April, 1978
Freddie was in heaven.
Well, perhaps being hemmed in on all sides by half-drunk, half-drugged revelers, his senses overwhelmed by the acrid aroma of sweaty leather and the blinding strobe of neon laser lights, was more like being in hell than heaven.
Either way, as soon as he laid eyes upon that biker, leaping onto the bar like a sultry, leatherclad lion, baring his teeth from the shadow of his magnificent moustache and showing off as much skin as his glossy black jacket would allow, Freddie knew he was looking upon something divine.
"Y'sure y'don't want any o' this, Freddie?" came Paul's lilting voice from somewhere to Freddi
A/N: The "rice wine incident" is a completely fictional scenario (that I'll probably end up writing too lmao) in which Glenn, who doesn't drink, accidentally mistakes Japanese rice wine for a nonalcoholic beverage, drinks WAY too much, and gets horribly drunk.
New York, spring of 1980
Three days after the rice wine incident, Glenn still felt just as hungover as when he and the band had left Japan. Anything brighter than the wan NYC sunlight filtering in through the curtains gave him a headache, the cars roaring down the street might as well have been driving through his living room, and he could barely eat anything without his stomach prote
You're not a monster.
Jim's words echoed through Freddie's mind, as clearly as though he'd thought them, himself. Better Jim's voice in his head than his own, Freddie supposed. If he just focused on those words, he could ignore everything else. The dread pressing against the inside of his ribs. The frantic throbbing of his pulse in his ears. The abysmal thoughts of despair threatening to derail him with each passing breath--
You're not a monster.
With a bit more ferocity than intended, Freddie glopped more toothpaste onto his brush and went at his teeth for a third time. No matter how vigorously he cleaned them, however, he couldn't get th
Just when Freddie thought he'd gotten himself under control, a new heartbeat snared his attention. He perked up, ears pricked toward the sound, a fast drumbeat under the patter of the rain, just outside the house. A trespasser? Did it matter? Easy prey--
It's Phoebe, for fuck's sake!
Reason warred with lust in Freddie's frazzled mind; his vision tunneled, his own heartbeat dominating his focus to a moment, loud and slow and desperate. Damnit, he needed bl-- No, he needed Phoebe. Phoebe's blood? No, Phoebe was here to help. Help with what? Help with blood? No. Wait. What?
"Phoebe's here," Freddie managed to croak out, his throat parched and
Despite Freddie's reluctance to bring anyone else into this absolute clusterfuck of a situation, eventually he conceded to Jim's insistence that they call Phoebe for help. He had to admit, Jim had a point: fresh insight and a new perspective certainly wouldn't be remiss.
Of course, deep down, Freddie knew he could trust Phoebe with his life, and certainly with the knowledge of this...condition of his. But he couldn't help the knots of trepidation in his gut. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, with these awful ears and horrible fangs...
Once Jim left the room, Freddie let out a dreary sigh and sank down on the couch, propping his el
Freddie could barely hear anything over the hammer of his pulse in his ears as Jim rushed him inside. He was only vaguely aware of Jim asking him a million questions, but the words jumbled into an incoherent mess every time Freddie tried to focus.
All he could hear was his heartbeat. Shouldn't it have been racing? The numb sort of panic gripping his chest certainly seemed like it should've been accompanied by the racing gallop of his heart against his ribs.
But it wasn't. His pulse trudged through his veins, almost like that was as fast as it could go. A deep, steady kuh-thunk kuh-thunk kuh-thunk. And it was driving Freddie mad.
Another di
Jim jolted awake in the middle of the night to the blaring ringing of the phone on Freddie's nightstand. Confused and half-blind with grogginess, Jim rolled over and thumped his arm on the bed where Freddie should've been sleeping beside him.
"'Re y' gonna get that?" Jim grumbled as the phone loosed another ring. No response. "Freddie?"
But the bed was empty, and the phone was still ringing. Why was the phone ringing? Who even had access to that number, that extension? What the hell was going on? Where the hell was Freddie?
Confusion made Jim angry, and the hard pressure of his heart lodged in his throat didn't help matters. Grumbling, he
You Sit By Me, And Everything's Fine by suzcat96, literature
Literature
You Sit By Me, And Everything's Fine
" What could be more beautiful than to sit on a cloud, with feet hanging down, and call each other by our names? "
~
Garden Lodge was as familiar to Jim as though he'd just walked through its gilded halls yesterday. And yet, it all seemed slightly different. Brighter. Fuller. Alive.
Freddie skipped along ahead of Jim, flitting between majestic Japanese urns large enough to store a whole person inside and brushing past the weeping tendrils of potted houseplants suspended from the balconies overhead. A deliciously spicy aroma hung in the air; even though Jim wasn't hungry - he largely suspected he never would be again, considering he was, we
Japan, '86
~
Freddie was not having a good morning.
For one, he'd lost his shoes. Well, misplaced them, obviously, for they couldn't have simply walked off on their own, now, could they?
Freddie padded barefoot around the bedroom in abject frustration, cursing under his breath all the while. He'd lost - misplaced - his shirt, too. All of his shirts, actually. How was that even bloody possible?!
He'd had to settle for one of Jim's shirts, instead: a lightweight buttondown that fit a size too large on Freddie's slight frame. At least that briefcase hadn't vanished into thin air!
Huffing in vexation, Freddie threw up his hands and abandoned
Jim wasn't sure what to expect of death and what lay beyond. Harps and angelic voices? A shining light? Or an abysmal void marking the end of life and nothing more? A candle snuffed out of existence?
Jim certainly did not expect to find himself suddenly on his feet, in the middle of a road, with the familiar warmth of the sun upon his shoulders, at the gate of Garden Lodge.
Jim staggered where he stood, mind reeling and breath caught in his lungs. Could it be? But it was! Garden Lodge. His home. His past. His life.
Agape with awe, Jim wandered over to the sturdy wall. Flowers were strewn about the walk and the weathered brick bore the loving
April, 1978
Freddie was in heaven.
Well, perhaps being hemmed in on all sides by half-drunk, half-drugged revelers, his senses overwhelmed by the acrid aroma of sweaty leather and the blinding strobe of neon laser lights, was more like being in hell than heaven.
Either way, as soon as he laid eyes upon that biker, leaping onto the bar like a sultry, leatherclad lion, baring his teeth from the shadow of his magnificent moustache and showing off as much skin as his glossy black jacket would allow, Freddie knew he was looking upon something divine.
"Y'sure y'don't want any o' this, Freddie?" came Paul's lilting voice from somewhere to Freddi
You're not a monster.
Jim's words echoed through Freddie's mind, as clearly as though he'd thought them, himself. Better Jim's voice in his head than his own, Freddie supposed. If he just focused on those words, he could ignore everything else. The dread pressing against the inside of his ribs. The frantic throbbing of his pulse in his ears. The abysmal thoughts of despair threatening to derail him with each passing breath--
You're not a monster.
With a bit more ferocity than intended, Freddie glopped more toothpaste onto his brush and went at his teeth for a third time. No matter how vigorously he cleaned them, however, he couldn't get th
Just when Freddie thought he'd gotten himself under control, a new heartbeat snared his attention. He perked up, ears pricked toward the sound, a fast drumbeat under the patter of the rain, just outside the house. A trespasser? Did it matter? Easy prey--
It's Phoebe, for fuck's sake!
Reason warred with lust in Freddie's frazzled mind; his vision tunneled, his own heartbeat dominating his focus to a moment, loud and slow and desperate. Damnit, he needed bl-- No, he needed Phoebe. Phoebe's blood? No, Phoebe was here to help. Help with what? Help with blood? No. Wait. What?
"Phoebe's here," Freddie managed to croak out, his throat parched and
Despite Freddie's reluctance to bring anyone else into this absolute clusterfuck of a situation, eventually he conceded to Jim's insistence that they call Phoebe for help. He had to admit, Jim had a point: fresh insight and a new perspective certainly wouldn't be remiss.
Of course, deep down, Freddie knew he could trust Phoebe with his life, and certainly with the knowledge of this...condition of his. But he couldn't help the knots of trepidation in his gut. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, with these awful ears and horrible fangs...
Once Jim left the room, Freddie let out a dreary sigh and sank down on the couch, propping his el
Freddie could barely hear anything over the hammer of his pulse in his ears as Jim rushed him inside. He was only vaguely aware of Jim asking him a million questions, but the words jumbled into an incoherent mess every time Freddie tried to focus.
All he could hear was his heartbeat. Shouldn't it have been racing? The numb sort of panic gripping his chest certainly seemed like it should've been accompanied by the racing gallop of his heart against his ribs.
But it wasn't. His pulse trudged through his veins, almost like that was as fast as it could go. A deep, steady kuh-thunk kuh-thunk kuh-thunk. And it was driving Freddie mad.
Another di
Jim jolted awake in the middle of the night to the blaring ringing of the phone on Freddie's nightstand. Confused and half-blind with grogginess, Jim rolled over and thumped his arm on the bed where Freddie should've been sleeping beside him.
"'Re y' gonna get that?" Jim grumbled as the phone loosed another ring. No response. "Freddie?"
But the bed was empty, and the phone was still ringing. Why was the phone ringing? Who even had access to that number, that extension? What the hell was going on? Where the hell was Freddie?
Confusion made Jim angry, and the hard pressure of his heart lodged in his throat didn't help matters. Grumbling, he
You Sit By Me, And Everything's Fine by suzcat96, literature
Literature
You Sit By Me, And Everything's Fine
" What could be more beautiful than to sit on a cloud, with feet hanging down, and call each other by our names? "
~
Garden Lodge was as familiar to Jim as though he'd just walked through its gilded halls yesterday. And yet, it all seemed slightly different. Brighter. Fuller. Alive.
Freddie skipped along ahead of Jim, flitting between majestic Japanese urns large enough to store a whole person inside and brushing past the weeping tendrils of potted houseplants suspended from the balconies overhead. A deliciously spicy aroma hung in the air; even though Jim wasn't hungry - he largely suspected he never would be again, considering he was, we
Japan, '86
~
Freddie was not having a good morning.
For one, he'd lost his shoes. Well, misplaced them, obviously, for they couldn't have simply walked off on their own, now, could they?
Freddie padded barefoot around the bedroom in abject frustration, cursing under his breath all the while. He'd lost - misplaced - his shirt, too. All of his shirts, actually. How was that even bloody possible?!
He'd had to settle for one of Jim's shirts, instead: a lightweight buttondown that fit a size too large on Freddie's slight frame. At least that briefcase hadn't vanished into thin air!
Huffing in vexation, Freddie threw up his hands and abandoned
Jim wasn't sure what to expect of death and what lay beyond. Harps and angelic voices? A shining light? Or an abysmal void marking the end of life and nothing more? A candle snuffed out of existence?
Jim certainly did not expect to find himself suddenly on his feet, in the middle of a road, with the familiar warmth of the sun upon his shoulders, at the gate of Garden Lodge.
Jim staggered where he stood, mind reeling and breath caught in his lungs. Could it be? But it was! Garden Lodge. His home. His past. His life.
Agape with awe, Jim wandered over to the sturdy wall. Flowers were strewn about the walk and the weathered brick bore the loving
Freddie awoke to a throbbing headache and nothing but a vague jumble of memories from the previous night.
He mustered an apathetic grunt without otherwise moving. He had long since learned not to trouble himself with the occasional missing memory or two - dwelling upon the lapses only resulted in an anxious tightness in his chest and the worsening of his headaches.
At least Freddie knew where he was. Oh, there was nothing worse than coming to, delirious and lost. No, not this time; he was still in his flat, face down in bed. Naked. Of course, naked. He would have it no other way.
At least someone had been so kind as to toss a blanket over
I'm a self taught artist. I started out strictly as a traditional artist and I have finally delved into the realm of digital art, which is tons of fun! I love experimenting with textures, both digitally and with traditional mediums. I hope to create a lot more original and unique designs this year!