#John deacon is our best friend

[thelasthippie]

I love the early days of Queen... Not for the music cuz they were always amazing until the end of days. I just love them as the legacy they will give us even they didnt know yet. Were more than a band. Were one soul

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Folsom Prison Blues | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, sexual harassment, crude sexual comments directed at reader, mentions of rape, panic attacks, sexual coercion, blackmail, recovery from an assault (PLEASE PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN READING THIS CHAPTER IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANYTHING PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED! Please take care of yourselves, lovebugs.)

Word Count: 5303

A/N: This is definitely one of the darker chapters I’ve written. I just wanna reiterate that if you are at all triggered by mentions of rape or sexual harrassment happening toward the reader, please skip this chapter. However, there are no explicit scenes of assault. I always feel like that crosses a line when writers add those really descriptive scenes.

Remember, if you are a victim of anything like this, you are loved and you are not defined by what happens to you. As a victim myself, I completely understand if you make the decision to skip this week's chapter.

Again, please, please, please take care of yourself while you read this chapter. I love you all! And minors, definitely do not read. doooo notttt readddd.

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“Have I mentioned that I hate this idea?” you said to Dean harshly, standing outside of the Impala.

Dean chuckled. “I think a few times.” He kissed your forehead. “Look, Deacon’s a friend of ours. He’s got you covered. See you in a few days, okay?”

“I fucking hate this idea,” you groaned.

Dean leaned down to kiss you, effectively cutting off your sentence. “Just trust me, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. See you, Dee.”

And with that, you set off to meet a friend of John Winchester’s, Deacon, at Green River County Detention Center. Several men had been brutally murdered in the B-block of their men’s prison, and Deacon, the warden at the prison, had come to the Winchester brothers for help. Reluctantly, you agreed to pose as a guard in-training to be right there with the boys the whole time and to assist with their escape. 

Your plan was only able to be accomplished due to the fact that the FBI hadn’t gotten a clear photo of you; not from the bank and not from your previous arrest. Your mugshot from Baltimore had “mysteriously disappeared.” However, Sam’s and Dean’s photos were all over the place; Dean’s from St. Louis and a sketch of Sam from a witness in Milwaukee. The two boys were going to purposefully get arrested to be able to get into the B-block of the prison. That was why you hated the idea so much. 

Deacon was tough, you wouldn’t lie, but no tougher than your father. His whole “ex-military” thing didn’t intimidate you at all, and perhaps that was what kept the other officers from messing with you. You’d proved in your “training” how capable you were, and Deacon claimed that was part of the reason they accelerated the hiring process for you. 

However, your tough, impenetrable attitude didn’t deter the inmates from making jabs at you. Your first day on the job, a scrawny inmate with rotting teeth smacked your ass harshly in the cafeteria. You promptly had him on his stomach with his arm twisted behind his back. Deacon called you into his office afterward to fill out an incident report.

“Guessing you guys don’t have that many female hires, huh?” you asked Deacon upon entering his office.

He chuckled. “That’s a nice way of saying it. Most girls wouldn’t be caught dead in here, and we pretty much don’t hire ‘em. Just for their own safety.”

“Don’t you think that’ll raise some red flags, then? Especially given the fact that I appeared out of nowhere and ‘accelerated through training’?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), we don’t exactly hire the best and the brightest. Besides, that sort of thing happens with the guys all the time. Some get transferred from other prison, for others, this is their jumping-off point before they start workin’ for the police force. Actually, I think a lot of ‘em are too excited to see a girl to even think about where you came from. Trust me, nobody’s paying enough mind to your circumstance to notice any of the cracks,” he assured you. 

You let out a breath. “Okay. The boys get arrested yet?”

He nodded. “Should be on their way over now. Just finished questioning them a few counties over.”

“Wait, questioning them? How serious of a questioning are we talkin’ here?” you asked.

“Uh, I don’t know. That’s above my paygrade, kid,” he replied. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you. This isn’t gonna be a cakewalk for you. I run a tight ship, but you’re fresh meat. Some of these guys haven’t seen a girl in fifteen, twenty, thirty years. When they see you, be prepared for some wild animals. What happened earlier isn’t gonna be an isolated incident. 

“But one of ‘em even looks at you funny, you tell me. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble, though. Keep your head down and only jump in when you absolutely have to. I have you on patrol of the cell blocks so there’ll at least be a barrier between you and them. At meal and rec time, though, I can’t protect you from what’ll happen.”

You nodded, bile rising in your throat. 

“Why don’t you get outta here? I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded again and smiled a little before turning around and heading out of the door. Some of the male guards snickered as you walked past them through the hallways of the prison, but you paid no mind to them. You were focused on seeing your boys again. 

“You don’t belong here,” one of the guards called after you.

You turned on your heel sharply. “What’d you say to me?” 

“You heard me, toots. Go back where you came from,” the guard replied, a foul smile across his face as his buddies snickered.

You gave him a challenging glare. “I’m gonna say this as politely as I can: get fucked.” 

You turned back around and walked away, only to feel a harsh yank on your arm to turn you to face the man. “What’d you say?”

“You heard me, toots,” you said, mocking him. “How small is your dick that a third-grade insult from me got you all fired up? And holy shit, do you need some listerine. You got halitosis? What’s going on there?”

The guard’s friends began to laugh, too, much to the chagrin of the man still holding your arm. He released you roughly, and you knew it’d bruise tomorrow. “I oughta teach you some respect,” he said.

“Oh yeah? And risk losing your job?” you questioned. “You make one wrong move, and I start screaming.”

He scoffed. “Whatever. Just fuck off.”

“That’s what I was doin’,” you replied, turning away again. This time, he let you leave, and you were grateful. You were trying to remain as unnoticed as possible during your time here; despite the fact that being the only female guard put an immediate spotlight on you. 

You continued down the corridor to your assigned patrol; right outside the doors of one of the cell blocks. You tried to seem as unfazed as possible in your nerve-wracking situation and walked with authority; as much as you could muster given most of these men towered over you. You mentally cursed your father for stunting your growth by starving you to make sure you stayed small for hunting purposes. Your baton in hand, you walked up and down the cells. 

“Hey, they got us a hooker,” one of the men from the cell laughed. “How much for the hour, sweetness?”

As that man’s cell erupted into laughter, you walked past another where a man was pleasuring himself in plain view of the hallway. You knew he was doing so to get a rise out of you, and you swallowed your nausea and continued walking. 

“I’m gonna fuck you real good, sweetheart,” a man growled from behind his bars. “At rec time, your ass is mine.”

Again, you just kept walking, ignoring their lewd and offensive comments. You prayed to see Sam, Dean, or Deacon sooner rather than later to continue going through with this. And for a moment, you wondered if this case was even worth it. ‘If these fucking scumbags are the ones dyin’, I’d be okay with that,’ you considered. 

***

At the prisoner’s scheduled lunch time, you held up the end of the line of prisoners heading to the cafeteria. Every time the men at the back of the line tried to turn their heads to sneak a glimpse at you, you used the butt of your baton to hit them on the back of the head and turn their gazes forward. You weren’t completely comfortable doing that, but you were doing your best to prove that you weren’t someone to be messed with.

When you arrived with your group of inmates in the cafeteria, you saw Sam and Dean sitting alone at a small table and talking in hushed voices. You hoped your face didn’t convey your relief to see them. Even though they were in orange jumpsuits, just the sight of the Winchesters made you feel safer. Dean caught you staring at him and smirked a little before turning back to his plate. You forced yourself to remain stoic and keep your hardened expression on your face. Dean got up from the table with his tray to go throw his food away, and Sam followed. Sam somehow didn’t notice a heavily tattooed prisoner with a thick goatee heading straight for him, and he crashed right into him.

“Sorry. I—” Sam tried.

“Watch where you're going,” the man said.

The brunet stumbled over his words. “Yeah. Sure. I just—”

Dean walked up in front of Sam, voice darkening. “He said he was sorry.”

“You talking to me?” the man scoffed. “Are you talking to me?” 

“Great, another guy who's seen Taxi Driver too many times,” Dean quipped. “Yeah, I'm talking to you. Trust me. Let it go.”

The tattooed man walked away, and Dean turned around to Sam. He said something quietly and winked at his brother, making Sam roll his eyes before catching sight of the much larger man the tattooed prisoner was walking back over to them with.

You tried to keep your composure when the man swung a punch at Dean. Dean, however, caught him and held him in place from behind. “We can end this right now. No harm, no foul,” the Older Winchester asserted.

The prisoner soon broke from Dean’s hold. He grabbed him again and slammed him against a wall. The man stepped back on Dean’s foot, and Deacon subtly jerked his head at you for you to step forward to help break up the situation.

“That’s enough!” Deacon commanded, walking over to the man Dean had brought to the floor. “On your feet, Lucas.”

The tattooed man, whose name you just found out, stood. “Yes, sir, boss.”

Deacon held out his baton and pushed Dean’s chin up with it. “What's your name?” he asked him.

“Winchester.”

“Well, Winchester, not a good start.” Deacon stared him down angrily. “Solitary. You too, Lucas.”

You immediately grabbed Dean’s wrists and began pushing him in the direction of solitary confinement while another guard grabbed Lucas. 

“Are we having fun yet, huh?” Dean called over your shoulder to Sam.

You roughly shoved him forward, making him face ahead again. 

“Y’know, I usually don’t let girls tie me up without a first date,” Dean quipped. You knew he was trying to rile you up and get you to break character for his own fun.

“If you wanna keep your tongue, I suggest you keep your mouth shut,” you replied forcefully.

For some reason, that comment seemed to excite Dean. You fought back an eye roll at his amused expression. You roughly shoved him— not too hard, just hard enough to sell it— into the solitary confinement cell and slammed the door shut. 

Dean smirked at you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

You tried to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, upset by how easily he could get a rise out of you. You left him in solitary confinement and followed the guard who’d brought Lucas to solitary back to the cafeteria. 

“The boys seem to like you a lot,” he sneered. “Havin’ fun yet?”

You recognized him as one of the men who’d taunted you after you left Deacon’s office earlier that morning.

“Buckets,” you responded dryly. 

“I can think of a few ways we could have some more fun,” he said to you, backing you into a wall. 

“Get off me!” Your breath quickened, and without even thinking about it, you used the flat part of your forearm to push his chest away and kneed him in the groin.  

“You bitch!” he yelped. You took off running back to the direction you thought the cafeteria was in, taking a moment to steady yourself against a wall. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath, and you slumped down against the wall, clutching at your chest. You closed your eyes and did your best to steady your breathing and thankfully succeeded. You wiped the few tears that had fallen from your eyes, and steeled yourself to go back out there. 

You rejoined your group of guards, including Deacon, and the other prisoners. Deacon seemed to notice you were upset but said nothing about it. All he said was, “You’re watching the bathrooms with Jones,” referring to your next assignment during the prisoners’ working hours and your partner for the time being. 

You were relieved to see Sam when you made it to your destination. He was having to scrub the floors with a mop that seemed to be more like ragged threads now than a cleaning tool. 

“How you doing?” Sam asked the older prisoner he was with.

“I’m fifty-four years old, mopping the floor of a crapper with bars on the windows. How you think I'm doing?” the man’s scratchy voice replied.

“Alright. Bad icebreaker. I'm Sam.”

“Randall.”

“Nice to meet y—” Sam cut himself off, seeming to have realized something. “Randall. Hey, weren't you there the night that guard died?” 

That caught your attention. You threw a look to the guard in the other part of the bathroom ensuring he was focused on other prisoners and not Sam and Randall’s conversation.

“Yeah,” the man replied.

“Well, what happened?” Sam pressed.

“They say the stress of the job got him.”

Sam stopped mopping. “Yeah? What do you say?”

Randall didn’t answer. “Why are you inside, kid?”

“ 'Cause I got an idiot for a brother.”

“That'll do it,” Randall replied. “Well, this place ain't so bad. Compared to the old cellblock, this is the damn Hilton.”

“You spent time in the old block?” Sam questioned.

“Oh, yeah, I was a regular customer.”

“Didn't they have Mark Moody over there for a while?” Mark Moody was the man who Sam and Dean suspected of being your ghost killer.

“He was there. Yeah I was there, too, the night that lunatic bought it,” Randall explained.

“Yeah? It was a heart attack, right?”

The older man chuckled. “Sure, his heart stopped right after the guard stopped using his head for batting practice. The next morning, I was in his cell, mopping up the blood. What a mess.” He shook his head.

“Wait. So he– he was beaten and– and nobody reported it?” Sam asked in confusion.

“You kept your mouth shut, unless you wanted to die from the same heart attack, y’know?” Randall chuckled; the gravelly sound almost sending a chill down your spine. 

‘This guy could easily play Hannibal Lector,’ you thought.

“Randall, exactly how much blood was there?”

*** When working time was over, the prisoners had an hour in the yard before dinner and returning to their cells. You watched from the far corner of the fence while he played poker with every man who was dumb enough to try him for cigarettes. You folded your arms across your chest and watched with amusement when Sam came up to him and began bickering with him about something.

Dean then stood and yelled, “Hey, fellas! Who's ready to deal?”

He played several more rounds of poker, and you did your best to pry your eyes away from him so as to not arouse suspicions of any kind. However, that proved to be the least of your worries.

The guard from earlier whose balls you’d kicked in came up beside you and nonchalantly leaned against the gate. “You’re playing hard to get. It’s cute. I like it,” he said.

“Leave me alone, please,” you replied coolly. You were ready to bash his head in.

“Or what?” he challenged, still facing forward. “I think you owe me an apology for earlier. I’ll have a real treat for you tonight when we get off work.”

You jerked your head toward him. “You try anything, and I swear to god I will gut you.”

“Easy there, princess. It’d do you well to get in good with me. I’ll be able to protect you from them.” The guard nodded out to the inmates who would turn their heads every once in a while in your direction.

“Not interested,” you said simply. “Besides, I think I need more protection from you than from them.”

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your head. “Maybe so. Maybe if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll take it out on your little inmate friend over there.” He nodded toward Dean who was triumphantly fistpumping after winning another hand of poker. 

You looked back at him, worry swimming in your eyes.

“That’s right, I noticed how you keep looking at him. You’re not very subtle, I hope you know. And he’s definitely not,” the guard said. “So, if you wanna keep him alive, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I’ll see you tonight.”

You stared at the ground ahead of you in fear and tried to think your way out of your situation. All that played over in your mind was the sickening feeling of his body against yours in that cinderblock corridor outside of solitary confinement. Bile rose in your throat, and the only thing snapping you out of your trance was the whistle indicating the end of rec time.

You went through the motions of your “job” by escorting the prisoners from the yard into the cafeteria for dinner. Your head was not at all in the moment or in the case, and fear kept your adrenaline moving for the next several minutes. It wasn’t until Dean got in another fight and nearly got himself killed that your adrenaline surged for a different reason.

“If we'd waited any longer, you'd be dead,” Deacon told Dean.

“You waited long enough,” Dean huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Deacon shoved his baton into Dean’s stomach, and you nearly lunged at him for doing so. He grabbed the back of Dean’s head and told him, “Do yourself a favor. Don't. Talk.” The warden looked up at you. “Take them both up to the infirmary.”

You and the guard who’d been harassing you did so. Dean noticed how off you were, but did his best not to convey what he knew. When you got both Tiny and Dean into cells, you had no desire to leave with the guard; afraid of what would happen to you.

You were almost angry at yourself. You were (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’d fought monsters, ghosts, and demons, and you were losing your mind over a guy that would shit his pants if he knew what you’d seen. However, the fact that he was still a very real threat drowned out those thoughts.

***

The man Dean had fought had apparently died in the infirmary; no doubt by the hands of the thing you were hunting. While Dean was fighting said man, Sam snuck to the room Moody had been murdered in and burnt the rest of the blood away, so you knew it couldn’t be him. All you could do was wait for the boys to talk to the other prisoners to get the name of your true target.

Later that night, you just wanted to make it back to the Impala when you got off your shift. You even waited a while after everyone else on your shift had left to make your way out of the prison. You hoped the guard whose name you didn’t even know wouldn’t make good on his threats. However, your stomach dropped when you saw him leaning against Dean’s car.

You stopped several feet from him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he told you.

“How the fuck do you know what car I drive?” you questioned.

“It’s not hard. I mean, you’re the only ‘67 Chevy in the parking lot. Nice ride, by the way,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

In an instant, he was running toward you. You turned and sprinted away, only to be knocked to the ground by the man. He roughly pulled your hair back, yanking your head back against him. “Remember what I fucking told you,” he growled against your ear. “Are you gonna start playing nice?”

***

Everything felt wrong. No matter how many showers you took, you couldn’t scrub the feeling off your skin. Back in your motel room, you laid on your side wrapped in an oversized shirt. You stared at the wall in the dark, completely numb. You hadn’t even been able to cry since it happened.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. For hours, you laid there. You wouldn’t allow sleep to hold you close enough to darken the world around you. 

One thing you kept thinking was ‘I’ll never be the same again.’ The words played on a loop over and over in your mind. They danced around in your head for hours, taunting you. 

You wanted to climb out of your skin. Start the day over. You wished you’d fought back. Wished someone had been sound to stop him. The scrapes on your left wrist and arm were undoubtedly going to bruise in the morning, and your uniform wouldn’t exactly hide them. You knew Dean and Sam would ask questions, and the former would rip the guy’s head off. You didn’t even know that guard’s name. Everything just felt so wrong. 

But you wouldn’t let this stop you from doing your job. You wouldn’t let those boys brave that place alone with no word from you. And so, despite everything in your body telling you not to, you went back to the prison the next day.

***

You could tell Deacon knew something was wrong, but he didn’t press you further. The other prison guards didn’t seem to notice a difference in you; except, of course, the guard’s posse. They would snicker at you every time you walked past, and you could only imagine what your abuser had said about you. 

Thankfully, you only had to endure this last day of awfulness. Deacon was going to “fire” you right after rec time was over to give you enough time to get the Impala pulled around the back of the jail for the brothers to escape through. Your job was to wait for Sam to come over to you and give you the name of the person you were after and find what cemetery they were at. Then, you were going to get the boys the hell out of dodge. 

You watched the boys in the rec yard talking to Randall, the man Sam had gotten information from while they were cleaning the bathrooms. Then, the younger brother came over to you. 

“Hey,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was paying much attention to him.

“Hi,” you replied.

“Whoa, what happened to your arm?” Sam asked in concern, noticing your very obvious scrapes. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, I—”

“This guy bothering you?” That awful, familiar voice said from behind you. 

Without turning around to face your abuser, you replied, “No. Please, go away.”

Sam glared at the man behind you when he noticed how upset the guard’s mere presence made you. You could tell he knew the guard had done something to you; he was a smart boy. 

“Glockner,” was all Sam said to you before turning away. 

“Surprised you’re able to still walk—”

You immediately turned around to him and punched him square across his jaw. 

“Bitch!” he yelled.

“Fuck you!” you yelled. 

‘Deacon’s firing me anyway,’ you thought. ‘Might as well give him a legitimate reason to.’

You got down on top of the guard and started punching hard. His face was bloodied and bruised, the man barely hanging on to consciousness before you were pulled away, kicking and screaming by two other guards. They dragged you over to Deacon, who promptly made a scene of firing you. He escorted you out to the parking lot where he said the cops would be waiting for you to bring you in for questioning. 

Once the two of you were far enough away, he roughly spun you around to face him. “What the hell was that?!” he questioned. “You know they’re gonna be out for blood now!”

“I know that, Deacon! Maybe if your guards weren’t fucking scumbags, though, I wouldn’t have had to do that!” you yelled back.

“What?” his voice quieted considerably. 

“Nothing,” you said. “Just tell my boys I’ll be back for ‘em tonight.” You turned on your heel and walked away. 

“Hey, kid,” Deacon called after you.

You turned around. 

“Thank you. And… I’m sorry. For whatever happened.”

You nodded and turned back around again.

*** You discovered that “Glockner” was the name of a nurse in the seventies who’d been caught in the crossfire of the inmate uprising that occurred following Moody’s death. She’d been buried at Green Valley Cemetery following the severe cerebral edema the inmates gave her. 

You returned to the detention center under the cover of night and pulled the car around the back of the prison away from the parking lot where the guards were beginning to change shifts. You waited anxiously dressed in civilian clothes again for the boys to come out of the HVAC unit Deacon told you would be attached to the room he would be bringing the boys into following their staged fight. 

“Oh, man, are you a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice rumbled. 

Dean and Sam leapt over the fence separating you from them, and you couldn’t help but collapse into Dean’s arms. “Whoa, sweetheart, what’s—”

“No time, guys,” Sam reminded you. “You can reunite later. We gotta go.”

As if on cue, an alarm began to sound through the prison. Immediately, you nodded and broke away from Dean. You headed to the driver’s seat so Sam and Dean could change while you drove. Quickly, you headed to the cemetery Nurse Glockner was buried in. 

***

The brothers caught you up on everything that had been happening to them since you hadn’t been able to talk much over the last week.

“What?!” you exclaimed, following them through the cemetery. “Henriksen’s here?!”

“Yeah, which is exactly why I wanted to get the hell out,” Sam told you. “They were gonna extradite us back to St. Louis or Baltimore or something. Whatever was gonna happen to us, it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

“Jesus,” you responded. “And no doubt, they’re gonna be looking for me soon, too. I beat the fuck out of a guy who knows I drive a ‘67 Impala.”

“What?!” both boys questioned upon reaching the grave of Nurse Glockner.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” you said. 

“I’m gonna need a bit more of a response than ‘yeah,’ sweetheart,” Dean grunted as he began digging.

“Later. Let’s just get this over with, okay?” you said, helping the boys dig faster. 

You could feel both brothers staring at you in concern, but you couldn’t look up at them. 

***

When Glockner had finally been salted and burned, you and the Winchesters returned to the Impala and quickly drove away. 

“You know, I almost wish I could see Henriksen's face,” Dean joked as the Impala’s engine purred.

“Really? 'Cause I'd be happy if I never saw him again,” Sam replied tightly. “I mean, we're not really out of the woods yet, Dean, you know? You thought we were screwed before?”

“Yeah, I know. We got to go deep this time,” Dean responded.

“ ‘Deep,’ Dean? We should go to Yemen,” Sam quipped.

“Ooh, I'm— I'm not sure I'm ready to go that deep.”

You were silent the entirety of the drive over state lines and to a motel in the middle of wooded nowhere. You were silent through the check-in process, and silent when Dean crawled into your bed behind you later that night. He began to kiss down your neck, and you wanted to enjoy the feeling so badly.

“Dean.” Your voice broke as you whispered his name.

Immediately, Dean took his face away from your neck. “What?” he asked, hearing how upset you were. “What is it?” 

“I, um—” you started, unable to turn to face him. “I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“The guard—” you said. “—from the rec yard. He, um.”

Dean lightly turned you to face him. “(Y/N), what’d he do?” His voice had darkened considerably at the thought of someone hurting you. 

“He, uh—” your breath shuddered, and you were unable to meet his gaze. “He raped me.”

You swear all of the oxygen looked like it’d been punched out of Dean, his face hardening in the darkness. “Oh, I’ll kill him—”

“Dean, don’t, okay? It’s not gonna—” you protested, reaching up to grab his face to make him look at you. “It’s not gonna change anything.”

“I know, but—”

“Dean, I thought beating him to a bloody pulp was gonna make me feel better. It didn’t. I just feel more disgusting. Like, why didn’t I do that when it was all happening?” You began to cry. “I just— I’m trying to forget it ever happened. And I know I won’t. And it’s awful. And I just— I need time,” you explained.

Silence settled over the two of you for a moment.

“Do you want me to leave?” Dean asked softly.

“I— I don’t know. I just—” You took a deep breath. “I don’t really know how I feel about touching right now. Can you just lay with me?”

He nodded and climbed into bed beside you, the two of you staring up at the ceiling. Wordlessly, you slipped your hand under the covers and reached for his hand, lacing his fingers with yours and squeezing tightly. 

Your world was turning completely upside down. Your mind wouldn’t slow down, and you didn’t sleep much at all that night. However, you knew that whatever happened to you, Dean was there to keep you grounded. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[riaaanna]

via Doyle:

An important 1969 letter and drawing from Freddie Mercury to Ibex bandmate Mick "Miffer" Smith

MERCURY, FREDDIE

Autograph letter signed and original drawing sent to Ibex bandmate Mick “Miffer” Smith. Paddington, London: 16 October 1969. A two-page autograph letter in dark blue ink from Freddie Mercury, signed "Fred," addressed to Mick Smith as "Miffer." The letter with Mercury's "40 Ferry Rd" address at the head. Each page 6 3/4 x 5 1/2 inches (17 x 13.5 cm). The letter in a framed display with a fine pencil portrait of Smith by Mercury signed "Ponce," this 6 3/4 x 5 inches (17 x 12 cm), the original postmarked mailing envelope in Mercury's hand addressed to Smith in Widnes, and an original ticket to the debut performance of Ibex at Honiton Hall (Penketh) dated 23 May 1969, the ticket with a scalloped edge in gold. The letter with a usual horizontal crease and a few faint spots to the second page, very fine and dark overall, the drawing with a few spots, the whole nicely framed together and the items have not been removed from the frame but does not appear laid-down; Together with the book Queen: As it Began, inscribed for "Miffer" by the fellow Ibex bandmates in 1992 (published after Mercury's death). Publisher's cloth in dust jacket, minor wear but a fine copy overall. Also offered in the lot is a Time Magazine publication offering early photographs of Mercury, Miffer and this early group of friends and bandmates.

A remarkable and rare letter from Freddie Mercury (1946-1991) dated 1969, in the salad days a year before the forming of Queen, with references to seeing Led Zeppelin, sexuality, songs he is writing, and upcoming performances. Freddie Mercury is best-remembered as a singer/songwriter but in the mid-1960s, Zanzibar-born Mercury was an aspiring student at Ealing Art College (Pete Townsend and Ronnie Wood also attended) and is known to have decorated his walls with drawings he made of Jimi Hendrix. Mercury was a very capable draftsman as attested by the detailed drawing offered with this letter which is published in Queen: As it Began. Graduating in the spring of 1969, Mercury bought a guitar, taught himself to play, and began writing songs. That summer he was introduced to the Liverpool-based heavy blues trio Ibex which comprised guitarist Mike Bersin and bassist John "Tupp" Taylor, both of whom have signed the volume here presented to the drummer, Mick "Miffer" Smith, who later recalled: "We auditioned Freddie to take over lead vocals from Mike ... we were all competent players, we could handle our instruments, but none of us was particularly good at singing. Freddie had a great voice, with a terrific range, but he didn't really know how to use it. Once we had Freddie, we were a little rough and ready, but we showed a lot of potential" (Queen: As it Began, p. 28). Ibex's first performance was at Honitan Hall in May of 1969 and a very rare artifact is a ticket to this debut concert framed alongside the drawing and letter. Mick "Miffer" Smith moved to the United States in late 1969 and Mercury briefly joined Sour Milk Sea before rejoining Bersin and Taylor to form Wreckage. Disbanded by March 1970, in April Mercury teamed up with guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor to form Smile. Joined by bassist John Deacon in 1971, they renamed themselves Queen and the rest is rock 'n roll history.

But just before Queen was formed, in October 1969, Freddie Mercury wrote this remarkable letter to his friend and bandmate "Miffer," who had returned to Widnes to assist his family. The letter is a tour-de-force of descriptive thought and a growing passion for writing music. Penned in dark blue ink in Mercury's distinctive hand with looping letters and neat circles dotting i's and j's, the letter opens with Mercury hoping that "this finds you in the pink of health" and jokes that he doesn't need to ask about Smith's "sexual pleasures of late as your kinky perverted mind will have led you to obscenities and variations never before performed in Widnes." After mentioning moving into his new flat (that at 40 Ferry Road in London) and nearly being "sacked" from his job (possibly as a baggage handler at Heathrow?), Mercury eloquently describes seeing Led Zeppelin at the Lyceum. Robert Plant's performance is described as "orgasmic" and he goes into detail about the masterful drumming of John Bonham which would have appealed to "Miffer," Ibex's hard-hitting drummer. On his sexuality, Freddie Mercury writes that "I hear from several sources that you've informed them that I've turned into a fully fledged queer ... Meanwhile I'm making do with John." Personal statements such as those from Mercury are rife with research potential.

The next two paragraphs are devoted to music. He reports on the upcoming gigs with Wreckage at St. Mark and St. John and most notably another "with Smile on Dec. 6th (Definite)," this one of Mercury's earliest performances with Brian May and the band that would become Queen. Still between the two groups, Mercury mentions entering Wreckage into the "Melody Makers Group contest" noting that the "top group gets loads of equipment and money. So we definitely need a thorough practice." He continues "I've written the words to the new songs, titled 'Green' 'Cancer on my Mind' and 'Without you.' Smile are playing with the Taste on Saturday and I'm going to ponce along." The drawing of Miffer present here is also signed "Ponce," a term used playfully and frequently by Mercury to describe his stage presence although in British slang this term has a multitude of meanings. The letter closes by asking after friends and is signed "All the best, Fred."

We trace few letters from Freddie Mercury in the auction record and none from this pivotal early period, written to a bandmate, and before the success of Queen changed his life forever.

[lemotmo]

biggest queen fan around and let me tell you if the song is "you're my best friend" let me tell you that the song is a love letter john deacon wrote about his wife and I can't even COUNT the amount of times when I go to weddings and they use that song in the montage with the married couples pictures like HELLO Tim chose THIS song for Buddie.

I know right? It would be one the most obvious and 'out there' Buddie-clues to date. I'm really crossing my fingers our predictions will come true and they will sing this song.

Someone said that this song came out in the 70's, but I'm old enough to remember this song being played a lot on the radio back in the 80's and very early 90's. It's one of those timeless classics. I remember my mom, who is a big Queen-fan, singing along to this in the kitchen when she was cooking.

It would be such an epic choice.

[bijouxcarys]

Hits written by Brian May:

Keep Yourself Alive (1973)

Now I’m Here (1974)

Brighton Rock (1974)

Tie Your Mother Down (1976)

Teo Torriatte (1976)

We Will Rock You (1977)

It’s Late (1977)

Fat Bottomed Girls (1978)

Save Me (1980)

The Flash Theme Song (1980)

Hammer To Fall (1984)

Who Wants To Live Forever (1986)

I Want It All (1989)

Scandal (1989)

Headlong (1991)

The Show Must Go On (1991)

Hits written by Roger Taylor:

I’m In Love With My Car (1975)

Radio Ga Ga (1984)

One Vision (1986)

A Kind of Magic (1986)

Breakthru (1989)

The Invisible Man (1989)

Innuendo (1991)

These Are The Days Of Our Lives (1991)

Hits written by John Deacon:

You’re My Best Friend (1975)

Spread Your Wings (1977)

Another One Bites The Dust (1980)

Under Pressure (1982)

I Want To Break Free (1984)

Friends Will Be Friends (1986)

The Miracle (1989)

And that’s just some out of the 160+ Queen songs that these three have written. And some of the above are mega-hits! The amount of people I’ve come across who just assume that Freddie wrote songs like We Will Rock You, Another One Bites The Dust, and I Want To Break Free is mental.

They are one of the only, if not the only, groups in which every single member has written at least one of their hits.

Roger and Brian both have fantastic solo work out there that they love and continue to talk about. John has also done some instrumental work on other albums with other people. Roger even had another band at one point.

Again… they’re a group of four very talented individuals. Not the Freddie Mercury Band.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, on 27th November, 1991

Private funeral service held for Freddie Mercury

UPI ARCHIVES NOV. 27, 1991

LONDON -- Family and close friends, including Elton John, gathered Wednesday for the cremation of Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of the rock group Queen, who died of AIDS during the weekend.

Wreaths lined the entrance of the West London Crematorium where a 25- minute private service was conducted by two Parsee priests.

A single red rose was placed on top of the coffin which was carried into the chapel as Aretha Franklin's rendition of 'Precious Lord Take My Hand' was played, followed by 'You've Got a Friend,' said Queen spokeswoman Roxy Meade.

The ceremony ended with Mercury's favorite aria, 'D'amour sull 'ali Rose' composed by Verdi and sung by Montserrat Cabelle, who joined Mercury in a duet on his solo album 'Barcelona.'

Fellow Queen members Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon attended the funeral along with pop stars Elton John and Anita Dobson. Queen had described the flamboyant Mercury as the 'most beloved member of our family.'

Flowers sent to Mercury by fans were carried in five hearses to the service, which was attended only by family and close friends, Meade said. The flowers were later distributed to AIDS wards in London.

Queen announced Wednesday it planned to re-release its best selling hit 'Bohemian Rhapsody' next month and donate the profits to charity

[natromanxoff]

Daily Mirror - April 20, 1992

Credits to Roberto Macchi.

ALL THE STARS AT WEMBLEY

ALL THE STARS AT WEMBLEY

~~

Your TV guide to the great rock extravaganza

ALL IN AID OF FREDDIE

By RICK SKY

THE show begins at 6pm when Queen members Roger Taylor, Brian May and John Deacon walk proudly on stage.

First to perform are Metallica, followed by Extreme and Def Leppard.

Extreme play a medley of songs including their new single, a version of Queen’s Love Of My Life.

It is released today with proceeds going to the Terrence Higgins Trust. Bob Geldof introduces U2 live by satellite from California — with a comic interruption by rock’s funniest band, Spinal Tap.

Next Roger Taylor introduces Guns N’ Roses, then it’s back to the live satellite for South Africa’s Aids Awareness Concert. Following this is an appearance by AIDS campaigner Elizabeth Taylor and singing star Liza Minelli. The second half of the show is devoted to the best of Queen. Various stars perform the band’s hits with May, Taylor and Deacon.

The Who’s Roger Daltrey sings I Want It All, Italian star Zucchero does Las Palabras de Amor and Radio Ga Ga is done by Paul Young. Robert Plant performs Innuendo and Crazy Little Thing Called Love. Brits award winner Seal will sing Who Wants To Live Forever and David Bowie and Annie Lennox team up for Under Pressure in the night’s most exotic outfits. Says Annie: “We plan to dress up outrageously in Freddie’s honour.”

Straight afterwards comes George Michael, who will sing Year of ‘39 and Somebody To Love.

He will be joined by Lisa Stansfield for These Are The Days Of Our Lives. Lisa says: “The artists feel the concert will be truly amazing.”

Axl Rose comes on later to belt out We Will Rock You and there will be satellite tributes from Madonna and Michael Jackson.

Superstar Elton John rounds it all off with Bohemian Rhapsody and The Show Must Go On.

• Programme is subject to change.

FACT FILE

For the finale, all the acts come back for the classic rock anthem We Are The Champions.

TICKETS for the concert were sold out in six hours… The stage needs 30 tons of scaffolding and 5000 lights… Enough power will be generated to run Luton… The crows will munch 20,000 burgers, 15,000 hotdogs, 3,000 buckets of popcorn… A total of 64,000 cokes and 26,000 lagers will be drunk.

[Photo caption: STAR OF THE SHOW: Performers are lining up to pay their respects to Freddie]

[Photo caption: MADONNA: Appearing by satellite from California]

[Photo caption: AXL ROSE: He’ll take to the stage with We Will Rock You]

[Photo caption: GEORGE MICHAEL: Sings two songs]

[Photo caption: DAVID BOWIE: Duet with Annie Lennox]

[Photo caption: AWARD WINNER: Singing star Seal]

[Photo caption: DRESSED TO THRILL: Annie Lennox]

[Photo caption: IN LOVING MEMORY: Freddie would have basked in the glory of tonight’s concert]

[Photo caption: CLOSE FRIEND: Elton rounds off the evening]

[Photo caption: LISA STANSFIELD: It’ll be an amazing show]

SOUVENIR ISSUE

THE TRIBUTE 1946-1991

[Photo caption: DEFIANT: He loved to shock and fans adored his outrageous personality]

[Photo caption: BLOWING HIS OWN TRUMPET: Freddie loved playing the showman]

[Photo caption: THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL: He always reigned supreme on stage]

[onetouchparadise]

Tagged by @bririds12, thanks 💜:) (funny thing, I saw this by @swaggypsyduck and I was already doing It)

post my lockscreen + last song I was listening to + the last picture I took + last picture I saved

• Queen are my favourite band ever! I love their music and I'm learning to play the bass... so John Deacon for the rest of my life!

• my beloved moot (Bri I'm speaking about you) started to talk about Real so I've heard the hymn and I've fallen in love again💜

• my and my best friend were trying to do something with our shadows and then this happened

• Paolo is like one of my favourite footballers of all time and, even if Milan isn't my club, I love him so much!

Thanks for tagging me!

Tag: @x-aik-x , @juventinii and @acrazybayernfan if you want ofcourse

[eileen-crys]

Ho postato 2.298 volte nel 2022

435 post creati (19%)

1.863 post rebloggati (81%)

Blog che ho rebloggato di più:

@eileen-crys (not me reblogging my own things fo visibility lol)

@a-froger-epic

@bambirex

@julescape

@natromanxoff

Ho taggato 1.344 dei miei post nel 2022

Solo 42% dei miei post non aveva tag

#john deacon - 206 post

#queen - 192 post

#johnica - 171 post

#rachelb's art - 166 post

#queen band - 149 post

#queen fanart - 140 post

#john deacon queen - 106 post

#john deacon fanart - 93 post

#john deacon x veronica tetzlaff - 76 post

#veronica tetzlaff - 74 post

Longest Tag: 135 characters (@kinole009x me swooning again over nevermore is mu longest tag aaaaaa)

#and kinole if you read this please know that i haven't forgotten about it and i stil love this story more than any of my own 🙏🏻💕💕💕

I miei post migliori nel 2022:

#5

"... unless you're afraid."

The first post credits scene left me shaking and in tears of happiness because I sincerely didn’t expect to even see her, let alone in this gorgeous suit. They managed to keep her iconic shoulders and the circles on her leggings, I’m OBSESSED!!! And bless Charlize for sharing those HQ photo of her corset and that backstage video, it seriously helped me. 🙏🏻 Please consider this is a Work In Progress, I’m aiming to turn this into a bigger illustration about Clea and I’ll definitely fix this as soon as we’ll get better photos of her whole costume.

Please do not repost! Reblogs and comments are welcomed 🥰💜

221 note - Postate 17 maggio 2022

#4

🎶 Lover of Life, Singer of Songs 👑

Freddie sits on the piano, closes his lips and his eyes. The song is over, he thinks, but the music goes on. It can't be stopped and he knows it. And so, he smiles.

It's been 31 years since you left, but we all know you're still here with all of us. Thank you, Freddie!

Please do not copy or repost this! Reblogs and comments are welcomed 💜 I used a photo from Montreal 81 as a reference, his peaceful expression at the piano melted me.

246 note - Postate 24 novembre 2022

#3

Guarda il post completo

261 note - Postate 14 febbraio 2022

#2

👑 Happy Birthday Freddie Mercury! ✨️💕🌈

Last (but not least!) piece of my Queen illustration, here's Freddie above all, with his phoenix wings and his crown! 💕💕💕 (TAP on the image to see it better!)

I had lots of fun drawing him at the top of his power, inspired yes by that time in Montreal when he jumped on stage wearing only a pair of white shorts, but with a sprinkle of the majestic Magic Tour as well 🥰 Happy 76th birthday Freddie, we still love you with our whole hearts!

And stay tuned for the full piece, are you excited? 👀🤭

Please do not trace or repost! Reblogs and comments are welcomed 💕

308 note - Postate 5 settembre 2022

Il mio post numero 1 del 2022

🌈 Happy Pride Month!!! 🌈

I couldn't not draw the husbandsTM for this year's Pride Month! 🥰 I've been inspired by the crazy hat party, with a bit of a Pride twist, I hope you'll like it! 💖 Wishing the best to all my fellow LGBTQ+ followers, friends and Queen fans (and more!), be proud of who you are and don't let others silence your voice 💕💕💕 You're valid, always.

Please do not repost anywhere else. Reblogs and comments are welcomed! 💖🌈

316 note - Postate 1 giugno 2022

Guarda ora l'Analisi del tuo anno 2022 di Tumblr →

[martinwilliammichael]

Newly ordained deacon: “my great-grandmother, who spent six hours every day praying to the Virgin Mary, influenced my calling”

On Sunday, June 9, 2024, Metropolitan Borys Gudziak of the Ukrainian Catholic Archeparchy of Philadelphia ordained to the diaconate Ihor Demydas. In this article,  Demydas talks about his way to priesthood from his days as an altar server to his theological studies in Rome. 

When did you first discover/hear/feel the calling to the priesthood? Was it sudden or gradual?

Honestly, this is a difficult question for me, and I don't have a definitive answer. However, I would like to share a little story about my calling to the priesthood, which began in my childhood.

I firmly believe that my great-grandmother Anna, who spent six hours every day praying to the Virgin Mary, influenced my calling. You could say she taught me to pray by her example. When my grandmother started praying, I really liked it. I would sit next to her, watching her hands moving bead by bead and listening to her "Hail Mary."

Around the age of 11, I joined the altar server group at the parish of St. Paraskeva-Pyatnytsia in my village Velyki Birky, which immersed me even more into this mysterious, spiritual world. My friends who went to church were a 60-year-old local woman and a 70-year-old neighbor, Mykhailo.

I remember the month of May, when every day the "Moleben to the Most Holy Theotokos" was served in the parish. This was the best month for me. I loved going to this service and helping the cantor sing. I couldn't allow myself to miss a single day of this prayer. I was so happy; it's hard to put into words.

After finishing the 9th grade of high school, I entered a music college, where I studied for four years. But in the third year, I felt that I wanted to be in the seminary. I really liked the singing of the seminarians. When I saw them in their cassocks, I was so fascinated by their appearance that I always wanted to try on that attire. These were extraordinarily mysterious feelings of God's presence in my life.

After completing my studies at the college, I entered the Patriarch Josyf Slipyj Theological Seminary in Ternopil, where I studied for seven years. I was overjoyed to learn that I was admitted as a student. I remember the moment when I heard my name on the list of applicants; I ran out of the auditorium with tears in my eyes, thanking God for this great gift.

Later, my vocation developed in the "eternal city" of Rome, where I studied "Theology of Marriage and Family" at the Pontifical John Paul II Institute. Today, I sincerely thank God that my vocation culminated in the Diaconate��the first degree of the Holy Sacrament of Orders.

Adapted from www.ukrcatholic.org 

Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

[quoththemaven]

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Anthem, Noah Hawley

Blood, Sweat & Chrome: The Wild and True Story of Mad Max: Fury Road, Kyle Buchanon

I Want My MTV: The Uncensored Story of the Music Video Revolution, Craig Marks & Rob Tannenbaum

Liberation Day, George Saunders

Mickey7, Ashton Edward

Our Country Friends, Gary Shteyngart

Red Seas Under Red Skies (Gentleman Bastard #2), Scott Lynch

Sea of Tranquility, Emily St. John Mandel

Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson

The Candy House, Jennifer Egan

The Glass Hotel, Emily St. John Mandel

The Lincoln Highway Amor Towles

THE REST

33 1/3 Bjork’s Homogenic, Emily MacKay

33 1/3 Danger Mouse’s The Grey Album, Charles Fairchild

33 1/3 LCD Soundsystem’s Sound of Silver, Ryan Leas

33 1/3 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ Murder Ballads, Santi Elijah Holley

33 1/3 PJ Harvey’s Rid of Me, Kate Schatz

33 1/3 Portishead’s Dummy, RJ Wheaton

33 1/3 Sigur Ros’s (), Ethan Hayden

33 1/3 Siouxsie & the Banshees’ Peepshow, Samantha Bennett

All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr

Bad Haircut: Stories of the Seventies, Tom Perrotta

Deacon King Kong, James McBride

Metro 2033, Dmitry Glukhovsky

Metro 2034, Dmitry Glukhovsky

Metro 2035, Dmitry Glukhovsky

Oval, Elvia Wilk

The Adventurer’s Son, Roman Dial

The Book of Form and Happiness, Ruth Ozeki

The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky

The Elephant Vanishes, Haruki Murakami

The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde

The Institute, Stephen King

The Lincoln Highway Amor Towles

The Regulators, Richard Bachman

Too Much Happiness, Alice Munro

[suibian-99]

[bijouxcarys]

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

Masterlist

𝐈’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐞.

I felt as though my life was hanging by a thread, teetering on the edge of existence. Every moment that passed solidified the fact that this was indeed my last day on Earth.

The train jolted forward, and it was as if my very soul had been violently ripped away. Maybe it happened when the doors closed, or perhaps when they opened to allow me inside. No, it was the culmination of this entire sequence of events that led to this overwhelming sense of finality.

I wished Brian could have accompanied me to Kings Cross, but his commitments with the band kept him occupied. I knew he would have been there if he could, his career and schedule were not to be disrupted by my emotional outbursts. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement for Queen, knowing that they were on the cusp of recording a new album, their chance to truly shine. The world would finally see them for what they were: a group of beautiful, talented young men with an insatiable passion for painting the world with their music.

As the train sped onward, the world outside gradually transformed, the distance between London and myself growing with each passing moment. And with that distance, Brian would be left behind. I had never been one for long-distance relationships, and the thought of being apart from him filled me with a sense of unease.

That morning, I had risen earlier than necessary to bid a proper farewell to everyone. The haze of last night’s drunkenness prevented me from doing so then. Even Roger had said his goodbyes, and we exchanged a heartfelt hug. In some strange way, I think we both enjoyed getting under each other’s skin. Don’t misunderstand me; I held a deep resentment toward him for what he had done to my best friend. But I couldn’t ignore what Brian and Freddie had told me: it’s just Roger. Roger Taylor was a man who loved women and loved sex. But he also loved Emma, and Emma loved him. How could I possibly interfere with that? Despite the occasional barb we would throw at each other, it became a familiar dance that, in the end, always managed to coax a laugh from me, even if it initially wounded my heart.

John, in his ever-calm demeanour, offered me words of wisdom as he often did. He urged me to try and understand my parents’ perspective, should the need arise. John was the quiet one, and I must admit I haven’t mentioned him much. But he possessed a serene presence that was truly awe-inspiring. Of course, those who knew him better than I did understood that he had a wild side buried deep within him, a side I yearned to discover. Sadly, I hadn’t had enough time with him to unveil that aspect of John Deacon. Yet, I longed for it. Every time he embraced me, his hair brushing against my face with its softness, he exuded a cuddliness that I couldn’t help but adore.

From an outsider’s perspective, Freddie and I could easily be mistaken for a couple. Our connection was undeniable, a deep affection that flowed both ways. There was something truly extraordinary about Freddie Mercury, unlike anyone I had ever encountered. He possessed an air of intimidation at first, but those who knew him understood that he was one of the kindest souls to grace this earth. If you didn’t have a special place in your heart for Freddie, well, you must be out of your mind. He clung to me like a koala, offering words of protection and urging me to give anyone who gave me trouble a good kick, or else he would take matters into his own hands. His parting words to me were simple yet quintessentially Freddie: “Stay fabulous.”

Now, let’s talk about the emotional rollercoaster that was saying goodbye to Brian and Emma. Yes, there was tension with Emma, and things weren’t exactly perfect. But she was the person who helped me settle into the unfamiliar university environment. She was there for me during moments of panic, tears streaming down my face and my cheeks turning crimson. She lent a comforting presence when I woke up in the dead of night, needing someone to listen and understand, even when I was tempted to fall back into my old habits of self-harm. Emma knew every part of me, just as I knew every part of her. We were more than friends; we were like sisters. And this would be the first time in a long while that I would be returning to Yorkshire without her by my side. The thought of being separated from her made me nervous, but I held it together as we bid our farewells.

Saying goodbye to Brian, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He had witnessed every ounce of my Christmas-induced paranoia and did everything in his power to ease my worries. Sometimes, he may have been a tad overly attentive, but at the end of the day, he was my entire world, and my world revolved around him. The tears simply could not be contained as I wrapped my arms tightly around him. In that moment, he held me so close that it felt as though we could merge into one and disappear into a whimsical realm. Yet, his comforting whispers and the velvety tone of his voice served as a reminder that this was reality, and I was still grounded in it. He stayed by my side for as long as he could before the boys had to depart, but the time I had with him was worth every second.

Alone, I found myself in that moment. My bag of belongings sat faithfully beside me, my only companion on this journey. Prepared for the four-hour train ride, I clutched my favourite book, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Despite its dark and sombre tone, it served as a reminder that my own life could have taken a far more tragic path.

As the train approached Leeds station, a wave of nausea washed over me, and the surroundings grew increasingly familiar. The conversation I had with my mother before leaving for Kings Cross replayed in my mind, igniting a fiery rage within me. What were the words that stirred such anger? Let me share them with you.

“We can’t afford to cover your travel expenses, Maria. You’ll have to pay for your own train ticket.”

My stomach twisted with fury as I repeated those words, a relentless loop of frustration.

“You’ll have to take a bus from the station back home. Your father and I won’t be around.”

Anxiety coursed through my veins once again, and I forced myself to remember what awaited me upon my return to the South. My parents knew all too well about my paralysing social anxiety when it came to traveling alone. I had to practice making the journey to London four times before starting university. Why couldn’t they have shown the courtesy of meeting me when I hadn’t been home in so long? The thought only heightened my unease.

It did little to ease my worries when Brian insisted on giving me money for the train tickets, despite my attempts to convince him I could handle the expense myself. I despised relying on Brian’s financial support. He had his own dreams to chase, and I often felt like an obstacle in the path of his success.

Taking a deep breath, I settled into my seat, closing my eyes, and hoping that the journey would pass swiftly, my mounting anxiety fading into the background.

Thankfully, I managed to locate the correct bus at Leeds Station. Awkwardly positioned at the front, clutching my bag, I held onto the metal pole for dear life as the driver navigated the roads with a hint of recklessness. We left the bustling city centre behind, venturing into the more secluded outskirts.

Observing the people passing by in cars, on bicycles, and on foot, I couldn’t help but slip into the mindset of sixteen-year-old Maria. I was a timid and fearful teenager, lacking experience and a clear sense of purpose. It felt as though I was returning home from school once again, my white collar chafing against my neck under the scorching sun, my hair haphazardly pulled back into a messy ponytail. Resting my head against the cold metal pole, vivid memories resurfaced: boys stealing glances at girls, throwing sweets and paper across the bus, while the girls fixed their hair, lost in fantasies about The Beatles and The Beach Boys. These memories appeared as crystal clear as they were in those days. I was always the girl who sat at the back of the bus, nestled in the corner, engrossed in a book about mysterious sea creatures or the artistry of Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. Old movies held a special place in my heart. My friends and I each had our own transistor radios, tucked into our pockets, tuned to different stations, creating a cacophony of sound at the rear of the bus, much to the annoyance of others. But we never cared about anyone’s opinion. Often, I’d tune in to stations playing rock music, immersing myself in its raw intensity—a humorous attempt at channelling my inner demon. Well, sort of.

“Stop!” The driver’s voice jolted me back to reality, and I realised it was time to disembark. Expressing my gratitude to the driver, I stepped off the bus, slinging my bag over my shoulder. It was time to find my way back…

“Mum!” I called out, shutting the front door behind me. Silence. I tried calling for my dad. Still, no response. My brother. Again, no answer. The front door had been locked upon my arrival, forcing me to retrieve the spare key hidden beneath the welcome mat.

Dropping my bag in the hallway and placing the key in the dish, I made my way into the living room. Everything appeared unchanged—impeccably clean and eerily quiet. The Christmas tree stood peacefully in the corner, adorned with minimal decorations to avoid any hint of “tackiness.” The other rooms exuded the same atmosphere, except for the clamour of the washing machine emanating from the kitchen. I knew my parents would be out, but I had expected them to return before me.

With a frustrated sigh, I lugged my bag up the stairs and headed towards what used to be my room. The sight that greeted me was devastating. My parents had completely transformed the space—my posters and photos had been taken down and carelessly stuffed into boxes, tossed into the wardrobe. My own piano, once occupying the back wall, had vanished into the unknown. It now resembled a generic guest room. And in a way, a guest is what I had become.

I could delve into the details of my home and the emotions it stirred within me, but it doesn’t require a genius to understand that I was far from pleased to be back. The fact that my presence and past in that house had been discarded and relegated to obscurity left me disheartened. Knowing it would be a while before my parents returned, I decided to run myself a bath. Slipping into the mildly hot water, bubbles enveloping me up to my neck, I rested my hand on the side of the tub, my elbow supporting me. The loneliness was already overwhelming, aching for his touch and attention, despite it having been merely ten hours since we had been apart.

I bit my lip, glancing at the phone resting on the side table—a peculiar addition to our bathroom, I admit. I blinked a few times, trying to grasp the time and contemplating whether Brian would be occupied. Knowing he had a recording session scheduled for the day, I anticipated his likely late-night finish. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes, steeling myself for the arduous two weeks ahead.

Even by seven in the evening, my parents hadn’t returned, and my fifteen-year-old brother was presumably still out with his friends, engaging in whatever teenage pursuits consumed their leisure time. I managed to prepare myself a pasta meal, opting for the more indulgent brands we had in the house, without creating a mess in the kitchen. Sad as it may be, I didn’t promptly wash up and tidy everything simply out of a desire to be helpful or adhere to moral obligations. I did so out of genuine fear of my mother’s reprimand. At twenty-two years of age, I remained petrified of her. Nevertheless, I was certain she would find fault in my actions. Perhaps I was expected to starve until she dictated otherwise.

Seated on my bed, clad in one of Brian’s button-up shirts, I massaged lotion onto my legs, leaning against the headboard. It was in this relaxed state that the phone beside my bed suddenly rang. I startled at the abrupt sound but swiftly answered, realising the importance of not missing any calls intended for my parents. Yet, the voice that greeted me enveloped me in the most delightful warmth.

“Brian!” I exclaimed, my volume bordering on excessive, prompting him to chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Hello, love. I’ve been terribly worried about you and wanted to check how you’re doing.” The genuine concern in his tone sent shivers down my spine, momentarily brightening my face with a smile.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet… I’m okay. I’m the only one home at the moment, so I don’t have to worry about impressing anyone. Yet.” I let out a dry laugh, continuing to massage my calf with one hand while cradling the phone with the other.

“Your parents aren’t there?”

“No, but I’m not complaining.” I could almost sense the concern swirling in Brian’s mind. “Don’t worry, Bri. They’re off to some party with their friends. As for my brother, who knows? I’ll just assume he’s out with his mates.”

“If you’re certain you’re alright… Don’t think I won’t hop on the next train and whisk you away,” he responded, his voice tinged with a protective instinct.

“Please do…” I whined playfully, pouting as if he could see me through the phone.

Brian’s chuckle resonated through the phone. “I wish I could see you. I miss you a lot. I-I know it’s silly, I mean, it’s only been like twelve hours. But I do.”

My heart swelled, and my eyes welled up with tears. “Bri…” I sighed. “I miss you too, so much.”

“Does your accent automatically become a hundred percent Northern when you’re up there? Is it the air? Do I really need to come and rescue you?”

“I wouldn’t complain if you broke in and whisked me back down South. I’d thank you until the end of time.”

“I knew you enjoyed it when I get a bit rough.” He wasn’t entirely wrong, and I audibly gasped, nonetheless.

“Brian May, behave yourself,” I muttered, smirking to myself.

“Maria Brennan, don’t try to deny it.” He bantered with me for a few more minutes, our usual playful exchange. And for a moment, I felt like I was back in our flat with Emma, feeling more content with everything. It was a testament to the profound impact Brian had on me and my life. But when it was time for Brian to end the call, I put up a fight.

“No, Bri, please… Can’t you talk a little longer?”

“Ria…” He sighed, pausing for a moment. I held my breath, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Okay, just a bit longer… Rog is struggling to tune his snare, and he’s throwing a bit of a tantrum about it. I don’t think we’ll be getting back to recording anytime soon.”

“Yay,” I said, beaming. “How’s the recording going?” I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to mention it or inquire about how it was progressing. I felt like a terrible girlfriend in that moment.

“It’s going well, yeah. I’ve added a few more tracks to ‘Doing Alright,’ so it sounds a bit richer than when I perform it live. I’d say it’s all coming together quite nicely. Freddie’s working on some obscure number during our breaks. We all seem to be constantly in motion. Ideas are flowing out of us, love. I can’t wait to share some of the finished material with you when we’re done.”

I could have listened to Brian talk endlessly about music, stars, animals, or anything else if it meant he would speak like that forever. As you all know, he truly possesses the most beautiful speaking voice. He always has.

“I’m excited to hear it all when it’s finished. And I promise you, I’ll be the first person to buy it when it’s released. I’ll frame that album and keep it in a temperature-controlled room. I’m serious, Brian. Nobody is ready for the impact you all will have on the industry. In the best possible way, of course.”

“You sure are our biggest fan. Well, maybe Emma surpasses your enthusiasm, but that might be because of Roger.”

“I’m just a proud girlfriend, Bri. Very proud,” I smiled. These were the moments I wished could last forever, but they always seemed to end too quickly.

“And I’m a proud boyfriend. I’m so proud of you for making it on your own, my love. I truly am,” Brian replied.

“So am I…” I wasn’t one to seek validation from myself, but something about Brian’s validation allowed me to see how strong I could be when I needed to be.

There was some murmuring on the other end of the line, and I heard John calling Brian back to them. I frowned, bracing myself for the unwanted farewell.

“I guess you have to go now.”

“Yeah… But I’ll call you tomorrow, Maria, I promise,” he assured me. “I love you.”

Despite the bittersweet moment, I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear at the freedom we now had to express our love for each other.

“I love you too, Brian. Don’t stress yourself out too much.” Another shout from Brian’s end made him sigh in annoyance.

“I’m fucking coming, hold on a second!” he shouted away from the phone before his voice returned. “I’ll try not to. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, love. Bye.” And just like that, he was gone.

I awoke with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sense that something had changed overnight. As I stumbled into the kitchen, still half-asleep and clad in Brian’s button-up shirt and pyjama shorts, the sight of my mum bustling about sent a wave of tension through me.

“There she is!” My mum squealed with an overly cheerful tone that grated on my exhausted nerves. I dragged myself to a chair, my head sinking into my palms. I didn’t mean for my response to sound to drained and off-putting, but seriously, could you blame me?

“Here I am,” I groaned, my words laced with weariness. But my mum, unphased by my lacklustre reply, beamed at me as she placed breakfast in front of me. I grimaced at the sight of it, trying to hide my displeasure.

“Don’t give me that look, Maria Brennan. You used to love this when you were younger,” she scolded, shaking her head as she returned to the counter. My eyes fixated on the avocado slop smeared over some granary bread.

No, I used to give it to the dog when you weren’t looking.

“Oh, yes. How silly.” I mustered up a façade of faux happiness as I brought the unappetising mess to my lips, forcing myself to take a bite. It didn’t take long for me to adjust, having spent years as a teenager raining myself not to spit out distasteful food. As I stared ahead, my mum settled down at the opposite side of the table, cradling a cup of tea in her hands.

“So, you managed to get some money for the train then?”

I raised my eyebrows, picking at the bread. “Kinda.” I noticed the stern expression on my mum’s face and quickly corrected myself. “Kind of. I borrowed some money from… someone.”

She seemed to miss my momentary stutter, much to my relief, and sipped her tea. “Oh? That’s nice. Was it Emma?”

“No.” I shook my head, nibbling on the piece of bread I’d picked off. “It was someone else. A friend.” I stared down at my plate, silently praying for an escape from this conversation.

“It wasn’t that boy you mentioned before, was it? You know what boys want at the end of the day, and I’m not going to sit here and watch my little girl get messed around by a Londoner—”

“He’s not even from London, technically,” I interjected with a sigh. “And he gave me the money because he knew I was struggling. Because someone didn’t help me out in the first place, like I thought they would.” I jabbed, looking back up at my mum, whose widened eyes betrayed her shock at my mildly confrontational tone.

“You’re twenty-two years old. You aren’t a child anymore.”

“Exactly. So why am I not allowed to have a boyfriend just because my mum said so?” It had only been ten minutes, and we were already locked in an argument. A new record if I do say so myself.

“So he is your boyfriend, then?” My mum nodded slowly, attempting to regain her composure.

“Pretty much,” I affirmed. “Where’s Dad? I want to talk to him.” I stood up abruptly, a mix of frustration and longing fuelling my impulsive action.

“Sit down, he’s not even here. He’s working,” she snapped back.

I clenched my jaw and begrudgingly resumed my seat, crossing my arms like an angry teenager. “I honestly don’t see the point of me coming back here if all you’re going to do is pick apart my life—a life I have managed to build somewhat decently since leaving here.”

“Oh yes, Maria, a life that consists of living in a disgusting university flat and running around with a boy who only wants one thing from you—that’s very decent of you.”

“You don’t even know anything about him, Mum!” I shouted, shocking her immensely. “You don’t know what he’s done for me! I’ve made new friends that, hopefully, I’ll keep forever, and Brian is not going to mess me around. Brian is not just some boy in London. If you met him, you’d love him. I love him. And you’re just going to have to deal with that.”

I leaned back, my gaze shifting to the ceiling as I attempted to clam my anger, taking deep breaths.

“Fine, I guess I can let this one go, I can let it slip!” my mother exclaimed with an air of faux magnanimity.

“Wow, thanks,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. For a brief moment, I thought I detected a glimmer of remorse in my mother’s eyes. There was a strained silence between us, and in these moments, I questioned the necessity of our arguments. I sometimes felt guilty for snapping or lacking the motivation to connect with my family, but it was a two-way street.

“Did you say his name was Brian?” my mother asked, her tone slightly softer.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“What does he do?” she inquired.

My voice softened as I thought about Brian. “He’s studying astrophysics at the university. I met him while doing some work experience.” I tried to keep my explanation concise, wary of divulging too much. I was almost afraid to mention that Brian was in a band…

“Oh? What on Earth would an astrophysics student need an events management student for?” she pressed.

I don’t know why I had hoped my mother would have forgotten the time I mentioned Brian’s involvement in a band. It was wishful thinking, to say the least.

“Professor Ross needed someone to manage a band and—”

“For God’s sake, Maria, a band? You’re involved with someone who’s in a band?” My mother shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she placed her teacup on the table. “You know what those boys are like!”

“God, Mum, he’s not like that! He’s one of the sweetest guys I have ever met, and I swear I’ve felt safer with him in the past few months than the twelve hours I’ve been back here!” I retorted, my frustration building.

As if on cue, the front door slammed shut, sending a chilly gust of wind through the room, sweeping across my exposed legs under the table.

“You can hear the bloody shouting from up the driveway. What the hell is going on?” my dad’s voice boomed as he appeared in the doorway, his gaze shifting between my mother and me with a stern intensity.

“Our daughter is seeing a boy who’s in a band,” my mother informed him, settling back in her seat with a smug expression that made my stomach churn. I let out a weary sigh, turning my attention to my father, hoping for a more understanding reaction.

“That’s sweet. Why are we arguing?” he responded, his voice sickly and patronising. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being yelled at.

“Thank you, Dad,” I sighed, glancing back at my unhappy mother.

“If you come back pregnant this summer, you’re never going back, and we will sort that out. And if you catch him sleeping with someone else, don’t be surprised…” my mother warned, her words dripping with disdain.

“Linda!” my dad interjected, his tone firm as he shook his head. “Let her do what she wants. She’s just having a bit of fun. You weren’t any better when you were in university. It’ll blow over.” With that, he walked away, heading into the hallway to hang up his coat, leaving me pleasantly surprised by his support.

“This is so much fun already,” I muttered sarcastically under my breath, my frustration lingering despite my father’s brief intervention.

Christmas Day was a far cry from the joyful celebrations I had experienced down South at the flat. My family’s house lacked the festive atmosphere, with scarce decorations adorning the rooms. The gifts I received from my parents were well-intentioned but fell flat. Endless books related to my course were piled before me, which would have been helpful if I hadn’t already acquired all the necessary materials. I had to constantly remind myself that my situation could have been worse, berating myself internally and, at times, physically, for feeling so discontented. On the surface, I had an amazing life—supportive friends, a loving and affluent family, and an incredible boyfriend. But that’s the insidious nature of developing depression—it doesn’t discriminate or wait for the right time.

On a somewhat lighter note, albeit still messed up, my brother decided to grace us with his presence on Christmas Eve. To my dismay and overwhelming anger, he arrived for his girlfriend’s house—yes, his fucking girlfriend’s house. Needless to say, I erupted in fury.

Moving on.

It was the final weekend before I returned to my true home, just two days until my departure. My family had planned to host a New Year’s party at our house. Standing before the mirror, I took in my appearance, my gaze settling on the extra weight I carried around my hips, legs, arms, and face. This self-consciousness often deterred me from wearing dresses, and now I felt the constriction of my figure in one. The dress I wore was a flutter-sleeved botanical design, its fabric flowing and adorned with floral patterns. After showering, I had braided my hair, but the strands were now released, transformed into loose waves and curls. I meticulously applied my signature makeup, the only aspect I could hold onto amidst the turmoil. Don’t get me wrong—I liked the dress. But I couldn’t shake the discomfort it brought. Who was I to deny a dress gifted by my own father? Already, I could feel the burning sensation in my feet caused by the five-inch heels I wore, despite their appeal in elongating my legs.

“You look like a massive flower,” my brother remarked from the doorway, his voice dripping with arrogance, followed by an obnoxious chuckle. I shot him a narrowed-eyed glare, clenching my jaw, and he instantly understood to shut up.

“And you look like a little shit, but I’m not complaining,” I retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction. I turned my attention back to the mirror, running my hands over my body one last time before leaving the room. The distant sound of music and murmured conversations from downstairs permeated the house through our stereo system. I glanced down at my brother, who was dressed in a suit and a bow tie. “You look like a penguin,” I stifled a laugh. “If I have to wear this, you have to wear that,” I commented, noticing his scowl and uncomfortable shift.

My brother and I meandered down the hallway, intentionally prolonging our time before mingling with our parents’ friends.

“Do you know any of these people?” I shouted over the increasingly loud music.

“They’ve been to the house a few times, but no. Don’t know their names or anything about them, to be honest,” my brother replied in his strong Yorkshire accent, providing a sense of comfort. I realised that as long as I stuck by his side for the rest of the night, I would be okay.

“Chris…” I called his name, stopping at the top of the stairs. He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. “Please don’t walk off and leave me. You know how I am with new people…” A quick flashback of the panic attack at The Britannia flashed through my mind, back when Brian and I were just starting out. Chris tried to act cool, as every fifteen-year-old does, but eventually he patted my arm, giving me a softer look than usual.

“You know I won’t. I don’t know anybody either!” He joked, looking up at me, although he didn’t have to look up very far; he was a tall teenager. “Now,” he said, fixing his hair and straightening his suit, topping it off with a characteristic inclusion of some sunglasses that did not fit with the rest of the outfit at all. “Let’s go and die, sis.”

The night unfolded with my mum enthusiastically introducing me to everyone and vice versa. She took pride in having a daughter who was attending university in her early twenties.

“And you do events management? How different,” remarked Shirley, some random woman, raising her prosecco to her lips without taking a sip.

“Yeah… It’s pretty different,” I nodded, fidgeting with my fingers that were interlaced in front of me. “I actually met my boyfriend through my course.”

Shirley’s eyes widened, leaning forward with interest. “Boyfriend? It’s all happening for you lot, isn’t it, Linda?” She glanced at my mum, who attempted to maintain a polite smile through the topic of Brian.

“Well, we’ll see if it happens, won’t we, Maria?” My mum looked at me, conveying her scepticism about the longevity of my relationship with Brin for the umpteenth time.

“It will,” I affirmed, nodding confidently. “He’s a guitarist. I’ve been helping his band secure gigs and stuff like that…” My words trailed off as I noticed Shirley’s lack of interest. “Yeah, it’s been good,” I concluded, averting my gaze and ensuring that Chris was still by my side. He was, amusing himself with impromptu dance moves to the blaring Elvis record.

It felt like I was trapped in an endless loop, having the same conversation with parents’ friends and facing the same disinterested or confused expressions that Shirley wore. Chris and I retreated to the kitchen, where the music was slightly less overwhelming but still loud enough for him to continue his dance routine. I observed him from the side, pouring myself a glass of lemonade with a splash of vodka.

“I must admit, Chris, your dancing has been the most calming thing tonight. Thank you for making me cackle with your… extraordinary dancing skills,” I said, emphasising “extraordinary”, causing him to stick his tongue out at me.

“I don’t have to worry about being asked what I’m doing. Another year in school, then off to work,” Chris grinned, retrieving a J2O from the fridge.

“Yeah, I’m sure Mum will let you work instead of going to college,” I slurred slightly on my S’s.

“And I’m sure Mum will appreciate you getting drunk at her New Year’s party,” Chris smirked, perching himself on the kitchen counter. He watched as I downed half of my glass in one go. “Have you talked to your friends?”

I sighed, hoisting myself up onto the kitchen island, facing Chris. “I spoke to Emma last night. She’s been with Roger since Thursday, so I can only imagine the state of the flat. I tried calling Brian this morning, but Freddie picked up. I forgot to bring Brian’s home number, so I don’t know when I’ll get to talk to him next.” I frowned, swirling the liquid in my glass before finishing it. My surroundings faded away as thoughts of my curly-haired lover overwhelmed my mind. “I miss him, Chris. A lot.”

“Well, you’re going back on Monday. Won’t you see him then?” Chris asked.

“Yeah… only two more days,” I chuckled, looking back at him. “Before I left, John mentioned a New Year’s gig they’re doing at The King’s Head, even though it’s not actually on New Year’s, so Freddie had a fit about it being on January 2nd, not the 1st. Which… the 2nd is Monday.”

“Ooh, you should surprise him!” Chris suggested, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Does he know you’re going back on Monday?” I shook my head.

“I wasn’t sure when I’d be leaving here, so no.”

“Perfect!” Chris hopped off the counter. “Go to the gig and surprise him.”

As I gazed at my brother’s enthusiastic face, a sense of warmth washed over me, as if I were truly at home. He served as a reminder that not all of my family members were unbearable. “I knew there was a reason I keep you in the loop.” I playfully slapped his cheek.

“And because I’m your devoted brother,” he feigned swooning, leaning into me. We embraced for a few minutes, united in our unfortunate situation with our parents. We had to be there for each other whenever possible. It was moments like these that made me feel guilty for leaving him. But he knew I’d always be there, whether physically or over the phone.

With my chin resting on his head and my legs winging off the island, I couldn’t resist teasing him. “You still look like a bloody penguin.”

“Fuck off.”

“Who taught you to speak like that?” I scolded.

“Uh, you?”

“Touché, brother.”

[freddiemercurydaily]

23 November 1980, Queen performed @ Hallenstadion, Zürich, Switzerland.  Freddie rides the shoulders of Darth Vader as part of the encore as he’s done many times previously but now it’s being noticed by the George Lucas team and there are copyright issues.This is the opening night of the “Game European” tour, the first Queen tour for which there is some kind of documentation of every show. Freddie has a word with the crowd before ‘Mustapha.’ "Ok, just a thought. For those of you who don't know, tonight is our first night of the tour, and it's nice to see so many of you here." He then shouts, "Take that!" as he pours some beer on the front rows. Brian May did his homework on the 6-week break and practiced the last bar of the ‘Save Me’ solo,

 as he hadn't played the scale run up to this point in the song's touring life. He would never miss it again. John Deacon's medium rocker ‘Need Your Loving Tonight’ has a permanent place in the setlist for now, replacing ‘You're My Best Friend.’Brian takes note of Switzerland's multilingualism before the brief acoustic segment, which remains a single song on this tour. "Good evening, guten abend, bonsoir, etcetera. Glad you're making a lot of noise, because we're gonna do something extremely quiet and delicate now. You'll get a little more woken up later on. This is called ‘Love Of My Life.’”  Instead of beginning the song, he continues: "We came here about a year and six months ago, I believe. And we made a live album, some of the tracks from which were in this stadium [a true statement!]. And on that you sang very well, so I hope you're going to sing tonight, ok?" The band have introduced ‘Battle Theme’ (for which Brian happily uses his analog delay) from the soon-to-be-released Flash Gordon soundtrack. They would also perform ‘Flash’ and ‘The Hero’ but much later in the tour, and ‘Vultan's Theme’ would be heard in a few months later in Japan. For the encore, once again, Freddie came on stage on the shoulders of ‘Darth Vader’, again played by a bodyguard, this time ‘Big’ Wally Verson - which led to trouble. (He had done this numerous times already but this time, it caught the wrong attention)! George Lucas’s company heard about the Darth Vader sequence and, as they owned the copyright to the character, decided to press charges as Queen had not paid the appropriate fee for its use. Queen’s lawyers stepped in, however, and were able to settle amicably out of court. That was all well and good, except that the quarter’s fan club magazine had already been printed, featuring a short introduction to some of the Queen road crew, including Mr Verson. He had listed one of his jobs with Queen as ‘part-time Darth Vader’ - and every copy of that issue (some ten thousand) had to have that line blacked out.”  The pictures are from this show. Freddie didn’t wear his ‘Flash’ shirt at this concert

[omgsquee2001]

You Have My Blessing: Part 1

Part 1: First Meet

//Warnings: Mentions of A!DS//

~~~

When he first got the news, he was beyond excited. He had gotten the part of John Richard Deacon for the new Bio-Pic, Bohemian Rhapsody. The movie was all about the rise of Queen as well as some of the hardships that the band’s Front Man, Freddie Mercury went through. Miraculous enough, when Freddie found out he had gotten AIDS, he had been able to get treatment for it and the treatment was successful. Now, he was still touring with Queen. All four members were still rocking out in their 70′s. 

~~~~

“Okay guys!” Brian Singer, the director of Bohemian Rhapsody shouted, getting everyone’s attention. It had been a few weeks since the cast of the movie had arrived in London to film. Joe was beyond excited to learn that he would be acting, once again, with one of his best friends, Rami Malek, who was playing the man himself, Freddie Mercury. “We’re going to be having the actual band Queen coming in about an hour. We are also going to be having a photoshoot of Rami, Ben, Gwil and Joe in their costumes for Live Aid. So, actors, please start heading towards makeup, hair and costumes!” Brian shouted. The cast and crew gave their cries of thanks for the announcement and everyone started working at twice the speed they had been. Since Rami was playing Freddie, he was the first to get into costume and makeup since he also had to wear false teeth to get the overbite that Freddie has. After getting in costume and makeup, the four actors made their way to the fake stage of Wembley Stadium. There was the sound of five car doors shutting and the legends themselves walked out and stopped dead. They stared in aw at the stage that had been built by hand. 

“Holy shit,” Freddie muttered, running a hand over his face, wrinkled by age. A woman with [h/l] [h/c] hair was standing between John and Freddie. She chuckled at the legend’s reaction. 

“Does it look identical, Papa?” She asked. Freddie gave a breathless laugh of amazement. 

“I-it looks just like the stage from all those years ago.” He said softly. The woman smiled softly. She looked at her grandfather and their uncles. She could tell that they had all been transported to that day; July 13, 1985. She moved to stand in between her two uncles, gaining the attention of the older rock stars. She linked her arms with Brian and Roger’s. 

“Well, shall we go and meet the younger you’s?” She asked. Roger and Brian chuckled at the young woman’s energy. Roger affectionately patted their hand. 

“Yes. Let’s go and meet our younger selves. Shall we, lads?” Roger asked, looking at his friends. Freddie’s aw-struck expression then turned to one of mischief. 

“Yes. I look forward to giving those young lads a scare.” He said. The woman chuckled and shook her head. 

“Papa Freddie, behave.” She chided playfully. Freddie scoffed playfully. 

“Oh, always, darling.” 

~~~

Butterflies filled Joe’s stomach as the four aging Queens ascended the stairs to the stage, ready to assess how accurate the actors and costumes were to themselves. Joe’s breath was caught in his throat when he saw a beautiful woman, her arms linked with Brian and Roger’s. He assumed that she was one of the rock stars’ grandchildren. The woman’s jaw fell open when she saw the four actors lined up. 

“Oh my gosh. You all look, identical to Papa, Uncle Roger, Uncle Bri and Grandad.” She said astounded. She made her way down the line, assessing the boys. She had some criticisms with Roger’s actor, seeing as he didn’t have the short hair he did during Live Aid, but she knew it wasn’t his fault. She stopped in front of Joe. “Especially you,” she said. Joe swallowed nervously. 

“Um, me, miss?” He asked. The woman smiled and nodded. 

“Yes you, silly. You look a lot like Grandad did when he was at Live Aid. The hair and everything,” she said. She then gasped and chuckled, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry, where are my manners,” she stood back and addressed the actors before them. “I’m [Y/N] [M/N] Deacon. Granddaughter of John Richard Deacon.” She introduced. Joe smiled. [Y/N] [M/N] Deacon. What a woman. 

//okay. So I know I said I would try and keep it Gender neutral, however it’s pretty difficult for me to do that. I’m so used to making the reader in series and imagines I write Female. I want to make this clear. This does not, under any circumstances mean that I have anything against the non-binary community. It is just a little bit harder for me to make the reader in imagines and series that I write gender neutral. I hope that you understand and continue to give this series love regardless. I’m not trying to force anyone to do anything, it just brings my confidence up when I see that my imagines and series are getting love despite the fact that the reader in the writing isn’t gender neutral.//

~~~

Here’s the first part of the “You Have My Blessing” Series with Joe. I hope you all like it.