#it's yearning hours sorry about it. this album is making me feel insane.

[lovelaceisntdead]

DO YOU PICTURE ME LIKE I PICTURE YOU??

AM I IN THE FRAME FROM YOUR POINT OF VIEW???

DO YOU FEEL THE SAME????

I'M TOO SCARED TO SAY!! HALF OF THE THINGS I'D DO!!!

WHEN I PICTURE YOU

[conceptalbon]

drop the all hunger all restraint and poised bones annotated playlist bestie

i wanted to actually link the full spotify playlist here but i don't want to doxx myself and remaking it would take ten thousand years SO i'm going to add my comments here and link it later cool cool

1. i'm a fool to want you by billie holiday

this aligns with soulbond!george so perfectly in my head. his perspective on the whole relationship is that it's doomed from the start; he knows alex is not in love with him since before they share their first kiss, he knows this relationship will end before it even starts.

he promises himself he will end it on multiple occasions and yet he can't bring himself to do it. he wants to minimize the heartbreak of losing alex by breaking it off on his own terms but every time the possibility of it becomes real (especially during the infamous George Bakery Breakdown or, as we in the business call it, the gbb) he falls apart.

'i'm a fool to want you // pity me, i need you // i know it's wrong, it can't be right // but right or wrong i can't get along without you'

like come onnnnn it was ghostwritten by sb!george

2. wish on an eyelash by mallrat

i found this when i was nearing the end of the writing process already and went insane over how well it works with sb!au. literally almost every line is about them my god. but especially 'made a wish on my birthday // talk about you to heaven // i plan my days all around ya // planets orbit around ya'. it's so short but it talks about yearning and devotion in such a specific and hard-hitting way

it also works very well with a certain space au. 'i was lost till i found ya'? yeah.

3. futile devices by sufjan stevens (original version)

ah yes the song about how words fail when your feelings are too strong. in a story about characters whose feelings are so strong they literally develop a telepathic bond because they can't use their words. i am SORRY okay i love sufjan so so so much and age of adz is an incredible album and this song specifically creates a mood like no other does. this might be at the top of my spotify wrapped this year with how much i've listened to it and i adore the word choices in it and i am insane over it forever and always.

4. the bug collector by haley heyndericks

everything i write i write to spread our 'alex cares so much' agenda. i've done a tiny bit of director's commentary about him in the ao3 comments already but i will literally talk about him for hours if anyone will listen. the thing with alex in this fic is that he has never wanted anything without reaching for it with both hands. that's his modus operandi, which george correctly identifies (and incorrectly decides that alex not fighting for him means alex does not want him). BUT alex believes that he came on too strong when it was unwanted, thinks he has hurt george by displaying affection so directly and so he tries to tone down how intense he is as not to scare or hurt him further. still, he can't just Stop Loving him and defaults to acts of care that can be interpreted as more platonic (not really but that's what he thinks). he makes george avocado toast when he can't sleep, he skips his own debrief because he feels george's fear, he kisses his temple telepathically (god) when george is having a breakdown in the bathroom. he cares so much. in the words of haley heyndericks he must make him the perfect morning. he doesn't know how to do it any other way!

note also: alex saying 'you can be angry at the way i've expressed it but not at the feeling itself, george. i know you're not cruel enough for that' which is so important to me and which i can write an essay about because outward expressions of inner processes are The main theme of this fic and i have thought about this so much while writing. good god.

honorable mentions: flight risk by tommy lefroy (thee doomed from the start anthem! 'i wanted to be something you couldn't put down but i'm already gone' pleaseeeee), waltz right in by matt maeson (the second most listened to song in this whole playlist after futile devices, i'm so so so insane about it), gregory alan isakov's whole discography (very very galex coded!! gregory what a legend you are)

[warmau]

☆ ko-fi request: punk band!yuta au

“this is a bad idea”

you look up at yuta who is balancing on the amp for his electric guitar, one foot raised and with what looks like a stack of the bands cds on his head

“it’s a great idea. jaehyun said i couldn't do this for a whole hour and when i do - he owes me fifty bucks.”

you throw a look to the corner of the room where the culprit, sly grinning main vocalist jaehyun, gives you a thumbs up

sometimes you wonder why in the world you work for these people 

you give it another five minutes tops until either his leg falls asleep or he gets distracted by something shiny 

as you walk away from the mess that’s about to happen and continue working your way through the checklist for todays rehearsal

ever since news of the new album in the works, you’ve been painstakingly trying to keep everyone in the band on track

and that was a feat in itself - since wrangling so many strong personalities was practically impossible

still, you had to admit, you did like all of them. they were great people, just slightly insane musicians

but one person - he was different from all the rest

you close your eyes when you hear the sound of a loud thud and a long, pained groan

yuta, the electric guitarist and forest fire among flames of the group

with long, silver hair - shaved undercut - multiple tattoos and piercings that you’re sure some he gave to himself

he’s a fearless, rowdy, and talented individual who sometimes forgets that things have consequences

and those consequences are usually tied to his health

though among the group - he isn’t all that different in style and punk rockesque spirit

he is unique, because you know that there is a side to him that is deeply affectionate and you can tell that parts of him just yearn for positive attention

which is why when he falls off the amp, you could leave him to it and say “i told you so”

but instead you rush over and squat down beside him

“did you twist your ankle? are you ok?”

the cds are pooled around him and you don't even have time to be mad about the fact that they’re probably broken

“um - let me check”

he sits up a bit with your help and then tries to move his foot before falling back into a heap on the ground

now the other members have rushed over, jaehyun and johnny - even the sound tech mark is hovering over your shoulder

“yuta?”

you ask - worried as he lays there without movement for a second

“hey, promise you won’t be mad?”

he looks over at you as he asks this and your lips thin into a line

“yu-”

“i think my foots like. broken.”

it’s not broken, but it is sprained pretty badly. the doctor explains what happens and you listen intently

while yuta just scribbles something on the cast

when the doctor leaves to get the prescriptions in order you turn to him and sigh

“well - we can’t practice today because you have to r-”

“of course we can! im good as new!”

he gives you big grin and slaps his cast before wincing, you blink and shake your head

“your safety comes first and im not letting you actually break your foot-”

“i can just play sitting down, c’mon. im not even in that much pain!”

“yuta please, im just thinking about it in the long run-”

he takes your hand in his and you sort of stutter

you’re not new to his flirtations - you’ve seen him pull moves on everyone and so you aren’t easily fooled

even still, he is so attractive its bonkers, so your shyness is just a reaction of the body

“im sorry, i know im just an idiot that makes you worry for no reason but i promise im ok.”

you slowly pull your hand out of his and turn around

“fine, but just promise you’ll stay seated.”

you suddenly feel a preassure on your back, where yuta has rested his head

a weird sensation makes its way up your spine and you try your best to ignore it

when the doctor returns you jump slightly away from the guitarist and do your best to ignore the look that the doctor passes between you

of course, once you’re back at practice, everyone is way more interested in signing the cast than recording

you’re so tired from the days events and the traveling back and forth that you just sit down next to the producer and mumble that they’ll be better behaving tomorrow

you don’t notice yuta’s eyes glancing every now and then your way 

as the day draws to an end you start helping tidy up around - yutaa waves you over as everyone else trickles out of the studio 

he’s got his guitar in his lap and even though nothing got done - it looks like he wants to ask to stay a little longer for practice

you’re about to start the usual speech, that the company wants them to practice together and blahblahblah

but then he puts the guitar down beside him and taps his cast

“you need to sign it, you’re my good luck charm.”

you roll your eyes

“ill do it tomorrow”

he stops you from turning away, eyes usually ablaze are now a soft and welcoming honey

he points to a spot and you lean down to write something like ‘get better soon!’

when you notice the other scribbles

among the band members names and silly drawings are the words

‘im sorry for being an idiot all the time’

you look up at yuta and then back at the cast

‘but is it ok if im your idiot only?’

you dont really register it at first and then yuta taps the empty spot beside it

“write your answer here, i wont look.”

you blink and then it clicks

“yuta, are you asking me out - by making me sign your cast?”

part of your question is because you really want to know, but the other is because if he’s joking - you think that really might be crossing the line

but when he looks between the gaps of his fingers and you see the twinkle of his grin

and his absolutely bizarre answer:

“i could also tattoo the question on me and you can tattoo the answer on me too-”

you shake your head at the mention and just scribble the word down in the space

because if hes offering that, then he must be serious 

yuta looks down at it - it’s a yes, circled in a heart

he tugs on your wrist so you’ll lean in toward his lips but you stop him

“not going to kiss you until we’ve had our first date.”

“the trip to the hospital doesn’t count?”

“no nakamoto now lets go.”

you help him up and as you’re making way for the door he adds

“see, i told you it was worth it.”

“spraining your ankle over fifty dollars isn’t worth it-”

he throws an arm around you, and you let him

“nah, i meant spraining my ankle so i could finally ask you out.” 

[thekillerssluts]

The Story Behind Every Song On Will Butler’s New Album Generations

Will Butler has a lot on his mind. It has, after all, been five years since his solo debut, Policy. A lot can happen in half a decade, and a lot has happened in this past half-decade — much of it quite dire. Butler was in his early 30s when Policy came out, and now he’s closing in on 40. He’s a husband and father. And he’s shaken by the state of the world, the idea of being an artist and a soon-to-be middle-aged man striving to guide his family through the chaos.

At least, that’s how it comes across through much of Generations, his sophomore outing that arrives today. Generations is a big, sprawling title by nature, and the album in turn grapples with all kinds of big picture anxieties. Mass shootings, the overarching darkness and anxiety of our time, trying to reckon with our surroundings but the system overload that occurs all too easily in the wake of it. Then there are more intimate songs, too, tales drawn from personal lives as people plug along just trying to navigate a tumultuous era.

Butler is, of course, no stranger to crafting music that seeks to parse the cultural moment and how it impacts in our daily lives. Ever since Arcade Fire ascended to true arena-rock status on The Suburbs 10 years ago, they have embarked on projects that explicitly try to make sense of our surroundings. (Not that their earlier work was bereft of heavy concepts — far from it — but Reflektor and Everything Now turned more of a specific eye towards contemporary ills and trials.) But as one voice amongst many in Arcade Fire, there is a cinematic scope to whatever Butler’s playing into there.

On Generations, he engages with a lot of similar concerns but all in his own voice — often yelping, desperate, frustrated then just trying to catch a breath. Butler leans on his trusty Korg MS-20 throughout Generations, often giving the album a synth-y indie backdrop that allows him to try on a few different selves. There are a handful of surging choruses, “la-la” refrains batting back against the darkness, slinking grooves maybe allowing someone the idea of brief physical release amidst ongoing strife.

Ahead of Generations’ arrival, Butler sent us some thoughts on the album, running from inspiration between the individual tracks to little details about the arrangement and composition of different songs. Now that you can hear the album for yourself, check it out and read along with Butler’s comments below.

1. “Outta Here”

I think this is the simplest song on the record. Just, like, get me out of here. Get me fucking out of here. I’m so tired of being here. No, I don’t have another answer, and I don’t expect anything to be better anywhere else. But, please, I would like to leave here.

I can play plenty of instruments, and can make interesting sounds on them, but kinda the only instrument I’m good at is a synth called the Korg MS-20. That’s the first sound on the record. It makes most of the bass you hear on the record. It’s a very aggressive, loud, versatile machine, and I wanted to start the record with it cause I’m good at playing it and it makes me happy.

2. “Bethlehem”

This song partly springs from “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats:​ “What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” Like a lot of folks, I woke up after the election in 2016 mad and sad and scared and exhausted. This song is born of that emotion.

My bandmates Jenny Shore, Julie Shore, and Sara Dobbs sing the bridge, and it’s a corrective to my (appropriate?) freaking out — this isn’t the apocalypse. You’re misquoting Yeats. Get your fucking head on straight. History has not ruptured — this shit we’re in is contiguous with the shit we’ve been dealing with for a long, long time. But still, we sometimes do need an apocalyptic vision to make change. Even if it’s technically wrong. I dunno. It’s an ongoing conversation.

There’s a lot of interplay with backing vocals on this record — sometimes the narrator is the asshole, sometimes the backing vocals are the asshole. Sometimes they’re just trying their best to figure out the world. This song starts that conversation.

3. “Close My Eyes”

I tried to make these lyrics a straightforward and honest description of an emotion I feel often: “I’m tired of waiting for a better day. But I’m scared and I’m lazy and nothing’s gonna change.” Kind of a sad song. Trying to tap into some Smokey Robinson/Motown feeling — “I’ve got to dance to keep from crying.”

There’s a lot of Mellotron on this record, and a lot of MS-20. This song has a bunch of Mellotron strings/choirs processed through the MS-20. It’s a trick I started doing on the Arcade Fire song “Sprawl II,” and I love how it sounds and I try to do it on every song if I can.

4. “I Don’t Know What I Don’t Know”

This makes a pair with “Close My Eyes” — shit is obviously fucked, but “I don’t know what I don’t know what I don’t know what I can do.” I’m not a proponent of the attitude! Just trying to describe it, as I often feel it. In my head, I know some things that I can do — my wife Jenny, for instance, works really hard to get state legislatures out of Republican control. Cause it’s all these weirdo state legislative chambers that have enormous power over law enforcement, and civil rights, and Medicaid, and everything.

The image in the last verse was drawn from the protests in Ferguson in 2015: “Watch the bullets and the beaters as they move through the streets — grab your sister’s kids — hide next to the fire station…” It’s been horrifically disheartening to see the police riot across America as their power has been challenged. I’ve got a little seed of hope that we might change things, but, man, dark times.

More MS-20 bass on this one, chained to the drum machine. This one is supposed to be insanely bass heavy — if it comes on in a car, the windows should be rattling, and you should be asking, “What the heck is going on here?” Trying for a contemporary hip-hop bass sound but in a way less spare context. First song with woodwinds — rhythmic stuff and freaky squeals by Stuart Bogie and Matt Bauder.

5. “Surrender”

This song is masquerading as a love song, but it’s more about friendship. About the confusion that comes as people change: Didn’t you use to have a different ideal? Didn’t we have the same ideal at some point? Which of us changed? How did the world change? Relationships that we sometimes wish we could let go of, but that are stuck within us forever.

It’s also about trying to break from the first-person view of the world. “What can I do? What difference can I make?” It’s not about some singular effort — you have to give yourself over to another power. Give over to people who have gone before who’ve already built something — you don’t have to build something new! The world doesn’t always need a new idea, it doesn’t always need a new personality. What can you do with whatever power and money you’ve got? Surrender it over to something that’s already made. And then the song ends with an apology: I’m sorry I’ve been talking all night. Just talk talk talking, all night. Shut up, Will.

Going for “wall of sound” on this one — bass guitar and bass synth and double tracked piano bass plus another piano plus Mellotron piano. The “orchestra” is about a dozen different synth and Mellotron tracks individually detuned. And then run through additional processing.

6. “Hide It Away”

This song is about secrets. Both on an intimate, heartbreaking level — friends’ miscarriages, friends’ immigration status, shitty affairs coming to light — and on a grand, horrible level: New York lifting the statute of limitations on child abuse prosecutions, all the #MeToo reporting. There’s nothing you can do when your secret is revealed. Like, what can you do? You just have to let the response wash over you. If you’ve done something horrible, god-willing, you’ll have to pay for it in some way. If it’s something not horrible, but people will hate you anyway, goddammit, I wish there were some way to protect you.

This song has the least poetic line on the record, a real clunker: “It’s just money and power, money and power might set them free.” But it’s a clunky, shitty concept — the most surefire protection is being rich and knowing powerful people. But even then, shit just might come out. Even after you’re long dead.

Came from a 30-second guitar sample I recorded while messing around at the end of trying to track a different song. I liked the chords, looped them to make a demo. And the song was born from there. This is the one song I play drums on. Snare is chained to the MS-20, trying to play every frequency the ear can hear at the same time on some of those big hits.

7. “Hard Times”

[Laughs] I sat down and tried to write a Spotify charting electro-hit, and this is what came out: “Kill the rich, salt the earth.” Oh well. Written way before COVID-19, but my 8-year-old son turned to me this spring and asked, “Did you write the song ‘Hard Times’ about now, because we’re living through hard times?” No, I didn’t.

In Dostoevsky’s Notes From Underground, the narrator is a real son-of-a-bitch—contrarian, useless. Mad at the strong confident people who think they’ve got it figured out. And they don’t! And neither does the narrator — but he knows he doesn’t, and he at times yearns for some higher answer, and he’s funny, and too clever, but still knows he’s a piece of shit. I read Notes From Underground in high school and kinda forgot how it shaped my worldview until I sat down with it a couple years ago. The bridge on this song is basically smushed up quotes from Notes From Underground.

I was asking Shiftee, who mixed the record, if there are any vocal plug-ins I should be playing around with. He pointed me toward Little AlterBoy, which is basically a digital recreation of the kind of pedal the Knife use, for instance, on their vocal sound. It can shift the timbre/character of a voice without changing the pitch. Or change pitch without changing character. Very fun! Very much all over this track. Tried to make the bridge sound like a Sylvester song.

8. “Promised”

Another friend song masquerading as a love song. I’ve met a handful of extraordinary people in my life, who stopped doing extraordinary work because life is hard and it sucks. People who — I mean, it’s a lottery and random and who cares — could be great writers or artists, who kind of just disappeared. And it’s heartbreaking and frustrating. I don’t blame them. Maybe they weren’t made for this world. Maybe it’s just random. Maybe they’ll do amazing work in their 60s!

We tracked this song before it was written. Julie and Miles came over and we made up a structure and did a bunch of takes, found a groove. Which I then hacked up into what it is now! The bed tracks are lovely and loose. Maybe I’ll put out a jammier version of this song at some point. The other big synth on this record is the Oberheim OB-8, and that’s the bass on this one (triple tracked along with some MS-20).

9. “Not Gonna Die”

This song is about terrorism, and the response to terrorism. I wrote it a couple weeks after the Bataclan shooting in Paris in 2015. For some reason, a couple weeks after the shooting, I was in midtown Manhattan. I must have been Christmas shopping. I had to pop into the Sephora on 5th Avenue to pick up something specific — I think for my wife or her sister. I don’t remember. But I remember walking in, and the store was really crowded, and for just a split second I got really scared about what would happen if someone brought out a gun and started shooting up the crowd. And then I got so fucking mad at the people that made me feel that emotion. Like, I’m not gonna fucking die in the midtown Sephora, you fucking pieces of shit. Thanks for putting that thought in my head.

BUT ALSO, fuck all the fucking pieces of shit who are like, “We can’t accept refugees — what if they’re terrorists?” FUCK OFF. Some fucking terrified family driven from their home by a war isn’t going to kill me. Or anyone. Fuck off. Some woman from Central America fleeing from her husband who threatened to kill her isn’t going to fucking bomb Times Square. You fucking pieces of shit.

In November/December 2015, the Republican primary had already started — Trump had announced in June. And every single one of those pieces of shit running for president were talking about securing our borders, and keeping poor people out, and trying to justify it by security talk. FUCK OFF. You pieces of shit. Fuck right off. Anyway. Sorry for cursing.

I kind of think of the outro of this song as an angry “Everyday People.” Everyday people aren’t going to kill me. Lots of great saxes on this track from Matt Bauder and Stuart Bogie.

The intro of the song we recorded loud, full band, which I then ran through the MS-20 and filtered down till it was just a bass heart-pulse, and re-recorded solo piano and voice over that.

10. “Fine”

I kind of think that “Outta Here” to “Not Gonna Die” comprise the record, and “Fine” operates as the afterword and the prologue rolled into one. An author’s note, maybe. It was kind of inspired by high-period Kanye: I wanted to talk about something important in a profane, sometimes horribly stupid way, but have it be honest and ultimately transcendent.

In the song, I talk semi-accurately about where I come from. My mom’s dad was a guitar player who led bands throughout the ’30s and ’40s. In post-war LA, he had a band with Charles Mingus as the bass player. Charles Mingus! One of the greatest geniuses in all of American history. But this was the ’40s, and in order to travel with the band, to go in the same entrances, to eat dinner at the same table, he had to wear a Hawaiian shirt and everybody had to pretend he was Hawaiian. Because nobody was sure how racist they were supposed to be against Hawaiians.

Part of the reason I’m a musician is that my great-grandfather was a musician, and his kids were musicians, and their kids were musicians, and their kids are musicians. Part of the reason is vast generations of people working to make their kids’ lives better, down to my life. Part of the reason is that neither government nor mob has decided to destroy my family’s lives, wealth, and property for the last couple hundred years. I tried to write a song about that?

Generations is out now via Merge. Purchase it here.

https://www.stereogum.com/2098946/will-butler-generations-song-meanings/franchises/interview/footnotes-interview/

[iamnotbrianmay]

hey ho (here he goes)

Hey boys! So i have this short fic i am currently working on and I wanted to share it with you! Hope you enjoy! 

Brian has never in his life thought about murdering someone.

Not when Freddie had sold off half of his closet to buy himself a new pair of shoes. Not when Roger dumped a pot of coffee on his notebook, halfway through revision for his semester exam. Not when John had drunkenly thrown up in his room and then decided to let him perish from the smell.

But everyone is bound to break eventually, and it's no surprise that the first person Brian May wants to murder is an underaged child.

The gremlin in question is currently sat crying at the other end of the sofa, scissors in one hand and half of Brian's hair in the other. The guitarist has a hand hovering over his head. Close to the place his locks used to be. Space which is now empty.

He hasn't had the time to check at himself in the mirror, but he knows it's terrible by the sheer amount of hair, and the worrying amount of length, his little cousin is holding in her pudgy fists. He stares at her horrified, as she weeps her heart out, wailing about how she didn't know that snipping his hair with scissors would make it shorter.

His heart aches for the little runt. Yearning to hold her close and tell her that everything is going to be alright. It's just hair, nothing they can't fix. But his brain is going at a hundred miles per hour screaming about how his head feels wrong, wrong, wrong and it's only when he runs his fingers through his hair, and he feels how extremely short it is, that Brian's reality comes crashing down on him.

He bolts out of the living room and into the closest bathroom. His family members scream after him, worried about the fact that their boy just ran past them, shoving every person aside. He bursts into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror, doing his best not to cry. He is a twenty-eight-year-old man, in a rock band, with a best selling album which has been topping the charts for almost three weeks now. He can't start crying because of a hair cut.

But oh god, is short an understatement.

It's curling around his face in an unruly fashion, framing his face like a fucking cloud, and making him look ridiculous. One half of his hair is long a pretty, the other half looks like Brian's worst nightmare.

His mom bursts into the bathroom then, worried and with her hands covered in onion and mince. And as she sees her son, she lets out a soft gasp and covers her mouth, "Oh no, Brian, baby, what happened to you?"

Twenty-eight years of experience and hardships are not enough to keep him from bursting into tears the second after the words leave his mother's mouth. To Hell with it, he thinks, rockstars can also cry.

His appointment at the hair saloon went as incredible as anyone could have expected. Meaning it went like shit. Not only was his usual hairstylist, Gema, away for the holidays, but he also had to endure MTVs top fifty songs of the past ten years. List which contained an ungodly amount of Queen songs. Usually he would have been thrilled at the prospect, but at the moment it seemed like the world was laughing at his face as the video for Killer Queen (and his beautiful hair) was shown in the large television on the wall.

They tried to salvage as much of his hair as they could, which wasn't much, and sent him home with a bag of chemicals meant to help with the growth of his hair.

Everything felt so wrong now that he didn't have his hair. His neck had become so extremely sensitive to temperature, and he felt so naked with his ears out in the open. The one good thing about the whole ordeal was that absolutely nobody stopped Brian on his way home. Something that hadn't happened to him since before the release of A Night at the Opera.

The threw open the door to his house, glad to be happy for the first time that day, and rushed to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, hand coming to tug at his now criminally short curls. God knows how long he stayed like that. Mouth agape, eyes wide, and hands running through his locks, tugging at them every so often.

Brian was so distracted by the turn of events he completely missed the sounds of his door unlocking and bickering. Everything seemed a thousand miles away, and he was only brought out by the sound of glass smashing. He turned around and stared at the offender, only to find his three best friends looking at him with wide eyes. Shards of the broken glass had flown everywhere, and by the position of Freddie's arm he could guess who had been holding it.

Brian thanked the gods for the fact that he had decided to wear a hoodie, and quickly scrambled to cover his hair, even if he knew it was of no use. They had seen it. They had seen what had happened and probably were thinking about how horrible he looked now. He looked like a little boy. Like one of those old pictures his father had of him scattered all over the living room. He must have looked like he had when Roger had first joined Smile, all afro and lack of confidence.  

Oh god, he had returned to being a teenager, hadn't he?

The first one to snap out of it is Freddie, he takes a step forward, mindful of the glass, and reaches out to Brian, "Oh darling, it looks amazing."

Brian nearly punches Freddie, "Of course it doesn't look amazing! It looks like shit! I look like shit. I want my hair back."

Yeah, he definetly is throwing a tantrum. John's expression softens, and just like Freddie he takes a step forward, "What are you talking about? You look cute, Bri. I promise."

"It was really brave of you to change your hairstyle after all this time."

"Not brave," Brian mumbles, tugging his hoddie even lower. "I didn't want to change it."

"What was that, darling?" Freddie asks, "I couldn't hear you."

"I wasn't the one that cut my hair," Brian repeats himself, then launches into his story about how his cousin had been playing with his hair. How she had been braiding it and 'making him pretty' and then how she had cut a chunk of it out. Nothing he could do about it, not a choice he made. Freddie and John looked like they were seconds away from wrapping Brian in a gigantic blanket and helping him plan his cousin's murder. Roger on the other hand was still staring at him dumbfounded.

Was it really that bad? Had his cousin messed up so badly that now Roger, person who Brian had slowly but surely tried to woo, thought he looked hideous. He buried his head in his hands, no longer wanting to see the incredulous expressions on his friends' faces, or Roger's disgust. Because, of course, Brian May hardly ever did something half assed. If he was going to look ugly, he might as well look ugly enough for Roger to realise that Brian wasn't worth his time.

John and Freddie grabbed Brian and lead him out of the bathroom, making him sit down in the living room and bringing over a glass of water while the guitarist wallowed in hate and pity. He watched as they fussed around the house, bringing him blankets, food, his laptop and some crappy movies. Everything to make him feel alright. But nothing was working. Not really.

All he could see were Roger's eyes, and imagine as his best friend took him to a restaurant and very gently let him down. "I'm sorry Brian. I know we have been flirting for a few months, and I know that we had even considered becoming something but I don't think we can do this anymore."

That was his inevitable fate, wasn't it? He was going to lose everything he had worked so hard to get because of a fucking haircut, and dear lord he might actually go insane if that does happen. He is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the small fight John, Freddie, and Roger have, or when the brunettes leave, he only gets pulled out of his head when Brian feels a callused hand touching his cheek, and when he looks up, he is met with two beautiful baby blue eyes. They look large and bright eyelashes framing them. He trails his eyes over Roger's features, his button nose, his lovely lips, and finally his beautiful, long, blonde hair.

Roger is so unfairly pretty that it felt like someone had punched the air out of him every time he gets to look at the blonde.

"Hey," Roger pressed their foreheads together, "you got lost in your head again."

Brian swallowed, "Sorry."

"Don't be," the blond answered, "what happened to you must have felt horrible." Brian nodded, making his nose bump Roger's. The younger boy giggled, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There is nothing to talk about," Brian shrugged, "I just guess I'll have to deal with looking like this until it grows back."

"I think it's cute."

"Roger."

"I mean it!"

"I look like—" he stopped himself, unsure of what he looked like exactly, "I look horrible."

"No you don't." The blonde insists, "You look like you did when we first met."

"That's why."

There is a second of silence in which Roger is looking at him like he can't quite understand what Brian is saying. Then he pulls away. He feels Roger shift until the younger boy is basically straddling him, then he feels Roger's hands on his cheeks again, "Brian May, are you telling me that you believe you are not the prettiest person alive?"

Brian made a face, "What kind of question is that? Of course I don't think I'm the prettiest person alive."

"Well, that has to change."

Brian can't help but feel like he is a teenager all over again with Roger in his lap. They are both pouting and being silly. Two internationally recognised rock stars, on the couch, acting like love struck teenagers. He feels Roger's finger slide from his cheeks to the nape of his neck and Brian has to suppress a shiver.

"Can I take this off?"

Brian stares at the drummer for a few seconds, trying to find the tiniest amount of mischief in his eyes. Trying to see if Roger would laugh as soon as the hood was out of the way. But the blonde was looking at Brian as if he had hung the moon and the stars. As if he is the prettiest creature on earth. The guitarist nods hesitantly.

He feels the soft fabric of his hood uncover his face. Feels the air of the room hit the back of his neck. And sees as Roger lets out a sigh at the sight of Brian's curly hair, "Beautiful."

Maybe Brian's disbelief shines in his eyes.

"You are beautiful, baby." He presses their foreheads together again, "Absolutely stunning."

The kiss is unexpected, but most certainly not unwelcome. Brian is frozen for a couple of seconds before he lets himself be kissed.

Okay I have a very important question for you all! Would you like the next chapter to be smut or fluff? Cause I got ideas for both. 

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Official Artwork for this fic is this lovely piece made by my girl rose ( @riveter-rose), go give her some love!