#fell!jockey

[jackeys-horse-ranch]

New ask blog! Wooo!

Feel free to look around, ask questions of Jackey or the horses, or give gifts if you want!

This is Jack 👇

Meet the crew under the cut!

Jackey/Jack = Sans - jockey

Lucky = Papyrus - farrier

(In alphabetical order for convenience)

Blue = Thoroughbred stallion - racing, show & therapy

Classic = Shetland wether - therapy

Cross = Thoroughbred wether - racing, show & therapy

Dream = Palomino stallion - show & therapy

Dust = Appaloosa wether - therapy

Epic = Racking horse stallion - racing & show

Error = Akhal-teke stallion - racing

Fell = Arabian stallion - racing

Fresh = American white wether - show

Geno = Pinto wether - therapy

Horror = Clydesdale stallion - therapy & heavy lifting

Ink = Painted wether - show & therapy

Killer = Quarter horse wether - racing & show

Nightmare = Friesian stallion - show & therapy

Outer = Appaloosa stallion - show & therapy

Reaper = Tennessee walker stallion - no, we don’t touch Reaper. He’s not ours.

[qapsiel]

@bloodsalted @lasthymn PLS

14.14 Ouroboros

[moonstruckme]

hello, hello! can i ask for an au of emt!marauders? she had a minor accident maybe in her work or college and they got called in without knowing that it was her? (shes their gf) 💘

How could I refuse??

cw: minor head injury, the teeniest tiniest hint of a praise kink

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You’re sitting on the curb holding a bag of ice to your head when the ambulance cuts its sirens, coming to a stop. The door opens and boots hit the pavement in front of you. 

“Dollface?”

You blink up into the sun. “Sirius?”

He crouches by your knees, worry making itself at home in the crease between his brows. “Hey, baby, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t think it’d be you,” you say dumbly. 

“Are you hurt?” James comes bounding around the other side of the ambulance, Remus not far behind him. You can’t say you’re not happy to see them, but you sort of wish your reunion could have waited until your date tomorrow night, when you would almost surely not have been in your work uniform and covered in pasta sauce. “Are we here for you?” 

“Technically,” you reply, somewhat bitterly. James squats beside Sirius, mouth pulling to one side. “I fainted a little bit, and my boss said he had to call an ambulance. Just so I can’t sue the restaurant, I guess. I’m totally fine.” 

“They called us and then made you sit on the curb?” Sirius asks angrily while James says, “How does one faint only a little bit?”

“They didn’t want you guys scaring the customers.” You choose to answer only Sirius’ question, shrugging. His eyes flare, and he looks towards the restaurant like he’s thinking about going inside to have some words with your manager, but Remus passes a conciliatory hand over his shoulder as he sits beside you on the curb. 

“What’s this for, love?” he asks you, covering your hand where it holds the bag of ice.

You must look as sheepish as you feel, because his eyes narrow slightly. “I guess I hit my head a bit when I fell.” 

“So,” he says dryly, “not totally fine, then.” 

“I mean, I don’t think I hit it very hard,” you try, but Remus is already removing your makeshift ice pack, tilting your head so he can see the forming bump on the side. 

“Why don’t you tell us everything that happened,” James suggests, giving your knee a teasing squeeze as Sirius moves beside Remus to jockey for a view of your head, “just so we have all the facts.” 

“I was carrying a tray to my table,” you explain, wincing as Remus passes a thumb over your wound with a murmured apology, “and I started to feel weird, like wobbly and out of it. I thought it might pass, but—” Sirius sends you a horrified look and your voice quiets, chastened. “I know I probably should have sat down or something, but I was working, you know? Anyway, then I guess I fell and smacked my head on the floor. When I woke up, the food was everywhere,” you recall with a sigh. Your coworkers are going to be less than pleased with you for leaving them that mess to clean up. 

“Is that what this is?” James asks, mouth tilting upward as he looks at the mess of your uniform. 

You nod solemnly. “Alfredo sauce.” 

“Did you land on any glass or anything?” Sirius asks you. He and Remus have evidently finished with their inspection of your head, though Remus’ hand still cups the back of your neck protectively.

“No, all the plates that ended up breaking went the other way.” 

“You thinking concussion?” James asks him. 

“No,” you say, at the same time as Sirius says, “Maybe.” 

Sirius fixes you with an odd look, half remonstrance and half endearment. “Sorry, doll, but you’re not exactly an expert. You very stubbornly did your job when you should have looked after yourself” —he squints his eyes at you playfully, giving your shoulder a mean squeeze— “now let us do ours for a bit, yeah?” 

You purse your lips in malcontent, but James is already clicking on his pen light, shining it in your eyes. “Look straight ahead for me, angel?” 

“S’not a big deal,” you mutter one last time in quiet mutiny, doing as he says. All three boys ignore you. 

James clicks the light off. “Alright, do you know the date?” 

“No.” 

“How about the year?” he asks patiently. You tell him, and he goes on to ask you the month and the day of the week. 

“Good.” He rewards you with a smile when you answer correctly. “Okay, do you feel nauseous or dizzy at all, darling?” 

When he looks at you like that? A little, but that’s probably unrelated. “No,” you tell him. 

“Headache?” Remus asks you. 

“I mean, only here.” You lay your palm over the bump to indicate it, but wince when it hurts worse than you expected. Sirius coos, taking your hand in his to prevent you doing yourself further harm. “Not on, like, the inside.” 

“Okay, that’s what I meant,” Remus reassures you. “What about why you fainted, love? Do you have any idea what happened?” 

You bite the inside of your lip, thinking. “Not really.” Your head had just hurt a bit, then you’d felt woozy, and then you’d fallen and it had hurt a lot worse. 

“Did you have lunch before you came to work?” James prompts. 

You nod. 

“What did you have?” 

You tell him. He seems tentatively satisfied. 

“And for breakfast? What about for dinner last night?” 

You think back, telling him what you can remember, and he nods, looking somewhat bemused. 

“Did you have a drink with any of that?” Remus asks.

You think harder. Had you? The realization must show on your face, because Sirius tuts. 

“There it is,” he says knowingly. “When was the last time you had water, doll?” 

“I…I don’t remember. I had coffee yesterday—”

They all groan. James starts laughing soon after, patting you on the thigh at your timid expression. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just drink plenty of water and then go home to rest, alright? You might feel shaky for a bit, so don’t get in your car to drive until you’re feeling better. Rem, do we have some water bottles in the van?” 

“Yeah.” Remus stands, palm landing affectionately on your head as he passes behind you to climb into the back of the ambulance. 

“Don’t worry,” you tell James, exhaustion seeping into your voice, “I won’t be driving for a while yet. My shift doesn’t end until six.” 

Contrary to your intentions, some of the relief saps from James’ countenance. “You’re still planning on working?” 

Uh, duh. Does he think your rent is going to pay itself? “I mean,” you say, trying to appear somewhat patient, “yeah.” 

“Well, go ahead and get that out of your head right now,” Sirius nearly laughs. “There’s no way that’s happening today, sweetness.” 

“What’s not happening?” Remus asks, uncapping a water bottle before passing it to you. 

“She thinks she’s going back to work,” Sirius says wryly. 

Remus looks at you, appalled. You only shrug, sipping at your water.

“You can’t work after a fainting spell like that. Especially not as dehydrated as you are—your body needs rest.” He shakes his head at you. “You can either get it at home or come with us to the hospital.” 

You roll your eyes, re-capping the half-drained water bottle. “That’s so dramatic.” 

“No, I’m the dramatic,” Sirius corrects you. “Remus is the reasonable one, which is how you know he’s right. Those are your options, dollface.”

You huff. “Fine, then can one of you go tell my manager that? I don’t want to be blamed for skipping the rest of my shift.” 

“You’re not skipping anything,” Sirius says, standing. “I’ll go, I’ve got some things to say to him anyway.” He cracks his knuckles, and you look to James in alarm. 

He leaps up, catching up to Sirius in a few long strides and nudging him back towards you. “I’ve got it, Pads. Why don’t you make sure she finishes that water bottle?” 

“Fine.” Sirius stomps his way back to you. “But make him answer for sending her outside to sit on the curb.”

“Please don’t!” you call after James.

Sirius’ gaze narrows, flicking between you and the water bottle beside you expectantly. “Drink.” 

“Fine, sheesh.” You pick it up and twist off the cap. Remus chuckles, picking up your half-melted bag of ice to hold it against your head for you. “Isn’t it, like, your job to be nice to people when they’re injured?” 

“I thought you weren’t injured?” Remus hums. You shoot him a look that’s meant to be intimidating, but his lips twitch upwards. “Relax, love, we’re just worried about you.”

Well, it’s hard to be mad at that. “Thanks,” you say quietly. 

Sirius resumes his crouch in front of you, taking one of your knees in each hand and squeezing lightly. “We get off in a few hours,” he says. “Would it be okay if we came by for dinner? We can bring takeout or something.” 

You lower the water bottle, looking at him with interest. Your day has suddenly taken a positive turn. “Yeah, that sounds great.” 

“Good.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek. “Now be a good girl and finish your water.” 

You flush instantly, and Remus’ head swivels as if to make sure no one is nearby to have heard him. “Sirius,” you hiss, “I’m at work!”

His grin sharpens. “Not anymore, you’re not.” 

[vintagetvstars]

Alexander Siddig Vs. Jeremy Brett

Last Poll of the Quarter Finals!

Propaganda

Alexander Siddig - (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) - The very first actor I ever had a crush on.

Jeremy Brett - (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, The Three Musketeers, BBC Play of the Month) - "Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restraunts and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention." Full text propaganda included below the cut

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Alexander Siddig:

“At my first meeting with Garak I became visibly flustered. That was entirely my choice. It wasn’t written into the script. So I set off in that direction right from the get-go. And Andy (Andrew Robinson) obviously loved it, and that character became a series-long character because of that first scene. It’s an innocuous little scene on one of the little replimats on the station, and it only lasted like five seconds but it packed a punch because of the visible, kind of a charged, discomfort. That really made it. [...] I subconsciously keep that door open with just about every character that I play, and I always keep it as ambiguous as possible. One of my first roles was in [the TV movie] A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia with Ralph Fiennes and I played Feisal and again, not in the script, but that was charged with homoerotica and implied homosexuality. I’d just come fresh off that project. And I’ve done it numerous times since, characters that are written straight I just make sure are not quite straight. That’s just one of my things, probably because I’m not quite straight myself and that’s probably perfect." - Alexander Siddig in a recent interview with comicsbeat.com

Jeremy Brett:

“The superbly handsome Jeremy Brett, the regularity of his features made dramatic by a broken nose, the mellifluousness of his voice made arresting by a slight vocal impediment, presented a ravaged and romantic Holmes, a man who had suffered deeply and whose recourse to the syringe was the compulsion of a self-destroying temperament. His relationship with Edward Hardwicke’s transparently decent Watson was that of a drowning man clinging to a raft. The authenticity of the performance was unmistakable.” — “The man who created a monster; Conan Doyle hated the fame of his suave hero, but he couldn’t kill him”, Simon Callow, The Times, 18 December 2009.

Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restraunts and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. He also practiced archery in the middle of London. He could sing, he acted alongside Audrey Hepburn twice. He wanted to be a jockey when he was young but then grew a foot too tall. He had rheumatic fever as a child and was told he would never climb stairs. Dear Reader, he jumped over couches on film. In War and Peace he is very clearly the only actor riding a real horse, and is one of few actors who played both Sherlock Holmes and Watson. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention.

[poppyflower-22]

His Girl

Part 2

Summary: Lando loves his rich, girl boss, girl. Though he doesn't really know what she really does underneath. Until he does.

or

In which Lando finds out his girlfriend is not who she said she was.

Side note: I'm using names for reader, and spelling and grammar errors. This is fake, nothing is real. So don't send shit massages to me.

Warnings: Blood. Dead body. Guns.

Part One

Masterlist

2022

It had been two years since Bonnie and Lando met and started dating. In those two years, they had been so in love. Never felling like this with anyone else. Lando's family was so happy for them both seeing their love.

Lando had never questioned where she got her money as Bonnie had told him that her father was wealthy and left her with everything and the company.

He did question her about the bodyguards following her all the time, But Bonnie had just said that it had been like that since she was born as he father was a wealthy man.

He was in aww when he had first saw her two-story London home. It was set on an acreage and was huge. He had jockeying asked if she was in the mafia, what he didn't see was the color to drain from her face and her guards throw each other looks.

The first time Lando had ever been almost close to figuring it out was by accident. Something Bonnie had made saw never happened again. Because if she was ever going to protect anything in the world it would be Lando and their relationship.

It was an early morning in London. The sun not even rising yet. Lando had been staying with Bonnie for a bit in her home as they talked about buying an apartment or house together last night.

Bonnie was relucent, but she agreed it was the next step in their relationship. But she would be keeping her estate in London for business and travel.

Lando was so ecstatic for their move together. And they had celebrating, by having sex. Never a dull moment with Lando.

Bonnie woke as someone entermeted her room and shook her lightly. Lando's arm was around her waist and the other was under her head.

"Miss. Salvatore." A light voice whispered to her. Bonnie new that voice and the only person to ever wake her up would be her maid.

"Mary?" Bonnie asked confused as she sat up quickly, not to disturb Lando.

Her maid's face greeted her. "Someone's here to see you." She spoke her voice shaking lightly.

"Who? At this time?" She whispered to her maid as she carefully got out of bed and grabbed her robe from the floor. Lando rolled over to the other side quickly falling asleep.

"Mr. Lopez is here." Mary whispered terrified.

Bonnie froze from getting her slippers on and looked at Mary wide eye. Mr. Lopez was a rival mafia gang that had always had it out for her father and his operation. While her father dealed guns and money, Mr. Lopez dealed drugs. Something her father stayed away from.

"Get the men and stay here in case Lando wakes up." Bonnie order her maid as she bent down and lifted the rug from under bed and pulled her daggers from out of the floorboards.

Bonnie walked down the hall with her guards all around her. When she got to the grand staircase, she saw her other maids and she guested he was in the parlor room.

"Making yourself at home." Bonnie called as she walked in the room and saw him sitting on one of the black couches.

Mr. Lopez chuckled. "Why how are this fine morning, Bonnie." He smiled at her. But in a cruel way.

"It's Miss Salvatore to you." She snaped and crossed her arms and took a seat in front of him. Mr.' Lopez's back was facing the back where Bonnie's guards were. Ready to kill if needed. "What do you want that couldn't wait till the sunrise was up?" She asked annoyed.

A maid walked in the room with tea for Bonnie. She thanked her and faced the man. He raised his eyebrows. "No offerings for your guest?" He asked leaning back in the leather couch.

Bonnie shot him an annoyed look. "No." She bluntly told him as she added her sugar cubes to her tea. "Now get to it." She ordered.

"Your father dealed in guns and money but now that he's gone, don't think it's time you expanded." Mr. Lopex started as Bonnie listened closely.

"What are you proposing?"

"Drugs." He simply said. "You would be making more money than you do now." He smiled thinking money would get her to agree.

"No." She simply spoke as she crossed her legs.

Mr. Lopez frowned. "You didn't even think about it."

Bonnie shook her head. "I have. My father didn't like drugs and I don't like drugs." She told him. "If that's all you wanted to talk about, you can go now." She told him and leaned back in her seat with her cup of tea.

Mr. Lopez frowned at her and then smirked, "You don't want me to hurt Mr. Norris up in your bedroom, do you?" He taunted her.

Bonnie tensed. The maids and guards that were in the room tensed as well. They had seen firsthand how much Bonnie loved Lando. They knew what she would do to keep him safe.

"Are you threating me?" Bonnie asked as she put her tea down and narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, I'm threating your boyfriend." He smirked. "I want you to do drugs and split all your proferts with me."

"Or what?"

"Mr. Norris gets a rude awaking." Mr. Lopez smirked thinking he won. He leaned back in his seat as he watches Bonnie's face go from fear to blank.

"Do you know what my father always taught me, Mr. Lopez?" She asked as she stood up from her seat and out of the way. She moved to the fireplace martlet where photos of her and her father were sat.

"What?" He asked confused.

Bonnie smiled at a photo of her and her father. It was her sixth birthday. She turned to Mr. Lopez and smirked as her loyal guard got his silencer gun out of his jacked.

"He told me that you never enter a house without protection or backup. And you especially never threaten their family. And you Josphe Hunt Lopez have just made that mistake." She smirked and watched as he quickly shot up and turn around and a bullet was lodge in his head.

He fell back and dropped on her marble floors. Blood quickly falling out near his head. Bonnie looked at his dead body. "Never threaten someone's loved ones."

The maids quickly got to cleaning just as Marry come around the corner with a look in her eyes.

"Love?" Lando called. bonnie eyes widened and she skipped out of the parlor door and closed them behind her as Lando came down the staircase. His eyes lit up when he saw her. "There you are." He smiled.

Bonnie hugged him back when he hugged her. His head rested in her neck as he hummed. "What are you doing up?" She asked him and ran her hand through his hair.

"What are you doing up." He shot back teasingly. She shot him a grin and shook her head with a laugh.

"Business call." She answered with a smile. Trying to not sound nervous. Lando just hummed and Bonnie took him by the hand and started walking up the stairs. "Why don't we get back bed and try to get more sleep?" She suggested.

Lando hummed with a smile. "Yeah. I just saw you weren't up and wondered where you were." He spoke and shot her a small smile one she sent back.

"Sorry. Duty calls." She laughed lightly. When Lando's back was turned she shot a look at a maid, and she nodded before walking back into the parlor, to help clean the mess up.

Bonnie and Lando both walked back to their room as the maids and bodyguards cleaned up Mr. Lopez. It was something Bonnie didn't want to ever happen again in her home.

Maybe moving was good. Many people from her world didn't know where she lived but the rest that new where people that she trusted now. Her and her people getting rid of the people she didn't trust.

She wouldn't let anything happen to Lando. She wouldn't forgive herself.

Bonnie smiled at Lando as they both got back under the covers. Lando resting his head on her chest. "I love you." Lando told Bonnie as he was falling asleep by Bonnie's fingers running threw his hair.

Bonnie smiled and kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Lan." She whispered back. She felt Lando place a soft kiss on her chest and Bonnie listened to his breathing as he put back to sleep.

Bonnie would do anything for him. he was the best thing that ever happen to her. She hadn't loved much in her short life. But now that she had felt it, looked at it. She was never letting it go or letting anyone destroy what she had found.

Her parents were the only love she had ever seen growing up. Her father had loved her mother so much and it killed him when she died but he didn't turn out horrible like most dads, no he loved her so much. Did everything he could for her.

Her father always said that he didn't regret loving her mother, because he got to know what love was. And he wouldn't change that for that world. She wanted that. A love that will hurt you when it's over. Because then you know it was real.

"I would do anything for you." She whispered down to Lando who was asleep. She placed a light kiss to his cheek. "Nothing is ever going to happen to you on my watch. I'll make sure of it." She promises herself and asleep Lando.

Making promise you can't keep was always going to end badly. There was no dyeing that.

Part 1

Masterlist

Hope you liked it. Hopefully the next part won't be long.

[authormars]

Headcanon dumb bc why not?

We'll do one per character since I don't do that very often

Lucifer showers in the morning and night every day and, if he can, will brush his teeth three times a day (once in the morning, once after lunch, once at night)

Mammon sleeps in nothing normally, but if MC asks him to be in their room, is sleeping in his room, or he's sleeping over at someone's house, he has the decency to put sweatpants on (unless MC doesn't want him to 👀)

Levi is amazing at art and regularly does commissions for people. In Satan's room, above all the shelves, he has posters made by Levi for his favorite shows and books.

Satan goes to varsity Fangol practice, not because he's on the team, but because he likes watching the cheerleaders practice (and he has a crush or has had a crush on half of them)

Asmo regularly takes selfcare days, which almost always include shopping and treating himself in the morning at various stores and spending the afternoon (and sometimes night) at Purgatory Hall with Solomon.

Beel will often take food from anyone, but if he notices a particular person giving him their food a lot of the time (looking at you Asmo, Luci, and MCs with an ED) he will stop accepting it to make sure they're eating.

Belphie almost never sleeps in his own bed. Beel's is warmer, much more comfortable, and it has something to cuddle that occasionally bites his shoulder as he sleeps.

Diavolo has a shower that's enchanted by Barbatos to always spit out healing water, which is part of the reason bruises never last long (the other reason is that Diavolo has a crazy good immune system and it's hard to bruise him anyways.

Barbatos fell in love with Diavolo's mother and father and they were together until Diavolo's mother died. After that, since Diavolo's father was broken-hearted, Barbatos swore off love

Mephisto has a cane because of an accident when he was younger. He rode horses for sport and during one of the races (that little Diavolo was allowed to go to, I might add) another jockey purposely knocked him off his horse, leading to a permanent injury in his leg so he limps all the time and it causes lots of pain

Solomon has lived through three different earths. The first earth, where he was a peasant. This earth was wiped out because the ecosystem was falling apart (not the human's fault, for once) but the humans were allowed to go to the next earth as the first humans. The second earth was wiped out while he was in Devildom, so he wasn't wiped out with it. The second earth was wiped out due to Lilith and Belphie. The third earth is what we know today.

Simeon can actually use his phone a lot better than he lets on. He just absolutely adores the look on Luke's face when he helps him fix something.

Luke cannot seem to get any Devildom pastry right. It's always slightly off. He knows this because Barbatos always smiles sadly at him when they do their taste tests. For the life of him, he cannot figure out what it is

Thirteen was once a human who lived in the first earth with Solomon (she hated him there too) When she died, her sins and virtues were exactly equal, so the father and mother (God and Devil herself) decided to make her a reaper, a being to watch over the newly created life candles that hindered a being's lifespan.

Raphael isn't actually indifferent to most things. As an angel, he was taught not to show his emotions and be a perfect guard for Michael (pretty sure thats what he is) so he never learned how to properly express emotions (and he's a lil autistic)

I struggled with some of these, sorry if they're bad or inaccurate. I haven't met Mephi, Thirteen, or Raphael yet

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Platonic Yandere Johnny Joestar Vs Platonic Yandere Funny Valentine over Johnny's long lost little sister reader who ran away from.home after Johnny got kicked out and got into an accident and lost her memories and got adopted by the Valentines.

Hi there, it's been awhile! Glad to see you!

Tried writing amnesia in a more realistic way. So she does remember most of her past.

Familial Yandere brother Johnny and Yandere adopted Father Funny Valentine

When Johnny ran left he knew it'd hurt his little sister, but he considered that it was the best for her. Without him she'd have no reason to worry.

When he saw her chasing after him he assumed she would go back home once she'd tired herself. He was wrong.

She didn't go back. She kept looking until she sustained a head injury and fell unconscious. Luckily she was in the sight of a coachman who pulled aside and informed the passengers, Mr and Mrs Valentine who quickly brought her in the carriage and had her wrapped in a blanket before changing course to the nearest hospital.

When she comes to they ask her questions. She's able to give a name and vaguely explain that she left home, cannot remember the reason but is firm she can't go back. Doctors say that her head injury has resulted in amnesia.

They leave to talk with one another. It's deeply troubling that a child is in such a situation and don't want to return her incase the caretakers involved are the reason for her running away. That's when Scarlet suggests they take her in, they've been trying for a child for ages and this seems like fate that they found her. Funny agrees and they talk with the doctor to understand the condition more before going back and explaining that they'll take her in.

Due to her condition she has to bring around a notepad with her to help her keep up with what's happening. Now being in high society she struggles to remember certain details or is seen looking back at her note book which some see as rude during events but Funny is quickly able to deescalate the situation.

Scarlet is always pampering her with nice clothes and jewelry as well as doing her and make up before events.

Funny is goes out of his way to help her study or takes her on outing when there is time to spare. During election season he makes a promise to make up time when he can with an activity of her choice.

As a teen he's very worried about her. Barely trusted strangers around her to begin with but now it's worse. At soirees hes alway got an eye on her. Making sure that hes within earshot of her. Making sure no one will try to take advantage of her. Sometimes getting in the way of potential dance partners.

So she decides to claim his promise to watch the steel ball run with him as she tells him that her two older brothers used to ride horses. He agrees, even if she'll need to be seperated.

During the race she hears of a paraplegic contestant and former jockey Jokid. She's drawn in by such determination, unaware of him being her brother.

But eventually she's able to see him at one of the stops. Even greeting him, inspired by his will, he also seems oddly familiar to her. He asks her name and she tells him it's (Y/n). He's shocked realizing that it's his sister but before he can say anything she's called away by a guard by her new last name. This sends him spiraling. Gyro is able get his attention back as to not cause a scene, knowing that something is off with Johnny.

Gyro tried to get Johnny to fess up to what's going on but he refuses. Bottling it up. Mentally he's beating himself up. What happened to her? why the hell was she associated with Valentine now?! He blamed himself, even wondering if this was some kind of sick plan he had up his sleeve or just some twisted joke fate had bestowed him.

All he knows is that he's going to kill that bastard. Especially if he's done anything to her.

[massscara]

DRDT SPOILERS.

Theories and headcanons about the execution of the murderer of the second chapter.

And so... Since we know the murderer of this chapter (They is innocent, believe me), I want to share my guesses about their possible execution.

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.

My reasoning will begin with the fact that there are executions in danganronpa that not only reflect the killer's talent, but also contain things that they don't like ( Example: Mikan Tsumiki )

In her execution, you can see the oversize objects ( You can notice a large syringe, and then a huge hand and space appear ), which she doesn't like and is afraid of. All in order to make her fall into despair.

Following from Ace's Wikipedia, you can find out that he doesn't like horses and meat. ( But this is only from material things. I'll mention the rest later )

Of course, if he is a jockey, then the execution itself is more likely to involve horses, however, I would find his execution more interesting if it involves meat ( or some other food ). Based on these words, it can be concluded that there are two possible scenarios for his execution: a horse and food.

Food:

If we go on this trail, then since Ace has an eating disorder, then he can be under tremendous pressure from himself. He will either be forced to eat something, or he will soon become someone's food ( the same meat that he neglects )

Horses:

You can die in different ways because of horses, so I've given you a list of some historical figures who died because of a horse-related accident. Here are the highlights:

« He fell from his horse onto his sword and fell to his death »

« He was thrown from his horse into cold water and suffered a fatal heart attack or drowned as a result »

« He fell in front of a horse that stepped on his head »

« He fractured his skull when his horse stumbled and fell »

In general, I understand Ace why he is so afraid of horses. I think there are at least two possible scenarios ( they are divided into subtypes )

The first scenario :

I think a horse racing option is possible.

Subtype 1:

Horse racing contains a dangerous obstacle course. Ace goes through them all at first, but at the very last moment he messes up ( It is possible that Monotv cheated by giving impossible obstacles to overcome or outwitted him )

Subtype 2:

Ace successfully overcomes the same dangerous obstacle course, but his supposed opponent cheated and won. Ace's loss may anger those who bet money on him. That's why, let's say, they started throwing stones at him.

The second scenario :

Historical events. Executions of the Middle Ages. (both that I found are very similar )

Subtype 1:

To be hanged, drawn and quartered was a method of torturous capital punishment used principally to execute men convicted of high treason in medieval and early modern Britain and Ireland. The convicted traitor was fastened to a hurdle, or wooden panel, and drawn behind a horse to the place of execution, where he was then hanged (almost to the point of death), emasculated, disembowelled, beheaded, and quartered.

Subtype 2:

The remainder of the punishment might include hanging ( usually not to the death ), usually live disemboweling, burning of the entrails, beheading, and quartering. This last step was sometimes accomplished by tying each of the four limbs to a different horse and spurring them in different directions.

If it concerns 2 subtypes of the second scenario ( 1, in principle, too ), then it will be funny to put pressure on the moment with his already fragile neck.

And I'm going back a little to the moment when I was talking about Ace's dislikes! Of the non-material ones, he dislikes the following: being a jockey and being perceived as incompetent.

We know perfectly well that Ace is a rather short — tempered personality, most often acting impulsively due to aroused emotions. It can be assumed that his own execution will carry ridicule about his lack of professionalism and frivolous attitude to the sport in which he is so famous. It is possible that his entire execution will stupidly mock his desire to escape both from the killing game and from his daily life ( It was also the case with Teruteru, who was turned into his unloved food, and also presented on the cover of the execution in the form of a pig in honor of disrespect )

It is likely that in this scenario, he will be banally pissed off, which will make him act irrationally. And these actions of his based on negative emotions will push him to a fatal mistake.

That's all!

Thank you for your attention and time, because Ace is actually alive and not dead and it was all a prank hehehahHaehEhhaHahehe....

[generalidiocy]

Escape From The Vault thoughts

I know I'm a couple days late, but I'm gonna try and recreate my thought processes watching the dnd stream cause I need to yell into the void (please yell back I love conversations)

basslines basslines basslines! I knew Luke played bass but didn't know he was that good, wow

yay jockey boy! oh no... oh no jockey boy!

wap tentacle... great

"i used to have doors in my house... back when I lived" - there's so many instances of Fullset being bizarre, but this one tickles me

"how do you know my name" "it says SNAKEHIPS in giant letters across the door" - classic joke, perfect, no notes

Juliet Caesar cameo! I think...

she does magic for a fee, old lady margery

sam just playing all his classics this time around - @.meneatyoghurt made the same point but she's right

the unrelenting aubergine is the best name for a warhammer

royal andre - let's not call him prince andre though, that name just sounds wrong to me now /lh

"i bought these in a shop :-] :-] :-]"

"you've always wanted to be capteeeuuuurrreeedd"

tom knows what a skylight is, sam does not

why are these title cards so eerie

round of applause to Teo and Sam for the music and visuals, fucking brilliant

"things are heating up" "press A"

Love/Brother Face Eldritch Blast

"Tell me how you feel about the Jews!!!"

Andre and Andrew are the sweetest, if we see Andre again I hope he has his Andrew with him, too

"I used to be a trapeze artist"

that description of a dead hare made me so sad...

also leftenmost mc and david being dead in this hurt me a lot more than it should have

fullset beating the other two to the second body lol

"entering the astral plane" - in case you didn't get the reference

"are you having a non-canon adventure?"

sam knew what he was doing ending the first half with "Where's Jeremiah"

also why didn't bubba die from the fall? i don't want him to be dead, but he seemed absolutely fine considering he just fell 60 feet

andre beetroot being friends with bubba was a nice combo

"ok that's a different thing" i really hoped they wouldn't make "pressing A" an innuendo... but ofc they did /aff

yes, homosexuality is the link between these characters (twas funny, but came out of left field for me lol)

again, what's with the creepy title cards?

andre and bubba again!

"are you saying that you weigh less than 10 pounds?"

andre can't fight but we love him

snakehips being badass as usual

"RUN" followed up with a highly non-threatening "flee :-)" took me out

"the gm should've given these characters higher armour classes"

"tell me how you feel about the Jews!" the sequel

Troll Son!

"a dock, as in, boat boat" - perfect definition, well done margery

"that's *strictly* non- canon"

goddammit I got really excited to see Persephone then we ran out of time

sweethearts sweethearts sweethearts!

this was such a great tribute to the iconic characters we know and love, and we all had fun watching it I'm sure. Sam was an amazing DM, and AJ, Tom, Luke and Teo all did phenomenally as usual

anyway, ramblings over, just needed to scream about this for a bit

[how-serene]

Talk Slow

Pairing - Darryl x Neutral!Reader

Summary - A late night conversation leads to Darryl finally being honest with you.

Word Count - 776

Warnings - darryl and reader are teens, angst, comfort, darryl crying, mentions of school pressure and bullying, no use of y/n

A/N - This fic kind of came out of left field, sorry about that. Yes, this is technically a Michael Jackson fic. I just have so much love for this short film.

July, 1986

Music played from a speaker, filling in the long stretches of silence. Clothes were strewn around the hamper, a wrinkled t-shirt hung off the rim of the basket. A stack of textbooks were piled high on the desk beside you, with loose sheets of paper cluttering the surface. His coat was haphazardly thrown on the chair, crumbled in a ball. One thing you could always count on was Darryl’s room to be a mess. 

In the beginning, when you first started visiting, he made sure to keep his space tidy. Now with all the familiar years between you, the worry of keeping up appearances slowly dwindled. The thought made you feel fuzzy, knowing he was comfortable with you. 

His head fell against your shoulder, as you two laid back on his bed. The sheets were tossed back, as the dull green comforter was bunched up beneath you. Darryl’s curled black hair tickled your cheek, smelling of sweet hairspray.  

“You could at least make your bed.” You complained, staring up at the ceiling. His shoulders shook as he chuckled, further leaning into your side. Darryl’s body was warm, it radiated off of him like a heater. You sank deeper into the mattress, that squeaked with the tiniest bit of movement. 

“Yes, mother.” He snorted, nudging his elbow into your ribcage. You scoffed, smacking him in the chest. An infectious smile grew on his lips, bright as July’s full moon peeking through the window. His wide eyes met yours, sparkling with amusement. 

“Are you excited for the new school year to start?”

Darryl’s eyes dimmed, becoming unfocused as he weighed his answer. He folded his hands as if in prayer, and rested them on his chest. You waited, watching as various thoughts crossed over his face. The disc jockey's voice came through the radio, interrupting the stream of music. 

“And that was Sweet Love by Anita Baker, from her new album-

Darryl shrugged. “I guess so.” 

“That’s not really much of an answer.” You said, shifting onto your side. You propped yourself up, placing your chin in the palm of your hand. Darryl stared up at you, his dark eyes tracing over your features. He sighed, finally caving. 

“I can’t wait for it to be over with, you know.” He softly said, avoiding your gaze now. “The classes are fine, and all. I just want to graduate already, and get out of there.” 

You silently listened, feeling the confines of your heart slowly crack at his words. He gnawed on his bottom lip, struggling to keep the words hidden behind his teeth. 

“I just-

He swallowed harshly, clearing his throat. 

You grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. The music streaming through the speakers faded into the background, as you gave your full attention to Darryl. He rapidly blinked, fighting back the prickling sensation of tears swelling in the corner of his eyes. A tear slid down his cheek, landing on the collar of his blue sweatshirt. You reached out, the pad of your fingertip brushing against his cheek as a sob racked through his body. 

“I want to get out of Brooklyn, as soon as it’s over with.” He confessed, taking a shaky breath. He squeezed your hand, ensuring you were really there. 

“Darryl?” You whispered, staring down at him. He refused to meet your eyes, choosing to stare at your interlaced hands. 

“Is there something going on at the prep school?” You finally asked, pushing past whatever barrier there was. Your heart clenched, as his big wet eyes glanced up at you. They reminded you of a child when scolded, as if he had done something wrong. As if talking to you like this was wrong. 

“Just guys being guys, is all.” He sniffled, wiping at his nose. 

You frowned. “That shouldn’t be an excuse for them.” 

He nonchalantly shrugged, as if nothing could be done. The skin around his eyes were red, as he harshly rubbed at them. He clenched his jaw, biting back a new fresh set of tears. They clung onto his eyelashes, yet didn’t fall.  

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

You nodded, laying back down by his side. His hand never left yours, keeping it pressed against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your palm. He was quiet now, listening to the radio, if only to find an excuse not to speak. Darryl began to hum along, but it didn’t follow the song currently playing. You snuggled into the crook of his neck, listening to his melodic humming. 

Outside the window, Brooklyn’s desolate night sky never looked so black.

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | chapter 8: all fall down

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 4.1k

chapter warnings: injury, blood, sasaeng fans

a/n: i am not a doctor and i did minimal research on anything medical related

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

Over the past few years, Chan has grown relatively used to large crowds. At concerts and events, he’s excited to have the chance to see so many faces and hear their cheers. So when their security team warns them that the airport is much busier than usual and to take extra care about sticking together, he takes it in stride and doesn’t think too much of it. The group is in varying states of tiredness and everyone just wants to get home. Airport crowds are a nuisance, but nothing new. 

They file out of the plane and line up before they reach the public area. Seungmin is leading the way, Chan is last as usual, and Jisung is sandwiched between Changbin and Minho near the back. A few staff pad the front and back of the line while security surrounds the whole group.

The second that the doors open, they’re subjected to the roar of the crowd that gets even louder when they spot them. Even with headphones in, Chan blanches at the sudden increase in noise and is thankful that his mask probably covered most of his reaction. It seems that the amount of people that usually greet them at the airport has more than doubled and they’re all desperate for an interaction. It's a cacophony of fans calling out their names, love declarations, and screams that make it hard to think.

Ahead of him, the kids are urged forward, but he can barely see them through the bright pops of camera flashes and the sea of bodies pushing at them. The bodyguard closest to Chan rests a hand on his shoulder casually, but his grip is like steel, both guiding him and making sure that they don’t get separated. 

Y/n must also be subjected to the ebb and flow of the crowd as she runs straight into Chan at one point, sparking the Charge between them momentarily. Chan looks back to make sure that she’s okay, but she just gestures for him to keep going, anything she might be trying to say being drowned out by the screams and hidden by the mask that she’s wearing. Knowing that he's definitely being filmed, Chan keeps his head down and swallows his concern. The last thing he wants is rumours that might involve Y/n or put any sort of extra attention on her.

The crowd reaches a fever pitch, and multiple cries for Jisung prompts Chan to look up again to search for him. When he finally manages to spot him, it becomes clear that he’s being helped up from the ground. Chan can’t tell if it’s a result of stumbling from poor visibility or an overzealous push from fans, but he attempts to tamp down the simmering anger that he feels building in his gut. He hates that he can't be there to protect Jisung and calm him down. Regardless of the reason that he fell, this wouldn't have happened if they were given more space. They're grateful for their fans, but this is too much.

They need to get out of here and now.

The screaming is deafening now and seems to be coming from all directions. He thinks he can hear security yelling directions, but it’s hard to decipher what they’re saying and who they’re saying it to. With the increased noise comes more pressure as people jockey for a closer position, mercilessly jostling other bodies out of the way. Chan tries to ignore it all, solely focused on getting everyone into the vans waiting for them and making sure they’re unharmed. 

The crowd surges forward and they're finally given the space that they need to reach the doors and spill out onto the outdoor concourse. From there it's only a short distance to where a manager is shepherding them into the idling vans. 

They had lined up based on dorms, so Changbin basically hauls Jisung into the van with Hyunjin, while Minho ushers all of the younger members into their vehicle with no time wasted trying to organise further.

Chan collapses into his seat and everyone in the van seems to let out a sigh of relief the second that the door closes, sealing them away from the frenzy and most of the noise. There's a brief moment to double check that all the members are present before they pull away from the curb.

Chan twists around to confirm there are no injuries. Other than some bruises and scratches on their arms, they're all relatively unharmed, but definitely rattled. Their fans are generally well behaved and respectful of personal space, so this type of encounter is unsettling, but a good reminder to stay vigilant. They're lucky that things didn't escalate to a point where somebody got seriously hurt, but that might not be the case next time. Chan makes a mental note to request some sort of increased security or additional protective measures to guarantee the safety of the members and all the fans. 

Normally, they would spread out in the van to give each other as much space as possible, but today, Jisung stays practically squished between Hyunjin and Changbin who have their arms wrapped around him and are trying their best to soothe him. 

Knowing there’s nothing he can do from where he’s sitting, Chan opts for pulling out his phone and shooting Y/n a quick text. He wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of her after he noticed Jisung fell and has no clue how much she did or didn’t see. He doesn’t want her worrying about their safety.

[5:17 pm - sent]

Sorry that was more chaotic than usual haha

Wasn’t expecting so many people to be there...

We’re all fine even if it looked crazy... 

Hope everything is okay on your side and see you at the dorms later

He keeps the messages succinct, knowing that Y/n likely won’t have a chance to read his texts until later. Just like with their regular schedules, the staff are all brought back to the company and sometimes she gets held back to finish something or go out for food or drinks. He’s hoping that the crowds died down after they left to make it easier to haul all the luggage and equipment away. 

He taps out another message to Minho to reassure him that everyone with him is physically okay, just unnerved and receives a similar response. They agree to all go to the 3RACHA+Hyunjin dorms instead of splitting up, sensing that everyone would feel a bit better if they stuck together for the time being. Relieved, he drops his phone into his backpack and settles into his seat. Without the rush of adrenaline from the airport and the high from the concerts, he can feel how exhausted his body is. It's worse than usual, a bone deep tiredness that doesn’t feel like it’ll be improved no matter how much he sleeps.

It’s the Charge, or lack thereof, he realises. The past few days have been such a blur of travelling and concerts that he hadn’t noticed that he’s barely spent any time with Y/n. He resolves to make up for it this week. They have a bit of a break before the next leg of their tour continues and while Chan has a lot that he wants to finish during that period, he can afford to set aside a few extra hours for Charging. Although he knows that he can probably power through with this level of energy- he’s done it in the past- he feels guilty thinking that it would mean Y/n has to do the same.

When they make it back to the dorms, he calls dibs on the shower, intent on burrowing into his bed the second that he’s cleaned off all the airplane grime. He feels significantly better after washing up and changing into clean clothes, so he wanders towards the kitchen to try to eat something as he waits for Y/n to get back. The second that he enters the living room, all conversations cut off and the members turn to look at him with grave expressions. 

Immediately, he’s on edge again and all the tension from earlier is back.

“Is everything okay?” he asks cautiously. It’s clear that Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin are crying and the rest of the members are suspiciously teary-eyed, other than Minho who just looks murderous. “Did something happen?”

He sits beside Felix, who’s on the couch closest to him and puts an arm around him. Felix instantly inches closer, buries his face into Chan’s neck, and starts sobbing freely, tears soaking into the front of Chan’s shirt and making him panic more. Chan surreptitiously pats him down, searching for some sort of injury, but finds nothing. It makes him feel better and worse at the same time. 

“We- Yonghwan called-” Changbin finally says. The words come out roughly, like it had been a struggle to get them out. “He said-” The tears that he’s been holding back finally come out and he can’t finish his sentence, wiping at his face roughly.

“What?” Chan demands, when nobody continues Changbin’s explanation. He hates this feeling of being in the dark, he wants to know what has made everyone this upset and what he can do to fix it.

“It’s Y/n.” Felix’s voice is rough and even deeper than usual from crying, Chan can feel it against his skin more than he can hear it. “Hyung…”

Chan didn’t think that his stomach could feel worse, but it seems to twist into a tighter knot at Felix’s words. On autopilot, he continues to rub Felix’s back, but his hands are now feeling weak and he’s glad that he’s already sitting. It takes a couple of deep breaths, but eventually Felix is able to calm down enough to speak again.

“Hyung… Y/n- There was a sasaeng… At the airport.” 

Everything seems to stop.

His mind, which was previously racing, can’t seem to process anything anymore and the next few moments feel like a dream or, more accurately, a nightmare. Felix is crying earnestly again and Chan vaguely thinks that he should be too, but instead he’s numb, detached from his emotions, unmoored. He’s aware of someone grabbing his bag and putting it into his hands, helping him into his shoes, and leading him into the lobby of their building, but it feels like his mind is no longer connected to his body. He doesn’t even remember when he put on the beanie or mask that he’s currently wearing.

He desperately wants this to be a nightmare, that someone will shake him awake and he’ll find out that he accidentally fell asleep the second he got home.

He’s jolted back to reality by a voice calling his name. It’s Felix, who is also holding onto both his shoulders. He’s stopped crying as hard, but unshed tears still glitter in his eyes and there are teartracks running down his face. It’s clear that he’s trying hard to keep himself together for Chan’s sake.

“Hyung, the car is here. Are you going to be okay going by yourself?”

“Yes,” he hears himself say. His voice sounds strange, void of emotion. He knows that he has to be okay, that really, there’s no choice because the chance of being recognised would be much higher if he goes with anyone other than staff. He has to be okay, for Y/n.

“Okay. Yonghwan-hyung is going to take you to the hospital.”

“Okay.” Chan starts to walk away.

“Hyung,” Felix calls out, voice still hoarse with emotion. “Promise me you won’t go on Twitter?”

“What? Why? I-”

“Just promise. Okay?”

“I promise.”

But it festers inside of him, not knowing what’s going on, not really. Yonghwan has barely spoken, other than a couple words to guide him into the car and reassure him that they were going to get to the hospital as fast as possible. 

After 20 minutes of being stuck in traffic, Chan takes out his phone and unlocks it. It’s clogged with notifications from various staff members, but they’re from half an hour ago and are ambiguous, just telling him to call different people. He swipes everything away without replying and opens up Naver with the intention to look up how far away they are from the hospital. Before he can get that far, he’s distracted by the trending search terms. 

‘Stray Kids,’ ‘Incheon Airport,’ and ‘Sasaeng’ are all in the top 10. His finger hovers over each one for a moment, before locking his phone. He doesn’t know if he wants to read an impersonal or speculative article that might overdramatise what happened.

He only lasts another minute before he reaches for his phone again. Even though he can still hear Felix’s voice warning him to avoid it, he can’t help but open the Twitter app. It’s probably going to be worse than reading articles, but it’s killing him to have so little information.

He needs to know what happened.

His Twitter timeline is pandemonium. There’s a mixture of tweets that can be separated into three different categories. The first are ones demanding that videos and photos be taken down, that post links to accounts calling that they be blocked, and warnings to avoid retweeting information. They’re mostly vague and the replies are littered with people asking what happened. Chan scours through them briefly, but all questions are met with ‘DM me’ or something similar.

The second is a set of hashtags trending, #thankyouskijigi, #prayforskijigii, that talk about how grateful they are that Y/n was there to protect Chan and general well-wishes for a quick recovery. This only heightens Chan’s anxiety. He’s not sure why he’s being named specifically, but nothing he can think of is good. Either way, it feels wrong to see that Y/n is being praised for being injured instead of Chan.

The last is what Chan is really searching for. Any photos or videos that he can find of the incident. He has to sift through a number of deleted posts and broken links. There’s a few that are easy to find, but they were clearly taken in the midst of the chaos and the blurriness means that it’s hard to see any details.

There’s an awful clip that Chan somehow manages to find. He’s thankful that he records his screen while watching it because when he clicks to see the replies, the video has already been either deleted by the poster or removed by Twitter. Whoever is filming it has unsteady hands, but they’re close enough that you can still see everything. Y/n is lying curled up on the ground clutching her stomach, the sasaeng nowhere in sight. Chan still can’t tell what kind of injury Y/n has, until she props herself up a bit more and peels back the baggy sweatshirt that she’s wearing to expose her abdomen more.

It looks bad. There’s blood and there’s lots of it.

The light-coloured shirt she’s wearing underneath makes the blood that’s seeping into it obvious in a way that the dark hoodie concealed. The splotch is alarmingly large and seems to be expanding every second even with Y/n’s hand pressed tightly against where the wound must be. It spills onto the floor now that the hoodie isn’t soaking it up anymore. The second that the injury is revealed, the crowd panics. Half the people recoil, while the other half rush forward.

The filmer is one of the latter, dropping their phone to their side so that you can’t see anything, but not stopping the recording. At first, Chan doesn’t think there’s anything else to the video. The audio keeps peaking, overwhelmed by the screaming, but in the last few seconds, he can suddenly make out Y/n’s voice. It’s surprisingly stable, though tight with pain.

“-please send medical services to Incheon Airport? At the terminal 2 arrival hall. There’s a young female who has been stabbed.” There’s a series of pauses and moments where Y/n continues to talk. She's obviously answering questions by the person on the other end of the phone. "I'm- she's conscious, yes… Yes, lucid… In the abdomen… Two times…”

The video ends abruptly and Chan’s left staring at his own face reflecting against his phone’s dark screen. 

He feels sick. 

He feels nothing.

He-

He closes the video and searches for another.

Pictures, videos, accounts from people who were at the airport, he saves everything. He continues frantically combing through as many links and tweets that he can, especially if they have descriptions of the sasaeng or capture her face clearly.

The best- or maybe the worst, based on the way that it makes Chan’s stomach drop- video is a livestream that somehow hasn’t been deleted or edited yet. It was taken by a fan who seems to be on a stepladder or something that provides them some extra height although if they’re further away. The video is an hour long, but Chan scans through the first section that’s from before they had arrived and starts to play when he first sees Seungmin appear.

This new angle makes it obvious how intentional everything was. There’s a distinct moment when the crowd that’s offscreen shifts, likely reacting to Jisung’s fall, and a corresponding ripple through the rest of the crowd. Chan remembers that, the sudden push as everyone wanted to see what was happening and a renewed effort from the security team to get them outside.

There’s a brief second when there’s a gap between the security team that’s just barely big enough for the sasaeng to slip through unnoticed. The first time he watches the video, he almost misses it. She heads directly towards Chan, partially aided by the general movement of the crowd, and it sends shivers down his back to know how close she was to him without him knowing. With nondescript clothes, a lack of a camera, and a mask covering the lower half of her face, she almost blends into the rest of the staff members. 

Before she can reach Chan, she’s intercepted by Y/n who looks like she’s aware of the sasaeng’s presence based on the purposeful step that positions her right in between the sasaeng and Chan. The sasaeng has no time to react and the two of them crash into each other and tumble to the ground.

After that, the video gets too shaky to see what’s happening and cuts off before showing anything else.

“Chan-ssi!” Yonghwan’s voice takes Chan’s attention away from his phone. When he looks up, he can see that the car is idling at the side entrance of the hospital that he normally uses. “Did you hear me?”

“Uhm.”

“Just go in and talk to the reception, tell them you’re looking for Y/n-ssi. They’ll take you to her. I have to go park the car and then I’ll join you.”

—

The person that helps Chan at the front desk seems to be familiar with Y/n's case right when he mentions her name. Her posture straightens and she checks Chan's ID to confirm that he's her soulmate before leading him away, pressing buttons on a pager as she does so. She walks briskly and stops in front of a closed door, sliding it open and motioning for him to enter before heading towards the nurses' station.

Chan steps into the room and when he sees Y/n, it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He physically recoils, shoulder hitting the door frame as he takes a step back.

She looks so small, in the middle of the bed, hooked up to a number of IV’s, other tubes, and monitoring equipment. Her face is pale, more so than usual, and her eyes are closed. 

For one awful moment, all Chan can think is that she looks dead. 

He slowly approaches Y/n’s side and gingerly rests his hand on her exposed arm, mindful of all the tubes and cords that she’s connected to. The Charge has never felt so reassuring, a steady transfer of energy that reminds Chan that she’s still alive. The nurse excuses herself, but Chan barely notices, too focused on Y/n and the constant drone of the heart rate monitor.

He startles when the doctor enters the room.

“Ah, you are Y/n-nim’s soulmate?” he asks. When Chan confirms, he brightens. “Perfect! Before anything, let’s get you up on the bed with her so that you can Charge properly.”

The doctor helps Chan manoeuvre himself so that he’s curled around Y/n. He shrugs off his hoodie so that he’s just left with his t-shirt and shorts to match Y/n so that they can have as much direct contact as possible. Chan knows he usually runs hotter than most people, but Y/n’s skin is colder than usual, even with the warmth of the Charge between them.

Yonghwan appears partway through the doctor’s explanation of Y/n’s injuries which is probably for the better because other than confirming that she’s stable for now, he hasn’t been able to concentrate. Instead, he holds onto Y/n’s hand, the one that doesn’t have an IV line in it, and intertwines their fingers. He’s always marvelled at the size difference between their hands.

The moment Y/n's heartbeat picks up from the steady rhythm that Chan has now gotten used to, his seems to do the same. It’s close to sunrise, but Chan hasn’t even come close to falling asleep. The time has somehow both inched by, stretched out like pulling taffy, and passed in the blink of an eye. Embarrassingly, he didn’t even notice when the doctor, then later Yonghwan, left the room. Only realising when he noticed the lights dimming automatically when visiting hours ended.

He’s alternated between doom scrolling on social media, texting the group chat since most of the boys are still awake as well, and waiting for any sort of updates from Yonghwan or JYPE. He’s restless, but has done his best to barely move, not wanting to disturb Y/n or any of the equipment she’s hooked up to. 

She comes to slowly and Chan feels like he can barely breathe, chest tight with anticipation of her regaining consciousness. Her eyes flutter open and she squints, even though the lights have been dimmed almost all the way down.

He helps incline the bed slightly, lets her have the tiniest sip of water, just enough to wet her mouth, then gives her a little bit more once he knows she won't choke.

He can tell the second she's awake enough to recognise his presence. Her eyes widen and her heart rate speeds up. She tries to lever herself up, but Chan presses a hand onto her shoulder, keeping herself in place. She tries to put a hand on his arm and her eyes scan his form.

"Stay still, you're hurt," he chides gently when she makes a questioning noise.

"Chan?” she gets out.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You’re safe?”

Chan doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry at her concern. She's on some strong drugs and is still recovering from anaesthesia, it's obvious from the slight haze in her eyes, her sluggish movements, and the difficulty she seems to have putting words to her thoughts. Yet her first thoughts are about him.

"Yes, I'm safe. The rest of the boys are safe. They’re all at home," he reassures her. She doesn't seem to believe him, reaching for him again agitatedly.

“Were you hurt?” 

“Y/n, it’s okay. Everything is okay, I’m not hurt.” Chan takes Y/n’s hand in his again, pressing it against his chest so that she can feel his heartbeat. “Can you feel that? You protected me."

At that Y/n finally calms, settling back against her pillow. Before he can say anything else, she’s already drifted off again. With his free hand, Chan smooths out the hairs that frame her face and she subconsciously leans into his touch. Unable to help himself, he presses a careful kiss to her forehead.

He stares at her peaceful looking face, a mixture of guilt, fear, and worry churning in his stomach. He can’t believe that he was so close to losing her and he knows that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

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[liaromancewriter]

Kismet

Premise: Ethan walks into a bar, and everything changes with one look.

Book: Open Heart (pre-series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst (sort of) Trope: Pining Words: 1,045

A/N: This is not part of my hc for their relationship, but I got to thinking: what if? Submission for @choicesjunechallenge2024 prompt "beginning"

The walk down memory lane had been an unusual step for him. He’d never been one to look behind when forward was the only thing in his control.

And yet, Dr. Ethan Ramsey retraced his steps, remembering late nights at the hospital, longer nights debating medicine with his best friend and staying up past dawn to cook breakfast for an overnight guest of the female persuasion.

The brick facades of Johns Hopkins’s medical school campus and neighboring hospital radiated a warm, historical charm that contrasted with Baltimore’s industrial urban vibe. The air was thick with the scent of spring blossoms, mingling with the distant hum of traffic from Orleans Street.

Back then, he’d been one of many students cramming to survive and score a top residency. Almost seven years later, he was a distinguished fellow of infectious diseases and a new attending physician at one of the premier teaching hospitals in the Northeast.

He’d once fought tooth and nail to get professors to notice him and get into research projects. Now, those same professors had invited him to participate in a multidisciplinary research study at his alma mater. His career was finally picking up speed.

He’d come a long way from the motherless son of a cable repairman in Providence, Rhode Island.

Lost in memories, Ethan kept walking, marching past gas stations and seedy liquor stores until he reached the red brick townhouses and apartment buildings that marked the edge of Upper Fells Point.

While he and Tobias had shared a two-bedroom walk-up close to the hospital, they’d spent enough time in the bars at Upper Fells and Canton to consider them a second home.

Ethan stepped into the familiar, dingy atmosphere of a neighborhood pub popular among medical students. The yeasty smell of beer, sweat and cologne permeated the air.

In his day, the bartender had been a wizened old sailor with a surly attitude and a talent for sensing trouble before it brewed over. Now, a perky brunette manned the stick, tattoos covering one arm and a nose ring that sparkled when it caught the light.

Despite that, the scents and sounds were typical of a Friday night. The rattle of balls from the two guys playing pool in the corner, laughter from a blonde with darts in her hand smiling flirtatiously at a beefy, muscular type he often associated with meatheads.

Feeling nostalgic, he wound his way to the end of the bar and parked himself on a padded stool with a clear view of the minuscule dance floor. He caught the eye of the bartender, who nodded in acknowledgment as she finished an order for another customer.

Ethan glanced sideways as the blonde darts player squeezed into the tight space beside his stool and leaned her elbows on the bar. Her companion caged her from behind, placing his hands on the bar, pressing his front to her back, and leaning in.

“Back off, JD,” Blondie ordered in a no-nonsense tone.

The Meathead eased his hips back but otherwise kept close. “Come on, babe. One date. You won’t regret it.”

Blondie scoffed. “No. We made a bet. I beat you at darts, and you’d stop bugging me. Last time I checked, I destroyed you,” she checked her wristwatch, “two minutes and thirty seconds ago.”

She shoved an elbow into his gut, hard, causing the other man to take a quick step back.

Sensing trouble, Ethan stepped in between Blondie and Meathead, using his height to his advantage to look down his nose at the younger man.

“The lady said no,” he said sternly. “I suggest you walk away.”

Meathead looked like he wanted to argue. Of course he did, thought Ethan. Scalpel jockeys weren’t exactly known for their intellect. But Ethan’s scowl must have clued him into quitting while he could.

The other man looked past Ethan’s shoulder, shrugged and turned around, stomping off to join his buddies, who’d been watching the entire time and drunkenly laughing at their friend’s misery.

“Thanks for the assist.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, turning around.

Now that he had a clear view of her features, he wondered at the stupidity of the wannabe surgeon in departing the field so quickly.

Her long hair fell in loose waves across her shoulders, and his fingers ached to feel if the texture was as soft as it looked. But it was her face that mesmerized him. Porcelain-like flawless skin shimmered under the neon lights, and those green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

With lips curved into an enigmatic smile, she reminded him of John Singer Sargent’s paintings of aristocratic women from the Gilded Age—beautiful, elegant and out of his reach.

For the first time in his life, he felt nervous talking to a woman.

“What can I get you?” The bartender interrupted.

“Let me,” Blondie insisted, cocking her head sideways.

She tapped one manicured finger against her lips, peered intently into his eyes and suddenly grinned. “Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender glanced at him, seeking confirmation, and Ethan nodded.

“How’d you know?” he asked, raising his brow in surprise.

If he expected a response, he was doomed to disappointment. The mysterious smile returned, this time tinged with humor as if she knew all his secrets and wasn't deterred by them.

The bartender placed his drink on the bar, took the twenty Blondie handed her, and left them alone.

"Enjoy your drink. And thanks, again."

As she brushed past him, Ethan caught a faint scent of orange blossoms and vanilla, a fragrance that seemed to promise something more. She was halfway across the floor before he shook himself out of the spell her smile had cast on him.

“Wait!” Ethan’s hand reached out, but he grasped only the empty air where she had been.

In that brief moment, vignettes of a possible future with her flashed through his mind: walks along the Esplanade, late-night talks by the fireplace, the warmth of her hand in his as they drove up the coast for a weekend getaway.

He felt a pang of loss as he watched her disappear into the night, swallowed up by the crowd milling about the door.

The sense of connection, of something profound slipping away, left him standing there, drink untouched, heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled possibilities.

And he never even knew her name.

------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Jockey

@wolfstarmicrofic August 13, word count 710

Previous part First Jegulus part

Sirius hadn’t seen James much since he’d brought Regulus into the café earlier that week. He’d popped in a few times on his way to meet up with Sirius’s little brother, but it was never more than a passing visit. He was on his best behaviour any way. Keeping all the sly remarks he wanted to say at Regulus’s expense to himself. Remus had given him a final warning before he got Effie involved, when he’d caught him muttering something unkind under his breath and, since then, he’d been very careful about what he said. But he had the café to keep him busy and a bet to check up on.

He had his phone propped up on the side in the kitchen with the horse racing playing on it. He didn’t particularly like horse racing, but his parents owned a racehorse, ‘Nobel Black’, who would be running in this race and, ever since he’d found out who his owners were, he placed a bet on him to lose, and every time he placed a bet the horse lost. Nobel Black had been on a winning streak before Sirius started his betting, but he hadn't won a race since that first bet. 

The horses tore around the racetrack. Nobel Black was out in front, way ahead of the others. 

“Damn it,” Sirius breathed, as the horse raced on, nearing the finish line. Then on the last turn, the horse stumbled, its shoe flew off, and the jockey was unseated. “Yes!” He cheered loudly when Nobel Black fell behind and another horse beat him to the finish line. He didn’t wish ill on the horse, he just didn’t want his parents to make any money from him. 

“Lost again did he?” Remus asked, popping his head around the corner as he got the milk from the fridge. 

“Yup,” Sirius grinned happily. 

“Good. Now, get back to work, there are people waiting,” Remus winked at him and returned to his counter. Sirius rushed out and took everyone’s orders, apologising for their wait. 

“Is James coming over tonight? He asked Remus on their way home. He was £20 better off and was treating them to a takeaway. 

“He said something about going to meet a few of Regulus’s friends, so probably not,” Remus replied. Sirius scuffed his feet on the floor. He missed his best friend. 

“Regulus’s friends are horrible,” He grumbled. 

“Are they or did you just think they were because they were Regulus’s friends?” Remus asked gently. Sirius had to really think about that. Remus had been uncovering so many things since Regulus’s return that Sirius hadn’t even realised he’d got so twisted up in his mind. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll figure everything out together,” Remus told him, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. 

He sent a message to James, checking in. He was still worried no matter what Remus said. 

‘How’s it going?’ He asked. James’s reply came soon after. 

‘Great. Barty and Evan are mental. Pandora’s amazing. I'm having a really good time. We’re playing snap,’

“See,” Remus said as he peered at Sirius’s phone. “They’re playing snap. They can’t be that bad,”

“They sound a bit boring actually,” Sirius scoffed, putting his phone away and settling in to watch the film Remus had picked. 

His phone buzzed just as he and Remus were getting ready for bed. It was a short video from James. Sirius pressed play.

James’s face filled the screen. He was very clearly drunk.

“Woohoo, Sirius, you should be here. It’s crazy, look!” James turned his phone around and showed Regulus, Barty and Evan playing the fastest game of snap he’d ever seen. 

“Snap!” Regulus shouted, and the other two drank, before they started again. “Snap!” Regulus shouted again, and the other two did another round of shots. “I’m sleeping over. We’ll come to the café tomorrow. Love you!” James kissed the screen and then stopped the recording. 

“Okay, that looked like the most exciting game of snap I’ve ever seen. We should try it,” Remus said, before going into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

“Yeah, it did, didn’t it,” Sirius said quietly. James had looked so happy in those few moments on the video. Maybe he should give his brother a chance. 

Next part

[vintagetvstars]

LeVar Burton Vs. Jeremy Brett

Propaganda

LeVar Burton - (Star Trek: The Next Generation, Roots) - as well as his wonderful performance as geordi laforge in next generation, levar burton had his breakout role starring as kunta kinte in the 1977 miniseries roots which set records for television viewership (its finale was estimated to have been watched by 130 million+ viewers, more than half the U.S. population at the time). he also directed numerous episodes of tng, ds9 (including the one where rom unionizes quark's), voyager and enterprise, and promoted literacy with his beloved pbs show reading rainbow, which he hosted for 23 years!

Jeremy Brett - (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, The Three Musketeers, BBC Play of the Month) - "Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restraunts and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention." Full text propaganda included below the cut

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

LeVar Burton:

Jeremy Brett:

“The superbly handsome Jeremy Brett, the regularity of his features made dramatic by a broken nose, the mellifluousness of his voice made arresting by a slight vocal impediment, presented a ravaged and romantic Holmes, a man who had suffered deeply and whose recourse to the syringe was the compulsion of a self-destroying temperament. His relationship with Edward Hardwicke’s transparently decent Watson was that of a drowning man clinging to a raft. The authenticity of the performance was unmistakable.” — “The man who created a monster; Conan Doyle hated the fame of his suave hero, but he couldn’t kill him”, Simon Callow, The Times, 18 December 2009.

Listen, I fell in love with One Man when I was 16 and have never regretted it. Jeremy Brett is Everything. Handsome, charming, sweet, amazing voice, delightfully eccentric. Shakespearean actor best known for playing Sherlock Holmes in the 80s, he is widely considered the definitive Holmes and for good reason. Bisexual and bipolar, devoted husband, he was known to serenade friends at restaurants and hold scavenger hunts in his home, where he hid the plunger in a chandelier. He also practiced archery in the middle of London. He could sing, he acted alongside Audrey Hepburn twice. He wanted to be a jockey when he was young but then grew a foot too tall. He had rheumatic fever as a child and was told he would never climb stairs. Dear Reader, he jumped over couches on film. In War and Peace he is very clearly the only actor riding a real horse, and is one of few actors who played both Sherlock Holmes and Watson. Often pigeonholed into period pieces, he owned them. He was a pretty young man who became not just handsome but arresting. He was one of those people who walked into a room and instantly commanded attention, and I for one have never regretted giving him my attention.

[the-remainder]

Our Winding Road

domestic-fantasy-breakup(?)-adventure

Disillusioned with civilian life, former heroes Rowan and Jori retrace the steps of the journey on which they fell in love, with the hopes of rekindling their strained relationship.

Assume the role of the-great-“Ogre Slayer”-turned-desk-jockey Rowan, brave the various dangers lurking on your way, yourself being chief among them. Will you and your love find your way back together again, or will this journey mark the end for you two?

Play it here!

32k words - Multiple endings

Animated sprites and backgrounds

Immersive soundscape

Puns galore

Mature Warning - Explicit descriptions of sex.

Good ending guide

A collaborative effort by Square Weasel Studio and friends, made for Amare Jam 2023. (see game page for full credits)

[slippinmickeys]

Fic prompt - Scully goes on a date with the Perfect guy. Mulder is angry, decides to go to a bar to find a one night stand. He just gets drunk and TLG bring him home where... He finds Scully sleeping on his bed

I started this forever ago, but could never really get it to flow and didn’t know how to end it. Reading through it now… it’s a little uneven, has not so much as whispered in a beta’s ear, but I kind of like where I left off and… I have so many unfinished works sitting in docs I’m letting this one fly free. Thanks for the prompt so long ago, Anon.

Dale. The guy’s fucking name was Dale. Who named their kid Dale, anyway? Perfect smile, perfect teeth, perfectly coiffed hair, polite, a doctor, and so damned charming that even Mulder had trouble not liking him.

He had a sailboat. He was taking Scully out on it. He was somehow more Vineyard than Mulder himself – a guy from fucking Chilmark. And Scully was eating it up. She was excited about the date, had been talking about it all day, ad nauseum. Well, he was pretty sure she had. He’d had to tune her out for his own mental well-being.

You’d drink, too, he’d said, maybe out loud, and it took him a moment to register the warm hand that clapped his back, the presence next to his barstool.

“I know, buddy,” Frohike said, eyebrows like caterpillars crawling across his brow, his hand squeezing Mulder’s shoulder.

“Frohike?” Mulder asked, surprised as all hell to see his friend standing there.

“Thanks, Nadine,” Frohike said to the barmaid, who handed over Mulder’s cell phone and credit card, both of which Frohike slipped into Mulder’s sport coat pocket. “Let’s get you home.”

Mulder stood woozily, and the older man had to occasionally correct his trajectory as he stumbled past the billiard tables that Casey had pulled three booths to squeeze into the back room of the bar.

The Vanagon was idling out front, Byers behind the wheel. Langly was riding shotgun, rubbernecking out the window and snapping a tight knot of green gum. The valet looked pissed and said something to Frohike that Mulder couldn’t make out as the little hacker tried to maneuver the much taller man through the open door.

“Keep your pants on, key jockey!” Frohike clapped back as he slid the big door closed. Mulder slumped against the window, miserable, sliding down the vinyl seat as Byers pulled away from the curb.

“What happened?” Langly asked, turning around and peering at Mulder through smudged glasses.

“Scully’s on a date,” Frohike said carefully. Byers’ eyes flicked to Mulder’s in the rearview, but he said nothing.

Langly nodded knowingly. “She been dickmatized? Is this dude some kind of punk?”

“No,” Mulder burped, righting himself in the seat as the contents of his stomach sloshed. “He’s actually a really nice guy.” He directed his comment to Langly’s second question, adamantly refusing to acknowledge his first.

“Let’s just get Mulder back to headquarters,” Frohike said, glaring at Langly. “Let him sleep it off.”

Mulder grabbed onto the side of the van as his head began to spin, and the thought of sleeping on the guys’ lumpy couch surrounded by the close-quarters smell of hot circuitry and day-old nachos triggered a violent urge to propel the contents of his stomach out the window beside him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

“No!” he burped again. “Take me home please.”

When Byers’ took the exit for Old Town, Mulder unclenched, and that’s when the urge to puke turned into a biological inevitability.

The look on his face must have conveyed some real urgency, because the next thing he knew, the van had swung over to a curb and Frohike already had the door open. He fell to his knees on the floor of the Volkswagen and hurled an arc of vomit onto the sidewalk outside the van.

“Whoa,” he heard Langly’s nasally voice pipe up when his coughing and gagging had died down considerably. “That’s some serious upchucking. I think he shot it past the fire hydrant.”

He spit once and then looked down in his hand to see a wad of Burger King napkins that Frohike had pressed into it. He mopped his face as the other man slid the sliding door closed and Byers merged back into traffic.

Mulder settled himself gingerly back onto the big bench seat.

“I feel a lot better,” he said pathetically, the sweat on his forehead cooling.

“Well you smell a lot worse,” Frohike replied, scrunching his nose in distaste.

“Bet Dale can’t hit the fire hydrant,” Mulder said.

“Dale can probably hold his liquor,” Frohike grumbled, and the puke-induced euphoria he felt withered, replaced by a humble misery. He wondered where Scully was now, if Dale had let her take the helm. He wondered how big the boat was, if it had a sleeping berth. If Dale and Scully had ever used it.

“You’d drink too, if-” Mulder started, but his words died on his tongue as it came to him what he was about to say. Out loud. To the guys.

The cab of the vehicle took on an embarrassed silence and after a long moment he looked up to find Langly reaching a hand back to him, a foil-wrapped stick of gum on offer along with a look of knowing sympathy.

Mulder took the gum with a nod of thanks and stuck the sheet of spearmint in his mouth, chasing out the taste of bile and sick and rampant jealousy.

When Byers pulled the van in front of Hegal Place, Mulder had trouble meeting anyone’s eye. Frohike was on the sidewalk waiting for him when he tipped himself out of the back of the van, sobriety duking it out with whatever liquor still swam through his bloodstream.

Frohike looked up at him with a kind and steady hand on his arm. “You want me to walk you up?” he asked.

Mulder felt around his pockets for his keys, locating them after a quick search. “No,” he said. “I got it from here.”

Frohike nodded and patted him one more time. “Put a trash can next to your bed, huh? Drink some water.”

Mulder thanked him and turned on his heel, missing the look the three guys gave each other before watching him ascend the stairs and fumble his way through the front door of his building. Eschewing the elevator and up the stairs because moving was better than standing still, down the hallway – where he’d thought he’d told her he loved her in as many words as he could, and still she went out with Dale – and through his front door. He had it bad, he realized, as he stepped through his door and into his apartment. He had it so bad that he thought he could smell a trace of her perfume – the expensive stuff she kept in her sock drawer – when he walked through the door of his own apartment. Christ.

He toed off his shoes and made immediately for the shower, catching the alleyway stench of whatever vomit hadn’t made it all the way to the sidewalk. Standing under the hot spray, he rethought some of his more recent choices.

If he were honest with himself, he’d gone to the bar tonight to pick up a woman and take her home. It had felt like a wild, righteous idea at the time, made on an indignant huff just as Scully was waving goodbye and Dale put his hand on her back to lead her through the double doors of the Hoover building. A decision made with jealousy boiling through his veins, but abandoned when he sat down at the bar and pictured another woman with her head thrown back on his sheets. Anonymous sex didn’t hold the appeal it once had for whatever reason, and he’d ordered a drink instead. And then a second, and a third and on down the line.

What would he say to Scully if she were here now, he wondered, toweling himself off. What do you see in him? That was obvious. He bent over and drank water directly from the faucet, slurping until the headache he felt coming on was assuaged. He looked at himself in the mirror. Why him and not me? He thought, and sighed, padding naked into his bedroom – not bothering to turn on the light – and sliding on a pair of pajama pants he pulled from a drawer.

He lowered himself into the bed, dejected, tired, still a little woozy, when a sound – a quick inhale of breath – sent him shooting back up to standing, heart pounding, instantly sober.

“Mulder?” came a groggy voice from the other side of his bed, and it took him a moment to reconcile his partner’s voice and its place in his dark bedroom.

“Scully?” he said, his voice sounding two octaves too high. “Jesus.”

He reached over and switched on a bedside lamp.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathily, blinking rapidly. She scooted up on the mattress and back into the pillows. Her hair was mussed and she wore a shell-shocked look. “What time is it?”

Mulder was still so surprised to see her that he couldn't put together a coherent answer. “I-what are you doing here?”

Scully looked over at him, took in his pajamas and his bare chest, his still-damp hair, and a look of profound embarrassment washed over her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was waiting for you and then-”

Maybe Mulder wasn’t entirely sober yet, because his brain still felt absolutely befuddled. “Where’s Dale?” he asked, sounding rather like a simpleton, like he expected Dr. Dale to come sauntering into his bedroom at any moment, wearing one of Mulder’s robes, handing over a cold martini to Scully and saying ‘great bedroom for a shag, thanks for letting us use it.’

“Out on his boat, I imagine,” she said, not meeting his eye.

“But why are you not… on his boat?” Mulder lowered himself back onto the mattress, perching on the edge. “Wait, did he try something? Are you okay?” He leapt back up to standing.

“It's fine, Mulder, he didn’t do anything. I…got seasick,” she said, finally turning to look at him, a dubious, slightly jokey look on her face.

“But you don’t get seasick.” He was still standing.

She gave him a look like he was being deliberately obtuse. It started to occur to him that she was here on purpose, not because something calamitous had happened.

“But you were excited about it,” he said, lowering himself once again back to the bed. “You kept talking about it.”

“Mulder…”

“Scully?”

She thunked her head back against the headboard.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d talk me out of it.”

“You we’re hoping I’d-“ his heart soared momentarily, a bird taking flight. And then it fell out of the sky.

“Where have you been?” Scully asked, head tilted to look at him, her brow creasing, eyes narrowed.

“I was… at a bar.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned scarlet in the warm yellow light of the lamp and a look came over her face like a dawning realization. “Were you… there for someone?”

His life flashed before his eyes. Scully could tell when he lied to her, and he had gone to the bar with the intention of picking up a woman.

When he didn’t answer, Scully’s eyes widened and she stood suddenly. “I have made,” she said, looking around as if for a purse or a set of keys, “an appalling miscalculation.”

Mulder wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself, but suddenly she was on the move, darting through his bedroom door in a rapid exodus.

“Scully wait!” he called out, following her, just hoping to catch her before she got to the door. He felt like if she went through it, there was a real chance he might never see her again. Dana Scully didn’t do embarrassment well.

But he almost stumbled into her when he reached the hallway. She had pulled up short next to his billiard ball coat rack, her nose scrunched up in a look of minor revulsion. He had left his discarded clothes and shoes in a rumpled trail from the door to his bathroom, and the fumes coming off of them were sour and unpleasant.

“Mulder, it smells like vomit.”

He doubted she could see his chagrined expression, backlit as he was by the light spilling from his bedroom, but he shrugged.

“I… may have tied one on,” he admitted.

“You went out drinking?” Her face looked like she was working on a very hard math problem. “Alone?”

“Well, the Gunmen came and got me.” While he was sure she was glad he hadn’t driven drunk, he knew that’s not what she was getting at. “I was upset,” he finally admitted.

“Upset?”

He took a hesitant step toward her, watched her eyes slowly climb up to his face the closer he got to her.

“Jealous.”

Her gaze was moving rapidly back and forth between his two eyes. “Jealous?” Her voice barely above a whisper. His stomach did a loop, like a swallow over a corn field.

“You wanted me to talk you out of your date?” She smiled and sighed, looked down and away from him. “What’s wrong with Dale?”

Her gaze climbed back up, lingering a little, he thought, on his bare chest.

“Nothing’s wrong with Dale. That’s the problem.”

Mulder reached out a hand, wanted run it through her hair, but grazed her shoulder instead.

“You looking for a fixer upper? I know at least five different-“

“Mulder,” she said, exasperated. “Shut the fuck up.”

He did so immediately.