#i’m working on all requests rn just taking awhile since i’m ill rn

[possiblypeculiar]

x/x/x | x/x | x/x/x

[rogerina-deacon]

Could you write hcs of how the boys from Queen would react to your scars? I'm feeling real bad rn and idk.. you don't have to, obviously, but if you do, thanks!

A/N: So I’m not completely sure what type of scars you mean, but given some context clues I’m going to guess self harm scars? If not, let me know and I’ll rewrite this (don’t pay attention to requests being closed for this, if this isn’t what you wanted I’d be more than happy to redo it for you). Also, if anyone reading this is struggling with depression, self-harm, or any unpleasant thoughts along those lines, please seek some form of help and treatment. If you need someone to talk to and relate to, I’m here. I’m not a proper therapist, but I’ve been in therapy for years and am a good listener. But of course, if you can, seek help from a therapist. They can do a much better job than I can.

WARNING: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM

Brian (Three years clean)

When Brian found out you used to harm yourself, it felt like his heart sank into his stomach

His eyes softened and welled as he took your hands in his, moving them to show your inner forearms

“Love, I can’t see them” he noted, squinting to see anything

“It’s been years and they were never that deep, but you can faintly see them if I point them out” You said, and he released your hands as you brought your right index finger to your left wrist and pointed to one

“This was my first, oldest yet most noticeable” You said, pointing out a pale line two inches down from the bottom of your hand

“Holy shit, I can see it… Y/N, love, why did you do this?” He asked, almost pleading as he brushed his calloused thumb over the faded scar, a lone tear escaping his eyes

“Brian, don’t worry about that, it’s all behind me, and I don’t really want to rehash that. I just… figured you should know this part of it, I guess”

“So you don’t want to do this?” He asked, wondering if he needed to be worried about you more than he already was

“No, oh God no! Brian, I’m pretty much over what happened to me. I’ve got coping mechanisms now that work, and my meds control the depression when I do have it. Trust me, babe, I’m fine.” You assured him, making sure he knew that you were doing much better than you were when you created those scars

“Okay, love. But you can talk to me about anything, okay? I am always here for you. Always.” He said, now holding your hands again and lightly shaking them for emphasis

“I know, Bri. Thank you.” You said, nodding your head as it hung, your forehead resting against his

“Any time. I love you.” He said, moving his head to an angle where his lips could reach yours to connect them in a sweet kiss

“I love you too” You replied once he pulled away, and he led you to the couch where you two spent the rest of the day cuddled up together

John (Six months clean, thoughts of relapsing)

When you and John met, it was autumn, so you had an excuse to constantly wear a hoodie

He figured you just got cold easily and never pushed it, and that whenever he tried to take things further and you wouldn’t take it off, he thought you just weren’t ready

And he never brought it up, wanting you to not feel pressured

But months passed, and it was the warmest day yet and there was no way you could survive the day in long sleeves, especially when he had planned a picnic in the park to celebrate the weather

So you figured it was best to tell him that day, and so you invited him inside your flat when he picked you up so you weren’t springing it on him in public

Especially since you were having some thoughts you haven’t had in a while and were planning on asking him for help, and you didn’t exactly want to cry in the park

You were wearing your hoodie, of course, and John was a bit confused, especially since your AC hadn’t been put in yet

“Dear, why are you wearing your hoodie inside?” He said, slightly chuckling as you led him to the couch

“Um, well I don’t normally, but I, uh, I need to tell you something.” You said, and he was concerned right away

“What is it? Have I done something wrong?” He asked, worried he had fucked things up with you

“No, no, John you haven’t done anything wrong. But, um, I did a while ago…” You trailed off, and he seemed confused about this but watched as you peeled off the cotton hoodie, slowly revealing the scars littering your arms

His eyes widened as he stared in disbelief, almost studying them as he looked at the reddened skin, some smooth, others the slightest bit scabbed over as they healed all these months later

“Wait, did you- did you do this to yourself?” He asked, his hand reaching out tentatively, wondering if he could touch them

Nodding, you gave him the okay to brush his fingers along your skin before responding

“Yeah, I um, I was in a really dark place, and this was my way to cope. I haven’t done it in half a year but…”

“But? But what, Y/N?” He asked, noticing the way your eyes seemed distant as you pondered what to say next

“But, um, I’ve been having some thoughts, and I’m kind of scared, John. I feel like I might relapse and I’m scared that I will, that I’ll fuck up six months of progress, that I’ll-” You rambled, but he cut you off, pulling you close into a tight hug, a few tears falling from your eyes and onto John’s t-shirt as he rubbed your back and soothed you

“You won’t. Not with me here to help you. Not with my love and support, not with the love and support of the guys. But if you do, that’s okay. Recovery isn’t perfect. But I will always be here, love, okay?” He said, and you nodded, sniffling a bit as he wiped away the tears from your cheeks

“Now, are you ready for that picnic?” He asked, and you chuckled as you got up with him and made your way to his car, without your hoodie.

Roger (Eight years clean)

“C’mon, love, we’re gonna be late!” He called to you in the bathroom from the bedroom

You were currently sat on the toilet just staring at your arm, squinting as you looked at the just barely present scars

“Love, what’re you doing-” he started, entering the bathroom

“What’s so special about that arm that you have to stare at it while you use the toilet?” He teased, walking closer before crouching next to you

“Oh, nothing, just let me wash my hands and we can go.” You said, rushing to stand up and pull up your underwear

“What’s going on? Why are you acting so strange?’ He asked, moving to stand behind you at the sink, his hands trailing down your arms from your shoulders, trying to gently move your forearms so he could see what was so interesting

“I don’t see anything, love. Have you finally gone mad?” He joked, smiling at you in the mirror

“Rog, don’t joke about that.” You warned, and his face turned into that of a confused puppy

“What’s going on with you?” He asked, and that was the straw that broke the camels back for you

“What’s going on is that I’m not a fan of when people use ableist slurs in their jokes, okay.”

“Ableist… what? Love all I’m saying is I don’t get why you were staring at your arm, no need to-”

“Rog, I have depression. You know this. ‘Mad’ is a term used against people with mental illness. I don’t like when it’s treated lightly.” You explained, though you were still all over the place to him.

“I don’t get how this explains your arm-”

“I used to cut myself, Roger.” You said, face blank and tone cold, your words shocking your fiancee into a state of shock

“Y-you, you what? Why did I never know this?” He asked, stepping towards you

“Because it’s a part of my past I’m not proud of. I did it, but I don’t like that I did it. I’ve been trying to suppress it, but I could still see the scars on my arm so I guess I just froze.” You explained, plopping down onto the bed with a huff

Roger just did the same, laying next to you at the edge with his legs hanging off the edge

“You know I love you, right?” He said, and you just dryly chuckled, taking his hand

“I do, Rog.”

“And you know I’d never intentionally say something to upset you, right?”

“I know, Rog.” You said, squeezing his hand in emphasis

“Wanna spend the night at home?” He suggested, his thumb reassuringly brushing your hand

“What about Freddie’s party? You know he’ll throw a fit next time he sees you if you don’t show tonight.”

“Well screw him, I want to spend the night alone with my girl and he’s just gonna have to deal with him. Besides, it’s been awhile since he’s been mad at me for something besides my drumming, so I guess I’m due for it.” He said, the two of you laughing as he pulled you into his side, your leg throwing itself over his waist to get as close as possible

But he soon adjusted to to lay at the top of the bed and dragged you with him, the two of you not caring to change out of your party clothes and opting to just cuddle and fall asleep like that.

Freddie (platonic) (Struggling to get clean)

Keeping secrets from best friends is always hard, but it’s even harder when your best friend is so good at reading people you’d think he’s a mind reader

He could tell your mood as soon as he saw you, so of course you couldn’t hide your depression

But luckily no matter what you wore he couldn’t see the scars on your upper thighs, all your jeans, dresses and skirts covering them

Until one day he wanted to catch his friends in candid moments with his new camera, and decided he wanted to give you a Marilyn Monroe moment, turning a fan on that made your skirt fly unexpectedly, giving Freddie the perfect view of fresh cuts from the night before

“Darling, where did you get those?” He asked, putting the camera down

“Oh, um, you know how my cats get-”

“Cats aren’t that persistent, dear, nor are their claws that wide. Now, care to tell me the truth?” He asked, sounding like a disappointed mother who just smelled booze on her child’s breath.

“I, um, well-” You started, not sure how to tell him

“I know you did this to yourself, though to be honest I din’t know why.” He said, alleviating some pressure from you

“I guess I just feel like I deserve it…” you said, looking down

“No one deserves that, and you know it. Only the most horrendous people do, like rapists and murderers, and you are neither, my dear.”

“I know, I just-”

“No need to explain, I understand that your depression gets the best of you. But now that I know how shitty it makes you treat yourself I’m gonna keep an eye on you. Every day, you’ll show me your thighs, and I’ll-”

“Fred, that’s not necessary-”

“Y/N, you are cutting yourself, it’s necessary. Why don’t you come live with me? That way I can-”

“I don’t need that, Freddie! I don’t need you hounding me and guilting me into stopping! What I do need, though, is your help and support in getting clean. Can you do that?” You asked, taking his hand

“Of course I can, darling. I just worry, you know. I don’t want to get a call from some hospital and think I didn’t do everything I could.” He said, tears ready to fall from his eyes

“You won’t, Freddie.” You assured, tears ready to fall from your eyes as well

“Now, I think I have another idea for a candid photo of you. Just, stay there.”

“Freddie, don’t-” You said, but it but then he already had the camera up to his face and was adjusting the exposure before taking the picture

The shot he had gotten was of you, sitting on the couch, hand up blocking your face, skirt of your dress pulled up, revealing you scars

“I think I might have an eye for edgy photography, love” He announced before going back to the couch to sit with you, where you just sat and talked for the rest of the day.

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