#*sigh* brian my beloved

[yeen-beanz]

*makes your movie star a furry*

[creepynoodleheadcannons]

October 17th-Dacryphilia

Warnings-crying, heavy degradation, humiliation, bottom Brian my beloved

His fingers were gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You swear you could feel his fingertips digging into your flesh, desperate for grounding. It almost distracted you from taking in his disheveled appearance.

Almost.

He was too good to look away from. You rarely saw him like this.

Brian usually liked to pound you within an inch of your life before leaving you to clean yourself up. He was crude and mean. He was merciless.

Not this time.

You could see it in his eyes from the moment he came through your window. He couldn’t do it. He needed something more. He needed you.

He needed you to hurt him.

Brian had never asked something of that from you before. He hardly even asked for sex. He would just invite himself in and start shedding layers. This time, he came to you with avoidant eyes and desperation leaking from his pores.

“I…I don’t want to think.”

“How badly?”

“Until I can’t think of anything else.”

You didn’t need to ask twice.

That’s how you ended up here, after almost an hour of sucking him like a madman. He almost tore through your sheets with how hard he tugged at them. You brought him so, so close, just to rip it away. You didn’t want him cumming anywhere but buried inside of you.

Now that your mouth was free, you had no qualms about telling him how you really felt.

“Get what you wanted? Buried deep in this cunt like the bitch you are? You whined like a pussy to be in mine, so you better be enjoying it.”

He nodded, unable to meet your eyes. “Y-Yes.”

“That’s all? No ‘I love this pussy’ or ‘clenching around me like a fucking whore’? You’ve gone soft.” You sighed as you bounced on his boisterous cock, hands resting on his bare chest. “Or maybe you’re just so desperate to fuck me you’re too afraid to upset me. You know the second you do I’ll leave you red and leaking, like the horny teenager you are.”

He watched the juncture between your bodies, enthralled. Brian could only stare as he disappeared inside of you. You loved giving him a show.

“Nothing to say, dumbass? You don’t want to tell me how great your cock is?”

He shook his head, holding you like you might fly away.

“Come on, Brian. You’re such a cocky fuck, I thought you’d want to tell me all about it.”

He was confused by your composure. He was usually able to fuck you stupid. Was he that unimpressive?

“I’m not-fuck-I’m not cocky-“

“Oh shut up.” You slammed yourself down onto his lap, listening to the groan that fell from his mouth.

“You’re insufferable.”

He tried to pull you up, but you demanded to be sat. He wasn’t in the mood to force you.

“You’re the fucking worst sometimes, especially when you’re fucking me. You’re not gonna be so bad when I’m fucking you, are you?”

You heard a keen in the back of his throat, a light sniffle interrupting it.

“Answer me, Brian.”

You grabbed his face, surprised to find it damp, and not from sweat. Your nails dug into his cheeks with the same intensity he showed you as you ripped his face up to meet yours.

He was a sight to behold.

Red eyes, puffy cheeks, tears making his brilliant eyes shine. His skin was hot and pathetically stained, rivers flowing down and leaving wet trails down his neck.

“Are you fucking crying?”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t stop.

“You’re crying like a bitch because I’m fucking you? Huh? Big ol’ Brian can’t handle this pussy?”

He let out a choked sob as you raised yourself up, feeling his tip bump against your folds.

“You’re so mean to me.”

“You deserve it.”

You slammed back down on him, trying to hide your moan.

His loud cry covered it up well.

You found your rhythm again, pounding yourself onto him. “Come on, show me how much of a fucking whiny slut you are. Filthy, filthy whore-“

He couldn’t stop himself from loudly crying, hands digging into your sides as he bounced you on his cock. The coil in his stomach threatened to snap at any moment.

“Please, I wanna cum-“

“You think you deserve that?”

He’s sobbing openly now, head thrown back as tears spill down his cheeks.

“Show me how badly you want it. Beg me.”

He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t even try to show any dignity. He simply looked up at you with those big, hazy eyes and whimpered.

“I-I’ve been taking you for so long, I-please-I’ve been good. Oh fuck-I love this cunt. It feels so good. You feel so good. Please let me cum, please please please please-”

“Hold on for me.”

You felt your insides clench, clamping down on his cock. “Come on, you can wait until I cum, can’t you?”

He wouldn’t have to wait long, but he felt like he might die. “No, I have to, please!”

“Shut up, bitch.”

You were moments away from creaming rings around him, just a little longer-

“Please, I’ve been so good.”

“You’re been a-mph!-pain in my ass for weeks. You’ll cum when I do.”

You were right there, and knew just what would send you both over that edge.

Grabbing his neck with one hand, you let the other slam across his dewy cheeks.

“Cum, you pathetic fuck.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled you into him as he spilled inside you, fucking his spend deeper into you as you collapsed into him. Your pleasure dripped down into his lap, joining with the cum leaking from you. He bit into your shoulder, falling into a puddle of sobs and whines.

“Good job, Brian. You did so good-“

“Don’t ruin this for me.”

If he wanted to cry, who were you to stop him?

You knew you’d get to fuck him through it again when he calmed down.

[corellianhounds]

The Colossus of Kashyyyk

Media: An excerpt from The Princess Bride book, retold within the world of Star Wars.

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Art Credit: Brian Matyas on ArtStation

Summary: A young Wookiee is forced to contend with a galaxy that punishes those who, through no fault of their own, are different.

Note: Though the art is of Krrsantan, the story is not about him. I try to find official SW concept art to accompany these stories, but I can’t always get exactly what I want.

There was once a Wookiee born to a poor farming family on the outskirts of a world that was not their own. Wookiees are known for their exceptional strength and size, but this child when born weighed twenty-seven pounds, and he grew exponentially in size and stature all throughout his childhood. Despite his height and exceptional strength, he was a quiet boy who much preferred time spent indoors puzzling over riddles and rhymes with his mother as opposed to outside chopping wood and hunting with his father, and once the village children realized he had a soft heart, that’s when the tauntings began.

The poor Wookiee child was terrified of the jeers and mockery from his peers, to the point he would cower and hide from them no matter how much smaller they were than him. No matter how many times his father told him to stand up for himself, to push back when they did, he couldn’t bring himself to fight the other children.

Eventually the taunting came to having things thrown at him, insults thrown his way as the other boys and girls pulled his hair and stole his tools, and then it evolved into the fights, if they could be called that; the Wookiee would not fight back despite having height and strength to his advantage, until one day his father took him aside and told him plainly, “My son, you will not always have the luxury of not fighting. One day you will have to stand up for yourself, or they will never stop.”

The boy’s lip trembled as he looked at his kind and loving father, tears welling in his eyes, and his father sighed. “All right. I will teach you.”

At twenty-eight years old (still quite young for one of their kind) the Wookiee child was already two-hundred-and-forty pounds, nearly the size of an adult. His father had to look up at his child, even when the boy stooped to make himself appear smaller.

“Stand up straight, my son,” the father said. He beat one hand against his chest. “I want you to strike me as hard as you can.”

The boy protested, his eyes filling with tears. He loved his father dearly and wanted to do no such thing. His father insisted.

“Strike me,” his father repeated. “It is okay. You will not be in trouble. You need to learn.”

The young Wookiee squeezed his eyes shut, reared back, and hit his father as hard as he could, as was requested.

Two days later when his father could finally speak again he looked up at his tearful son at his bedside while his wife tended to his fractured ribs. “You are a good boy,” his father said, or at least that’s what the boy’s mother interpreted for him. “I will not be able to teach you for long before you outgrow my skills. In time we will need to find you a teacher.”

Once the Wookiee boy was able to fight back, his peers no longer picked on him. For several years he almost grew to be beloved in the village, hoisting the smaller species and younger children up by one arm effortlessly. The real trouble didn’t start until a wandering band of travelers made their way through the village and one man— a Trandoshan, no less— drunkenly mistook the Wookiee for an adult and picked a fight with him in the square as he was heading home to his parents. The Wookiee yelped reflexively, jumping back from the boorish Trandoshan smelling of ale and bad breath. The Trandoshan’s friends hooted and hollered, cheering the Trandoshan on for whatever imagined sleight he’d felt the need to retaliate against, and a gathering crowd trapped the Wookiee in the middle of a circle with only himself and his adversary in the middle, the villagers and travelers surrounding them all and cheering as if they were in a gladiatorial arena.

Terrified, the Wookiee dodged each blow until he miscalculated the distance due to his height and fell before the Trandoshan’s feet. The scaly, bug-eyed reptilian hissed foul words at the boy, taunting him much like the children of his youth had; Mongrel, monster, brute, he hissed, and the Trandoshan finally grabbed the boy’s vest in one clawed hand, rearing back to punch him in the face—

Only for his swing to be stopped by the Wookiee’s hand. A gasp went up around the crowd and the drunken Trandoshan’s eyes widened in alarm as the Wookiee snarled, crushing the man’s hand in his grip. The Trandoshan screamed as the boy got to his feet with one hand still on the man’s arm and the other on his neck, and in a moment of singular, uncharacteristic anger he rent the Trandoshan’s arm from his shoulder.

The crowd erupted in gasps yet again as the Trandoshan fell to the ground, writhing and bloody, though still alive. The Wookiee’s chest heaved with the effort it took to catch his breath, and as he looked around the circle of people all he saw was fear etched on every face.

He raced home as fast as his legs could carry him, tearful and apologetic. Upon telling his parents what had happened they looked solemnly at one another and decided it was time to move.

The family traveled for some time before settling down again at a new farm, but it wasn’t long until whispers of the Wookiee’s strength reached the ears of those in the city near their homestead: fearing revulsion, or worse, a mob, the family fretted over the best course of action until they were approached by a man with a dazzling smile and straight, white teeth.

“I have a proposition for your boy,” the man said, his accompanying droid translating in Shyriiwook for their convenience. “I’m the grandmaster of the local arena, and we want your son to be our new champion.

Champion? The Wookiees looked at one another, baffled.

“One fighter each week will go up against your boy in the arena, and whoever wins is given the winning purse and the opportunity to fight the following week. Only the winners from rival guilds and arenas will face him, and I’m confident he will best them all.”

At three-and-a-half meters tall, weighing six-hundred-and-ten pounds, the Wookiee boy was still only a lad by their species' reckoning, and a gentle soul at that. He still much preferred working with the animals on the farm, tending to the new sprouts in the field and helping his mother cook by the fire. The incident with the Trandoshan had been an anomaly, and one he didn’t want to happen again.

The boy’s father grunted a noncommittal “We’ll think about it,” and sent the grandmaster and the droid on their way.

The grandmaster paused at the door of their home and said, “If it helps at all, your boy will be loved by the crowds. Hundreds of people would come to see what he could do.”

Despite the reassurances of the grandmaster the Wookiee shook his head, begging his parents not to consider the man’s offer. His father sighed, knowing his son wasn’t to blame for his unnatural strength and size, but the boy ate more than he could provide on a farmer’s income, even with the meat supplemented from hunting, and soon his son would be out on his own in the galaxy and would need to find a way to care and fend for himself.

The young Wookiee didn’t want to fight, remembering the disaster that came from being forced to fight back in their home village. “It will be good for you,” his parents encouraged him. ”One match,” his father said. “If only to appease the grandmaster. After that, you do not have to fight if you do not want to.”

Resigned and glum, the young Wookiee sought out the grandmaster in the city and agreed to a match that would take place later that week.

The arena was packed to the gills with people of every cast, species, and strata, a mysterious new fighter slated to challenge the reigning champion that night. The champion was a near-human man, over two-and-a-half meters tall and built like an ox, hailing from the cold and unforgiving alpine forests of the Laer’tnom region. He stood out in the arena, beckoning for the portcullis to open and for his opponent to step out, laughing at the reticence of the newcomer. The crowd laughed with him, until the hulking shadow of a still-juvenile Wookiee had to duck under the top of the portcullis archway onto the arena platform.

The crowd fell silent. The young Wookiee stood his ground as he’d been instructed, glancing to the crowd to where his parents smiled encouragingly before facing his opponent. The man looked up at him, agog, and the grandmaster’s booming voice rumbled out over the stands.

“WELCOME TO THE ARENA!”

And the crowd erupted in applause.

As the fighters were introduced they began to circle one another, eyeing over their opponent. The ring of a bell initiated the fight, and the champion rushed the Wookiee in a flurry of fists.

The Wookiee hardly felt the blows land. He had grown substantially over the years, dense fat covering hard muscle and strong bones, and the impact was only a fraction of what he remembered his childhood tormentors levying against him. For the first time in a long time he almost smiled in the face of adversity, growling a yell that almost buckled his opponent on its own. The champion righted himself, and this time when he swung at the Wookiee the Wookiee blocked his fists with surprising speed.

Left and right they countered one another, but the boy’s tireless work on the farm and training with his father finally paid off, and he fought his opponent with aplomb, the crowd cheering deafeningly every time he managed to land a blow. What he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in speed and brute strength. The fight lasted several minutes before the champion began to tire, his swings telegraphing broadly more and more often until the Wookiee finally hit him with enough force to send him to the ground.

For a moment the room fell to a hush and the Wookiee was terrified he’d fought too hard, but the crowd once again erupted in applause as the bell rang and with relief he could see the fallen champion groan, rolling onto his back. The grandmaster came down onto the platform from above, taking the Wookiee’s paw in his hand and raising it as high as he could, (which was not all that high for the Wookiee, but he understood the sentiment all the same): he had succeeded as the victor.

For several years after that the Wookiee fought undefeated, champion after champion brought into the ring to challenge his prowess as a fighter. He made enough money that his parents no longer had to farm for hours a day in the fields, able to live comfortably on their own and harvest what they felt necessary to live on. Soon he began to travel for fights, bringing fame and notoriety to his name, increasing his opponents from one person to two-person tag teams, and eventually three, then five. The Wookiee never fought dirty, and the grandmaster had set him up for success. “The Giant” was a crowd favorite, though he kept out of the spotlight when he could in his regular day-to-day life. The grandmaster occasionally tried to persuade him to join the others of the traveling troupe on their days off, but the Wookiee politely declined, managing to slip beyond people’s observations out into whatever forested region he could find for peace and quiet in harmony with nature.

One night several months down the road the Wookiee was slated to fight five men in Laer’tnom. He was approached by somebody in an expensive suit, accompanied by three others, who politely asked him to throw that night’s match. One of the five fighters was slated to retire and had been prematurely promised the victory as a courtesy. The Wookiee frowned, not understanding: one of the thin men reporting to who he assumed to be their boss translated the Wookiee’s response, saying the Wookiee “Had never lost a fight on purpose, and he never would.” He was the reigning undefeated champion and he took pride in his work. The boss’s face grew grim, and he gestured ever so slightly to the henchman on his left, who in response revealed a carbine rifle directed at the Wookiee’s chest. The Wookiee’s senses flared, the hair of his undercoat on his neck and arms raising at the threat, and he acted on reflex without thinking: the carbine rifle was promptly snatched from the henchman’s hands and broken in half as if it were tinder in the Wookiee’s paws. He growled a retort at the now shaking men, and it would only be later after the four of them had beat a hasty retreat that the translator among them would be able to choke out what the Wookiee had said:

“I’ve never lost a fight, and there’s nobody here who can make me.”

That week’s match brought with it an aura of trepidation the Wookiee couldn’t shake. Determined to hold true to his contract he entered the arena, seeing four of his five opponents file in, each more vicious and mean than the last. Upon the last’s entry, he realized why he’d been asked to throw the match: there in the Laer’tnom arena he saw the first opponent he’d ever faced, a near-human man built like an ox, performing on his home turf.

As they faced off against him he steeled himself for what he knew would be a real fight, despite his young, inner self feeling as though he were trembling with fear, cornered with nowhere to run.

The bell rang. The fighters darted in and he fought them off, swinging and tossing them as if they weighed nothing out of the ring, pivoting to face the next as they attacked. Again and again they swarmed him, and again and again he parried their blows, wrestling them into submission. The fight wore on and over the din of the crowd he could hear the grandmaster for the first time nervous as he narrated the fight. One, two, three, four opponents fell or crawled from the ring, until finally he faced the last.

The near-human man’s nose flared like a bull’s as he breathed in agitation, squaring off against the Wookiee once more. When he lunged the Wookiee was ready for him, and he hurled the opponent up over his shoulder, using his forward momentum to throw him off his feet. The man leapt up and charged again, and it took every bit of the Wookiee’s considerable skill and power to fight him off, blocking and parrying more than he was striking his opponent.

Eventually though, the Wookiee saw an opening and ducked, ramming his shoulder into the man’s stomach and knocking the air out of him. He twisted around to put him in a submission hold, the two of them grappling to the ground until the Wookiee got his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed. When he felt his opponent go lax and pass out, the Wookiee let go and stood in the center of the ring, the victor yet again.

Only this time instead of cheers, the Wookiee was greeted with the harsh yells of the spectators yelling insults, booing and shaking their fists and taunting him, using names he recalled the children from his childhood using all around him.

“Bully!”

“Mongrel!”

“Monster!”

“Brute!”

When the crowd started throwing food and debris into the ring, the confused and shattered Wookiee fled.

There were a lot of bets riding on the Wookiee’s supposed failure that night, and a lot of people were left very angry. Furthermore, the fifth opponent was outraged by the outcome of an event he’d been assured the victory of, snarling threats across the ring as two of the men in expensive suits held him back. Without contacting the grandmaster, without sending word to his parents, the Wookiee packed his bags that night.

For years nobody saw him and he made his way doing odd jobs before ending up in the circus. He was too terrified of what might happen if he appeared in the public eye again, too worried for his parents should they become a target by association with him; in the circus he could have made money as a strongman, but he was given more food as a crewman and sideshow curiosity, and so a curiosity he remained until the circus disbanded and he found himself again without employment, and on an unwelcoming ice planet no less.

That was until the little man found him.

The Wookiee was alone on the outskirts of a small village next to a Tauntaun, and desperately hungry. He’d been chased from several other villages where he’d attempted to find work as a herder, shunned either out of fright or by accusations of being the cause of missing livestock. The Tauntaun next to him was almost his height, far too small to be considered a steed, but he shared in its warmth, thinking slowly about where he might find his next meal.

A voice rang out over the howling wind and caught his attention. He looked to the side to see a mound of fur silhouetted against the snow and heading his way. He braced himself for a confrontation, saving his energy until the mound came into view. It turned out to be a short human man inside several layers of coats and a snowsuit, carrying an electric torch and shuffling through the snow.

“Ah, the Colossus!” the little man said. “The legendary Giant! The Eighth Wonder of Kashyyyk, at last!”

The Wookiee was not a particularly quick-minded individual, but he knew a showman’s smile when he saw one. He grumbled something noncommittal, waving the little man away.

And then the little man growled in Shyriiwook, repeating his statement yet again.

The Wookiee turned, curious. “What do you want?” he responded in his native tongue.

The bald man’s beady little eyes gleamed from beneath his hood. “You have a name, Giant?” he asked in Basic.

The Wookiee growled a guttural response, giving his name.

“That’s too long to say every time,” the man said, waving dismissively. “Something shorter?”

The Wookiee was silent for a moment, but rumbled again.

“Well then, Fezzik, I have a proposition for you,” the man said, offering his hand. “One that’s going to put all your troubles behind you.”

Notes

What the Wookiee says to the betters before the final fight is reminiscent of something Dan Severn told the creative team in WWF when they pitched an idea to him he refused to comply with, and they responded by hinting that he would start losing matches if he didn’t agree. Dan Severn, an accomplished traditional wrestler and mixed martial artist, made it clear he had no problem turning any future matches into actual fights.

The final fight has elements of the infamous Montreal Screwjob that happened in the 1997 Survivor Series between Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels, but is not meant to be seen as a 1:1 retelling.

[renee-writer]

Jamie and Jenny Chapter 39

AO3

“I wished to ask, officially.” Ian stands before him, twisting his hands in front of him. Jamie sits, Brian -Henry in his arms. His mum is taking a well earned rest.

 

“I know this has been your wish and plan for years now.”

 

“Aye but, it is only right to ask, official like. You know that I will see to her,” a chuckle, “and she to me. We will finish university and I will support her in her career. Whatever she wants to do, she may.”

 

Jamie smiles. He looks down at his son, this miracle born out of the love he shares with his mum. How can he deny his beloved Jenny the same? Aye, they are young but no one may doubt their love for each other, their commitment.

 

To give her away, this child he has raised to adulthood, how can he? How can he do any less? Ian is her future. Besides, they will be living here through uni.

 

Looking up at Ian, he nods before saying. “You have my blessing to ask for her hand. Welcome officially to the family.”

 

He will remember the look of joy on his face forever. He offers his hand to shake before recalling they are full with the baby. Frazzled he pulls it back. Jamie laugh.

 

“We shall shake in it later, eh?”

 

“Aye, thank you. Thank you.” He turns and runs out. Jamie sighs.

 

“My darling son, try not to grow up too fast.”

[creepsandpeeps]

Home

Summary: Toby has been sent out on a particularly bad mission and returns bloodied and bruised, after being patched up every one eats dinner together. CW for injury and mentions of tics, they probably aren't very accurate, but I hope to improve over time.

Word count: 1038!

A/N: This is set about 2 weeks into Toby’s “occupation” as a proxy. Found Family proxies my beloved <3.

When Toby woke up he was freezing. He pulled at the thin blanket draped around him before a heavy sigh left his chest and he sat up, his eyebrows knit together. He held up his left hand, catching sight of 3 new bruises on his arm. His head jerked to one side.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, standing with his heels slightly off the ground. His eyes scanned the room idly before they settled on a pile of folded clothes with a post-it on them on his dresser. 

“They’ll be a bit big on you, sorry -B”

Toby held up the garments. A well-loved sweater with an intricate pattern, a pair of heavy blue jeans, some underwear still in the package, and a pair of socks with cheaply printed cats on them. A warm smile grew on his face.

Once he left his room he realized how quiet it really was despite the time. His worn converse hit the ground lightly as he wandered into the shared living space, and he noticed a pot on the stove in the kitchen. Everything just felt too calm. Too quiet.

Suddenly, piercing static was all he could hear. His hands flew to his ears. In the mind-numbing noise he was told where to go and what to do. Before another thought could form he was mindlessly pulling on a thick coat to combat the cold and grabbing the hatchet he hid behind the cozy red couch. His mask and goggles were sloppily thrown onto his face as he walked out into the morning mist, the door slammed loudly. He didn’t notice. 

When he returned it was nearly twelve hours since he had left. The first indication of his arrival was a weak knock hitting the door in the pattern Kate made as a joke. 

Tim looked wearily to his fellow proxies as he carefully put down the broom he held. When he opened the door Toby practically fell into his arms. 

Blood covered Tim’s flannel. 

“Shit. Kate, get the med kit!” He rushed out as he hoisted the teen up and carried him to the kitchen table. He looked at Brian, who widely nodded back to him. He went through the kitchen drawers, the clinking of utensils accentuating his frantic movement. He pulled his hand away from the lowest drawer with a pair of yellow cloth sheers in hand, running over to Tim. 

“The sweater again? I need to stop giving him my good clothes,” Brian sighed before cutting off the sweater and jeans he had lent him. Together they scanned over the wounds.

“Here, this is the restocked one,” Kate said, throwing down and opening the medical kit and unpacking what they would need. She walked to the side before hesitating and going to prepare his room for the recovery. Tim gently removed the glass from the side of his right shoulder. Brian played nurse, handing the different tools and bandages. 

“He’s too young,” Tim muttered, concern was placed harshly under his tone. The procedure took little more than 20 minutes, but the tension in the air wouldn’t subside until they knew he would wake up again. 

Once everything was said and done they carried Toby to his room, Kate had gotten the heavier blankets and propped up his pillows as well as finding their light-weight hospital scrubs to put him in. He was placed in his bed and dressed wordlessly, leaving Kate to watch over him until he would wake up again. The door shut lightly behind Tim and Brian. Kate waited a moment before turning to him.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she mumbled out, her voice wavering slightly as she looked away. “We should have warned you, but this has never happened so soon.” 

She looked at him again, he moved slightly in his uneasy sleep. After the first 20 minutes Kate went to his bookshelf. It was filled with things that they collected over time, she scanned the covers and eventually settled on a comic book titled “Spider Man's Adventures, Vol 1”. She was never a fan of superhero stories before, but becoming what she has she couldn’t help but wish for a different life. She scanned through the pages for what felt like forever when suddenly she heard movement next to her.

She put the book down and saw Toby looking around before going to sit up, she hovered her hand over his chest. 

“No,” She said, “You’ll hurt yourself more.”

Toby looked at her sharply. He then turned away and lifted his right hand, looking at the deep lashes on his arms. ‘Those have to be new’ he thought.

“W-what… what happened?” he stuttered out. Kate’s eyes scanned over him before she took a small breath. 

“You were… tested.” She replied, trying to wave away the shaking in her voice. 

“Tested?” he mumbled, his hand now flicking slightly from side to side. 

“He gave you a job you shouldn't have done alone while Tim and I were out,” she said with a rough sigh. Toby hummed in response. 

“How long should I lay here and rot for, doc?” he said with a small smile. Kate looked at him, her gaze softening.

“Well, we’re hoping you won’t be out of the game too long this time,” she replied, “so maybe 2 weeks?” 

Toby made a little clicking noise when a solid knock came to his door. Before he could say anything, Brian walked in with two fresh plates of mashed potatoes with stuffing, Tim carried two other plates. 

“Can we eat with you here? Kate always says it’s easier to heal with everyone close by,” Brian said with a soft smile on his face. 

Toby looked around and nodded lightly. And everyone took their seats. 

“This is your favorite, right?” Kate asks, taking a small bite of the warm potatoes. Brian didn’t learn to cook until his second year there, but since then, every new thing that he made was worth every cook book they stole.  

A hum came in response, Kate smiled to Brian, he gave a thumbs up back. 

Days off weren’t very common, but one thing was for sure. Nobody would ever recover alone.

Hope you enjoyed! This can also be found on Ao3, my account name is With_Love_Punkin on there if you'd like to check it out.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Books I read in July 2023

20 Books this month! Uh... this list got long, so I'm putting it below the cut.

Weyward by Emily Hart - a solid 'meh" from me. Historical fiction, follows three storylines across three eras. Has vaguely... weird vibes about women/motherhood/witchy stuff. Not a fan. Pretty cover though.

Clytemnestra by Costanza Casate - Listen, I love a Greek Myth retelling. It's fun, and doesn't really girl-boss the story. It's not a favorite, but it's solidly enjoyable.

A Fever in the Heartland by Timothy Egan - A solid nonfiction book, presented as a narrative. It talks about the rebirth of the KKK in the 1920s in the American Midwest. It's interesting and well written, if a bit over-reliant on Big People of History theory.

Binti by Nnedi Okorafor - Binti is very good, but has the issue that a lot of lore-heavy novellas have, which is that there's no room to breathe and absorb the world. Highly recommend though.

Genderqueer by Maia Kobabe - I mean, I did a whole podcast about this one. But it's excellent, and generally a fascinating example of graphic memoir.

The Fiancee Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur - Fake engagement but make it gay! Not perfect, but it's a fun time and a quick read.

Witch King by Martha Wells - MARTHA WELLS STRIKES AGAIN. Probably my favorite thing this month. Fascinating world building, compelling characters, a great narrative.

Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan - I was going to read China Rich Girlfriend but then I realized it's been four years since I read Crazy Rich Asians so I grabbed this back from the library. Still a fun time. Crazy Rich Asians and the sequels read like Regency Romance novels to me, because they're so unhinged from reality in terms of these people's lives. But I love it.

China Rich Girlfriend by Kevin Kwan - A fun sequel, with some fun twists, some great expanded cast, and a delightful premise.

Rich People Problems by Kevin Kwan - Sigh. Last book of the trilogy, and it... doesn't really have a main character, and it suffers a bit from it. The storylines intersect in a kind of artificial way. I liked most of them, but the connective tissue was weaker, so it was my least favorite of the series.

A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin - *chef kiss* Ursula my beloved.

The Crane Husband by Kelly Barnhill - I'm actually not... particularly familiar with the Crane Wife as a story? Never was part of my life growing up. But this is a delightful little novella about a girl whose mother brings home a crane one day. Check the trigger warnings for this one, but it's fun.

Nimona by N.D. Stevenson - I watched the movie then read the graphic novel. I love both. They're so different, but I love both for their own strengths, if that makes sense? It's just so good.

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang - I've read a few other Kuang books, and I think this one is my favorite. Because it's a satyr, the problems in Babel with her lack of subtly doesn't really drag it down. It can be broad, and obvious, and project everything, and it's just funny, rather than frustrating.

Paper Girls volume 5 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang, Matt Wilson, Jared K. Fletcher - Finally wrapping this one up! I love this series, it's a fun time.

Paper Girls Volume 6 - Thank you Hoopla app for letting me check out the final volume immediately after I finished the fifth one. A SOLID story overall.

Poirot Investigates by Agatha Christie - I've had this weird little project going for a while to read all of the Poirot stories in order, and this short story collection is #3. Not sure this one worked for me as well as the others. But I felt satisfied when I finished it.

A Spindle Splintered by Alix E. Harrow - Mm. not for me. I liked the Harrow novel I've read previously, but this "modern fairytale" thing didn't do it for me. Very short though, and the illustrations were fun.

Lady Tan's Circle of Women by Lisa See - I did NOT expect to read this one in a day. I picked it up, fully prepared to read this slowly, since I often take my time with historical fiction before it clicks. But no. This was amazing. I couldn't put it down. I really appreciate a historical fiction that doesn't... push contemporary values onto the characters, but goes "yeah this is what people felt and thought at the time". Like this character is going to be on board with footbinding, and be upset that she had daughters, and it's wonderful! The other candidate for top book of the month.

Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld - "what if SNL romance?" A female comedy writer for not-SNL falls in love with a musician who guest-hosts. The story is divided into two parts; their first meeting, and then their reunion during COVID isolation times. The first part is fun; a quirky little meet-cute odd couple thing. And then... uh, the separation is kind of random and I don't like the 2020 section as much. It's... fine? But I enjoyed it less than the first part, and often felt like the characters were having the same conversations over and over again. But still enjoyable and fun if you enjoy an m/f contemporary novel.

[nymphthroughthestargate]

Life of a 20-Something Goa'uld

part one of [REDACTED]'s introduction

a fic by mushroom with help and much praise from stick (careful, it's a long one)

she felt like she was drowning. there was a muffled awareness of her surroundings - shining gold, garbled voices, the feeling that she wasn't in control of her actions. sometimes there would be a clear flash where she'd know exactly what was going on, yet she still had no control and it was but a brief moment.

and then, she was pulled to the surface by the strongest force she'd ever known, and she was sitting in a gilded throne. she could feel the different fabrics and jewels in her clothes, could see her hands moving to HER commands, could see flashes of darkness as she blinked her own eyes. a deep sigh escaped her lips, as if she were breathing for the first time.

"are you alright, your majesty?" a deep, but concerned voice to her left asked. she turned her head to see a soldier - Jaffa, the word popped into her mind - glancing sideways at her.

"I think so," her own voice rang out. she was oddly relieved to hear it, vaguely aware of it being Different while she had been drowning.

"forgive me, but you do not sound like yourself, my queen." he bowed his head. this soldier was clearly concerned, but she finally felt fine.

"actually, I think I sound more like myself than I did before."

she blinked, and looked around her new surroundings. it was definitely a throne room, but she and the Jaffa were the only ones there. she turned to look at him, his large green eyes looking straight ahead. his hair, if he had any, was completely covered by a form-fitting metal cap; on his forehead was a tattoo of a cat head inside two incomplete ovals. his left eyebrow had a slit in it, probably from a healed scar.

he seemed slightly uncomfortable.

"Jaffa, what's your name?"

"pardon?" he dared to glance her way, and she attempted to make a non-threatening expression.

"what's your name, what're you called?" she repeated. the soldier gulped, and stood at attention before responding.

"I am called Brian, your majesty."

not exactly a name fitting an alien soldier - because she was now certain that he was an alien, and she was on another planet - but it was certainly memorable.

"Ok, Brian. next question - whats my name?" she knew her name, of course, but she was certain she'd been given a new one.

"you are the goddess of cats and women, the beloved and feared Bastet." Brian recited, clearly confused and concerned.

well, that's not right. she was a runaway, a vagabond who faked her own death to get away from her family - there was nothing "goddess-y" about her. but she figured there were worse things to be a goddess of than kitty-cats and women's rights.

"I don't think I'm Bastet anymore," she mumbled. the vague memory of being taken from the streets into a spaceship flooded her mind, foggy images making her head hurt. a goa'uld - she was taken over by a goa'uld. that must be this Bastet that Brian thought she was.

"who are you, then?" he asked her, glancing sideways at her as she held her thumping head in her hands.

"the host," she croaked. that got his attention, and he was by her side before she even noticed he had moved. she wondered how could someone be that fast in such clunky armour.

"the gods have always said that nothing of the hosts survive!" he whispered. it was probably heresy for him to be talking to a goa'uld host like this, but her head hurt too much to care. who's gonna punish him? she certainly wasn't.

"yeah, that's a load of bull, innit?" she mumbled. Brian didn't understand what she meant, and she waved him off because she didn't know how to explain.

"this has never happened before. what should I call you?" Brian asked, equal parts curious and terrified. she didn't blame him - from the flashes of memory she was getting, the goa'uld weren't exactly warm and fuzzy to their subjects. but the last time she trusted someone with her identity, she had to change it again.

"I dinnae kin." the more stressed she got, the more her Scottish accent came through. it was such a strange situation, she would've laughed if she weren't so frightened.

"then I shall keep calling you my goddess, if that's alright with you?" Brian smiled warmly, and it was as if she had known him for years.

"careful, I could smite you at anytime." she managed a weak smirk to let him know she was only joking, and got a chuckle out of him.

"I'm quite strong, I think I could handle it."

he held out a hand, and asked her if she thought she could walk. she hadn't even considered walking, but now that she had it seemed suddenly difficult. she took his hand and he supported most of her weight as she attempted to stand. the longer they went on, the less fog was in her head and she was soon able to support herself. the two of them circled the room many times, conversation coming easily as if they had known each other forever. he spoke of embarrassing missions and moments with his fellow Jaffa, she spoke of her favourite fun history facts and childhood school memories. laughter echoed off the glorious walls with each anecdote.

"the school children teased me endlessly for my white hair," she lamented. "countless times they called me 'oi, granny!', it came to the point that I cried to me mum for her to let me dye my hair. 'oh, please, mummy! any colour a'tall, I beg of you! brown or black or red or even blue, anything other than this ghastly banshee white!'" she raised the pitch of her voice and clasped her hands together as she mimicked her child self, before interrupting herself with a laugh. "ah, but she wouldn't budge. something about not giving in to bullies."

Brian looked at her with kind eyes. "I have no idea what a 'bahn-chee' is, but I think the white is beautiful on you."

her pale, freckled cheeks flushed bright red, and she reached up to fiddle with a stark-white strand. "well, thank you. you'd be the first in a while."

they circled the room once more, and right as they passed the throne her head split open with blinding pain. she was barely aware of Brian's gentle grip helping her onto the throne. she stared into his deep green eyes, her own sparkling purple ones wide in fear as she felt herself be pulled back down into the chilling waters of her own mind.

"Jaffa, kree!" Bastet's echoing voice cried out in frustration, smacking Brian's hands away. he obediently resumed his station, confused but thankful for the glimpse into her host he was allowed.

~ • ~ • ~

at roughly the same time two nights later, she was once again pulled through to the surface. Brian looked over at the familiar gasp for air, and rushed to her side.

"is it you?" he asked, searching her eyes for the friendliness he briefly knew. a warm smile and nod was all the answer he needed. the fog from last time was gone, but the memory of Bastet's harshness towards the dear Jaffa remained.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Brian brushed a stray hair from her cheek. "you are not the one I need to forgive."

images of her grandfather yelling at her over unimportant grievances flashed through her memory, so starkly contrasting the warm and friendly face of the soldier kneeling in front of her it brought her to tears.

"aye, look at me blubbering about. what a right mess I am," she chuckled, wiping away the tears that kept stubbornly flowing down her face. he pulled a cloth from a pocket she didn't know he had and offered it to her. she used it to dry her face and handed it back.

"ready for a turn around the room, my goddess?" he asked with a smirk, arm raised in invitation. returning the smile, she took his arm and stood up to walk with him.

she told him about the music she had left behind, singing a few of the tunes in a dramatic and purposefully-bad manner. she told him of her favourite kind of history, the kind that whispers sweetly look, people have always been people! these larger-than-life characters had favourite songs, and danced in their living rooms, and made animal-shaped sippy cups for their little ones, and laughed together. isn't that wonderful? she told him of the boy king of millennium past, that above all the pressure and corruption and hidden agendas was just a child who was proud of his tunic with ducks on it. he in turn called her "ducky", and the name was so full of love and warmth it just stuck. she told him bad jokes, and he told her even worse ones, and they laughed and sang and skipped around.

she was only able to surface for a few hours, and not every night. but those few hours were precious, and made the drowning in between not feel so hopeless. Brian waited day in and day out for the hour he always heard that precious gasp of air that meant his dear friend had returned, and the time spent with her made any barked order and hissed threat from her goa'uld counterpart that much more bearable. because when the clock struck nine, he could waltz around with the amazing girl underneath and feel like he had a face behind the lion guard hood.

~ • ~ • ~

"Brian, are we friends?" she asked one night as they laid on the floor, heads close together. it had been nearly two years since she was taken over by Bastet. he turned to look at her.

"of course we are. aren't we?" he replied in kind, wondering why she was asking.

"I'd think so. but we can't know anything about each other - if you shared with me, Bastet could use it against you. and I have far too many demons in my past that I'm running from to be able to share with you."

Brian looked back at the ceiling. "I never thought of it that way. I like how we are now."

"do you still think I'm a goddess? because I have insider information that the goa'uld really aren't all that." she pointed at her head with a dry chuckle. he laughed along.

"I don't think you're a goddess in the way of my people's religion, but you're pretty special in your own way, Ducky."

her cheeks flushed as he continued, "the only thing I would change about the way we are is to get rid of that snake in your head. that way, we could spend all of our time together and wouldn't have to worry about anything she does to get between us."

she thought for a moment. the silence creaked all around them.

"I have faked my death before."

they both sat up and turned to face each other.

"I know some herbs that the goa'uld stay away from, I think it's toxic to them." he said as they started to plan together. "not even the sarcophagus could heal them from it. I don't know what it would do to you, though."

"we'd definitely have to run away, and you couldn't come with me at first." she lowered her voice, an only slightly unfounded fear of getting caught stirring in her stomach.

"why couldn't we just run away together?"

"because, a loyal Jaffa that tried and failed to save his goddess from herself would most likely be given sympathy, but a Jaffa that seemingly stole his goddess away from her people would be hunted forever."

she had a good point. they quietly planned through the night, and she had enough control of her little corner of her mind to keep the goa'uld from figuring anything out.

it was her idea to walk around the gardens, looking regal while searching for poisons. she couldn't laugh or joke with him there out of fear of discovery, but there would be a glance and half a smile that would say everything they couldn't say aloud. being with him grounded her, and the times that Bastet was in control started to feel less and less like she was drowning. there were times that she could move her hand, turn her head, stop the goa'uld within from hurting someone. but those times were draining, and took time away from the nights she had full control.

alas, just as she was becoming more aware and gaining more control, Bastet was as well. the goa'uld knew how close she was to Brian, and treated him poorly out of spite. she was barely able to keep Bastet from hurting him.

it killed her how close she came to hurting her closest friend.

~ • ~ • ~

the final night came.

they were in her chambers, the plants they'd gathered strewn across her vanity with a mortar and pestle stolen- er, borrowed from the priests. he put down the paper he was referencing, and glanced sadly at her.

"I can't promise this won't hurt or kill you. you know that, right?"

she nodded. "I'd rather take the risk than live with myself if I let her hurt you."

"I've seen you struggle, you wouldn't be allowing her to do anything."

"still." she focused on grinding the herbs together into a powder, pouring it onto the cloth, and grinding new herbs. "you can't risk putting me in the sarcophagus. I'll have to get better by myself or not at all."

"we already discussed this, I know what I have to do." his words were almost sharp enough to slice through the anxious tension hanging in the room like a thick fog. she refused to look him in the eyes - the loyal Jaffa who became a friend, then something quite different. she would rather die herself than watch him be harmed by her own hand, even though she wouldn't be the one to raise it.

they had just finished putting the powder into her drink when a splitting headache warned her that the goa'uld was clawing her way to the surface. she stumbled, grasping her pounding head in her hands.

"no!" she gasped, breaths short and staggered. despite her best efforts, a glowing flash in her eyes marked the presence of Bastet.

"shol'va!" the goa'uld spat, practically hissing in hatred. "you dare bring harm to your goddess?"

she reached her hand up to Brian's forehead, ribbon device shimmering as he was brought to his knees.

"don't blame yourself for this," he said, his voice strained from resisting the device. "I love you, Ducky."

she broke through long enough to snatch her hand down to her side. when she met his face, her eyes sparkled with tears.

"I love you, too." she whispered. "now run."

pausing only long enough to place a caring hand on her cheek, Brian ran out of the room. with a longing gaze at the door, she seized the goblet with the poisoned drink and downed it in one sip. there was a terrible screeching in her mind, her surroundings blurred, and with the distant sensation of falling the world faded to black.

she awoke on the floor, the room completely empty. her head was pounding, but she had the distinct and amazing feeling of being alone in her own mind. tears of relief flowed down her face, making her headache worse. when she tried to stand, the room spun at incredible speeds and she almost threw up right then and there. the realization that she needed to leave hit her like the mallet she was sure someone had used on her skull. she traded her bejeweled ensemble and many veils for all-black attire consisting of a cropped shirt and shorts, with a cloak around her waist and a hooded dust mask on her head. a pouch buckled around her thigh held a dagger, a goa'uld healing device, the ribbon gauntlet, and some preserved fruits and meats to eat along the way. she considered asking Brian for help getting to the bay of cargo vessels, but settled on leaving a note instead. she didn't think she could handle seeing him watch her leave, even if they had planned to meet again.

she dragged herself along the halls, visual auras so strong she was practically blind. by either miracle or happenstance, she stumbled upon the intended bay, and made her way aboard the closest ship with an open hatch.

bracing herself on the pel'tac, she fumbled around the buttons until an alert in goa'uld stated the autopilot had been set. anywhere is better than here, she thought to herself as the ship made its way out of the bay and through the atmosphere, and she slid down onto the floor to see if the dizziness would stop anytime soon.

~ • ~ • ~

after several hours of barreling through hyperspace, she felt the ship decelerate. her symptoms had not eased over the course of the trip, if anything they'd gotten worse. she pulled herself up onto the pel'tac, squinting to make out the hazy blue-green shape of what had to be a planet she was orbiting. as she tried to piece together her thoughts, a voice crackled over the comm system.

"unidentified goa'uld vessel, state your purpose here." the voice was gentle but firm, almost fatherly. she glanced out the window to see a cargo vessel very similar to her own. feeling around for the button, she answered the comm.

"uhhh, Delta Airlines, how may I help you?" her voice shook with anxiety. certainly, no goa'uld nor jaffa would understand her reference, but she probably bought some time to come up with a better lie-

"what? uh, this is Jacob Carter, host to the Tok'ra Selmack. who are you?!" the voice crackled in again.

she was flooded with relief - not only a Tok'ra, but one with an Earth name.

"no way, Jacob Carter? that's an earth name, isn't it? hey, twinsies!" she managed a weak chuckle. humour was her only defense, and by golly she was going to use it.

"you said earth, not Tau'ri." Jacob Carter stated.

"yeah, I did. whatcha gonna do about it?" she didn't know how much longer she could stand there.

"do you need help?"

"uh, probably. you see, I used to be a goa'uld, but I ingested a whole shit-ton of neurotoxins and killed that bitch. but I'm not feeling too hot because of it."

there was silence, and she slid back down onto the floor. the rings in her cargo hold activated and an old man walked towards her.

"Mr. Carter?" she mumbled.

"General, actually. well, retired," Jacob quipped, and pulled out a goa'uld healing device. she blocked him from using it, shaking her head adamantly.

"no, you can't. you could heal her."

"I don't know what you want me to do here, kid. you're going to die if you don't let me help."

she groaned, wincing at the pain. Jacob thought for a moment. after seemingly coming up with a plan, he scooped her into his arms and took her to the rings.

she blinked at the sudden sunlight. she could see a stargate when he put her down to dial the DHD. he pulled something that looked like a television remote from a pouch on his waist, then picked her up once more to take her through the gate.

~ • ~ • ~

"-ad, what are you doing he-"

"-eeds help, quickl-"

"-'re going to be ok, sweethear-"

"-aline drip, stat!-"

all she remembered was muffled voices. she awoke to a steady beeping somewhere around her, and a bright florescent light beaming into her eyes. there was resistance when she went to pull her hand to her face, and she looked down to see the needle of an IV taped to the back of it. someone noticed she was awake and called for a doctor. soon after that, there was a flashlight in her eyes.

"you feelin' any better, sweetie?" the sweet, motherly voice behind the pin of light asked her. "you gave us all quite a scare for a minute there."

"who, where-?" she groaned, blinking.

"I'm Dr. Janet Fraiser, and you're in the infirmary of Stargate Command. Jacob Carter brought you here, do you remember?"

"I remember being carried..." her words dropped off as she remembered what had happened before she was in that cargo vessel.

"that's good. do you know your name, honey?" Dr. Fraiser asked, grabbing a clipboard from the pocket on the wall.

"yes, but I'm not comfortable sharing it." she muttered. "I'm sorry, Stargate Command on what planet?"

"Oh, yes. you're on Earth, is that alright?"

all she could do was nod, rubbing her face with her hands. her head may not have been hurting anymore, but it was so full of fog she couldn't string two thoughts together. it took a moment to realise that she didn't feel her mask.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Fraiser? where is my mask?" she asked, reaching for the doctor's arm.

"it's in that pile with all your other things," the doctor pointed to the chair beside the hospital bed where all her things did, in fact, reside. "we closed the curtain around your bed for your privacy, don't worry."

ah. now that she looked, the immediate area was cordoned off by a large, grey-blue curtain. she thought it had just been her vision.

"if you're feeling up to answering some questions, I have to go tell the general you're awake." Dr. Fraiser paused, seemingly waiting for any last-minute request. as it turned out, she did have one.

"can I have my mask before you bring in anyone?"

the doctor nodded, and handed her the black fabric before walking behind the curtain and out of sight.

the doctor returned with a small group of people, including a large man with an Apophis Jaffa mark and a hint of familiarity.

"do I know you?" she asked, shifting so she was sitting up more. the Jaffa scowled, and stood at attention.

"I am Teal'c, previously First Prime of the false god Apophis before betraying him and joining the Tau'ri in their fight against the goa'uld." he said, almost reciting it. she wondered how often he had said those exact words.

"ah. cleared that right up, didn't you?" she nodded.

"I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, that's Dr. Daniel Jackson and Major Sam Carter." one of the other tall men in the group said, pointing to himself and the other two members of his team in turn. one of the names stuck out to her.

"Sam... Carter?" she put questioning emphasis on the last name, and Sam chuckled.

"yes, as in Jacob Carter. he's my father." the major answered.

"what about you?" the man named Dr. Jackson asked.

"what about me?" she responded in mock innocence. O'Neill rolled his eyes, but Dr. Jackson continued on.

"we introduced ourselves, what's your name? what are you called?"

"ah, my name. my name is-" she leaned forward, covered her mouth, and mimicked the beep of censorship before cackling and leaning back. "yeah, no. thanks for patching me up, but I'm not telling you anything."

the group glanced at each other, before turning around to leave. Daniel Jackson was the last out, and held the curtain for a moment.

"we're against the goa'uld too, you know." he told her. "my wife was taken just like you were. we're not the enemy here."

she turned her head. "I don't trust anyone, much less people who have to tell me they're not my enemy."

"even if we nursed you back to health?" he pressed.

"the goa'uld find perverted joy in healing their prisoners completely before torturing them." she retorted. his face twisted, as if he knew that from experience. Dr. Jackson left the "room", and she was left alone with just her thoughts and that awful beeping from the heart monitor. she considered ripping its plug from the wall.

three days later, she felt well enough to get dressed and walk around. she was constantly followed by a Special Forces officer, making her wonder which between them was the one with trust issues. on one of her excursions around the base, she nearly bumped into Sam Carter, who was holding a little girl who didn't look entirely human. the girl's nose scrunched up, and she tightened her grip on Sam's shoulders.

"what's wrong, Nymph?" Sam asked, concerned. Nymph pointed at the ex-goa'uld in front of them.

"she just feels..." Nymph scrunched her nose further and wiggled her fingers in front of her face.

[REDACTED] probably looked as confusingly offended as she felt. Sam just looked between the girl in her arms and the girl standing in front of her.

"what do you mean?" Sam questioned.

"she feels like what the TV looks like when there's no signal." Nymph elaborated, making [REDACTED] feel more confused and offended.

"now what's THAT supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"well, Nymph here can feel people's motives and surface emotions. quote unquote 'good people' make her feel good to be around, and quote unquote 'bad people' literally make her sick to her stomach." Sam explained.

"what, so I just popped up an error message in your little vibe detector, is that it?" she retorted, staring into this kid's heterochromatic eyes. Nymph seemed to be staring right back into her soul, and she wondered how much the kid could find out.

"you're confusing." Nymph piped up.

"you're not exactly crystal clear yourself."

"it was strange meeting you," Nymph said as Sam gave her a smile and they walked away. [REDACTED] watched them as they walked away, wondering if everyone on this base was as strange as the people she had met so far.

part two

[rainbowstargazerlilies]

any quotes from ivy alexandria my beloved? also your fic series is one of my favorites of all time <3

Glad to hear you've been enjoying it! And yes, definitely, I can find an Ivy quote. Let's see. . . don't think I've given this one before! If I have, feel free to ask for another.

"Brian was nodding, too, when Ivy looked over. “Besides,” he added, “there were other things to worry about. Keeping as many people out of the loop as possible. Do you know how impossible it is to keep a secret like this on Aurora? Marius must have accidentally met Michael at least three times.”

Raphaella abruptly began to look nervous. “That was why we erased his memory, right?” When her question was answered with general nodding, she sighed. “He’s going to kill me, then.”

“Why?” Ivy asked, looking up from her examination of the blood. “It might have saved the time stream.”

“It means I erased a memory he had with Lyf, multiple times. And if Lyf’s really— you know, I’m still not sure what’s going on with all of this. Are they dead, or not?”

Ivy finally put down the blood. “It depends on where you are in the time stream,” she said finally. “You all remember my presentation on temporal paradoxes for Fun Fact Friday, correct?”

Every person in the room began to groan."

[poptrim]

What if... Hoodie got a job at Freddy's? (2)

Tw.: Uncensored language, usage of gun

"You have to go to watch ovew Fweddy and his fwiends again?" Sally asked in a sad tone.

"Yep" Hoodie confessed. "But only 'till 6 am. I won't be out for long, Sally.

It was half past ten in the evening. Hoodie decided to get ready already. He would pack a survival kit. Sandwich, water, flashlight, things like that. He decided to bring his loved gun and ski mask as well, to feel more confident. The incident with Bonnie or any other animatronic must not happen again.

"TIM!" he shouted, already standin at the door.

"WHAT?!" a voice came from outside of the mansion.

"BRING ME TO FREDDY'S, WILL YA?"

A weird mixture of coughing and laughing could have been heard. 'Masky is smoking again', rolled his eyes Hoodie.

"Di-did I he-hear it right? Bria-Brian wants to go to Fred-Freddy's? - Toby stepped behind Hoodie.

"Well, Masky? Can you take me, or not?" the proxy decided to ignore Toby.

"Will do, will do" he laughed.

>>>NIGHT TWO, 12 AM.

Brian got comfortable in his chair in the office, and started to wait. If things already happened on his first night, they will on the second either.

He didn't need to wait for long. Five minutes after his shift started, Chica was already standing in the Dining Area, staring at the camera. She played a staring competition with Brian for half a minute, then the screen went static, and the robot disappeared. He hadn't found her anywhere, she must've went to the kitchen, guessing by the sound of pans. For some reason, the cameras were disabled there.

Not long after that, Bonnie moved, too. Brian found him in the Dining Area either.

The proxy took a five-minute break to save power. He spent the time useful though. He decided to load and get his gun ready if he would need it, however, he didn't know whether it could take down an animatronic or not. Furthermore, just to feel more confident, he pulled his beloved ski mask with the frown over his head.

Nothing much happened during his break. Foxy got more visible by opening his curtains a little bit, while Chica and Bonnie got to the ends of each Hall, one of them the eastern and one to the western side. Brian decided to watch both corridors with his gun in hand.

He didn't have to wait for long. After two minutes, Chica was quickly approaching in the East Hall. Brian felt like it wouldn't be a wise idea to use the gun. He decided to defend himself in a more creative and funny way (at least, for him). He waited until the robot got close enough and closed the door in front of her beak. Chica was pounding on the door, furiously screeching, and Brian couldn't stop laughing. The fear he felt during the first night was long gone. He decided to annoy the robot band.

During the encounter with Chica, Bonnie went missing. Brian found him in the Backstage, where he was staring at the camera very close, creepily, like in a horror movie. Chica, for the relief of the proxy, was heading back to the Dining Area. He found her at the end of the East Hall. He could finally open the door.

Brian glanced at the tablet. The energy was on 74%.

>>>NIGHT TWO, 2 AM.

The following one hour and 45 minutes were uneventful. Bonnie and Chica kept walking around rapidly in the Dining Area, Backstage, Kitchen and Restrooms like they were in pain. Freddy was still in his place. Foxy was still visible while humming a song that was supposed to be cute, but the situation and the time made it creepy.

"Come on, please, something happen already!" Brian mumbled.

Your wish is my command!, the author replied.

Sounds were coming from the corridor on his left. Brian sighed loudly. That must be Bonnie. He was right. He tricked the rabbit robot the same way he did to the chicken, but much slower. Bonnie was walking in a very lazy, slow pace.

The animatronic got bored of banging on the door quicker than his poultry co-worker. After a minute, he was at the Dining Area, staring at Chica. It was like they were talking telepathically. The man opened the left door again.

Energy at 60%.

Brian's phone started to vibrate. Jeff was calling him, for some reason. After a swift corridor-check, he answered the phone.

"Be quick."

"Ahah-Are the news true?" Jeff was laughing at the other end of the line. "Are you reheheh-really at Freddy's? How's pizza?"

"Woods..." growled Brian.

"I got the monochrome clownface with me, and he's curious if you could bring a party hat?" he giggled. At the other end of the line, something loud could been heard. "Ow, you motherfucker!"

Laughing Jack must've slapped Jeff.

"If that's the only reason you called me, then I..."

"No, no... BEN asked me to to inform you, he will visit you at around 5 am, so don't get startled and shoot his thigh like last time."

"All right, I'll be waiting for him" he agreed while checking the cameras to see what's up. Chica was looking around in the Restrooms while Bonnie was watching one of the spare animatronic heads at the Backstage. "But why did not he called and told me that?"

"He's in the middle of a big Videogame Tournament, or something like that."

"Oh, okay" Brian checked the tablet again. Chica, Freddy and Foxy the same place he'd seen them. Bonnie disappeared. "Where did he go.."

"What?"

"I was not talking to you."

"Then to who? You befriended a six-year-old?" Jeff started to giggle again.

>>>NIGHT TWO, 3 AM.

"If you'd use that last two brain cells of yours, then you would realize, that IT'S 3 AM! - Brian shouted at him. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from the West Hall. "Wait a minute, please."

"What? Why?"

Brian choose not to answer. He simply placed his phone to the chair. While listening to Jeff's curious questions, he stepped to the left door and switched the light on. Only a few centimeters/inches from his face was Bonnie, slightly bowing forward, on the same height as Brian's face.

Nobody knew who was more surprised. Brian, that the robot managed to get this close to him, or Bonnie that the night guard has an iconic mask of a infamous serial killer much talked about by concerned parents.

"AARGH!" the man got his pistol out by reflex and shot, destroying the right eye of the animatronic, then hurriedly closed the door before that thing could get in.

During this whole thing, Jeff hadn't stopped talking.

"What was that? Hoodie? Hey? Hey! Answer already!"

"JEFFERY, YOU SHITHEAD! I ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR IDIOTIC CALL! DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME WHILE I'M WORKING EVER AGAIN, BECAUSE YOU MAKE ME LOOSE MY FOCUS!"

"While working...?"

"I'M A FUCKING NIGHT GUARD, GOT IT? - Brian shouted like a lunatic then hung up the phone angrily.

The proxy got only a little time to calm down. Bonnie went away a while ago from the corridor, then to stop at the Supply Closet, but Chica was coming from the other. Luckily, she changed her mind. Brian saw her at the Dining Area again.

Energy was on 48%.

The rest of the night went away fast. Freddy didn't want to move a finger. Neither did Foxy. On the other side, Chica and Bonnie were really active. Both of them tried to get inside twice. They spent their time mostly in the Restrooms and the Dining Area, though.

>>>NIGHT TWO, 5 AM.

5 am came quickly, but went away just as fast. BEN was nowhere to be seen, but Jeff promised that he will come. Maybe he forgot, maybe not. That could've been the case that they wanted to prank him to be on the edge non-stop, too. That didn't matter anymore. His shift was almost over.

Brian looked at his desk, and remembered Sally. How sad she was, when he needed to go! The man decided to recompense the little girl. He grabbed the Bonnie plush and stuffed it inside his bag.

"Wait, I still have sandwiches."

He spent the last half an hour eating and drinking.

The bells rang. His shift was over. He survived this one, too.

>>>NIGHT TWO, 6 AM. SECOND NIGHT COMPLETED.

2nd part out of 3.

Previous part Next part

___

Hope you liked it. Have a wonderful day/night! My Wattpad: ReginaTheRabbit

[ulysses-but-somehow-more-transer]

I posted 25,860 times in 2022

That's 25,860 more posts than 2021!

413 posts created (2%)

25,447 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@vang0bus

@wlttebane

@transgender-rex

@the-dashing-mx-ollandre

@bifrosted-flakes

I tagged 5,053 of my posts in 2022

#shrimp shrieks - 241 posts

#prev - 200 posts

#poetry i like - 168 posts

#the mechanisms - 161 posts

#so true - 100 posts

#prev so true - 80 posts

#unreality - 68 posts

#toki pona - 49 posts

#unusual shrimp my beloved - 48 posts

#yes - 46 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but brian it doesnt matter youre made of metal youre still loved youre not a monster youre not deceiving anyone why did you sing his part ar

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

*laying on my stomach and kicking my feet like a teenage girl in a movie* *sigh* "drumbot brian<3"

357 notes - Posted September 25, 2022

#4

id let raphaella la cognizi experiment on me. reblog if youd let raph experiment on you

365 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

#3

soooooooooo normal about this image. soooooooooooooooo normal

[id: photo of gunpowder tim singing and playing the guitar. the photo is taken in an upwards angle and tims eyes are closed]

452 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

#2

the Toy Soldier. you agree. reblog

[id: photo of the toy soldier from its back. it is clicking its heels mid-air end id]

567 notes - Posted September 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

they should sell tree ornaments that are just dream in his glass sphere send tweet

678 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[smolcuriouskitten]

Seeing Brian's initial reaction made her look around curiously before realizing her facial expression wasnt as 'neutral' as it should be. So she relaxes her face then lets out a soft sigh, looking at him with softened eyes. Despite Onyx not being the best at facial expressions, her eyes would tell all that needed to be said. Listening to him closely, she tilts her head and nods, her expression remaining the same.

"Someones jealous?" She teases, moving some hair from her face. "I cant have two people I care for within the same house hold? Bor-ing~" Onyx said in a singsong tone, holding his face in her hands before she plants a kiss on his nose. "No matter what, you are my one and only. No one can come between us." She went back to her normal unchanging tone and releases him.

Now due to Onyx's unchanged person, he wouldnt know her true plan. She wanted to kill the little creature for coming between them, for daring to pick her beloved Brian to mess with. She didnt care if Brian enjoyed the feeling of Alymer, hating the idea of him living like this for the rest of his life.

For everything that isnt holy, she didnt want to watch him put plastic and tape over his head all of the time! Its inhumane! So for now, she had to grin and bare it, hopefully manipulating the little blue worm to go away so she could have Brian all to herself again. For one to accuse someone of being jealous, she was the textbook definition.

His genuine concern made her snap out of her thoughts to look at him. "Oh dont be silly baby, nothing will happen to me. I think Alymer prefers you alot more than me." She lets out a small puff of air, mainly to get the curl out of it but to show she was annoyed. The cracks were starting to show. "I have my connections as well so theres nothing to worry about. Nothing will happen to you, him, or us." She reassures.

Not knowing what the blue monster had in store for them, she tried to keep a level head regarding things. Shes dealt with an angry Rockelle before, how is this any different? A soft sigh left her lips before looking over Brian, tilting her head the opposite way. "Now what is it you called me for? You havent told me yet." She asks, rubbing his shoulder with her hands, her thumb grazing the flesh delicately.

smolcuriouskitten // cont'd [ x ]

Brian didn't face Onyx straightaway but gradually turned his head towards the woman he loved. He knew that making eye contact wasn't an imperative since she seemed to never change her expression (usually) and therefore it wasn't easy to read her reaction to what was being said to her.

Still, he had called her in here and now he was obligated to treat this like an actual civil conversation.

"Well, that's kind of just it-"

The young man practically recoiled when he saw that grin which was, unfortunately, getting to be more and more characteristic. It was also a bit of a 'war flashback' moment for him, as he could recall breaking out into maniacal smiles for no reason at all starting with his connection to Aylmer.

"You and he have been doing an awful lot of talking lately..." Brian sighed, still in the dark as to the light shooting out of his head. Right now he had a rig of saran wrap and tape over it to keep the elements out, but he knew that would only get him so far. Needless to say, hats were a must when out in public. His brother Mike was bringing new fashions over weekly.

"I just don't want you going down the same path as I have, Onyx... And I don't want more trouble for Aylmer, either... It's not any secret how much I've had to pay the cops to keep quiet about things as they are..."

***

The parasite was indeed incapacitated, currently swaddled and sipping chicken brains from a blender cup with a straw, but the severed link between himself and Brian had caused an additional phenomenon; he could now hear all of Brian's thoughts! Even from another room!

Needless to say, the attempted co-conspiring taking place in the bathroom caused unhappiness to swell inside of his blue body. Onyx was his only recourse during these tough times, this he believes wholeheartedly... Aylmer didn't actually posses a heart, instead a heart-like part called the aortic arch, but that's neither here nor there. All that mattered was his will to pit Onyx against Brian because Brain, bless him, was of little to no use anymore.

[url-is-under-construction]

𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ~ 𝐁.𝐎 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Requested by the lovely @the-purpleflower : hi there think you could do Brian,Dominic's reaction to (reader) telling them that thy been hunting down the person who killed there father and stole there fathers Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 that he made with his own 2 hands.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence/death etc. Reader is not dealing with her grief in a healthy way but let the girl live ya know?

𝐒𝐲���𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: He had taken everything from you; your father, and then his pride and joy. But you were going to take it all back, and you were going to do it with or without Brian's help.

𝐀/𝐍: I would've made this longer but the request just asked for the reaction, and since I'm just starting to get back into the swing of writing for fast and furious I thought I'd keep it short and sweet <3

Your computer screen glared at you harshly, the blue light burning your retinas as your eyes dropped to the bottom of the screen.

2:56 AM

The unopened email taunted you as your cursor hovered over it, sent from an anonymous address. You knew who it was though. Months and months ago, after finding out the truth about your father's tragic 'accident', the one where he had also apparently written off his beloved Chevrolet Chevelle, you had hired a private investigator to hunt down the man who did it. And he had found him.

All of the information, everything you had dedicated the past few months of your life to knowing was sitting right there in that unopened email, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to open it. Maybe it was the fear of finally having closure, or maybe you knew that once you found out who was behind this you wouldn't stop until you had your retribution, and your fathers car back with it's rightful owners.

Sighing, you push shut the laptop and stand up from the desk, crawling back into bed.

Brian was sleeping like a rock beside you, unaware of the dilemma that you were facing head-on like a train right now. You feel him wrap his arms around your waist, and it makes you smile. You'd been together for years, but you still got butterflies with him at the little things he did.

You close your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off and let sleep consume you, the nagging thought of the email pushed to the back of your mind as you slip from your consciousness.

~

"You look tired." Brian comments as you walk into the kitchen.

You just chuckle, shaking your head and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before you went to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah I was tossing and turning." You shrug, lying blatantly. You hated lying to him, but you had no idea how he would react to the little side project you had going on right now. "You know how it is."

"Oh c'mon Y/n." Brian scoffs and you furrow your brows. "I know you didn't crawl into bed until like three. What was up?"

His eyes are kind and concerned as he meets your gaze, his head dipped slightly so that he can get a better view of your face. You run a hand through your hair anxiously, unsure of whether or not to tell him the truth before you cave. He deserved to know.

"I got an email." You say cryptically, watching with your breath held as confusion washes over her features. "From my PI."

"Your PI?" He looks as lost as ever as you try to explain to him. "What could you possibly need a PI for?"

"For my dad." You say quietly and his face falls as it dawns on him.

"Wasn't that an accident?"

"No, apparently not." You say, taking a sip of your coffee and letting it run down your throat comfortingly. "Someone killed him, and they took his car too. I'm trying to track them down."

"Ok, ok." He says quietly, nodding. You assume he's speaking more to himself then you as he meets your gaze again. "And you didn't think to tell me this, I don't know, maybe before you hired a private investigator?"

"I didn't want to tell you Brian because I wasn't even sure if this guy could track him down." You try to defend yourself and your situation. "I wasn't going to get my hopes up or yours only to be disappointed."

"Well then when were you going to tell me?" He asks, slightly raising his voice at you.

"Soon, I swear!"

"Bullshit."

"Brian, I was going to tell you." You say, exasperated. "I got an email from him last night, but I couldn't open it."

His face softens at your words and he sets down his mug of coffee.

"Let's go." He says, walking to your bedroom and gesturing for you to follow.

"Where?"

"To find out who killed your father."

Oof I low-key hate this but it'll have to do since I'm only getting into the swing of these fics again. Hope you enjoyed it, and I'm slowly working through all of the requests, so keep them coming because I thrive on being overworked <3

[kneamet]

amore amore

Trigger Warning: angst, obsession, drabble

Word Count: 608

Character: curt wild/reader

amore amore

The dirty club — the name of which hardly anyone would have remembered — greeted visitors with a loud sound from rattling speakers, dancing people sprinkled with sequins, vomit on the floor in the corners of the room, bright lighting. The green walls are covered with numerous low-quality posters of rock stars — sticking out their tongues and showing guitars — in black leather jackets, as well as strange red drawings that seemed to be drawn by stoned drug addicts.

Sweat was pouring down from Curt's hot body — it was stuffy. Being stripped to the waist, still wearing blue worn jeans, Curt closes the dressing room door and there is a click — the light turns on and the latch rattles. He takes off the strange collar that hung around his neck for a couple of hours and throws it somewhere to the side — now Curt is not interested in how he performed. In his mind, drugged with highs and screams of visitors, there is only one thing — you.

With a light sigh, still unable to calm the increased heartbeat, he steps with his bare feet to his beloved star, not paying attention to the fact that he stepped on something sharp and hugs you. Pulling closer, he kisses on the lips, but does not feel the answer. He looks at her, hears all the charm with his eyes even at this moment; Curt could not stop enjoying his beautiful star. She is incredible, she saved him at the moment when his hands dropped and his veins were filled with only heroin.

He walked the paths of psychotropics, was about to go crazy; the walls of the house, brothel and alienation of people pressed, as if in the mouth of a dragon.

Brian opened the way for him to his Emerald City — glasses were beating after midnight, he celebrated a successful performance with Slade — it  make a splash, the manager told them. Curt was surrounded by beautiful girls, but no one attracted his attention; in the middle of namelessness and strangers (what was he doing here anyway?) — she became close to him, his star... Sneakers continued to wear off on the floor, a pack of Rothmans stuck out in the pockets of her jeans, she was pretentiously smoking a cigarette, standing in the corner of a huge room. He did not dare to approach her, watched from afar.

He was ordered to love, but to love is disgusting. Brian was empty, but behaved like an prince. He clapped his hands when Curt slammed the door, mocked and laughed — "go to your junkies!” he said after him. Curt studied to live alone in the dark, but he never managed. Was weak, doubted. At the moment when the bottom swallowed him, she appeared. The smoke was dissipating before his eyes, he would never fix what he had done during his lifetime, but now she is his salvation, his love, his asterisk, his death, his addiction.

“My star...”

He called her, but got no answer. His cold heart was warmed, and now he was kneeling in front of her. Curt spoke with naive phrases, the songs continued to play, and he smeared the green antiseptic chickenpox — an infection from first love, but the wound did not hurt anymore. Eternity had no love, love had no taste.

They were like Paolo and Francesco, Othello, Desdemona and everything like that, — his star said. Сurt could be a monster, but he sincerely tried to be good. His life with Brian was tedious tales, but only with a cute star he felt love.

There was no love without illness.

Curt continued to live in castles in the air.

i remember that i have been promising the third part of ewan mcgregor's characters for a long time and writing a fic on mark renton, but i still cant find the strength, only on drabbles. sorry to disappoint, but so far only so, im sorry

[rafaelsilvasource]

RAFAEL SILVA | Gay Times Magazine | June 2021

Photography by Nathalia Vieira | Words by Sam Damshenas | Styling by Mersi Kasemi | Grooming by Pircilla Pae

As Carlos Reyes on hugely popular US series 9-1-1: Lone Star, Rafael is bringing intersectional LGBTQ+ representation to the masses.

“The diversity and inclusivity of [9-1-1: Lone Star] resonates with people because that’s what the world has always looked like,” states a confident Rafael Silva. “We’ve always looked Indigenous, we’ve always looked Muslim, we’ve always looked Black, we’ve always looked trans - we’ve always looked all these things.” The Brazilian-American actor behind Lone Star’s beloved police officer Carlos Reyes is speaking with GAY TIMES over Zoom as he wraps the second season of the breakout procedural drama. Hailing from queer mastermind Ryan Murphy and his frequent collaborators Brad Falchuk and Tim Minnear, Lone Star focuses on the fire, police and ambulance departments of the fictional Station 126, located in Austin, Texas. The 10-episode first season was a colossal hit in the United States, averaging six million viewers per episode. It became the network’s highest rated new series of the 2019-20 season, so “colossal” is pretty accurate. The viewership of the series has continued to soar well into its second season - with a third on the way! - which Rafael attributes to the talents of the writers’ room and the diverse array of lovable characters, all of which are unapologetic and unabashed in their identities. “[Lone Star] shows more truth than perpetuated stereotypes of each person, of gay characters, of trans characters, of the Muslim culture, even the Texan culture,” explains Rafael. “It has resonated with a lot of people because it portrays what the world looks like today, and what it’s always looked like.”

Alongside Rafael’s character, who is gay and Latino, the central cast also boasts Natacha Karam as Marjan Marwani, a devout Muslim, Ronen Rubinstein as Tyler Kennedy “TK” Strand, a gay man struggling with addiction and Brian Michael Smith, who made history as the first out Black trans man in a series regular role on network television. His character, Paul Strickland, is also trans. For Rafael, the prospect of joining a Murphy production was exciting because, duh, it’s the man behind Glee, American Horror Story and Pose (to name a few) and each of his projects “becomes gold”. More importantly, Murphy has earned a reputation in Hollywood as one of the most inclusive creators with his diverse roster of star-studded entertainers - in front and behind the lens. “It’s his intent. It’s his goal to achieve as much as possible with authenticity,” gushes Rafael. “They say ‘quality over quantity’ but he’s constantly pushing out quality content. Being part of the Ryan Murphy world was a perk. We’re talking about one of the pioneers for inclusivity on television.” Prior to his breakout role as Carlos, Rafael appeared in a handful of short films and made a guest spot on CBS’ political drama Madam Secretary. Striving to make it further in the industry, the 26-year-old embarked on countless auditions in the summer of 2019. It’s clear this was a stressful process for Rafael, who lets out a sigh before reminiscing on that hectic period in his life. He perks up, however, as he remembers the callback from the producers at Lone Star, joking that he couldn’t even remember the audition process or the premise for the show. “It had been a while since I went in, and everything kind of happened immediately. After booking the show, I started filming a week after, so I really had to laser focus and train to be a cop, and just make sure that I was putting my best foot forward,” he says. “It was straight to series and we immediately started shooting multiple episodes at the same time.”

By the end of the first season, Rafael’s character amassed a devout following. Of course, it’d be impossible to pen a piece about Rafael and Lone Star without mentioning ‘Tarlos’, the Brangelina and Bennifer-esque ‘ship’ name for Carlos and Ronen’s character TK, whose romance is - and we’re gonna italicise this now for emphasis - passionately championed by fans on social media. It’s become a weekly occurrence for Tarlos stans to flex their graphic design skills and embrace their inner scriptwriter as they concoct wild (and sometimes steamy) fan-fic ahead of ‘Tarlos Tuesday’ to coincide with the show’s US air date. Honestly, these fans are creative as hell. Unsurprisingly, Rafael lights up when we mention them. Although he had an inkling that Lone Star would be a hit (again, it’s a Ryan Murphy production), the raw passion from the fandom towards the power couple was, and still is, unfathomable for him - but in the best possible way. “Something that really took me by surprise is how passionate the fans are to write rather extensive storylines, situations and themes,” laughs Rafael. “I’m like, ‘Oh my god, if we ever need to pack up the writers’ room and find new writers for Tarlos, let’s just go to Tumblr or Twitter!’ That’s what stood out for me, how passionate everyone is and how supportive. Their desire to see this couple succeed, that says something.” Although he makes up one half of TV’s favourite first responder couple, Rafael refuses to take credit for Tarlos’ popularity. Instead, he redirects the conversation to the trailblazers who “harvested the fruits” long before him and paved the way for LGBTQ+ rights, as well as the content creators who persevered in the hetrenormative industry to make it possible for queer love to be mainstream on television. “This love and the representation that comes with being able to be fully out in the industry, playing an LGBTQIA+ character and being loved for your work and who you are, is one of those things that you can’t really claim to be yours,” he explains. “I can’t claim to have done all of this because I haven’t. It’s been a very long road to achieve this sort of acceptance, not only on screen but off screen. All of the work happened off screen. It was from forever to up until this point. I feel extremely lucky.”

For Rafael, it’s been quite the journey to get to where he is now. Born in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, Brazil, he immigrated to the United States when he was 13 years old. Hailing from a family of farmers in a “machismo” country, the star spent his days riding horses and herding cattle - rather than being confined to his room playing video games or watching television like his peers. Because of his lifestyle, Rafael wasn’t exposed to Western culture and the English language, which made his move to the States that more difficult. Rafael tells us that he completely “lost” his sense of happiness. “My reality changed. Naturally, I became a very introverted kid,” he recalls. “It felt scary to go outside, I didn’t recognise the smell of the street, I didn’t recognise the smell of the people, the way that they talked or the way that they walked. I also didn’t recognise much of my own family because we looked different in this setting.” With his life upended and his English-language skills limited, Rafael recoiled into “constant” survival mode. Having his guard up 24/7, however, resulted in disastrous consequences for both his physical and mental health. He reveals: “My mom gave me massages at the end of the day because I’d be so tense. I started losing my hair. My lips were, out of stress, almost colourless. One way that I occupied my mind was to study, to learn history and read. My thought as a 13-year-old was, ‘If I can understand how people think in this country and where they come from, then I can survive here. I can be here and earn the right to speak.’ I practiced, read a lot. Naturally, I didn’t associate with people. I didn’t like befriending people. That was very hard for me.”

Being in class was especially difficult for Rafael. He hesitates before recollecting two incidents in his school years that had a profound impact on him at the time, as well as his trajectory in life. The first occurred three months after moving to the States in his computer class, where his name was pulled out of a hat - first, because of course? - to give a presentation. “Why was my name picked out first? Who knows?” he laughs, before his tone hits a more serious note. “I had to go up and make something of myself. At that moment I was like, ‘That was scary.’ Now I look back and think, ‘That has literally been what I’ve had to do for most situations in my life.’ If I ever encounter myself where I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m speaking, if I don’t know the language - it doesn’t matter. Keep on going. That’s been my blood type: just keep on going and become it.” Rafael fast forwards to his junior year in high school when he was required, yet again, to stand in front of class for a presentation. He remembers it well, as it was dedicated to American poet and civil rights activist Maya Angelou. This incident was more severe than the last. “I lost my voice, started sweating and I decided, ‘I can’t live like this. I can’t do this.’ I was so embarrassed to be occupying a space without purpose. I said, ‘No, you’re not surviving anymore. You’re not fighting for your fucking life. If you face this storm, you’re gonna be in the eye of the hurricane, and you’re gonna deal with it.’” Rafael composed himself in the bathroom afterwards and went back out into his school hallway, where he saw an audition notice for a production of Anne of Green Gables. It was at this particular moment that he decided to face the storm. At the time, however, Rafael was unaware of the intricacies behind the audition process, so his music teacher helped him memorise his lines with various monologues. Three days after his audition, the cast list was revealed and he discovered that he’d landed a part as Mr Sadler. This marked the start of Rafael’s journey to becoming a full-time actor. “I was right at the end with six lines, but I tried,” he remembers. “I take that experience for everything. ‘No. Speak. You’re here. Occupy this space. Occupy this energy that’s around you and take charge of that shit. You deserve it. It’s time.’ So, that’s why I started acting. I wanted to conquer this fear, but then who knew being exposed to acting would open many other things? The passion and how it makes me feel.”

Rafael doesn’t take being in the public eye lightly. Take one quick glance at his Instagram profile and you’ll see a considerable amount of impassioned posts dedicated to raising awareness of various humanitarian causes from the Black Lives Matter movement to the rights of Indigenous people, as well as heartfelt tributes to LGBTQ+ activists and Stonewall pioneers Marsha P. Johnson and Stormé DeLarverie. In another, he dedicated the storyline of Tarlos to LGBTQ+ citizens in the States who are “not yet able to freely live in their true and beautiful skin”. When we ask Rafael if it was important for him to become a voice for marginalised communities, as well as act, he responds: “People want to see you and pay attention to you for whatever reason they have, maybe they’re attracted to you or admire you. If you have that power, why not utilise it for something such as bringing light to different types of people who don’t have the privilege of being seen or feeling seen? Why not do that?” Rafael’s performance on Lone Star has done just that. As Carlos, the actor has seen, first-hand, the impact the character has had on the many communities that he represents, from the LGBTQ+ community to the Latinx community and even the Texan community. Due to the instantaneous process of shooting the first few episodes of Lone Star, Rafael didn’t fully grasp that his character was representing all of the aforementioned communities “right off the bat”. As it marked his first consistent gig, Rafael was more focused on doing his job and doing it well. It wasn’t until he was inundated with powerful messages from viewers that he came to realize the significance of a character like Carlos on mainstream television and how his storyline resonates with people from all corners of the world.

“I was already approaching my work with the respect and dignity it deserves, but it’s a whole different level nowadays with the immediacy of social media and technology, where you can send a message to a person you admire and hope they see it,” he says. “I see all of the messages. I don’t respond to all of them, because it’s a lot, just for my mental health sometimes, but I’m sincerely grateful. I appreciate it a lot that people reach out and voice their gratitude because I feel equally grateful for the fact that these communities feel seen without me trying to have them seen. I’m not representing a gay cop. That’s my point of view as an actor, right? I’m not representing a gay Texan cop or a gay Latinx whatever, I’m just representing a person. He happens to be all of these things, beautiful things. I think that’s why many people are able to identify with Carlos, or anyone in the cast really, because these are beautiful people that also happen to be many other things - as we all are in life, right? We’re not just one thing.”

As our hour-long conversation comes to a close, we decide to do the Tarlos fans a solid and ask Rafael how he wants the romance to develop in the future. Wedding bells, perhaps? We can see the fanfic now… “Selfishly, I hope to see Mr and Mr ReyesStrand, Strand-Reyes,” he agrees. “I don’t know why this question is tripping me up! Who knows? I await many things for Tarlos.” One thing he doesn’t want to see, however, is for their relationship to end in tragedy and conform to the ‘Bury Your Gays’ trope, which sees queer characters facing more unnecessary torture than straight characters and, ultimately, dying. “Whenever a couple that looks like Tarlos meets and falls in love, there’s always a frickin’ tragedy,” he says with a sigh. “There’s always this stigma that no matter how much you fight to be in love, for your right to exist and to feel and be seen as legitimate, once you do achieve it and fall in love, then guess what? We’re gonna write a storyline where one of you dies! What are you telling parents that might not know what it feels like to have an LGBTQIA+ child? What are you telling friends or people that are not familiar with this world? If they are presented with the possibility of being shown a reality, we have got to do better than killing one of us at the end. What you’re also telling them is, ‘That’s what my trans daughter is going to live to see. Is she gonna die? Is she gonna suffer all of this? No, I’m not gonna let them express themselves the way they want to.’ They think they’re doing it out of love. They think they’re doing it out of protection. They grew up a certain way and think this is how it should be for them to survive in the world. When you’re presented with the opportunity where you’re able to create a storyline where these characters exist in a light of exuberance, brilliance and power - because all of us want to live in that reality you give people the chance to dream, hope and aspire to be themselves. You also allow their allies to do the same, for themselves and for them.”

Right now, Rafael says he’s taking life one step at a time. Although he’s a permanent cast member on one of television’s most successful new dramas, he still identifies with the child who snuck out to the family computer at nightfall and watched YouTube videos of “gay men coming out” in order to feel seen. “This GAY TIMES photoshoot and interview feels lovely and I thank you for that, but at the same time I’m thinking to myself, ‘I’m also doing this for the little kid who hated his curly hair. I’m doing this for the kid that really disliked his body and skin tone,’” he explains. “This interview and photoshoot feels like a great challenge. I might have had the thought of, ‘Oh, this feels a little bit self-indulgent, I’m gonna take pictures of myself, blah blah blah,’ but I’m also like, ‘No, this is somebody who’s learned to live in his body and love his body, as well as his mind.’ That’s fine, that’s okay.” We leave the interview with one final question for Rafael, “Other than Lone Star, what would be your dream role?” After gushing over Viola Davis’ iconic performance as Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder, Frances McDormand’s Oscar-winning role in Three Billboards and Thandwie Newton’s character in Westworld, the actor says he wants to continue creating art that makes a difference. “All of those roles were saying something. At the end of the day, this is a moment for us to educate the public. There are many people who, voluntarily or not, take what we create in front of the camera as legitimate enough to create their opinions based on that. I think the dream role would be if I’m speaking for somebody, if I’m helping somebody, if there’s an educational essence to the project itself and it’s saying something, that’s a dream role for me.”

[warriorteam1924]

First times

Feat John Deacon

Author note : Hello my beauties. here I am for day 5 of Deaky’s 71th birthday. I’m not following any prompts, it’s just birthday themed. I’ve been super busy lately and I’m aware it’s not my best piece, but I hope some of you will enjoy it anyways. Thanks in advance to anyone who will be giving honest feedback, it’s always very appreciated. Also, I remind you English isn’t my mother tongue, apologies in advance for the mistakes. this is also inspired by the song by Ed Sheeran, First Times. 

Side note : This one is special given the tone I decided to use, but also, I would like to thank a special someone. This someone has greatly inspired me with this piece, as he always does. I’m not sure he wants his name in here, but my sweetheart, this one was also possible thanks to you and your idea. Thank you 💖💜

Warnings : none really, just my awful writing.... 

Summary : John ponding about his first times....

Words count : 1,371 words

Permanent taglist : @reavenedges-lies @thosequeenboys @born-to-lose  @orionis8689 @queenlover05​ (communicate with me regarding tagging please)

As he usually does, John Deacon wakes up early. Earlier than anyone else in the house. And today is a special day, since it’s his birthday. So the whole family has gathered around the patriarchal figure he now is. He makes sure to step out of the bed very quietly, since he doesn’t want to wake his wife up.

 As silent as he can be, he carries on his way through the house. In the corridor, he can hear some loud snores and sometimes, what appear to be more like heavy breaths. Everyone is peacefully sleeping. Dawn is slowly showing up as he looks at the windows. The day promises to be lovely, a sunny summer day, like the ones they love to have in Britain. Everyone will be happy to enjoy the garden. 

 And surely he will too, but on his own for now. He knows his wife doesn’t like it when he smokes inside (or when he smokes at all), so he thinks about this alone time opportunity to get out a bit, feeling the fresh air on his cheeks.

 He walks in the garden, the morning dew wetting his slippers. He searches his pocket, taking his cigarette pack and his lighter. He slowly heads to the swing seat and lets out a sigh as he sits. A butterfly catches his attention as he softly pushes on his feet for the swing seat to move.

 71. He cannot believe he is 71 today. Does he feel old? He isn’t really sure. He is a father, a grandfather as well now. But he doesn’t feel like being 71 makes him officially old. He feels way older than when his own father left this world though. 

 He smiles as he thinks about this number, and suddenly, considers 71 the other way around. 17. Oh, boy, he was 17 an eternity ago. Young, so young, with so many projects.  

 In 1968, the Beatles were releasing their ‘White Album’, and he was already bass player for the band Opposition. Well, it was the band Art, then.

 What would 17 years old John Deacon think about the life that was waiting for him? As he was still softly swinging on his seat, John wonders. All the first time he’s seen, and all the things he’s done. And the things he’s stopped doing.

 What would 17 years old John think about him moving to London a couple of years later, and soon joining the band Queen? This definitely was a life change. The first time he actually met Freddie Mercury, Brian May and Roger Taylor comes to mind as well. 

 Then the first time he laid his eyes upon the person who would become his beloved wife. The first time their lips touched, the first time he felt like this was real love and not just a flirt. Their first night together also, passionate, loving. Discovering the other’s body with such tenderness and an endless affection. 

 Their first kid, and then all the first times he saw his five other children. 17 years old John would surely have been frightened if he was to know all of this in advance. John was also scared when his family became what it is now, but he also knew that he was just where he was meant to be.

 John carries on recalling his professional career with Queen as well, since it’s also been a massive part of his life. Music has always been a big part of his life, with young John Deacon learning how to play the guitar and then the bass guitar. As he thinks back, he isn’t sure 17 years old John knew how much of an impact it would have on his life.

 The first time he actually went on stage with the band Queen. Brian and Roger had known each other for a long time, it had seemed so easy for them. As for Freddie, he was born a performer, nothing ever seemed to scare him when he was in front of a crowded audience.

 He recalls his first time in a recording studio, experimenting everything, making art perhaps, more than actually making music. He smiles as he thinks about his studies and how his skills regarding engineering helped him build his own amp. It was the first time he was actually able to build something from A to Z. He also recalls the first song he ever wrote for Queen, and the embarrassment he still feels when he thinks about it. How come the rest of the band agreed for such a song to appear on their album….? This will surely remain a mystery.

 A slight breeze caresses his skin, as the sun slowly begins to rise in the horizon. Those are the first rays of the day and here he is, witnessing this. He sweetly sighs, but lets his thoughts carry on wandering.

 Queen…. It was also the name of their first album. Would 17 years old John Deacon think of this as a great accomplishment? An achievement that would lead the band to more albums….

 Music and recording albums also meant making actual gigs. The first ones were in London, then there were other dates in Britain. And soon, as the audience was carrying on showing support, their tours started to happen all around the world. He also remembers how embarrassed he was during the first interview, wondering how Freddie was handling this so easily.

 What would 17 years old John Deacon think about Japan? He recalls the first time he was in the Land of the Rising Sun, and how amazed he was. The geishas, the blossoming trees, the tea, the kabuki, the sushis…. And the massive support from the audience. It was another world, another time.

 Queen was his family, maybe some kind of a mistress for some, regarding his kids, his blood and flesh. Being part of his own family was hard, but he had always made sure to be there, being the best father he could be, given the circumstances. He recalls the first night he spent on the sofa, after an argument with his wife. But he remembers as well the first time he apologized to her and how making up after a fight sex was. He still has a smile on his lips, but this time, it’s cheekier.

 Would have 17 years old John Deacon ever consider playing Wembley? Maybe it was an unachievable dream for the shy teenager he was, and yet he did it. The first night the band played in Wembley was just incredible, and John wonders if he will ever be able to forget about it. It seems engraved in his brain, just like so many other memories. 

 He then thinks about the first time he released the Magic tour would be their last, with Freddie getting sicker and sicker. Tears form in his eyes as he thinks about the first time he played with Brian and Roger, but without Freddie. He remembers when he thought his musical career was over, since for him, it was no longer Queen without Freddie.

 He ponders about his retirement as well. He took a step back from the music industry 25 years ago, while he had spent almost 30 years being a musician.  

 Would 17 years old John Deacon consider stopping his career like this, almost fully interrupting any form of musical creativity? How would he compare his active time in the industry to his retirement? He wonders.

 There are things he misses about music and being creative like he was. But there are inconveniences he clearly doesn’t miss.

 His train of thoughts is interrupted, as he hears noises coming from the house. The family is slowly waking up it seems, getting ready for a family breakfast. It’s time to get back inside and spend time with them. John takes his cigarette pack and his lighter, realizing he didn’t even smoke his morning cigarette. Maybe he doesn’t need them anymore, maybe he should throw them away when he gets back inside.

 After all, today he is 71 years old. And just like 17 years old John Deacon, he is aware he still has a million more first times to witness.

[omgsquee2001]

Can I request a fluffy Joe Mazzello x fem. reader oneshot where Joe proposes and it’s all sweet and romantic?

Oh my gosh yes!!!! I have an amazing idea for this one!

~~~~~

Will you be the Veronica to my John? Joe Mazzello x Fem! Reader

~~~

You and Joe met on the set of the Pacific along with your childhood best friend, Rami Malek. You were the head costumer for the Pacific series. One of the things you really liked about working with the 1920's was the outfits. People in the 1920's dressed a lot more modestly than people did now with crop tops and short shorts. You also loved the colors of the costumes. The colors ranged from dull and not very bright to bright colors.

When you first met Joe, the two of you clicked. You both had the same sense of humor and the Jurassic Park was your favorite movie of all time. The two of you started dating halfway through the series, courtesy of Rami which he would never let the two of you forget, and while the both of you often had your struggles, mostly about if Joe was even cuter as a child than he was now, you still loved each other with every fiber of your beings. 

~~~

“Holy shit! Babe! I got the part!” Joe shouted excitedly after getting off of the phone. Your eyes widened. 

“Seriously?!” You shouted. Joe nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! All they wanted to hear was my accent. I got the fucking part of John Richard Fucking Deacon!” Joe shouted. He picked you up around the waist and lifted you up, making you squeal and laugh. He set you down and cupped your cheeks with his hands, bringing you into a kiss. 

“I have some news for you to, babe.” You said. Joe playfully narrowed his eyes at you. 

“Are you pregnant?” He asked. You laughed and shook your head. 

“No! I got the spot of head costumer for Bohemian Rhapsody!” You shouted. Joe laughed. It seemed like fate had brought you two together again. 

~~~~

It had been a few months since Joe had gotten the news about getting the part of John Deacon for the new Bio Pic, Bohemian Rhapsody. The Bio Pic was the story of Queen, specifically Freddie Mercury, the man who made history with his song, Bohemian Rhapsody. You were currently going through some clothing options with Brian and Roger, trying to see what was most accurate to what the band wore back in 1970 when they first started performing as a band together. Ben, one of Joe’s now best friends, ran into the costuming department, breathing hard.

“[Y/N]! Something happened to Joe’s costume and Dexter needs you to fix it now.” Ben said urgently. You turned to the two rock legends. 

“Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen.” You said. Brian nodded his head. 

“Go on, my dear.” He said. You rushed off with Ben. Unbeknownst to you, Brian and Roger both shared a smile before following after you and Ben. 

Ben slowed down as you walked at lightening speed to where Joe was. 

“Okay, what happened this time? I’m a very busy costumer, Mazzello. For your sake, I really hope that you didn’t rip a leg seam that I have to sew. You might be my boyfriend, however that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you if you did something to my beloved costumes.” You ranted. The only people you saw there were Rami, Gwil, Brian Singer(one of the directors) and Dexter(another director). They were all smiling. You sighed. “Okay, where’s the helpless man.” You asked. Rami chuckled. 

“Turn around and you’ll find out.” Rami said. You narrowed your eyes in confusion and turned around. 

“Oh fuck me!” You shouted, covering your mouth with your hands, a happy smile spreading across your face. There, behind you, was Joe Mazzello, knelt on one knee. He was out of costume, wearing one of the suits he normally wore for red carpet occasions. He held a red, velvet box in one hand. Tears filled your eyes. 

“[Y/N] [L/N],” Joe started. Ben, Gwil, Rami, Lucy, Brian and Roger all pulled out their phones, wanting to record this momentous occasion. “You are the most amazing, most beautiful and the strongest woman I have every met. You have been there for me through thick and thin, especially this year, when I went through the most difficult situation in my life. You are the light of my life. And, you would make me the happiest man on the face of this planet, if you would say yes,” tears were streaming down your face. “[Y/N] [L/N], will you be the Veronica to my John and marry me?” Joe asked. You didn’t trust your words, so you just nodded your head vigorously. 

“Yes,” you choked out. Visible relief was on Joe’s face. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Joseph Francis Mazzello.” 

~~~~

I absolutely love this concept. I know it might not be as good as some others, but I love it all the same. I hope you do to! Please, don’t be afraid to request for actors to! This goes out to everyone. My request box is back in action! The cobwebs are being swept away and the inspiration is running!