bob knee


Like many wealthy white businessmen, the NFL owners are casual racists (if not outright racists), who view themselves benevolent wardens (or plantation owners) who “know what’s best” for their mostly black employees. Once again: Bob McNair gave more to the the Trump campaign + Trump aligned Super PACs + the Trump inaugural committee, than any NFL owner.

Bygones of the Sun | 02 (M)

Originally posted by hobismole

Genre: Angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

Pairing: Reader x Hoseok

Length: 5.0k

Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

01 | 02 | 03

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anonymous asked:

does anyone else get offended by the video where h asks everyone to close their eyes and abruptly demands "DO IT" because kdsjhfkjahsdfkjsdahfkjha imagine him being like that in bed. i'm dead

“Do it.” His voice is deep, throaty, and taunting as he eyes you from across the room, where he’s seated on the blood red velvet love seat that came with the expensive hotel room.

He has an arm swung over the backrest of the small couch, one leg crossed over the other with his ankle resting on his knee. He’s still in his suit for the night, the silk material of his tuxedo jacket clinging alluringly to his broad shoulders and lean arms, his taunt muscles flexing and shifting under the fine fabric.

Harry brings the elegant glass of wine to his mouth, the cup sifting between his cherry-stained lips. He takes a leisurely sip, the warm, bourbon-tinted light of a dim lamp glinting across his darkened jade irises as they gleam at you with predatory-like amusement, framed by a strong set of brows that quirk up in an expecting manner.

When you don’t move an inch, he simply sets the glass of dark wine down on the glass coffee table, licking and suckling the residue of the delicacy drink from his slightly swollen and stinging lips. When he speaks, his tone is blatantly authoritative, as if what he is to say next is a textbook fact.

“Either you do it or you’re not getting fucked again until we get to Singapore.”

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We Are Young: Chapter 8

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

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“Stop.” Aelin’s hand shot out, landing on Lysandra bobbing knee. “It’s going to be fine. It’s just an ultrasound.”

Lysandra let loose a shaky breath, her knee bouncing again the moment Aelin removed her hand.

“I know,” She said, glancing nervously around the room. “But, this feels more real now, you know? Before, the only proof I had was some stick I peed on. Once a professional confirms it…”

“Everything is going to be fine.” Aelin took Lysandra’s hand, giving it a light squeeze as a smile pulled on her lips. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Lysandra could only offer Aelin a small smile in return. She hated to admit it, but she was slowly letting her nerves get the best of her. She liked to think of herself as a pretty strong person, but sitting in this waiting room, she couldn’t help the fear and jitteriness that overcame her.

It didn’t take long for a nurse to walk out and call her name. With Aelin holding her hand, the two followed the nurse down the hall and into a room.

Honestly, Lysandra was so lost in her nervousness at that point, everything became a blur. And before she knew it, she was lying on the examination table, Aelin standing next to her. She tried to calm her racing heart as the doctor squirted the cold jelly on her stomach, moving the ultrasound to get a clear picture of the baby.

“Here we go,” the doctor smiled, using a finger to point out the baby on the screen. There wasn’t really much to see at this point, but what she could see caused Lysandra’s heart to skip a beat.

That was her baby.

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Catfish and the Bottlemen backstage at Shaky Knees

Ego Aesthetics

(So I had this idea a few days ago but gave up because I thought people might think it’s stupid, but then I decided that I want to do it anyway. So enjoy!)

Bim Trimmer is the flash of cameras and the sound of a brass band striking the first note. He’s that feeling you get when you step into cold water and every nerve of your body lights up. He’s the sound of children laughing as they run through a park on a warm spring day with the wind carrying the scent of freshly blooming flowers. Bim is tip-toeing past closed doors at night to slip out and see the stars as the fireflies are winking.

Dr. Iplier is clean, white sheets that still smell fresh as morning light drifts through the window. He’s perfect lines and just the right words. He’s the scent of coffee when you need it most and fresh bakes muffins that melt in your mouth and leave you feeling all warm inside. He’s a cold shower with mint scented shampoo. Doc is that feeling in your stomach when the roller coaster suddenly drops down the steep decline, and he’s getting swept up in another person’s eyes for the first time.

Google is light glinting off of water and the sound of rain hitting a tin roof. He’s the kind of excitement that makes you bob your knee under the table and drum your fingers across the surface. He’s staying up late on Wikipedia, an insatiable curiosity for the unknown and the strange. He’s the black space between stars and the moments when you grit your teeth. Google is the scent of electricity when a thunderstorm is about to hit and everything seems to go silent in anticipation.

Silver Shepherd is carnival rides and laughing until it hurts. He’s late night talks with your friends that start to not make so much sense after a while, but they’re still fun anyway. He’s that feeling in your chest when you do the right thing and stand up for someone who can’t stand up for themselves. He’s nervous giggles and sweaty palms. Silver is the sound of music from far off and the sudden clash of a cymbal.

The Host is the scent of old books and dust, of pine and sap and wood smoke. He’s the sound of wind chimes blown around by a summer storm and the cracking of lightning. He’s the feeling of biting your lip until it bleeds but also a nap at the perfect time of day. The Host is running barefoot through leaves and cold dirt as the sun shines down through the gray clouds. He’s an autumn blaze after the first cold snap and wearing an oversized sweater that comes down over your hands.

Ed Edgar is singing along to a song even when your way off key. He’s driving just for the sake of being somewhere different, somewhere new. He’s camping out underneath the stars with nothing but a bonfire for light and a truck bed to sleep in. Ed is the smell of gasoline and a freshly struck match and just as dangerous. He’s the feeling of bloodied knuckles and a black eye but still itching to fight just because you can.

Wilford Warfstache is cotton candy and bubble gum, too much sugar but not enough all at once. He’s electric colors and the popping sound of an amp being plugged in. He’s yelling at the top of your lungs just for the fun of it. He’s shattered glass and crazy hair and wondering where you left your other shoe. Wilford is bright lights and tough questions and the taste of blood in your mouth. He’s the walking embodiment of vertigo but the thrill of applause makes it worth it.

Darkiplier is sweet nothings whispered in your ear and gentle hands that could turn cold at any moment. He’s an easy smile that covers sharp teeth and the cut of a broken bottle. He’s the black and white of piano keys and the red of a rose covered in thorns. He’s heart-stopping eyes that make you forget to breathe like they’re holding you underwater by the throat. Dark is the scent of cinnamon and the sound of a breaking bone. He’s all your worst fears wrapped up into a neat little package that looks sweet but tastes bitter. He won’t hesitate to break you, and part of you won’t even mind it when he does.


Thankyou guys so friggin much for all the positive feedback and support on my Jughead Serpent Au, you guys make me so happy to write these stories!

He was practically floating on air, the goofy smile that seemed a permanent fixture on his face today was driving his friends crazy, and that only spurred him on, what fun was a secret if you didn’t use it to mess with people?

“Come on man, what’s with the stupid face? You haven’t stopped grinning since you drove up this morning. I didn’t think you even knew how to smile?” Dean teased, elbowing Jughead in the side and impatiently waiting for an explanation.

“What? A guy can’t be happy around here. Maybe I really like what’s on the lunch menu today.” He shrugged lazily, pulling a long drag out of the cigarette hanging from his mouth, a few of the Serpents stood outside Southside high while Jughead leaned against his motorcycle, the extra wide smile still playing on his lips.

“You eat everything, you don’t care what’s on the menu” Keith rolled his eyes, shrugging his jacket off and taking in the late fall, early summer sun “this wouldn’t have anything to do with our very own ball of sunshine, little miss Betty Cooper, would it?” He smirked knowingly.

There were hushed laughs and immature “ooooohhhsss”

Jughead popped the collar of his jacket, rolling his eyes
“And if it is? I can’t help the fact that someone like her wants to be with me, she’s.. special” He smiled proudly.

A few of the boys began cracking up and some of them made obnoxious fake throw up noises.

“Yeah whatever, find a girl like mine and you’ll Change your mind real fast” he threw his hands at them, putting his cigarette out.

“You’re dad will be happy.” Keith said knowingly, his eyes sympathetic.

Dean looked worriedly at Jughead, for a boy his size, he was most definitely all bite no bark

“You ain’t just with her because of what your dad said right? About us getting in Riverdales head? Because Betty’s real nice and I don’t want to see her get hurt.” He said slowly, warning evident in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that, what me and Betty have is real. My dad has nothing to do with the way we feel about each other, if it gets him off my back for a while, so be it. But im not letting him anywhere near this relationship. I’m not letting anyone near this relationship.” He cast his eyes too a group of particular nasty Serpents in the corner who were eyeing Jughead with an unfamiliar look.

“Figured we’d stop by Pops again after school, as corny as that place is, the burgers are some of the best.” A lanky Serpent named Jacob said,a few of the other boys voicing there agreement.

“Sounds like a plan.” Jughead nodded Cooly, pulling his phone out and sending a text to his favorite girl

JUGHEAD: wanna grab a milkshake after school? On me ;)

He bobbed his knee anxiously waiting for the text, quickly opening his phone as it lit up.

BETTY: wouldn’t you much rather it be on me? ;)

He nearly choked on his own breath after reading the message, his eyes going wide, another message popped up and he eagerly opened it.

BETTY: I have no idea where that came from. What are you doing to me Jughead Jones? ;) a milkshake sounds amazing, bring your friends I’ll bring mine. Can’t wait to see you. Miss you.

He clutched the phone in his hand, his heart instantly feeling lighter, she had such a damn effect on him, it scared him sometimes, but the excitement overshadowed the fear and he found himself anticipating seeing her face.

The day went by quickly and before Jughead knew it he was pulling into Pop Tate’s Parking lot, the rumble of motorcycles following him as his gang parked their bikes, heading for the door in a rowdy bundle. Jughead stood beside Keith and Dean, his eyes scanning from the doorway, softening when he spotted Betty standing beside a booth on her tiptoes, looking around for Jughead, when she caught his eyes, she grinned leaning down and whispering something in Veronica’s ear, the dark haired girl turning towards him and rolled her eyes playfully.

The three boys made their way over and stood before the booth awkwardly, Archie moved over from his seat, and dean dropped beside him, shaking the entire table with his mass.

“Woah there big boy!” Veronica laughed, her hands coming out to steady herself as Archie clapped him on the shoulder
“We sure could use you on the football team!” He laughed as Dean grinned shyly.

Betty slid into the booth, Jughead sliding directly beside her, his arm instantly coming to rest on her shoulders. Betty looked up at him with light eyes
“Hi” she whispered.

Jughead brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and smiled “hi”

The conversation was light and fun, Archie and Jughead realizing how much they had in common and Keith and Veronica discussing fashion, a secret passion of Keith’s. Kevin had pretty much fallen in love and Dean was just happy to eat and listen to the stories, occasionally setting both the girls into fits of giggles at his barking laugh.

An hour later, the perfect bubble they had been in burst with a very audible pop.

“Elizabeth Cooper! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” The shrill voice of a middle aged women, followed by a man who looked exceptionally like Betty rang through the tiny diner.

Betty stiffened in Jughead arms, her whole body shaking slightly as she stood almost robotically.

“Mom. Dad” she whispered, taking shaky steps out of the booth

“What are you doing here?! Don’t you know you have tutoring? And Latin class? And what’s this I hear about you ending Cheerleading practice early? What’s the matter with you?!” She screamed in her daughters face.

Betty shook her head
“It’s Friday, I was just..” she was cut off by the older man clutching her wrist

“Don’t talk to your mother like that, keep your mouth shut, let’s go.” He tugged Betty towards the door, the blonde losing her footing and tripping slightly, her eyes downcast as she winced.

Jughead was out of the booth in seconds flat, his eyes lethal as Archie followed closely behind, Jughead gripped Betty’s fathers hand that was wrapped around Betty’s wrist

“Let her go.” He growled as Hal Cooper, stared shocked at his hand

“You don’t know who you’re messing with boy” he hissed as Alice waved her hands frantically.

“You’ve been hanging around these people. Their kind ” she spat, her eyes narrowing on Jughead as he shook his head still glaring at Hal, he opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off when Betty stepped forward.

“Don’t talk about them like that. They have more class in one finger than you do in your entire body.” She said dangerously, standing toe to toe with her shocked mother.

“You don’t know anything about them.” Betty spoke

Alice shook her head
“I know enough. I know enough to know these people are nothing but trash, nothing but thugs, nothing but..” suddenly a glass soared past the older woman’s head, smashing against the wall behind her head, sending glass flying as Betty stood in front of her, her hands shaking

“You need to leave.” She hissed , her eyes dark as the entire diner went dead silent, to make matters worse Chuck and his football players stormed in through the front doors, noticing the motorcycles in the front they had come for a fight. Noting the tension, they stopped abruptly and watched.

“Elizabeth, we’ll discuss this at home.” Alice Cooper said her voice shaky, as she touched a hand to her chest.

“No.” she said finally, testing the word out on her lips “no I’m not going with you.” She finished finally.

Hal laughed bitterly
“Where will you go? Who’s gonna want you? Now that you’re some Serpent Slut?” The man smiled wickedly.

Betty looked down at her hands helplessly and Jughead stepped forward, coming up to grip her now bruised wrist.

“She’ll stay with me.” He said, tugging her towards the door, his arm coming around to wrap around her protectively as he ushered her towards the door, shoving past Chuck and his friends as they shouted, an all out screaming war broke out.
Chuck reached for Betty’s hand

“Think about what you’re doing Betty, think about your decisions.” He said dangerously, threatening her.

Jughead pushed her softly ahead of him and turned to chuck, slamming him against the wall
“You touch her, you look at her, you even breathe in her presence, I will kill you. I swear to god, I’ll make you wish you were never born.” The boy fell against the wall as Jughead released him.

Jughead turned back to see Veronica and Archie and Kevin slipping out the back with Dean and Keith right beside him. The dark haired boy jumped on his bike, reaching a hand out for Betty, who looked at him nervously.

“Do you trust me?” He shouted over the noise.

With one final glance back at the chaos behind her, Betty gripped his hand and climbed onto the back of the bike, her hands wrapping securely around her waist.

“You ready angel?” He said when she dropped her chin to his neck.

She pressed her nose to his pulse point and nodded

“Take me away Romeo.”

My Chemical Romance - 2005 (cut of a K!1084 scan by @mcrscans)

Photo Credit: Jenny Lewis

Photo Taken: November 9th, 2005

Picture also used in Kerrang “Hot Shots” Poster Special

New Beginnings Part 8

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 6,428

Warnings:  Swearing, Angst, Lots of Feels, Blood

Trigger Warning: Kidnapping, Slapping (Violence, not much though)

Ratings: R (Mature)

Summary: After your grandparents pass away, you find out they leave everything to you, including a large sum of money.  Deciding to take the advice of your grandparents, you live your life to the fullest; which means moving to Boston and bumping into Chris Evans.

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay.  As mentioned earlier, I had to work all weekend plus I was trying to buy a new car so I have been busy.  But I got my car and I don’t work another weekend for a month so I have a lot more time on my hands! ALSO, I am not too happy with this part, so any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.  I love you guys!

Your mind awoke before your eyes did as you struggled awake; your memories felt jumbled inside your head. Slowly, your eyes opened as you took in your new surroundings.  Your heart rate increased at a rapid pace, realizing you had no idea where you were.  

Gradually, your mind started to process what was going on and on instinct, you started to scream. “HELP ME!!!  SOME BODY PLEASE HELP ME!!!!”

Your chest was heaving up and down as you moved your head around, trying to figure out where you were. Tilting your head, you noticed you were on a mattress, your feet cuffed together and rigged to a bolt on the floor.

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Josh Sánchez on Twitter
“Bob Costas NAILED this. Patriotism comes in many forms, but it's been conflated w/ bumper sticker flag waving & "military only." 🙌”

Bob Costas speaks eloquently and forcefully on what patriotism really means:

“Part of what’s happened is that sports and patriotism and the flag have been conflated to such an extent that people can’t separate out any nuance.

“If you go to see Hamilton, which is about the founding of the republic, no one says, ‘Wait a minute – don’t raise the curtain until we hear the national anthem!’ When you went to see Saving Private Ryan, no one said, ‘Turn off the projector until we’ve had the national anthem!’

“It’s in sports where this stuff happens. Sometimes movingly. Sometimes, I submit, cynically. Because wrapping yourself in the flag and honoring the military is something which no one is going to object to. We all respect their sacrifice. We all honor their sacrifice. And yet, what it has come to mean, is that the flag is primarily and only about the military.

“This is no disrespect to the military; it’s a huge part of the narrative. But Martin Luther King was a patriot. Susan B Anthony was a patriot. Dissidents are patriots. Schoolteachers and social workers are patriots.

“And yet at Yankee Stadium, shifting back to sports, not only do they play the national anthem before the game, but they play God Bless America at the seventh inning stretch 81 times a year at home games. And in every case, they say, ‘Please rise as the Yankees honor a military guest.’ I have no problem with that. I stand every time I’m in the ballpark – no matter what it is, I stand. And I certainly respect the military person they bring out there. But there’s never a schoolteacher. There’s never a social worker.

“Patriotism comes in many forms. And what has happened is that it’s been conflated with kind of a bumper sticker kind of flag-waving and with the military only. So that people cannot see that in his own way Colin Kaepernick, however imperfectly, is doing a patriotic thing. And so too are some of these other players.”

I love Bob Costas so fucking much right now.

anonymous asked:

(I'm sending so mssg drabbles but I love yours so much I'm so damn sorry) but what would hamster stilettos be like meeting your entire family, extended and all for the first time, especially if you have big uncles ??

He’d be extremely nervous.

Palms all sweaty and he keeps messing with the collar of his dress shirt, which he’d insisted on buttoning up all the way even though you voted for him exposing his chest.

“None of that, love. Need to make a good impression.”

He’s fidgeting with all of his chunky rings, picking at the iron petals of the rose one and thumbing over the jewel of the ruby one. His fingers instinctively go to his hair every couple of minutes, raking through the tousled curls to make sure they stay in place (he’d worked too damn hard to make them look neat and fluffy; his arm still aches from how long he spent blow drying).

The guests haven’t started arriving yet, but they could waltz in at any minute. Your mother had assured Harry that everything would be fine and he’d returned her polite comfort with a shy, nervous smile, convinced that she was just saying it so he didn’t become a puddle of anxiety sweat.

Harry slumps on the couch beside you, squirming in his seat as he goes through the steps of a handshake video he’d found on YouTube. It had taught him how to do a firm, confident handshake when greeting people in order to establish an aura of assurance, which he definitely needs to get your family members to like him. One can never be too safe.

As he’s going over the motions distractedly, lips repeatedly mouthing out the procedure (“Squeeze, hold, release. Squeeze, hold, release.”), the doorbell to the house rings across the still atmosphere of the room.

Harry’s head jerks to the side, body shooting up from the backrest of the plush couch. He sits with his legs spread out slightly in order to give an air of dominance (the video had bonus tips on body language), back straight and shoulders squared. But you can see right through his textbook façade– his hands are shaking slightly and he can’t stop bobbing his knee.

“Har…” Your voice nudges gently, hand sliding across his thigh and taking his fingers in between your own.

He snaps his gaze to you, eyes full of worry and fear, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he swallows nervously.

You gift him a soft, assuring smile, thumbing soothingly over his twitching knuckles and leaning in to press a warm kiss to the center of his forehead, attempting to smooth the rough creases between his furrowed brows. “You’re gonna be just fine, baby. Everyone’s gonna love you and your monkey bread cake.”

“Y'think so?” His eyes are slowly dialing down on the anxiety, his shakiness wearing away as your touch eases his hyperactive conscious.

But everything goes awry when footsteps start to echo down the corridor to the front door.

Harry’s entire body starts shuddering when he hears the sound approaching the living room, breathing stuttering and throwing him into a fit of hyperventilation. He’s starting to go haywire, all do to the fact that he doesn’t really fancy not knowing what’s going to happen in stressful situations. He’s the type of person who likes to know the outcome of a certain circumstance and right now, this is about the most unassured moment in his life.

He grips your hand harder, lips quivering as his gaze stays glued to the arch of the hallway. “What if I put too much sugar in the cake? What if I put too much cinnamon?! Oh God, you’re family’s gonna think I can’t cook. They’re gonna choke because it’s too spicy and wish I were–”

You pry your hand out of his iron grip, reaching up and grasping the sides of his head, palms cupping his strong jaw. You turn his face so it’s directly in front of yours, noses brushing lightly and you can feel his quick huffs of air against your Cupid’s bow. Your eyes lock with his, stern yet lovingly reassuring. “Listen to me, Harry. You’re going to be just fine. You’re an amazing guy with an amazing heart and everyone is going to be falling head-over-heels for you, just as they always do. I love you, and that’s all that matters right now. Nothing anyone else thinks will change that.”

Harry gulps thickly and nods, breathing mellowing out the lightest bit. His voice is quiet with fond awe. “Alright…I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You press your lips to his to fill him with confidence, feeling his fingers go to grip at your upper arm, squeezing it with care and affection.

He whimpers into your mouth when you bite down on the center of his bottom lip, melting as he feels your smirk spread across his sensitive skin.

You pull back from his swollen mouth with a wet pop, running your forefinger lightly down the bridge of his nose and winking. “You’re gonna do great.”

Harry suckles his swollen lips, blinking at you all starry-eyed and dopey, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise?”

You find his hand again, tugging him up to stand beside you as the footsteps patter just outside the entrance of the living room.

You hook one of your pinky fingers with his, pecking his cheek one more time for finality.

“Pinky swear it.”

A Date with Darkiplier (pt. 5)

(Things are about to start heating up…)

Amy takes a deep breath and smooths her hands over the silky fabric of her outfit. Wilford, bless him, knows the power that a little black dress has against anyone, even Darkiplier.

Amy and Red stand at the end of a long hallway just outside the elevators. It’s like something out of a horror movie—a long, dark hallway with a flickering light just to add extra creepiness, and Amy rolls her eyes because Dark definitely made it this way on purpose.

They pass several black doors on their way down the hall, but Amy knows that she’s destined for Dark’s office, the door at the very end. Red steps ahead of her, knocks on the door in question, and opens it for her, ever the gentleman. Amy steps inside and instantly feels the temperature drop several degrees.

Goosebumps rise on her skin as she surveys the minimalist decor of Dark’s office. Everything inside is a variation of black or gray, sleek and modern, leather and metal. A gleaming grand piano sits in one corner, and in the middle, a table is set up with two chairs, two place settings, and a vase with a single white rose. Red pulls out the chair closest to the door and motions for Amy to take a seat.

“Darkiplier will be joining you shortly,” he mutters and goes to stand guard at the door behind Amy. As she waits, her knee bobs beneath the table uncontrollably. A plan, she needs a plan, but what plan will work against such a skilled manipulator?

The door opens behind her, and Amy doesn’t even turn to look as Dark strides inside and takes his seat across from her. A moment of silence passes as the two of them stare each other down before Dark sets his hands palms-down on the table, and Amy nearly wretches because there’s blood on them. Stay in control, Amy, she tells herself. He’s trying to break you.

Amy cracks a shaky smile. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

Dark’s eyes glitter in a way that somehow makes them seem even darker than usual. Those same eyes wander from the top of her head all the way down to where she disappears behind the table, and he smirks. “You’re actually somewhat aesthetically appealing when you’re scared.” He delivers it like a compliment, but Amy has to stop herself from running for the door.

Dark motions to someone behind Amy, and Google, dressed in a waiter’s suit, steps over with a covered silver platter in each hand. Amy tries to catch Google’s eyes to gauge what the droid is thinking, but Google effectively avoids her gaze as he sets the dishes before them.

Dark reaches up and traces a finger down one of Google’s arms. “Thank you, Google. Amy, don’t you think he looks nice as a waiter?” Amy bites the inside of her cheek and nods slowly.

Google backs away from the table stiffly and bows at the hip. “Dinner is served.”

“You’re excused, Google,” Dark sighs, waving the droid away. He turns back to his “date” and gestures to the food—sushi, Amy’s favorite. “Before you arrived, I had a little talk with the Host. He told me many, many things about you, and he eventually informed me that this is your preferred meal.” Dark smiles and picks up his pair of black chopsticks before pausing for Amy’s reaction.

Amy looks down at the table, takes a deep breath, and picks up a piece of sushi between her own chopsticks with smile. “Yes, thank you.”

Something in Dark’s face twitches. This isn’t the reaction he wants. He wants her to cry, and scream, and demand for him to release her and Mark. It only makes Amy’s smile grow. You want a date, she thinks, I’ll give you a date. Amy eats the sushi, and—it really is good—gives a satisfied sigh. “This is amazing!”

Dark’s shell jitters and cracks, but he holds himself together, joining her in trying the sushi. Amy watches as his face shifts, and he switches gears. Dark reaches across the table and takes Amy’s free hand. The blood smudges onto her fingers, and Amy’s smile falls. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Amy. All I wanted was to show you that I can provide for you, so much better than he ever could.”

Amy wants to pull back, wants to reach in her purse, and sink the knife into his hand, but she steadies herself. Dark traces circles on her hand with his thumb, taking another bite of sushi and holding it out for her. “Here, allow me.”

A breath catches in Amy’s throat, and every fiber of her being is screaming for her to run. She forces herself to lean forward and…

The door bursts open behind her, and Amy jumps back, pulling her hand away from Dark. Dr. Iplier stands in the door, breathing heavily and looking disheveled. His blazing brown eyes flick from Dark to Amy and back again. “H-he’s alive. Just like you wanted, b-but we’re having trouble restraining him, sir.”

Mark, Amy thinks, he’s talking about Mark!

Dark smiles and adjusts his jaw. “Thank you, Dr. Iplier. You may go now.” Amy watches as the gray aura swarms around the Doctor like a cloud of wasps, but his eyes shift to her once more.

He snaps, “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t want to do it! But I couldn’t control myself!” Red moves to force Dr. Iplier from the room, but the Doctor isn’t leaving without a fight. “I’ll keep him alive for you, Amy! I swear! I swear that I won’t let him die!”

Red finally forces the Doctor out and follows after him, slamming the door as he goes. Amy, her entire body shaking in shock, turns slowly back to a triumphant-looking Darkiplier. He licks his lips and leans forward across the table. “Now, where were we?”

To be continued…