#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.

[scribbleseas]

in love & in war, drabble 4: the one where you sideline him

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: none!

Author’s Note: sorry for the wait lol! i hope you like this one, it’s pretty long for a drabble, but it introduces some really fun circumstances for the future of this series :). Please let me know if you would like to join the taglist! It’s open to all, and from now on, I will be putting it on all of my fic updates, so if you’d like to stay in the loop, it’ll help you out!

Happy Reading! (And Happy Holidays & New Year!)

- Dan

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MASTERLIST

The Aintree Racecourse, Liverpool, 1895

Y/N Y/L/N

“Mama, please,” you begged, attempting to masquerade your growing apprehension with your publicity expression. You feared the closer you walked to the racecourse, the less you could hide your worry. “If there is something underway, I must know.”

After all, the 57th Annual Grand National Horse Racing Event was not one to trifle with. The tradition began in 1839, generations of your family present each year. You’ve attended alongside your mother and father since you were able to walk, but this year was the first time you arrived so late. The race was to start in a handful of minutes, and your family was just in the midst of finding your reserved seats.

As always, the Aintree Racecourse bustled with excitement, commoners populated the outside stands, journalists in their from their designated media platforms. Betting tents boasted long lines of hopefuls, upper and middle class individuals, judging by their apparel. Event staff guided you and your family to the noble viewing area, a terrace above the working class stands to shield aristocracy from the blazing sun, the scent of horse muck, and curious columnists.

“Darling, honestly. You must trust me and stop looking so vexed,” the Countess replied jubilantly, her arm intertwined with your father’s. She waved away your concern, too flippant for your comfort. You lingered behind them, Daphne’s arm in yours. You knew what your mother was like—she was a romantic. With something in store. Your father, the realist’s, grumpy mood only confirmed your theory. His deep, disgruntled sigh was far from lost on you.

“Do believe her, my Lady. Everything is perfectly well,” Daphne chimed in, though you distrusted her appeasing grin. Her expression seemed thin and strained, her blue eyes scanning around you and refusing to meet yours.

Still, as typical as the event seemed to be, you knew there was something disquieting in store. Your mother and Daphne had been behaving unusually all morning—from the moment the maid prepared you for the event, the entirety of breakfast, and the long carriage ride to the race course. Giggling, sharing long looks, whispering.

They hadn’t even let you view the contenders, the jockeys and their respective horses in advance of the race. Typically, you and your parents liked to make predictions based on the statistics provided by the racecourse’s invitations. You liked to make predictions based on the little science you knew about horse racing—the track conditions, the horse’s fitness and temperament, the weather.

Her refusal to show you the data meant there was some sort of surprise awaiting you—knowing that caused anxiety to gnaw at your stomach. It strained your cordial smile. This surprise could only be something related to the race, the identity of the jockeys or perhaps the horses?

How you detested surprises. At their essence, they were situations you were made to be unprepared for, and unpreparedness meant you could very well mortify yourself, the Y/l/n name, and the Richmond Earldom. And TransAtlantica. All in one fell swoop.

Your mother couldn’t seem to keep her gaze away from the racetrack for more than a few minutes, excitement in her eyes. She was waiting for someone, and judging by her disinterest in the rest of the nobility on the terrace, she was not awaiting Ciel Phantomhive. A worker at the event showed you to your reserved table and row of seats, lifting the place card that read Richmond and promptly departing. This part of the terrace boasted a flawless view of the racecourse and the labor class spectators.

“Daphne my dear, please find all of us some refreshments. This heat is simply intolerable,” she fanned herself, sharing another suspicious smile with the maid.

“Of course, my Lady,” Daphne curtsied to the both of you before starting off.

Your father, on the other hand, wasted no time in finding the other Earl amid the festivities. From across the way, you watched him shake hands with Lord Phantomhive and immediately steer him your way, their conversation inaudible as they approached you. Lord Phantomhive was dressed elegantly in a light beige suit. His olive green tie tucked into a white undershirt.

“Hello, Lady Y/l/n, Lady Y/n,” Lord Phantomhive greeted you and your mother, directing his bow to both of you. Before you could apologize for your family’s tardiness, he spoke again. “I am honored to spectate this fine engagement with your family. Thank you again for inviting me, Lady Y/n,” he landed a polite kiss on your knuckles, immediately releasing your hand.

At the very least, you could say you were interested in Lord Phantomhive. He entertained such stimulating conversation, curious to know more about your studies, your intellectual pursuits. No other nobleman your age would ever allow you to ramble on about the ingenious engineering that went into a ferris wheel or even match wits regarding classical literature by the likes of Sun Tzu and Machiavelli. Most of your suitors had only been interested in themselves. They’d ramble endlessly regarding their achievements, their family lines, their hobbies.

While that was all important, you craved a connection. A connection with respect, appreciation, care.

“Of course. I enjoyed our promenade at the piers.” In spite of your nerves, your own answering smile graced your lips. You found yourself telling the truth, as well. Lord Phantomhive showed a considerate side of himself during your promenade last week—he was understanding when you made a clumsy fool of yourself. Sure, he could be rather snide at times, but he’d shown glimmers of a gentleman, and you expected to see more. At least he provided you the decency of never bringing up that embarrassment again.

“As did I. I am pleased to hear you feel the same,” he replied, giving your hand a soft, affectionate squeeze before he released it. “Though I must admit that I am not as well versed in the world of horse racing as you are. I’ve heard that your family makes it a point to spectate each year’s Grand National. You must be quite the accomplished wagerer.”

You flushed, fully aware that polite society restricted a noblewoman's betting engagements to lower stakes card games. Noblemen primarily bet at horse races and rounds of pall mall. Instead, you learned the intricacies of a smart gamble and decent odds throughout your formative years. Your father allowed you to donate the winnings to a cause of your choice— last year’s winnings became seed money for developing medical equipment. You personally corresponded with Wilhelm Roentgen, the developer of a new form of electromagnetic radiation for body imaging.

”I am. Though regretfully, my mother seems quite intent on limiting those powers of mine this year,” you said, casting a long and derisive stare at the offending woman.

“Quite regretfully,” your father agreed. Your record more than spoke for itself.

Immediately launching to the defensive, the Countess’ eyes widened with false innocence. “Is it a crime to wish for my daughter’s focus to be on her engagements today as opposed to the race? Must you cast your unladylike predictions each and every year?” She asked, accepting a slim flute of imported wine from Daphne. Your father took a disapproving drink out of his, guiding your mother to sit with him.

“The race is starting in moments and I haven’t the slightest idea of any of the jockeys participating, the horses, the track conditions…” you complained, settling in your reserved seats with your parents to your right and Lord Phantomhive to your left.

“I appreciate your assistance, Lady Y/l/n,” Lord Phantomhive said diplomatically. He addressed you again, “How could I compete for your attention with such a riveting race?”

You watched the jockeys below, some adjusting their horse’s equipment, some already mounted and ambling about behind the starting line. Each competitor’s silks and riding breeches matched the color of their horse's tack, their names and numbers clearly labeled them for spectators as well.

“I only wanted to keep a certain special guest a surprise,” your mother explained, recapturing your attention. “The organizers here at Aintree asked him to make an appearance, now that he’s freshly arrived from the port of South Africa. His service in the Royal Army is finally complete. Look—the jockey in crimson is....”

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Adam Kingston.

The next bloody Earl of Kingston. An Earl who hailed from a peerage spanning back to 1463 when King Edward VI ennobled a knight as a reward for valiance during the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross. Apparently, every man in the Kingston family served in the British military to honor their knightley roots.

Clearly, Ciel was not, in fact, competing with the race itself for Lady Y/n’s attention. He was competing with Lord Adam Kingston, the myth of a man whom Ciel was convinced, until this convenient moment, had no ties to the Richmond Earldom. And now, by the shock painted on Lady Y/n’s face and the excitement in her mother’s expression, there was indeed a concerning degree of relevance.

And all Ciel could do was exhale, his jaw clenching at the sight of Adam as he practiced on his canting horse. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wracking his mind for a transition. A means to change the subject from Adam to, well, virtually anything else.

How could he miss this? The Grand National never typically allowed for guest jockeys, and he should have factored in any potential obstacle. Potential, at that.

Adam far from an obstacle—biceps for brains at best, hailing from a line of unintellectual brutes. How could that compare to the Phantomhive’s servitude as the Queen’s Guard Dog? Her Majesty’s personal private investigators? It couldn’t.

The Y/l/n family, the custodians of the Richmond line, required a businessman. There was no assessing a bloody profit margin through brute force. It took class, prowess, skill that went beyond following a general’s orders and shooting straight.

“He recently received a Victoria Cross for his service to Her Majesty. Just as his father and grandfather did before him— she must adore that family,” Lady Y/l/n explained proudly, as if Adam were her own son. As if she wished for Adam to become her son-in-law, though of course, the Countess was socially aware enough not to explicitly say so. Not with Ciel present, at least.

Surely if Ciel could understand the intent behind her words, as did Y/n, who flushed. Her perceptive gaze trained on Adam. She twisted a ring on her finger, a circular yellow diamond surrounded by smaller white diamonds. They were cut into circles as well, resembling petals of a flower, a nod to the weather.

“That is lovely to hear,” the noblewoman answered absently, her smile small and appeasing. Not at all genuine, now that their exchange about Machiavelli revealed Y/n Y/l/n’s real smile to Ciel. Or at least, something closer to it. She cleared her throat, eyes flitting between her mother, the racecourse, and Ciel with uncertainty. “Though I doubt he will win today. Look at his horse—it’s quite large. He might overheat in this weather and slow down during the final few laps.”

The Countess merely sighed, returning her daughter’s smile. “You can take the wagering away from the lady, but never the lady from her wagering.”

Y/N Y/L/N

“Mama,” you complained again, releasing your ring to fan yourself. Lord Phantomhive had only been sitting with you for a few moments and your mother already managed to mortify you twice. First by shocking you with Lord Kingston, and now, insinuating that your intellect was unladylike. It was a miracle Lord Phantomhive didn’t stand up and walk away after all of these misgivings. You’d even fallen in front of him during your blood promenade last week! He even had to take the time to tend to your bloody leg of all things.

“All right, all right,” she surrendered, thankfully turning her attention to your father.

“I apologize for her,” you said, flattening the skirts of your light yellow gown.

“I only hope to learn from you if you’re such a master of wagering,” Lord Phantomhive replied lightly, both validating a skill you felt self conscious of and your overeager mother’s whims. “I’ve merely participated in the odd game of billiards and chess—never horse racing. If not the Earl of Kingston, who do you favor to win?”

“It’s hard to say without the full information,” you admitted, finally managing to tear your gaze away from Adam Kingston. You knew him—surely most of the aristocracy did—given his family line’s proximity to the Crown and overall significance to the noble class. As children, you spent time together, you were innocent playmates who were too little to understand the necessity of polite functions. You’d share toys and books wordlessly on the floor until you were old enough to accompany your parents during rounds of polite chatter. You had fleeting feelings as a young girl, but of course, what girl your age didn’t have a juvenile crush on Adam at some point?

There had been murmurings of an engagement between the two of you, but nothing had ever come of it. You heard of his achievements abroad—in fact, you dimly remembered hearing that he was an accomplished equestrian, now that he was in the front of your mind.

Lord Kingston studied in universities abroad before his five-year enlistment in the British Army. The last time you saw him physically, he stood at half his height. His face was clean of facial hair—stubble shadowed his jawline, from what you could see. His eyes were still the same light green, his red skull cap concealed most of his unruly blond hair. When you were children, other noble daughters around you squealed for him. There were plenty of tears when he departed for Germany—most from disappointed mothers and daughters hoping to secure an arranged marriage.

Your mother had certainly been among the disappointed, but at the time of his departure, all you could recall was the lessons in shares and stock holding your father was guiding you through.

“If I had to pick a favorite, I might choose—” you started to say, only for a familiar fanfare to interrupt you. Your guess would have been on Sharpshooter and his jockey in blue, Oliver Dean, but you supposed it didn’t matter. Your father clearly handled the betting for this race, given that your mother forcibly put you out of commission.

You pursed your lips, frustrated at your inability to finish your thought. This was why you liked to attend the Grand National early, but now you understood why your mother saw to your tardiness.

”Ladies and gentlemen, we at the Aintree Racecourse wish to thank you for attending our 67th Annual Grand National Horse Racing Event,” the announcer started, thanking the event’s donors and vendors. He introduced each jockey and their horse, mentioning their sponsors (if applicable) and their odds to win as they trotted to the starting line.

Before the announcer could introduce Lord Kingston, he had to wait for the public’s energy to calm. Everyone, from the clapping nobles on the terrace to the rowdy commoners cheering in the stands, showed warm sentiments for the former soldier. It seemed that each attendee, save for you, was aware of the last minute addition to the race.

“Now, if he hadn’t been standing right before me, I wouldn’t believe it myself, but today we have Lord Adam Kingston joining our skilled jockeys this auspicious afternoon! He rides for the Crimea and Indian Mutiny Veterans’ Association, a charitable group that aids our brave veterans in need! Do give the man and his 2:1 odds a gigantic round of applause, Aintree!” The announcer requested of the audience, gesturing for the impassioned spectators to afford the Earl a standing ovation. While most in the stands below you complied, most nobility around you simply clapped demurely.

It would be unwise to ignore 2:1 odds. Statistically, it meant that Lord Kingston had a 33.3% chance of winning among his competitors. He was one of the favorites to win— of course. Years of cultivating his skills as an equestrian, plus years in the military…you suspected his horse was the only factor leaving a shadow of a doubt. That being said, a jockey as skilled as him likely already considered his horse’s stamina.

Lord Phantomhive mumbled something under his breath, but you couldn’t quite catch it under the racecourse’s excitement and the volume of your own thoughts. He shifted in his seat, sparing a few gruff claps for Lord Kingston. His stormy, pensive, expression melted into passivity the moment he noticed your curious eyes on him.

“I still have another favorite to win,” you insisted, “Oliver Dean and Sharpshooter are 4:1—that is about a 20% likelihood. With only a 13% difference, I believe it is worth considering.” Sharpshooter was much thinner than Lord Kingston’s horse, a lighter color. To you, he seemed less likely to tire after the last few hurdles, though his younger age could cause difficulties with consistency.

“You reckon?” Lord Phantomhive raised an eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the final horse stopped behind the starting line. The race contenders shot off the starting line to a grandiose fanfare and the screams from the stands. The sound of thundering hooves echoed alongside the bustling crowd, each horse moving in frenzied synchrony. They moved so fast that the jockeys couldn’t afford to sit properly on their mounts, instead standing in their stirrups and crouching. Their ride was more aerodynamic that way, you once read.

“Dean would be the more profitable bet. The higher return compensates for the lower probability, correct?” Lord Phantomhive prompted.

“What was that?” Oh—yes. That is correct,” you confirmed haphazardly. Would Lord Kingston prove you wrong? Who did your father choose for the Richmond family’s favorite to win? Was it your responsibility to greet Kingston? Win or lose?

As the odds estimated, Oliver Dean and Lord Kingston were neck in neck. Their horses galloped and jumped together, their riders remaining focused on the course ahead. The first to complete three laps around the racecourse would win—and whether the victor was Adam, an Earl already well-rested on his laurels, and Oliver Dean, a professional equestrian.

You took a drink out of your chilled wine, realizing that you had been digging your teeth into the inside of your lower lip. Finishing it off, you handed the empty class away. You sat forward in your seat, unable to look away or even breathe properly.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

This outing was getting away from him. He could see it in Y/n’s body language, leaning away from him and towards the balcony in front, her fidgeting hands finally still on her lap. The race—or its unlikely addition—completely captured her attention.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability, Ciel reminded himself, his eyebrow furrowing harder by the passing second. His mouth felt dry, parched and begging for a sip of the wine Y/n nursed. He should have accepted one from their maid, but he’d politely declined out of interest in staying as sharp as possible in case the event turned dire.

Now, Ciel wished he’d accepted the drink. If not for the cold on his tongue, for the sweet sympathy of the alcohol. He needed it to smooth out the gathering headache in his temples, caused by a combination of Adam Kingston, the scent of horse muck, the loud and obnoxious presence of the working class, and now, maintaining Y/n’s attention without appearing demanding.

Say something to her, Ciel. Anything. It would be inappropriate to compliment her now, inappropriate to ask about her other interests…unhelpful to ask her about Adam….

Hidden in his crossed arms, the Earl’s hands clenched into fists. He imagined one making painful contact with the side of Adam’s head, knocking him clean out for so much as daring to impede his mission. Ciel had an objective to see through: a wedding band on the heiress’ finger, and a company to head and combine with his existing one. A new Earldom to chief. And this man had the audacity to insert himself into Ciel’s intricate plans like a gust of wind to a house of cards.

The jockeys completed their first round and Adam’s lead was beginning to increase, slowly but certainly.

“For such a large horse, Cozbi seems to be holding his own,” Ciel commented, stealing a look at Y/n. She shook her head, watching Oliver’s slender horse lose ground to Adam and Cozbi. The action caused her long earrings—the yellow diamonds matched the one on her finger—to move. Strands of her hair fell out of its braided bun, causing the diamond flower hair clips in it to come slightly loose.

Out of all of her clothing ensembles, this floral number was the most color and sparkle he’d seen Lady Y/n dawn.

“He is an Andalusian, I think,” Y/n replied, gasping as Sharpshooter and Oliver rushed closer to Adam and Cozbi. “They are known for their stamina. Former battle horses, but…” she mumbled, not finishing the thought. Ciel couldn’t conceal his dry laugh; of course Lady Y/n knew of the benefits and drawbacks of specific racehorse breeds.

The jockeys made it halfway through the second lap side by side, leaving the rest of the competition paces behind them. It was clear that the winner would be determined from the two leaders, and Ciel couldn’t imagine how he could manage Adam winning. Y/n’s mother seemed eager to introduce the two—eager to sabotage his chances to woo her daughter, even if unknowingly. He had to surmise how well Y/n knew Adam, but mentioning the other Earl when he’d just managed to change the subject would only hurt his cause.

“Ah! See? Just as I thought!” Lady Y/n exclaimed, jumping to her feet as Sharpshooter inched before Cozbi. She was referring to her earlier summation: the smaller, younger horse would persist longer than a larger, older horse. “Sharpshooter is a Mustang, they are quite fast and enduring. Perhaps, perhaps… oh no, no, no! Come Sharpshooter, hurry!” Y/n’s palms jumped to the flushed apples of her cheeks, dragging down. Her hands fell back to her sides, each gesture causing her fan to jump. Noble ladies such as she held lithe fans to both keep cool and in more secretive moments, convey messages. During outings such as this, they kept their dans gently tied to their wrists with ribbon.

As quickly as Oliver and Sharpshooter gained their lead, they lost it within the thick back to back hurdles dominating part of the track. While Sharpshooter was smaller and lighter, he was significantly less experienced and sturdy than Cozbi. Where Cozbi lacked in agility, his expertise and relationship with Adam clearly made up for it. The leading horses came thundering over the starting line for a second time, marking the end of the second lap.

One final lap to go.

How could Ciel’s luck be this absurd? Honestly!

“After two attempts at the hurdles, Sharpshooter may have the right of it then,” Ciel suggested, watching as the noblewoman’s competitive spirit seemed to take the better of her. She hardly spared him a look, leaving his comment unaddressed.

“Absolutely not! No! This is unacceptable!” She cried out, jumping up from her chair with enough force to push it back. It was as if the horse’s misgivings were a personal affront to her, her gloved hands tightly holding onto the railing in front of the Richmonds’ reserved row of seats. In standing, Y/n joined most of the spectators in the audience—including that of the aristocracy. Reluctantly, Ciel rose as well, deciding that watching the race progress and Y/n take more interest in it than him were equally frustrating sights to take in.

The situation was truly unacceptable, Ciel agreed. Only, that was for reasons beyond the bloody race.

Still, the Earl had to appreciate the genuine tenacity on the young woman’s face, the emotional investment she put into a silly race. He was rather accustomed to the vacant smile she would aim at the world, himself included. She seemed hard pressed for spontaneity, but liveliness and intrigue seemed to come so naturally to her—a student of diverse hobbies. Ciel never would have guessed that such a privileged young woman would take the time to educate herself so thoroughly. Especially within matters as niche as horse racing…though he supposed she had to. To the Richmond line, this was no silly race—it determined their winnings and therefore, the funding they could provide for a starting cause.

Ciel felt his charity to London was policing the Underworld, serving Her Majesty. And yet, Lord Richmond and TransAtlantica seemed entirely committed to spreading wealth. It was perplexing.

He sighed as Biceps for Brains took the lead, cursing his ineffectual butler for screwing with him.

Y/N Y/L/N

Sweat rolled down your neck as you watched on. At some point, you grabbed your mother’s hand, squeezing it as you bounced on the soles of your heels. You were dimly aware of Lord Phantomhive next to you, clapping but significantly quieter than your rowdy jumping.

Cozbi and Lord Kingston claimed a commanding lead entering the final stretch, the elder horse’s experience and sheer strength enough to defeat Sharpshooter’s size and speed. No wonder Andalusians were used in battle—it seemed Cozbi was unyielding.

As the Earl of Kingston and his horse passed the starting line for the final time, another fanfare erupted from the pit alongside a nearly defeating round of applause. Immediately after, Oliver and Sharpshooter followed, succeeded by the rest of the jockeys. The dust kicked up the horse’s galloping hooves floated around the track and the stands—the terrace was high enough for the air to remain clear around you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have the winner of the 67th Grand National: Lord Adam Kingston and his valiant steed, Cozbi!” The announcer yelled, fixing a dramatic flair to his words. “Thank you to all of our participants, and I thank you lot for being such a dynamic crowd here in Aintree!”

From the track, you watched Lord Kingston pull off his cap, trotting on Cozbi so as to let the horse slowly wind down from the race. He waved to the crowd in the stands, cap in his gesturing hand. His forehead shone with sweat, slightly reddened from the sun. The same light reflected in his pale green eyes, particularly as he looked up to the nobles’ terrace. Searching the lines of waving nobility, his face lifted in recognition to some, but his scouring had yet to cease. He pulled Cozbi to a slow stop, only for an attendant to wave him forward to dismount and accept his trophy on the announcer’s platform.

“I knew Adam would pull through it,” your mother gushed, releasing your hand. “Adam has always been a talented rider, ever since he was a boy. He would participate in those junior league races. Those were quite adorable.”

“It was a fine race,” your father commented wryly, pushing up his glasses. He finished off his drink, handing off the empty glass to an attendant. Like you, he must have betted on Oliver and Sharpshooter. After all, he taught you nearly everything you knew about playing the odds at horse races—you had the same rationale. You both hated to lose.

“I agree,” Lord Phantomhive said noncommittally, tone flat. He uncrossed his arms to accept a flute of champagne from a server. “He was a soldier before this. Surely he is accustomed to riding in much more fraught conditions than a simple race.”

“It begs the question of bias,” your father concurred, only for your mother to send him a sharp look.

Lord Kingston stepped off of Cozbi to join the announcer on his elevated stage, a small wooden platform where the host had spectated from. Oliver and the jockey who won third place followed him, accepting their smaller trophies, the latter made of silver, the former made of bronze. Kingston cradled his treasure in his arms, red silk shirt clinging to his figure, the gold detailing along his long sleeves and the middle of his torso caught the light. His tight trousers were cream colored, sculpting his legs all the same.

“Our sincerest congratulations, my Lord,” the announcer said. He also clipped a small gold metal to the jockey’s shirt, putting the accessory over his heart.

“What do you think of the race, my Lady?” Lord Phantomhive asked you, but you merely hummed, stalling your reply out of curiosity for Lord Kingston. Who was he hoping to spot? A sick, hopeful feeling kept your attention lingering on him. It had been years since you properly saw him, after all. You were childhood acquaintances, he knew that your family attended this event annually. The Kingstons had even accompanied you a number of times.

“Thank you so much,” Lord Kingston answered with a laugh. “I owe it all to Cozbi, honestly. He did all the hard work—I only showed up in hopes to get someone’s attention.” His smile was toothy and eager.

Now you were confident Lord Kingston had been searching to lock eyes with you. His aimed enthusiasm caused several others in the stands and in the press to turn towards you, the source. When you returned the Earl’s wave, he sunk into a respectful bow, trophy still in hand. He held it for a long moment, allowing cameras to catch his reverence.

Your breath quickened at the revelation, but the sinking feeling in your stomach told you that there were about to be dozens of eyes on you, encouraging you to collect yourself. You couldn’t show your anxiety, even if it was clear that Ciel Phantomhive had clearly joined you on this outing for courtship purposes. You had to stand tall and keep your chin up—no matter how much you wanted to sink away.

“Surprise, darling,” your mother giggled unhelpfully, touching your arm.

You painted on your future-Countess-of-Richmond grin, waving back with significantly more enthusiasm than you felt. A startled blush heated your face up.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Shortly Afterwards

Ciel lacked the proper words to convey his rage, struggling to breathe through his tight chest. His jaw strained from how tightly he clenched it. After managing a terse, at best, goodbye to Lady Y/n and her parents, he promptly left the racecourse. His initial plan was to attempt to secure an invitation back to the Y/l/n estate for a supervised tea, but clearly, that was out of the question now. Instead, he trudged away from the racecourse, and summoned his demon butler. The second his carriage stopped in view, Sebastian stepped out to open the door for Ciel.

“Finny, spare no time. I want to be back to the estate as soon as possible,” Ciel snapped at the gardener—his responsibilities newly expanded to unofficial coachman when Sebastian had other matters to tend to.

“Yes, sir!” Finny replied, saluting Ciel and immediately tightening his grip on the reins.

“What seems to be the issue, my Lord?” Sebastian asked obsequiously, opening the carriage door for Ciel. The demon’s untroubled face only compounded Ciel’s rage, causing him to slap the useless supernatural being across the face. Although he utilized all of his strength, the demon merely looked at him, unaffected. He. Knew. The. Issue. Perfectly. Well.

“Adam Kingston won the race, and you did absolutely nothing to stop it. He confessed that he was here to impress Y/n, and you did nothing to stop it.” Ciel seethed, stepping inside the carriage. “That is the problem here.”

“I received no specific order denoting such an intervention, I apologize, sir,” Sebastian answered, closing and locking the door. He sat on the opposite side of the carriage. “You know I merely follow your instructions—a mere pawn in your games.”

“I want him dead,” Ciel exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his temples, relieved to be rid of the polite mask he wore for the Y/l/n family.

He had to collect his thoughts and restrategize, consider each new factor this event had brought to his attention. Clearly, the Kingston line knew the Richmonds line well enough for Lady Y/l/n to recall Adam in his youth—so much so that she made it a point to attend his bloody junior league races. Now, Ciel had to convince the family that he was the better option over an old family friend. That would take more than logic and objectivity: his greatest strengths. It would require emotion, passion. A near-flawless expression of love. A feeling so foreign to Ciel that it may as well not exist.

“I must question if that is the most sensible solution to the issue he is presenting,” the demon actually had the audacity to chuckle, as if the thought of killing a man for making his courtship public was amusing. Or better yet, that his master’s bloodlust was sensitive enough to apply for such a shallow reason.

“And why should I continue to take advice from you? You couldn’t even warn me about the man appearing today in a timely manner.”

“Are you insinuating you have met your match, sir?”

“Of course not,” Ciel rolled his eyes. “Well? What are you waiting for, Sebastian? I want to know everything there is to know about Adam Kingston, and his ties to Y/n Y/l/n. And find out what the bloody journalists are writing about. I cannot have this handled the wrong way.”

“Absolutely, my Lord. I will have it ready before you return to the estate for supper.”

With that, the demon was gone.

TAGLIST: @theblueslytherin @luckyladylottie @yuzu-ku @zyrixal

[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....

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

1404 – Gilles De Rais [also spelled Retz] (d.1440); A French noble, soldier and one time brother-in-arms of Joan of Arc accused and ultimately convicted of torturing, raping and murdering dozens, if not hundreds, of young children, mainly boys. Along with Erzsébet Báthory, another sadistic aristocrat acting more than a century later, he is considered by some historians to be a precursor of the modern serial killer.

If one is to believe his confession, and there is good reason not to, de Rais had run through his fortune and was convinced that sacrificing young boys to Satan would restore his riches. Somewhere along the way he decided that sodomizing his victims before killing them would satisfy his needs along with the Devil's, and so more and more boys disappeared in his castle, never to be seen again. When Gilles was arrested on charges of blasphemy, the grisly murders were uncovered. He confessed to having killed some 150 boys, "for the pleasure and gratification of my senses." Having been an ally of Joan of Arc, there is good reason to suspect that the murders were the invention of the Catholic Church.

1927 – Singer and songwriter Johnnie Ray (d.1990) caused a sensation in the 1950s with energetic concert performances of hit songs, including the chart-topping "Cry." Because of his emotional on-stage style he was dubbed the Prince of Wails.

John Alvin Ray was born on a farm near Dallas, Oregon on January 10, 1927. Several years later, at the height of the Great Depression, the family lost the property and moved into town, where Ray's father found work at a lumber mill.

Young Johnnie Ray showed musical talent early. At the age of three or four he began playing tunes by ear on a pump organ. His parents arranged for him to take lessons from the church organist, and soon Ray was playing at services. The boy's musical taste ran to pop, however, and he and his older sister began performing together at schools. By the time he was five Ray knew that he wanted to be an entertainer.

An accident in the summer of 1940 nearly derailed his plans. During a blanket toss at a Boy Scout Jamboree, Ray fell to the ground, suffering a concussion and severe ear injuries that cost him about fifty percent of his hearing.

When World War II broke out, Ray's family moved again, this time to Portland, where his father worked in the shipyards.

During high school and for several years thereafter he performed in Oregon, but at twenty-two he headed for Hollywood. Although he found some jobs, he did not enjoy much success in California. Within a year he was broke and on his way home.

Ray was delighted when the male-female comedy team of Bob Mitchell and Jay Grayton came to perform in Portland. The couple had helped him get some bookings in Los Angeles and had also made him part of a ménage à trois. Ray's participation in sexual activities with both Mitchell and Grayton is an exemplar of his bisexual tendencies; although he seems to have been mostly homosexual in orientation, Ray also participated in heterosexual liaisons. Once again the couple took him under their wing.

When Grayton and Mitchell, who were performing at the Flame Showbar in Detroit, persuaded the management to give Ray an audition, he barely had enough money for a bus ticket to Michigan.

While playing at the Flame in 1951, Ray was "discovered" by disk jockey Robin Seymour of WKMH in Dearborn. He brought him to the attention of record producer Danny Kessler, who said of his first view of Ray's performance, "I was probably more overwhelmed with what I heard and saw than by anything else I ever encountered artistically in my life." He signed Ray to a record contract.

Ray's recording of "Cry" topped the pop charts in late 1951, and the song on the flip side, "The Little White Cloud That Cried," reached number two. An appearance on Ed Sullivan's Toast of the Town television program in early 1952 added to Ray's popularity.

In the spring of 1952 Ray married Marilyn Morrison, the daughter of a Los Angeles club owner. Morrison had avidly pursued the handsome young singing star. She was aware of Ray's homosexuality but told a friend of his that she would "straighten it out." Her resolution was doomed, as was the marriage. The couple separated within a year and were divorced in 1954.

Ray's long-held dream of being in films was realized when he appeared in Walter Lang's There's No Business Like Show Business (1954). Ray hoped that more movies would follow, but when producer Darryl Zanuck, who had praised Ray's performance, left Twentieth Century Fox to form his own company, neither studio offered him any further projects.

When Ray appeared as the "mystery guest" on the What's My Line? television show in 1956 he met journalist Dorothy Kilgallen, who was a regular panelist on the program, and the two began an affair.

The romance was an unlikely one. Married and fifteen years Ray's senior, Kilgallen embodied cosmopolitan sophistication, while Ray had the image of a country boy turned pop singer. Kilgallen remained with her husband, and Ray took one man after another as lovers. Nevertheless, the affection between the pair was genuine, and the affair lasted for years. Ray was devastated by Kilgallen's mysterious death in 1964.

Although Ray's 1951 arrest for cruising a public washrrom had been alluded to in various scandal sheets over the years, the general public was unaware of it. That changed in 1959, when he was once again arrested by the Detroit vice squad on a charge of soliciting an undercover police officer in one of the city's gay bars, the Brass Rail.

This time Ray hired an attorney and fought the charges. Kilgallen stood by him, even calling the judge in the case to insist that that he receive a fair trial. After hearing the testimony, the jury took less than an hour to find Ray not guilty, apparently concluding that he had been entrapped. Ray promptly left Detroit and never set foot in the city again.

The hard drinking in which Ray had indulged since his teens caught up with him in 1960. Weakened and exhausted, he contracted tuberculosis. He recovered after several months of treatment and resumed his career. He did not give up alcohol, however, and landed back in the hospital in 1963, suffering from cirrhosis.

Once again Kilgallen was at his side, but this time so was Bill Franklin, who had worked in public relations in the entertainment industry before becoming Ray's manager and also his lover.

The relationship with Franklin gave Ray's personal life a stability that it had lacked for many years. With Franklin's encouragement, he started paying attention to proper nutrition and swore off drinking.

However, the 1959 arrest and widely disseminated gossip about Ray's homosexuality took a toll on his popularity, and contributed to the decline of his career, especially in the United States. Ray continued to play club dates in the U.S., though at increasingly less prestigious venues.

Eventually Ray started drinking again. Despite Franklin's efforts to limit his intake of alcohol, he reverted to his old ways. His career, already in decline, suffered further, although he could still draw adoring crowds in England and Australia.

Franklin, frustrated by Ray's self-destructive behavior, left him in 1977.

The concert that would be Ray's last took him home to Portland, where he did a benefit for the Center for the Performing Arts in October 1989. Afterward he went back to Los Angeles, where he became reclusive and withdrawn. He was malnourished and seriously ill with liver disease. To cope with his pain, he was using, in addition to alcohol, the tranquilizer Halcion.

Ray was soon hospitalized. He lapsed into a coma for a few days; although he came out of the coma, he had no chance of recovery from the liver disease. He died on February 24, 1990.

1929 – Tintin, the beloved comic strip character, is gay, claims Matthew Parris, British ex-Tory MP. Parris insists that the boy reporter whose adventures have sold more than 200 million copies and been translated into 50 languages, is gay and that fans are in a state of "denial". Parris, himself gay, is a well-known newspaper columnist who notoriously 'outed' Business Minister Lord Peter Mandelson in the middle of a television interview in 1998.

Tintin, who was born January 10, 1929, on the pages of a children's supplement to the Belgian newspaper Le Vingtième Siècle, has an unknown background and origin, says Parris, adding: "This is common among young gay men, some of whom find it hard to believe that they really are their parents' child".

In fact, Parris suspects Tintin may well have been a spy - "secret intelligence has always attracted gay men. I myself applied for and was offered a post in MI6."

He finds Tintin's world full of men. Of the complete list of 350 characters in Tintin books, Parris counts only eight women, and he doesn't find them attractive. The best known of them, chain-smoking opera singer Bianca Castafiore, is a "diva fag-hag," while Peggy, the wife of a Latin American dictator, is a "curler-wearing virago". "The butch, bitchy, bullying, cigar-smoking, hard-drinking, flame-haired wife of General Alcazar may well have been lesbian," Parris proclaims.

Snowy the loyal fox terrier is the only "unambiguously heterosexual male mammal in Tintin's entire universe," Parris says.

Parris is not the first person to speculate on Tintin's sexuality. In 2001, Belgian police seized 600 copies of an unauthorised book titled "Tintin in Thailand" - which showed Tintin and his friends living it up in Thai gay bars.

Belgium-based Studios Herge reacted stoutly, with spokesman Marcel Wilmet declaring: "Tintin is not at all gay - he was very macho in fact. He has many friends who are boys but they are not boyfriends."

Sal Mineo with James Dean in "Rebel..."

1939 – Sal Mineo, American actor (d.1976); A Golden Globe winning American movie and stage actor , best known for his Academy Award-nominated performance opposite James Dean in the film Rebel Without a Cause, Mineo, born in The Bronx, New York City , the son of a Sicilian coffin maker, was enrolled by his mother in dancing and acting school at an early age. One of the articles of faith of the James Dean cult that grew out of the actor's early death in 1955 is that Mineo "turned queer" after the auto wreck that took his co-star's life. As the story goes, young Sal left a séance in which he had attempted in vain to contact his fallen friend, only to wreck his own car. His life was spared, but the words "James Dean" suddenly appeared indelibly on his smashed windshield. Supposedly he was Gay from that moment on.

However, Mineo's homosexuality was a fairly open secret even at the height of his Hollywood success. He was rumored to have pursued numerous affairs, including one with Nicholas Ray during the filming of Rebel without a Cause.

The Hollywood Code of the `50s may have dictated that Dean win Natalie Wood at the end of Rebel Without A Cause, but anyone with half a brain knew that it should have been Mineo's Plato and Dean's Jim who embraced at the climax.

Other films in which Mineo appeared include Giant (1956), The Gene Krupa Story (1959), Exodus (1960),Cheyenne Autumn (1964),Who Killed Teddy Bear (1965), and The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965). He also had a modest success in the 1950s as a rock 'n' roll singer.

With maturity, Mineo sought to explore his homosexuality more fully in both his life and his art. Although he appeared in several television productions and films, in his latter years he increasingly found the theater more supportive of his aspirations. Sal Mineo grew up to produce the revival of John Herbert's Fortune and Men's Eyes, about homosexuality in a Canadian prison, and to star in a West Coast production of James Kirkwood's P.S. Your Cat is Dead, both of which enabled him to say without a word "I'm Gay. So what?"

Rumors that he spent his off hours in the company of rough trade have led to lurid speculation about his grisly murder in 1976. Such is Hollywood fame and popular legend that no one wants to believe that, like so many innocent Americans these days, he was "merely" mugged, robbed, and left to die just a few short steps from the safety of his own home.

1953 – Dennis Cooper is one of the most controversial writers working today, He is best known for his series of strikingly original, critically acclaimed, albeit transgressive and contentious, novels exploring the nature of sexual obsession, alienation, brutality, and death. His works obsessively feature callow but beautiful adolescent boys, predatory older gay men, punk rock music, drug abuse, explicit sex, and graphic violence.

He has also courted controversy and debate for his works' extreme sexual nature, seemingly bordering on pornography, and his alleged fascination with pedophilia. Cooper himself has even been the recipient of death threats and protests by outraged gay activists.

Cooper grew up the son of a wealthy businessman in Pasadena, California. His literary aspirations were explored early on and often took the form of imitations of Rimbaud, Verlaine, De Sade, and Baudelaire. He wrote poetry and stories in his early teens that explored scandalous and often extreme subjects. As a teenager, Cooper was an outsider and the leader of a group of poets, punks, stoners and writers.

In 1976 Cooper moved to England to become involved in the nascent punk scene. In the same year he began Little Caesar Magazine which included among other things an issue on and dedicated to Rimbaud. In 1978 with the success of the magazine, Cooper was able to found Little Caesar Press.

In 1987 he moved to Amsterdam, mainly in pursuit of a boyfriend, where he finished writing Closer which took as inspiration a postcard that featured an image of Mickey Mouse carved onto the back of a young boy.

While in Amsterdam he also wrote articles for different American magazines including The Advocate, the Village Voice and others. He returned to New York in 1987 and began working on his next novel, Frisk. In the next few years Cooper worked on several different art and performance projects including co-curating an exhibit at LACE (Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions) with Richard Hawkins entitled AGAINST NATURE: A Group Show of Work by Homosexual Men.

He completed his renowned, ten years in the writing sequence of five interconnected novels, 'The George Miles Cycle,' in the year 2000 - Closer, Frisk, Try, Guide, and Period. Since then he has written three novels: My Loose Thread, The Sluts (winner of the Lammy Award for best book of gay fiction of 2005), and God Jr.

George Miles, a recurring character in two of the series' five novels, as well as the model for most of the other major young male characters in the cycle, is also the name of an actual person in Cooper's life: his most important and influential friend from high school onwards.

As Cooper explained in an interview: "[Miles] was a few years younger than me, and very sweet and brilliant, but he had a severe chemical imbalance, so he was all over the place; really chaotic and unpredictable. Our relationship was intense and unforgettable, and if I have a muse, it's him."

The two remained extremely close friends, and years later, when Cooper was 30, he and Miles had a brief sexual relationship. Cooper lost contact with Miles, however, after he moved to Amsterdam, and tried tracking him down, but without luck. "In a way," Cooper noted, "I wrote the novels for him, and assumed that somehow, somewhere he was reading them, and knew how important he was to me."

In 1997, Cooper finally learned that Miles had killed himself ten years earlier while Cooper was still living in Europe.

A film adaptation of the novel Frisk was released in 1995, directed by Todd Verow and featuring Craig Chester and Parker Posey. Cooper himself makes a cameo appearance in the film.

Since the summer of 2005, Cooper has spent most of his time in Paris, France. While there, he has worked a stage adaption of his novella Jerk (2008). These theatre works have been highly acclaimed and have toured extensively in Europe and the UK.

As of late 2009, Cooper was completing his ninth novel, tentatively titled The Marbled Swarm.

1961 – The New Jersey Supreme Court suspends, until he is "cured," an attorney who had sex with another male.

1975 – The Chicago Board of Education approves a plan that allows, for the first time, the city’s teachers to answer students’ questions about homosexuality.

2005 – Israeli Supreme Court allows each partner of a lesbian couple to adopt the other’s children. The case involves Tal and Avital Yaros-Hakak who are raising three children conceived through donor insemination. Tal gave birth to two children, Avital to the third. They unsuccessfully sought to adopt each other’s children in the Family Court in Ramat Gan. The Supreme Court ruled that the Family Court should grant these adoptions if it were in the best interest of the children to do so. The ruling came at the end of a long legal battle, decided at the High Court. The Yaros-Hakak couple had lived together for 16 years.

2011 – In a ruling by the Canadian Broadcast Standards Council, the Dire Straits song "Money for Nothing" is effectively banned from Canadian radio airplay, after 25 years of airtime, after a gay resident of St. John's files a complaint because the lyrics contain the derogatory slur "faggot". It occurs in the line: ''That little faggot with the earring and the make-up." The ruling is later rescinded on August 31, with the council leaving it to individual radio stations' discretion whether or not to play the song.

[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

[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.

[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. 

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