#queen!deacon

[piecesofchess]

Rooke and Dea are good friends!!! Deacon does not like him showing off, though.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 1)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

A caped figure leaned against the side of a building, watching the waves of the ocean gradually stretch over the horizon. He listened to the distant splashing from the shore and birds flocking from above. In any normal circumstance, this would be considered a peaceful sight - but to him , it was all but a grave reminder of what transpired last week. 

The Erebus was destroyed after his run-in with Boochbeard and his accomplice, Gandry. He’d been in the middle of delivering prisoners for questioning when his ship was overrun with pirates. He had a long, almost annoying streak with this ruffian - who trailed after him and thwarted his plans as of late. He lost a few convicts under Boochbeard’s foiling before…but nothing like the Erebus. 

It sank. He lost nearly all his prisoners, grabbing only a couple with him on his escape boat. Least to say, it wasn’t anywhere near what was expected that day, and he suffered for it. He stomped through Valencia afterwards, soaked from head-to-toe, relaying to Kane how he lost his ship and everything on it. To his superior, this was not good news. 

It was the most humiliated he’d ever felt. Rooke was present and didn't improve the situation, expressing his disappointment in Deacon, accompanied with Kane’s belittling. He asked, desperately , if his father ever received the letter he’d written a week prior - about the rise of piracy on ports and shipping, and his aggressive sweep for criminals and undesirables. He learned shortly that it was intercepted by Boochbeard and Gandry. His efforts were nearly in vain. 

He thought his life couldn’t get any worse. But things spiraled downwards from there. 

For the past week, he was put on hold as an Emissary - refused missions and conferences, not even allowed on Armada ships. To him, this was an unfair punishment. He’d rather be put on standby, out on the seas somewhere, contributing * something * to the Armada. Instead, he drank his problems away and read depressing novels in his free time. 

He was happy to be called in today. He’d be receiving a new ship and finally put back on duty. But he remained weary – something didn’t feel right about this. 

Deacon inhaled his cigarette from under his mask before releasing his breath. The smoke filtered from under the bauta and was carried away by the wind. The door opened. An Armada Soldier peered in his direction. They made eye contact before the other man stepped aside and gestured politely. 

“My lord is ready for you.” 

The spymaster sighed. “Of course he is.” 

He extinguished his cigarette before entering the office. The soldier escorted him to the door. He found a man propped against a desk facing his direction, his gloved fingertips touching one another as his blue eyes studied his figure. The room was filled with tense silence - no implication of any conversation prior to him opening the door. Deacon cleared his throat and shut it behind him, stepping forward while he tapped his cane on the ground. His eyes wandered as he went. He noticed Queen sitting to the side, leg resting over the other and smiling at him. 

He stiffened. There was no reason for her to be here. Did *everyone* have to know his business? His failure? He clenched his jaw at the thought. 

“ Ciao. ” Kane greeted, breaking the silence. He sounded impatient and unhappy. Deacon bowed and moved a hand behind his back. A habit of his, for concealing his pistol. 

“Kane…thank you for seeing me. You will not regret this.”

“Exactly what we need to talk about.” The Supreme Commander snapped to the empty chair across from him. There was no argument as he sat down. His eyes momentarily flicked to the extra company, but went back to Kane when he leaned forward. 

“Deacon, I have high expectations of you. I completely entrust you as my representative - your image is my own. You’re expected to execute my businesses for me. Failure to do so is not only a burden on you , but on me as well.” 

His posture deflated. “ Hai ragione .” 

“When you sank the Erebus last week, you lost valuable intel. Criminals who were going to be questioned and used to our advantage. Not only are we missing * them *, but an expensive ship as well. These matters were in your hands.” 

“They did not get away without a fight.” Deacon defended. They had this conversation already. He was tired of being reminded of his mistakes. “The prisoners were freed and conspired together. I did the best I could, being outnumbered.” 

“Be that as it may, the results are still the same. I’ve invested in a new ship for you - but not one you will captain alone.” 

He quirked an eyebrow under his mask. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re being assigned a partner.” Queen finally spoke, earning his attention. “She will help with your navigation, execute your businesses, and provide a helping hand in case of another… mutiny .” 

The spymaster didn’t know how to process this information. He preferred working alone so he wouldn’t be slowed down - burdened by anyone who couldn’t keep with his pace. He was constantly moving, never staying in one place for a long time. He was known for two things: being brief and remaining anonymous. Leaving no trace of his presence or involvement. A coworker would challenge that. 

One word managed to leave his lips. “-’She’ ?” 

She smiled behind the mask she held. He could tell by her tone. “A friend of mine.” 

This did nothing to assure him. Kane noticed his distress and moved a hand in the air. “She meets all the qualifications. She has prior experience in your field and even basic training. Most importantly, she has no records of negligence.” 

Deacon trailed his hands over his cane. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was he so incompetent they had to *hire* someone to *help* him..? His fingers twitched in irritation. He was disappointed with himself. How could he prove to be this inept? It felt like a slap in the face, despite Kane and Queen presenting this as a privilege . A punishment worse than being refused any work… 

“This is strictly for business.” The Supreme Commander resumed. “You two will not convene after-hours, unless so desired. She knows nothing about your identity, as you do with hers. She’s supplied with a mask to keep things incognito. Disclosing any information about yourselves is purely out of consent.” 

He relaxed in his chair. So he didn’t have to know anything about her. Or even care at all. ‘That’s a plus’, he thought. He wanted nothing to do with this “helping hand”, supplied to him out of pure pity. The situation was already degrading enough, in his eyes. 

“She'll meet with you tomorrow at the docks, to your new ship.” Kane wrote something down. “You two will track down your lost convicts. The Pirate is already showing interference with our plans. Every one of them is your responsibility, and you are expected to catch them once more.” 

“I can do that by myself. Is the company necessary ?” He sat back exasperatedly. Kane tilted his head, unimpressed. 

“Need I remind you this is your mistake. Since you couldn’t do what was asked of you the first time, this is simply a compromise, to make sure that doesn’t happen again.” 

Deacon decided to be quiet. The only smart decision he’s made in this conversation. Kane shared a glance with his Queen before rolling up the paper and handing it to him without a word. He saved it in one of his coat’s pockets, to read it in his spare time.

"I want to see improvement from this fiasco. You have three months to track down every inmate you lost and bring them in for questioning. If this does not happen, you'll be moved somewhere less… important ."

His life was Hell.

[hamletthedane]

Still laughing at Brian May offhandedly writing the greatest understatement in the history of academia in his astrophysics doctoral dissertation:

Ah, yes - “various pressures.” Like being one of the greatest guitarists ever and playing/writing/singing for the most legendary rock band of all time.

Those various pressures.

[90sheartsclub]

Freddie Mercury with his cats.

[freddie-mercuryy]

Queen in 1977

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

my feed could not have had better timing

[userjohndeacon]

QUEEN ROCK MONTREAL + moments that hit different in IMAX

[killerqueen509]

[thegroovyarchives]

Queen From the April 8, 1975 issue of CIRCUS Magazine

[soundsofmyuniverse]

JOHN DEACON and FREDDIE MERCURY

[chaoskirin]

A stained glass window design featuring the best band in the world, Queen! This is one of my favorite pieces.

[piecesofchess]

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 11)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

They traveled out of Banditoad Trail before El Toro suddenly had to excuse himself. He claimed that he had justice to serve elsewhere, but implored them to continue on without him. With the crack of a whip, he was out of their sight. Deacon’s crew walked a mile more before they reached the village of Santo Pollo. One of their soldiers made a separate trip to bring their prisoner back to the ship and secure him in a cell. The rest of the crew climbed the hill to the large estate overlooking the town and waited at the doorstep with antsy feet before they were answered to. 

Don Rodrigo was a wealthy landowner who had his hair parted in the middle and wore a white tuxedo with a yellow bow tied around his neck. A beautiful red rose remained nestled in his welt pocket. He held a glass of wine when he answered the door, wearing a bright grin as he greeted them. His expression changed when he noticed the unconscious woman in their arms and motioned the group in right away.

 "Come in!” 

He pointed to a door at the end of a long hallway. “The first aid is in the restroom. You may put her on the bed in the meantime.” 

Deacon followed his medical officer into the bedroom while a couple other crew members went to gather the supplies. Dea was placed on the mattress with the trench coat discarded. Cinzia checked her vitals again. She gave her captain a nod - a sign that she was still alive and breathing. 

He took on the role as a temporary assistant, helping with removing the gauze and cleaning the wound. He reasoned with himself that this situation was dire, and he had more pressing matters to worry about than seeing his partner's bare skin. As soon as they were done, the two of them took a moment to simply breathe. Dea was in a more stable condition, despite having to wake.

Don Rodrigo appeared in the doorway. “I have called for the local doctor. He will be here to help you shortly.” 

That was good news. They needed some proper equipment to locate the bullet. They dipped their heads to him with gratitude. Deacon offered more of his help, but chose to leave when Cinzia insisted on removing Dea’s mask to check for further injuries. This was a pressing matter, sure,  but he still respected her privacy. It didn’t feel…right…to see her face without her consent, while she was unconscious like this. He would leave that matter in someone else's hands for now.

How telling, that he would have so many opportunities to reveal her identity lately, but had to refuse each one. He mentally kicked himself for having such strong principles. 

When he left the bedroom, he found the rest of his crew sitting around Don Rodrigo’s leisure space, passing the time by talking and drinking. The owner of the house was politely pouring them small drinks. His eyes met with Deacon’s from across the room. He outstretched his hand to offer him a clean glass - but the spymaster shook his head and left for the hallway.

He kept walking until he stumbled into an outdoor garden. This part of the manor was quiet and still. He appreciated the solitude and took a seat on the bench next to a beautiful fountain. He didn’t indulge in the sights or stop to smell the flowers. Instead, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and lit the end of one. He sat there for several minutes looking around the space and thinking to himself. 

How could things have gone so wrong, so quickly? 

He made sure no one else was around before succumbing to his frustration and burying his head in his hands. He had endured a few gunshot wounds of his own before - but none so dangerously lodged in his stomach like Dea had right now. The rest of his crew were waiting closely by the room at this moment, waiting to hear further word on their Captain's condition, while he'd retreated as far away as possible.

Guilt was eating him from the inside. 

His gun was burning a hole on the side of his hip. He had the strongest urge to grab it and chuck it away. He looked down to his current disguise and felt disgusted. He didn’t want to be in these clothes anymore. He wanted his familiar cape and layers of clothes to hide in. He wanted to be alone.

So when he eventually heard footsteps approaching, he wanted to shrink in on himself. He corrected his posture instead and quickly extinguished his cigarette before they ever saw him.

"Ah, señor. There you are." He looked up to find Don Rodrigo smiling down at him kindly. There was a faint twitch of his eye, like he was slightly displeased to find him here. "Will you not join us? I’m treating your team to a celebratory round of whiskey."  

"You’re celebrating at a time like this?” He asked incredulously. 

"Sí. To the raider's downfall, to our masked hero, and to give some rather good news." He held up his glass. "The doctor has arrived. They have located the bullet and will start the procedure to remove it. It has miraculously avoided any major organs. But only by slim chance - if it had landed a little to her left, we would be in quite the…ah...predicament right now." 

Deacon lowered his head and took in this information. Don Rodrigo added, “-They expect her to make a steady recovery, should the surgery be a success." 

"I'm not going to waste my breath on any premature 'celebration'."

He noticed his hostility and lowered his drink. "You're worried about her, aren’t you?"

"I think it's reasonable to worry for someone who just got shot."

Don Rodrigo took a few strides forward. He lowered himself onto the bench and kept a respectable amount of space between them. He focused his attention on Deacon.

“I noticed we have not yet properly introduced ourselves. I am Don Rodrigo, a humble landowner. My friend has told me about your situation. I was more than happy to provide to you what I could."

The Emissary dropped his unfriendliness and held his hands together. He needed to properly show their appreciation. "Thank you for your charity."

"So, tell me. Who are you, really?" 

"We are a subsidiary of officers enforcing the law."

"Yes, but not *our* laws. We have a protector for that sort of thing, as you know. Where have you come from exactly?" 

"...We travel, hoping to explore the west." Deacon explained with fake confidence. "Our criminal took refuge on your lands. I apologize for letting it happen.”

"I see." He did not press any further, much to his relief. "Well, it is a good thing El Toro took care of them. A wonderful guy, yes? So charming, and very cunning…" 

Trumpets sounded quietly around them, compared to the usual way they confidently blasted at the hero’s name. The spymaster grew uncomfortable and decided to take his leave. He stood to his feet and let out a reluctant sigh. 

“I should talk with my people. Get an update on my partner’s situation. Thank you again for your hospitality.” 

“I ask that you leave as soon as you can,” Don Rodrigo’s tone changed. It wasn’t unfriendly, but assertive. “She will need to recover elsewhere. Our village must recuperate, and I would like to move on from all of this.” 

“...Of course.”

He excused himself and coolly walked down the hallway, thinking on what to do next. It usually took more than a week for him to heal from his wounds - and Dea would be no different, maybe even longer. But they did not have days to spend here, or time to waste during their mission for that matter. He’d have to find a different refuge for her. In the meantime, he hoped that the surgery would be a success, and that all of this could soon be left behind them. 

----

Deacon spent an hour indulging in a shot of whiskey and talking with his crew. They were proud of taking down the bandits, but were equally worried about their captain. She’d befriended most of the crew and treated them well, which meant they were looking forward to her recovery. When he had the chance, Deacon turned on his communicator and made a call to Kane to inform him of their recent plight. They discussed what course of action to take. They shortly came up with an alternative plan. It disappointed a few members of the crew to hear what was decided, but they collectively agreed it was the best thing to do until Dea was well and ready to be put back on duty. 

. . . 

. . .

It felt like ages until Cinzia and the Doctor came out of the room. They announced that the procedure had been a success - bringing simultaneous relief to everyone's ears. Their conversations gradually resumed. The two stepped aside to speak with Deacon personally. Their expressions changed to something more serious. He was prepared to hear the worst. 

“It's the usual side effects of a concussion, but they're not too bad." The Doctor informed him. “Memory loss, some sensitivity to light and noise, minor nausea, to name a few.” 

“But other than that, she’s recovering well,” Cinzia added with more hopefulness. “She needs rest and a careful eye to make sure she heals alright.” 

He relaxed. “And how long until she can move?” 

“She might have issues with her balance and her sight. I don’t recommend anything that will re-open her wound.” 

“I see. Thank you for your help.” He offered the Doctor some gold from his pocket, but the other man declined with a wave of his hand. 

“Think nothing of it. I’ve had to treat patients in worse conditions lately. Thank God those bandits are gone."

He grabbed his medical bag and took his leave. Cinzia stepped up to Deacon, glancing at the bedroom door for a brief second. 

“If you want to see her, Captain, she may be a little confused. She might not recognize you right away, and I doubt she even remembers what happened. I’m sure her memory will come back in due time, but try not to overwhelm her until that happens.”

“Certo. You’ve done excellent work. I’ll be giving you a raise for your help today.” 

She beamed at the news and dismissed herself to join the rest of the crew. Deacon hesitated before approaching the door and putting his hand on the knob. His heart beat intensely in his chest, the familiar sensations of guilt and euphoria overwhelming him. He was glad she survived, but had to accept the difficult fact that it was *him* who had nearly killed her. If he’d been more careful, more attentive to where the barrel was pointing during his struggle…or if he had just gained control over his gun to begin with — 

The sight of Dea on the bed immediately put an end to his thoughts. She was finally conscious. He could see her small figure breathing from under the blanket draped around her. The lights in the room had been dimmed. It was quiet as he closed the door. Her green eyes snapped over in his direction and he tensed under her stare.

“Espía."

Something in his chest lifted at her voice. That nickname he usually thought nothing of now filled him with relief. He approached her bedside and smiled under his mask. She recognized him. That was a good sign indeed. 

"How are you doing?" He asked as steady as he could. She laid her head back down on the pillow with a small groan.

"I can't remember much. My head hurts, and my stomach…" She moved the blanket aside. Deacon’s breath hitched when the sight of bandages met his eyes. The culpability was almost too much to handle.

“How did this happen?” She asked weakly.

“...You were shot,” He answered. “The bullet just barely missed any of your major organs. It was quite lucky.” 

Her hand came to her face and made contact with the mask. Her fingers trailed over the large crack that nearly separated it. She seemed to be lost in thought, her eyes drifting as she felt the imperfection over and over again. It made Deacon nervous that she might try and remove it. He went to get her attention until she looked at him.

“I remember your mask. But…you don’t look right.” She clutched her head and winced. “‘Espía’ is the only thing that comes to my mind, but…that can’t be your name…”

"Don't worry about it." He quickly reassured. He didn’t want Dea straining herself so soon. "You're not all that wrong, anyway."

"...*Are* you a spy?"

"I lead an organization of spies." He corrected her. 

"-But, still, a spy." 

He opened his mouth to rebut but fell silent. She was right.

“Do you remember who you are?” He asked curiously. He wanted to get an idea of her state of mind. This made Dea pause. She looked to herself again. Her hands trailed over the remnants of her disguise. She was clearly displeased, averting her gaze and contemplating.

“I’m Reyna.” 

Deacon started. That was not what he expected. “Ah–” 

"I can't remember my last name." She missed the way he fumbled with his cane. "I don't know why I was dressed like that. I would never wear a corset…I don't even know how to tie them."

"-You're in a disguise." He explained. He was still trying to forget that word. Reyna. Reyna. Reyna -

"Disguise? Why?" 

Deacon took a deep breath to calm himself down. "We were on an undercover mission. Your codename is 'Dea'." 

"-Dea?" She asked peculiarly. This was only confusing her further, so he had to put an end to this conversation. Before he could, clarification suddenly filled her eyes and she snapped her fingers in realization.

"That's right. I got promoted in the Armada. I was assigned to work with you – Deacon! Your name is Deacon!" 

She sounded proud. It earned a chuckle from him. 

"We have a ship, and a crew....ah-" She narrowed her eyes again and touched her mask. It seemed to be involuntary. "The last thing I remember…we were standing by that church. It was on fire. And I was asking you about something." 

He recalled that conversation. He wanted to avoid having the rest of it right now. "Is there anything else you remember?" 

"No…Where are we now?"

"Don Rodrigo's manor."

He pulled up a chair so he could sit beside her. She remained deep in thought. She eventually closed her eyes and sighed. She melted back into the bed, pulling the blanket back up and groaning under her breath. She inhaled sharply when she shifted. 

"It hurts so much…"

"Your painkillers should kick in soon." 

She went quiet. Deacon took this opportunity to reflect on things. Dea seemed alright, albeit forgetful. She must not be too aware if she had let her real name slip like that. He decided he would not mention it unless he absolutely had to. He almost felt overwhelmed with all the things he was learning about her lately. He wondered why fate had brought him what he wanted much too late. 

"I'm sorry for getting shot." 

Her apology snapped him out of his reverie. She sounded genuinely remorseful and it nearly broke him. What could she have done? She was the victim and he was the guilty party. If anyone needed to apologize, it was him. But he needn't burden her right now. She had too much on her plate as it was. 

"It wasn't your fault." He shook his head. "I’m just glad you're alright."

She looked at him and he met her gaze. Her eyes grew watery. Without a word, she held out her hand. Her gloves had been removed sometime during the surgery. He caught sight of her painted nails and looked back at her face. Was she expecting him to comfort her?...Should he? She was in an indescribable amount of pain. She'd just narrowly avoided death and was recovering from a substantial amount of blood loss. 

And now she was reaching out to him. 

He hesitated before lifting his gloved hand and grasping her palm. This was apparently what she wanted. She squeezed her small fingers against his own. The breath left his lips in shock and the air puffed against the inside of his bauta. He could not gather the will to let go.

"Thank you, espía."

His shoulders sagged, the guilt weighing back on them. He did not deserve any thanks after what happened. "For what?"

"For being here. I…" Her words trailed off and she removed her hand from his. "I always wanted to thank you. I can’t remember what for, but I feel like I should tell you."

He sucked at his teeth. He didn't know what she was talking about, but it didn't matter. She needed to rest. It sounded like her medication was kicking in and he didn’t want to wear out his welcome.

"Dea, you need time to heal. We cannot stay here, so I have called for a ship to come by for you. You will be transported to a hospital in Valencia." 

 "How long will I be there?" 

"At most, two weeks. They'll be able to monitor your condition and take care of you. As soon as you're better, you'll return back with us on the ship." 

“...And where will *you* be?”

“I will continue tracking our lost prisoners in your absence. I expect to make good progress by the time you’re healed.” 

Her tone suddenly turned bitter. "So you're getting what you always wanted." 

He did a double take. "-Excuse me?"

"I'll be gone, and you're going to continue our mission by yourself. Isn't that what is happening?" 

He grew defensive. "Why do you think that's what I want?" 

Her eyes lowered. She didn't respond right away, inhaling deeply and letting out a shaky breath.

"You never wanted me here. You despise me. You think I don't know it?" She whimpered. She had succumbed to her tears. "You've probably been wanting this ever since you met me."

"Cosa diavolo? I never wanted you to get hurt!” 

"But you wanted me gone." She countered. 

This was not like her. He'd never seen Dea lose herself like this. He worried she was stressing herself out. Her words no longer mattered and his irritation was replaced with concern. His chest grew cold when he saw a tear fall from her jaw and land onto the blankets. 

“I’m only doing this because Kane asked me to. I won’t risk having you on the ship and opening your wound. I - the crew  - wants you to get better.” 

She didn't say anything. Her body shivered and she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. He took a glance at his trench coat that was still folded on the nightstand. He retrieved it and offered it to Dea. When she made no move to take it, he laid it on her instead. She fought him at first, but eventually embraced the warmth it provided. 

“They will be here soon. Auguri di pronta guarigione.” 

She closed her eyes and prepared to rest. He was about to leave the room until he caught her small voice. The Dea he knew had temporarily resurfaced.

“..Try not to miss me too much.” 

He smiled under his mask at their more usual banter. His reply was a playful hum. “-I ask the same of you.” 

She snorted sarcastically. He laughed and shut the door behind him.

An Armada ship announced its arrival when it docked itself at Santo Pollo. Dea was helped out of bed by a couple of her crew, who supported her so that she would not undo any of her stitches. Her journey to the ship was assisted by Deacon, who held her closely and took careful steps with her down the hills. Neither of them were used to such close proximity with one another, but chose to redirect their focus on getting her onboard the vessel. 

There was nothing more to this. 

That’s what the spymaster kept telling himself. 

He noticed one of his gloved hands was wrapped protectively around her waist. It was there to prevent her from slipping, but the image was unintentionally ingraining itself into his mind. He cleared his throat and carefully helped her onto the docks. He moved his attention to Dea’s feet, making sure she didn’t step in-between the floorboards.

They weren’t even at the ship yet when a few Armada medical officers jumped down and swiped her from his hands. They assisted her the rest of the way. He waved his hand at her retreating figure, letting out a frustrated groan when she didn’t even see it. No matter. He had things to attend to - like returning their ship and retrieving The Executioner. Then they would move elsewhere, to rest until they could officially resume things tomorrow. 

He stood where he was and watched them prepare for departure. He didn’t move until the boat sailed away to a nearby stormgate. He reluctantly picked up his cane and rounded up his crew - bidding a final goodbye to Don Rodrigo, and thanking him again for his aid. He cast one last glance in the ship's direction before leaving, and felt a sudden loss when there was no captain of his following him at his side.

----

It was dark by the time Dea was finally brought to a hospital. She’d been transported through Valencia and was admitted into one of the Armada medical facilities, where they specifically treated their soldiers. She was given a room and a small dinner that would not upset her stomach. She was thankful to finally eat, but ended up blanching at the hospital supper. She decided to retire for the night instead.

. . . 

Dea couldn’t sleep either. Her head was still pounding and although the pain in her abdomen was beginning to subside, something felt...off. It dawned on her what it was and she called for one of the nurses. A young man entered the room wearing Armada-themed scrubs and perked up attentively at the desired patient. 

“Everything alright, miss?” 

“I had a trench coat when I was checked in,” She explained timidly. “Is it still here?” 

“I’ll go check for you.” 

She waited a few minutes until he returned with the desired item. Dea thanked him and took it, purposefully waiting until he left the room. She paused before laying it under herself and smiling when she rested her head on it. The familiar scent of her co-captain reached her nose and made her relax. Her eyes fluttered closed and she was finally able to doze off.

[sabrinasideblog]

this is objectively the funniest picture of queen on stage because

1. what the fuck are they wearing??? roger in frills??? john serving hot dad???

2. what is freddie doing and why is brian just standing there

3. the stage is so big and yet they are SO close to each other

4. no seriously why is brian just looking at him like that

5. there is no song in their entire discography that requires freddie to be doing that much but i love him for it

6. idk the context but i’m guessing they’re not playing live??? rogers drum kit is so tiny you can actually see him behind it

[rogers-rainbow-radio]

Roger Taylor on the set of 'I Want To Break Free' - 1984

[freddie-mercuryy]

Queen in The 70s - 80s