from earlier woke Roger up, this time less groggily, and she instructed him to follow her to the recovery area. Where you would be. The fact that he was actually walking there almost brought him to tears. He would get to see your smile again. When he was finally in the back, he saw that they had placed a chair next to your bed for him, with a few magazines. He was told that he would get to sit with you while you were still under the influence of the general anesthesia, but that you would be awake within twenty minutes. He nodded at the nurse, offering a quiet ‘thank you’ and proceeded to sit in the chair. Twenty minutes. He waited over two hours, surely, he could wait twenty minutes to hear your voice again. He could at least see you now, so… baby steps. He tossed the magazines to the floor after realizing that there was no way they could be more interesting than the woman lying in front of him. He scooted his chair forward so his knees were almost pressing against the side of your bed, and he laid his hand on what he assumed was your thigh based on your profile under the sheet. He lightly squeezed, and simultaneously the tears spilled from his eyes. Ones he did not realize were even threatening to fall, nor did he realize the reason for.

“Hi, love. I, uh… I don’t know why I’m bloody crying. But here we are. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you this time. I know you like coming to me for help when you don’t feel good, and… I feel like I just made you break your trust in me. I, uh…” Roger choked a little bit on his tears. It was not like you and him were the closest of friends. If he was being honest, there were other roadies he considered better friends than you. But for reasons outside of your control.

Then it hit him. Like a ton of bricks. There were the roadies whose names he did not know. There were the roadies who he was friends with, and the ones he had previously had a slight friends with benefits situation with. There were the roadies who made him angry. The ones who made him sad. There were the roadies he practically considered family because they had been with him since Smile. Most of these roadies, except for the ones from Smile, never came back for a second tour. Then there was you. You did not fit into any of those categories. He knew your name, he was friends with you, but not with benefits, you never made him angry or sad, you were not with him in his Smile days, and Roger was the one who wanted you to come on a second tour. You had created your own category. There was a roadie he loved.

“I need you to wake up, love. I… need to let you know that I’m gonna get you through this recovery. And that I am never going to let you get sick or hurt again, not under my watch. If you do, I’m going to make you better.”

“Is that a promise, Roger Taylor?”

The tears stopped at his head whipped in the direction of your quiet voice. Your eyes were still almost completely shut, but he could see you looking at him. His heart fluttered when he made eye contact with you, and the tears started up again.

“Yes, it’s a promise, love.”

“Good. Now, please go get me some ice chips, my throat feels like a vultures crotch (we love a borhap reference), and my stomach feels like an anvil landed on it and is somehow twisting it in all directions.”

“You got it, darling.”

~

You were allowed to be discharged the same day, so Roger carefully wheeled you to the taxi he called, and then slowly helped you to the elevator so he could bring you to his room.

“Roger, why aren’t you taking me to my room?”

“Didn’t I promise you that I would be taking care of you? Answering to all of your becking and calling?”

“Are you forgetting that you have a show to do?”

“And I will be helping you until the moment I have to walk onto stage, and the minute we are done, I’ll be right back here helping you.”

Roger carefully helped you lay back on his bed, almost tearing up at the sound of your groans from bending over. Once you were comfortable, with about fourteen pillows behind and surrounding you, he walked over to his phone and called room service.

“Hello, this is room 5667. I’d like to put in a request for the #6 dinner for two, and two pints of [your favorite ice cream {or other dessert if you are lactose intolerant} flavor] to be delivered ASAP. Name? Roger. Thank you.”

“Roger—”

“No words from you. I am eating dinner with you, and then I will be finding a movie for you to watch during the show to enjoy with your favorite dessert. And you cannot pay me, or try and get out of it.”

“If you insist.”

After dinner, Roger flitted about his room gathering up the things he would need to take to the show that he did not keep with the roadies, and you watched him move. Tons of people that you talked to, fans that did not realize that you worked for them, would air their thoughts on the man to you. ‘Such a womanizer!’ ‘A dirty cheater, the wanker.’ ‘Hot down to every single molecule, but not a good personality.’ At first, when you started working for them, you were afraid that they were going to be true. You thought he was going to be an asshole. And he could be. If he was truly mad. That was a very small percentage of the time, despite what people thought. All other times he was a big softie. Kind of melted your heart. Not in the ‘I have feelings for the drummer of a band’ kind of way, just at the fact that a human could be as kind and thoughtful as he was despite the bad boy nature he tried to present himself with. He stuck to your side like a golden retriever, and while you appreciated being doted on, it was a little bit funny seeing it be someone like Roger. You giggled to yourself at your thoughts.

“What’s so funny, darling?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I promise.” You could not stop the wide grin from overtaking your features as you spoke.

“Nobody likes a liar, love. If it didn’t run the risk of popping your stitches, I would be all over you, tickling you to get the answer from you.” Very golden retriever like, that’s for damn sure.

“Okay, okay. If you must know, I was just thinking about how different you really are from the image you present yourself with.”

“Explain?”

“You present yourself as the bad boy drummer that all the girls go crazy for. And I won’t be the person who denies that it has worked for you, in more ways than one, more than once. But I’ve seen you in more situations than band ones. I’ve seen you when you’re vulnerable.” You had to stop to take a drink of water, your throat still pretty dry from the tubes during the surgery. “You really aren’t a tough guy. You’re… genuinely one of the sweetest men I’ve had the pleasure and honor of knowing. You are something else, Roger Taylor. And I feel like I haven’t seen you act the way you do around me around other roadies. Regardless of any circumstance.”

You saw the way Roger tensed at your words, but thought nothing of it. Little did you know, he was fearing that you figured out his feelings. Being the tough guy he is though, he thought of a way to dodge the words you said with a jab of his own. Luckily, he had just finished setting up your movie and getting your ice cream, so he could say it as he walked out the door.

“Well. You have the next three hours to figure out why that is, love. Expect a quiz when I return.”

He lightly placed his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair, electing to do something more friendly than kissing your forehead or something, as to not give anything away. And out the door he went. As soon as you heard the door close, you let out a breath you did not realize you were holding in. He had not even made it out the door before you knew what the answer to his quiz would be.

~

Sweaty. He was sweaty and wanted to shower. By the time he had made it to his room, his shirt had been removed he just wanted to flop down into bed and pass out. After the adrenaline of the show, his brain had completely wiped his memory of you still seated in his bed. You heard the lock of his door, but made no effort to move your head to look in his direction. As soon as you heard the door close behind him, you spoke up.

“I mean something to you, don’t I?”

Roger almost completely jumped out his skin.

“Bloody hell… Y/N, I-I forgot you were here.”

“Did I get your quiz right?”

“Wha—”

“The reason you treat me the way you do. It’s because I mean something to you, isn’t it?”

“I think you need to be more specific than that love, that could…that could mean a lot of things.”

“I don’t want to sound stupid.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

“Do… you have feelings… for me?”

Roger just stared at you, wide and glossy eyed, mouth slightly agape, trying to hid how nervous he was. Hands sweaty again.

“That’s why I promised to take care of you. I hated seeing you with allergies.” He started to cry openly. “Imagine how broken I felt when there wasn’t anything I could do for you when you were…practically dying on my hotel floor.”

You just watched him pour out his soul to you, letting him plead for you.

“And-and-and I know that you’ve probably heard the stories of me and certain fans. The women. Have I done that shit sometimes? Yeah. But ever since you’ve joined the team I haven’t. I haven’t done anything. Not even really thought about other women.”

You believed him.

“Would you ever give someone like me a chance?”

“C’mere.”

Roger made his way over to you slowly, unsure of what you were going to do. He was nervous as all hell, because he had never felt like this about any of the women he met, and he did not want to lose you. Eventually he got to the side of his bed where you were sitting, and you motioned for him to sit on the other side of you. Roger felt like he did something wrong, but when he finally plopped down onto the other side of the bed, you reached up to grab his cheek.

“I would have walked over to you and kissed you myself, but my stomach hurts too much.”

Roger laughed with his whole heart and soul. He truly did not expect you to want him back. It made waiting all this time for any form of intimacy so worth it. He kissed you with more passion than he put into his drumming. He even got a little bit too into it and started to move his down your torso, and the minute you felt his fingers below your chest, you grabbed one of the pillows situated to your side and smacked him in the head.

“Hey! What was that for? I was getting into that.”

“Stitches, wanker.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, love.” Permanent Taglist: @bensrhapsody @chlobo6 @gardnerlangway @xtrashmammalstefx

Roger Taylor Taglist: n/a

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