or was that tie severed when he left

Oh What A Night

Stiles did not hesitate outside Derek’s door. He hesitated in the parking lot, far enough away that Derek wouldn’t be able to hear his heartbeat and know that he was there for ten minutes before actually coming in. After those ten minutes were up, he took a deep breath and forced himself out of the Jeep.

He barged into Derek’s loft without bothering to knock, just like he usually did, and Derek didn’t even bother looking up from his book. It was something in French, it looked like, which was just not fair because how dare Derek be both ridiculously attractive and also fluently multilingual?

Sties did not let himself be distracted by the hot professor look Derek had going on with the French book and the steaming mug of tea and the argyle sweater, all laid out on the leather couch and soaked in sunbeams from the large wall of windows.

“Derek, my main man, I have a proposition for you.”

Derek looked up then, but only to raise an eyebrow at him. When Stiles didn’t break under the force of his judgment and go scurrying back from whence he came, Derek reluctantly closed his book and set it aside.

“I’m pretty sure Scott is your main man,” he said lightly. “And what proposition is this?”

“How would you like to help me stick it to some bigots?”

Both Derek’s eyebrows went up this time and Stiles mentally patted himself on the back for making him look so surprised. Getting any expression out of Derek Hale that wasn’t judgy or unimpressed was an accomplishment and Stiles kept a running tally of how many times he managed it.

“What kind of bigots?” Derek asked with caution that was both insulting and also probably warranted considering some of Stiles’ past shenanigans. “And stick it to them how exactly?”

Stiles took another deep breath and hoped his erratic heartbeat wasn’t giving him away. He was not going to let his awkwardness and inability to control his autonomic functions around Derek ruin his plan, not when the plan was so wonderfully petty and promised to be so very satisfying.

“Okay, so…” Stiles clapped his hands together and then held them out to the side, barely restraining the urge to do jazz hands. “I don’t know if you heard, but I came out at school a few weeks ago,” he said. “One seriously bisexual dude, right here, newly out and proud.”

“Oh,” Derek said, his beautiful face—a face worthy of a sexuality crisis, not that Stiles was ever, ever going to tell him about that—not really looking any more or less surprised than before the big revelation. “I hadn’t heard,” he said. “But that’s good. The out and proud part, I mean,” he added quickly. “Not the bigots, which are unfortunate but do make more sense with some context.”

“Yeah. Overall, it’s been fine,” Stiles said, tucking his hands into his pockets so he didn’t do something stupid like make finger guns. He had a tendency to make finger guns at inappropriate moments. “You know, most people really don’t care. But some people are just naturally douchebags.”

“Are they giving you trouble?” Derek asked, a frown creeping onto his face.

Stiles waved him off, then re-pocketed his hand.

“Keep the claws in, Sourwolf. I’m not getting shoved into lockers or anything. It’s just like…”

Stiles chewed on his lip, fighting back the wave of irritation that always accompanied his run-ins with the douchebags.

“Like, some of them insist that I’m actually gay and just too much of a coward to say it outright,” he said. “Others say I’m actually straight but can’t get a girl to sleep me, so I thought I’d try my hand at guys instead because I’m that undesirable and desperate to get laid. I’m just indecisive and greedy and afraid of commitment. That kind of bullshit.”

Derek was scowling outright now, hands fisted like he might actually pop his claws on Stiles’ behalf.

“That is bullshit,” he said heatedly. “But what do you want me to do about it? I’m assuming you’re not here to get me to tear their throats out.”

He looked like he might actually do it, though, if Stiles asked him to, and that warmed Stiles’ cold little heart.

“Uh, no,” Stiles said with a chuckle. “No, that seemed like a little much in the circumstances.”

“Then how am I supposed to help you get back at them?”

“By going to prom with me.”

Stiles was not surprised that this proclamation was met with silence.

“By going to…what?” Derek asked, righteous anger replaced by utter confusion.

“Prom,” Stiles repeated. “My senior prom. With me. As my date. Well, as one of my dates, actually.”

“Dates. Plural.”

“These assholes keep insisting that I have to ‘pick a side,’” Stiles said, air quotes and all. “They think I can’t like both women and men, or that neither women nor men could ever like me. I want to prove them wrong. I want to show up to prom with two dates, a boy and a girl, and rub it in all their faces that both my dates are hotter than any of theirs.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, his confidence in his brilliant plan waning ever so slightly in the face of Derek’s lack of reaction. He was just kind of staring. Maybe Stiles had finally come up with something so outlandish that he broke Derek. Or maybe Derek was going to clock him in the face and be horribly offended that Stiles was objectifying him or something.

“Erica already agreed to be my girl-date,” Stiles told him. “She’s actually really excited about it. A chance to flaunt her stuff and deliberately make a scene all night long? That’s right up her alley. And you…well, you are by far the most attractive guy I know, so I just thought…”

“You want me to go to senior prom with you, just to be your arm candy?” Derek asked slowly.

Stiles cringed.

“Uh, yeah, that sounds about right. But it’s for a good cause!”

There was another excruciatingly long beat of silence, and then Derek laughed. He laughed hard, head thrown back against the couch cushions, hands slapping against his knees, face scrunched up and shiny bunny teeth on full display. It was the kind of laugh that made Stiles’ heart skip a beat and he was very glad Derek was too preoccupied with his amusement to notice.

“Is this a good laugh or a bad laugh?” Stiles asked.

“Good laugh,” Derek choked out through continued chuckles, wiping at his streaming eyes.

“So does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, looking up at him with a smile that could stop wars. “Yeah, I’ll do it. Sounds like a good time to me. And, like you said, it’s definitely for a good cause.”

Stiles fist-pumped, already reveling in triumph at the thought of the looks that would be on those biphobic douchebags’ faces.

“I do have one condition, though.” Derek said.

“Anything, dude, you’re the best and I owe you, like, every favor on the planet.”

Derek’s smile widened, a gleam in his eye that made Stiles the tiniest bit hot under the collar.

“I get to pick your suit.”

(read the rest on AO3)

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Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 8

Here it is! Thanks for all of your encouragement and excitement about this story! @diversemediums and @outlandishchridhe are my amazing team that have been so much fun (and a fair amount of craziness) to work with. I couldn’t have made this chapter without them.

Important note: The ever amazing @diversemediums wrote a sort of companion ficlet that goes along with this story and is referenced within this chapter. You can read that HERE.

The previous chapter, which takes place before the Legend of the Faerie Wife, can be found HERE.

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Doubts - Rafael Barba

P/n: I’ve had this in my drafts for a while. I’m not quite fully satisfied with it, but I’m just tired of reading this over and over and fretting over why I am not satisfied with it. So I’m just gonna push post and be done with it.

Rafael Barba x Reader
Imagine: Reader having doubts about her relationship with Rafael.

“…And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.“

Her lips quivered as her teary eyes watched the rom-com playing on the TV. Her chopsticks swirled in the carton of Thai takeout. There’s something about old rom-coms that tug at her heart strings, no matter how many times she has seen them. She sniffled and looked up to blink away the tears, catching a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

She had been waiting for Rafael to come back. He was supposed to be back an hour ago. He did call to tell her that he was going to have to stay a little later, but that was 3 hours ago. Growing a little worry, she grabbed her phone and dialed him.

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A promise twice kept

So, part two, not sure how much better this will be considering I mostly make up as I go along but thinking of me it might likely have an almost happy ending. Let’s see…

Also, if anyone is actually reading my work or deciding to follow me i have figured out how to schedule posts so until further notice i will be having a new post pop up every two days (Currently using Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday) And it should post about ten am. I think it’s really cool to be honest. I really don’t think i’ll run short any time soon as i am incredibly imaginative when i want to be and boring days on the second week of school holdays is one of the times i want to be. Anyway, read on.

You almost hadn’t functioned for a long time. It was lucky when one of your friends had come over to check on your place while she thought you were gone. She found you around a day and a half later, according to the last time she’d been around, and you still had yet to move from your spot below the window in darkness. Your few friends from before the Doctor all gathered for you and watched over you, making sure you ate and drank and looked after yourself until you had managed to tell them what had happened several days later.

It was because of those friends that you were alive today and living a relatively normal life. As normal as your life could be a year after the events on Mars. You still thought of him every day. Still regretted what you had done. Every single day until you were walking through a department store one Saturday and happened to spot a strange man in a bow tie who seemed to be watching you when he thought you weren’t looking.

After deciding enough was enough, you left the store earlier than you had planned. You noticed the man follow you at a distance as you left and stopped just around one corner of an empty street. You had been a long time companion, knowing at least you’d outlasted Donna’s stay and, as far as you could tell, Martha’s. You had been bound to pick up a thing or two. Needless to say the man seemed very surprised when you turned the tables on him.

The second he rounded the corner you had slammed him into the wall before he could process what was happening. You held him by the lapels of his brown tweed jacket as you tried your best to look threatening. Not very hard when you’d been thoroughly fed up with being stalked. Your mind flashed back to the one other time someone had tried to follow you home and you had to quickly shake the thought from your head before it reached the end of that story.

“Who are you and why are you following me?” You growled, all the while trying to focus your thoughts on the present.

“(Y/N)?” The man questioned fearfully. Your eyes narrowed further.

“I said, who are you” You repeated quieter, pushing him harder against the wall behind him. Suddenly his hands were on yours and you paused, something inside you seeming to recognise the gentle touch, although you couldn’t figure out how.

“Trust me” Was all he said. Quiet and calm and simple, that’s all it was. But those two words were enough to make your eyes widen and loosen your grip to step back. You let go of his jacket, stepping back even as he moved forward, his hands still holding yours.

“Oh, (Y/N), I am so sorry” He told you softly, closing the space between you and resting his forehead against yours. His eyes fell closed and after a moment you felt yourself do the same. “You were everything to me. I don’t know how I said the things I did, I really don’t. Just please, please, please, forgive me” He begged. You nodded, his head still against your as you opened your eyes.

“Yes” Was all your said. He smiled, albeit hesitantly at first, and you found yourself smiling back. “I forgave you a long time ago”

“I love you too” He said then. You found yourself laughing at that.

“Took you long enough”

That was around a week ago. You couldn’t help but smile as you thought how you couldn’t be sure. Life on the TARDIS never left much room to remember what the time or date was. You had missed the timelessness, and she had apparently missed you too. Your room was exactly the same as it was when you left. Although you could swear those pictures you had left on your desk were out of place. Like someone had picked them up and placed them back down. That and the picture you had drawn of your first adventure was gone. It was small but very precious, and now it was gone.

You now sat under the TARDIS console in the Doctor’s repair swing, moving slowly back and forth, lost in thought. The same thought that had driven you for around three years and one that never was.


He was certainly the Doctor, you know that, but he was different. Not in the way he had been to make you leave, not in a bad way. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to think of it in a good way. Here, on the TARDIS, with the Doctor likely to rush in any minute and declare he take you somewhere ‘but it has to be amazing’, you missed your Doctor. Your TARDIS that you had started your first brilliant adventures with.

The new Doctor was brilliant in his own way. He made you smile, made you laugh and even for a minute take away the pain of how you had failed the other him.

“What’s wrong?”

You turned at the voice, watching as he moved to stand in front of you.

“I’m fine” You said absently.

“No, you’re not. You haven’t been since I picked you up. What’s the matter?” He pressed, kneeling down to look up at you as he talked. You smiled sadly, tears coming to your eyes as you picture you Doctor doing the same. You found yourself lifting a hand to the side of his face, your thumb moving absently over his cheek. He simply let you, watching you closely as the tears began to fall.

“You’re not him” You said without thinking. His eyes widened in understanding and he shifted slightly closer, placing a hand on your face as you had done to him, wiping away the falling tears.

“I know” He whispered in understanding. “I might never truly be him again. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here. I won’t leave you (Y/N), I swear to you, this time around I will not leave” You nodded, offering a sad smile which he returned. “(Y/N), I love you now and you know that, but I loved you then too. Not everything has changed. Not everything ever has to, if you just look” He all but pleaded. You listened carefully to his words and thought about what he said even as silence fell around the two of you.

“Let’s see” You muttered, a smile forming on your face as you pushed his hair back from his eyes. “Hair of an idiot” He laughed at that. Your hand returned back to the side of his face. “Old eyes. Sadness and loss, but love and wonder all at the same time” Your hand moved lower, settling on his chest between his hearts. He kept his gaze locked on you as you remained silent a moment, feeling his hearts beat beneath your hand. “Two hearts” You thought for another moment, but weren’t able to think of much else. The Doctor seemed to realise this and pulled you forward to hug you tightly.

“You’re not him” You whispered in his ear. “But you’re you. And that’s perfect the way it is” You could swear you felt him smile into your shoulder.

You laughed at the Doctor’s antics as he rushed back inside his box. You followed, freezing as you turned to close the door. There, he stood, watching you. Your Doctor. Tears formed in your eyes as he gave a small hesitant wave. You smiled back at him to show you had forgiven him and waved back. He smiled slightly but you didn’t miss the grimace of pain that flashed across his features. Time was running short for him. The two of you simply watched one another for a moment before the older Doctor called for you to close the door. You looked back over your shoulder before giving your Doctor one last smile.

You closed the door, frowning as you stuck your hands in your pockets to find something inside that you were sure you hadn’t put there. You pulled out a piece of folded paper, gasping as you unfolded it to show a sunset over an apple grass hill. There were two figures standing on the hill, holding hands. Simple silhouettes on a black and white drawing, but precious all the same. You turned as you folded it carefully and placed it back in your pocket, finding the Doctor smiling softly at you from the console.

“Thank you”

“It was him, not me”

“Same thing, Doctor”

anonymous asked:

pre-dating harry and eggsy where eggsy is like "i cany tell him i love him yet he needs space" they went somewhere together dinner maybe AS CIVILIANS. so harry is wearing a suit but he colin-ed it (with two buttons off, that bastard) and EVERYONE has hit on harry in front of eggsy's eyes and eggsy doesnt know if harry was just trying to be polite or flirting back? anyways harry kissed eggsy that night and eggsy's brain shortcircuited

Aaaah, yes this is perfect.

Harry asking him to dinner and Eggsy says yes, obviously but he’s sure it’s just a dinner, like many others they’ve had.

So he meets with Harry and he’s a bit breathless when he sees him, hair not so severely styled, no tie, two (actually, they’re three) buttons left unbottoned.

Eggsy can’t stop staring at Harry’s neck all night. At first he doesn’t even notice the waiter flirting with Harry, distracted as he is. But then he realises and gets a bit angry but he tells himself it’s not a date, so what right has he to even get jealous.
And Harry is so polite and charming as always, with those big smiles of his, dimples all out. Eggsy is sure Harry is flirting back with the waiter. Why shouldn’t he? The guy is cute and Harry is free, he can do whatever he wants.

So maybe Eggsy gets a bit sullen, but he wants to enjoy this time he has with Harry, too so he tries to cheer up.

But Harry actually invites Eggsy over, to his house for a nightcap. And then he kisses him, and how could Eggsy be so blind? 

anonymous asked:

ransom and holster set up dex and nursey on a blind date for winter screw under the pretense of "team bonding"

(maybe this is longer than I originally intended, maybe)

Thanks for sending a prompt!!  Enjoy! (I sure did!!!!)  :-) xxxx


2 weeks before winter screw

“Rans, brah, we gotta set the frogs up with dates” said Holster, as he walked into the attic

“Shit, Holz, you’re right” replied Ransom, looking worried, “Do we have enough time to find 3 girls to date hockey players?”

“Chill man.  Chowder is going with the volleyball girl –“


“Caitlin.  So it’s just Dex and Nursey” said Holster optimistically.

Rans groaned.  This wasn’t going to be easy.


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anonymous asked:

Bedannibal prompt, rough fucking from behind (hey girl you asked for nsfw 😂😂)

That I did nonny. Also… this got away from me. 

She was making clawing streaks across the velvet of the cliché chaise lounger, finger tips leaving contrasting smooth and rough tracks as she arched her back. A low groan started in the back of Bedelia’s throat, ending in a short gasp.

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original upload date: feb 25, 2014

reposted by the writer

someone suggested I should write this fic, and I was kinda feeling it so I did!

~3.5k, smutt

(bondage, edging, teasing, vibrator and cum sharing)


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Eleventh Doctor Imagine: "Only Know You Love Her When You Let Her Go"

Prompt: (Y/N) is the Doctor’s companion, but he takes her home because he realizes that they’re falling in love with each other. He returns years later, only to find that things have changed more than he thought…

Five Years Ago:

“I don’t understand.” Tears swam in your eyes as you faced the Doctor, who was smiling grimly from the TARDIS control station. After several months of travelling with him (the best few months of your life, matter of fact) you didn’t understand why he suddenly wanted to take you home. “Why can’t I stay?”

The Doctor’s eyes were misty as he regarded you. “You almost died, (Y/N). I couldn’t live with myself if your death was on my hands.

“But nothing’s going to happen to me!” You swiped angrily at your eyes, refusing to cry in front of this crazy, wonderful man. “You’re always there, and you always save the day.”

“But what if I don’t?” He was staring at you with real, raw fear glittering in his eyes. “What if, just once, I was too late? I can’t risk that.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Your voice was a broken whisper. “I thought I was going to be with you forever.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you and you let him, leaning into his warmth, too emotionally exhausted to protest. He buried his face in your hair. He wished you could stay forever. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of connection, this kind of attraction, with one of his companions. Truthfully, the last time he’d felt this way was with Rose.

And the idea of losing you the way he lost her, forced to leave you behind in a parallel universe or worse, terrified him even more than the idea of forcing himself to give you up.

“Please don’t make me go.” You mumbled into his shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. You had never felt this way before, and it terrified you. The only explanation you could think of was the one you refused to consider; you were in love with the Doctor. You wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life travelling with him, and now he was taking that away.

“I have to.” He whispered into your hair, tightening his arms around you. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He steered you towards the TARDIS door, pulling it open to let the cold night breeze in. You shivered, both from the cold and the thought of leaving. He kept one arm around you, holding you close to him. He absently ran his other hand through your hair, before trailing his fingertips lightly over your jaw. You stared at him, your eyes huge and scared and expectant. Before either of you realized what you were doing, you were leaning towards each other until your lips brushed. It was a soft, gentle kiss, with your lips barely touching for a just a few seconds. But there was more passion in that kiss than anything you’d ever experienced before, raw emotion moving through the contact of your skin. He smiled sadly down at you, and you could see the tears gathered in his eyes. “I’m going to miss you, (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).”

You blinked back tears of your own. “And I’ll miss you, Doctor.”

You pressed another quick, gentle kiss to his lips before stepping away, out the door, away from the adventurous life and the beautiful man you had grown to love so much, returning to your old neighborhood, your old town, your old life. You turned around when you heard the noise, and watched the TARDIS until it had disappeared completely. Only then did you fall to your knees on the ground, your body shaking with sobs.

Present Day:

You woke up to warm blankets and sunlight streaming in through the windows. You smiled and rolled over to find the other half of the bed empty, much to your surprise. Usually, your boyfriend, Brent, stayed in bed until you woke up. You had met Brent a few months after the Doctor returned you to your old life, and at first you had wanted nothing to do with him. But he had eventually won you over; he had your favorite combination of hair and eye colors, liked the same music as you, and read lots of books and drank lots of coffee. In short, he was the perfect man for you, and you knew that. But, secretly, you still harbored some strong romantic longing towards the Doctor, and you felt very guilty about it. With Brent, there was none of the passion and raw emotion you felt with the Doctor: You and Brent had a much more calm, relaxed relationship. But you figured that maybe, after all of the excitement of travelling in the TARDIS, you needed calm and relaxing. Besides, you were sure the Doctor was never going to return for you, and Brent was there, and he loved you. And, in your own way, you loved him too.

You had just sat up, about to get out of bed, when the bathroom door opened and Brent walked in, wrapped in a towel and with his hair still wet. He shot you a warm smile, kissing your forehead on his way to the dresser to get some clothes. You and Brent had officially been a couple for a little over three years, and had been living together for just under a year. Brent had been careful not to move too quickly with the relationship, which you appreciated.

You got out of bed, stretching and yawning. You grabbed your bathrobe, slipping it on over the black T-shirt and pair of Brent’s boxers that you wore as pajamas. You decided to head downstairs and make breakfast, maybe watch some TV. You relayed this to Brent, who kissed your cheek and promised to be downstairs in a few minutes. You nodded and made your way downstairs, fully prepared for another day in your calm, ordinary life.


Somewhere on the other side of time and space, the Doctor was brooding. For him, it had only been six months since he left you back in your home town, and he missed you terribly. For a long time, he had justified it to himself, telling himself that he made the right decision and that he was keeping you safe. But he began to wonder. Even months later, he would find himself looking up excitedly, about to tell you something, only to realize that you weren’t there. He missed the way you always knew what to say, always knew how to make him feel better, always trusted him to save the day. And, even though he had only experienced it once (well twice actually, but both in the same night), he missed the sensation of your lips on his. He missed everything about you, and it was driving him mad.

The idea had occurred to him a few weeks ago. He could visit you, just pop in to see how you were doing. He just wanted to see your face, wrap his arms around you, to finally get his fix of whatever it was about you that was so addicting. He promised himself that he wouldn’t ask you to come back, wouldn’t bring you with him again. He was just visiting. Just catching up with an old friend.

He couldn’t keep the wide grin off his face and he piloted the TARDIS to where you were, anticipation making him as excited as a small child on Christmas morning. He found himself groaning impatiently. For the first time in his life, he wished the TARDIS could travel faster.

You were making a cup of tea when you heard the familiar sound. It couldn’t be real, could it? But when you looked out your window and saw a flash of blue, you knew. You yanked open the front door and ran out, racing towards the box that had haunted your dreams for the last five years.

As soon as he opened the door, he knew he’d made a mistake. This wasn’t the house you lived in when he last saw you. The neighborhood was different, more suburban, like the kind of place married couples move to when they want to start a happy family. And yet, there you were, running out of your house, barefoot and wearing a bathrobe, (h/c) hair streaming behind you.

You saw him open the door and step out of the box, looking exactly the same as that night. Scratch that, his hair was a bit longer now, and his bow-tie a bit more crooked (you remembered constantly straightening it for him. “You look ridiculous.” “That’s what I have you for.”). But he was still the same, still the Doctor.

As you came closer to the TARDIS, he realized that he had made a mistake. He must be several years later than he meant to be. At least three, possibly more. When he left you, you were still in your late teens, graduated from high school but not yet attending university. You now looked to be in your early twenties; your hair seemed a slightly darker, richer shade, your eyes looked older and more cautious, your face more mature. But you were still his (Y/N), and he was still overjoyed to see you.

“(Y/N).” Your name left a smile on his lips as he grabbed you, wrapping his arms tightly around you in a hug. You wrapped your own arms around his torso, and felt him bury his face in your hair, just like he did on that night. His voice was a soft murmur as he held you close. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Doctor.” You sighed, a peculiar mixture of happiness and longing swirling in your chest. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

He pulled away just enough to look at you, smiling sadly. “Of course I came back, (Y/N). You must have known I wouldn’t make it long without a visit.”

You laughed a bit bitterly. “I don’t know about Time Lords, but for us humans, five years is a very long time.”

He stared at you. “It’s… It’s really been five years? It’s only been about six months for me. (Y/N), I…” He tried to force out an apology, but trailed off when he saw a tall figure standing in the doorway of your house.

“(Y/N)?” The figure called out in a deep, masculine voice, causing the Doctor to unconsciously tighten his arms around you in an almost protective gesture. “What’s going on?”

“It’s fine, Brent!” You called back, stepping away from the Doctor in a conscious effort to put some space between the two of you. “Be in in just a second!”

You turned back to the Doctor, reminding yourself to grab his arm at the elbow rather than taking his hand. “Come inside?”

He nodded, following you towards the house. “Of course.”

You entered the house, leading the Doctor to where Brent was waiting in the kitchen. “Brent, this is the Doctor. He’s an old friend of mine. We’ve been out of touch for a few years, and he was in town and thought he’d stop by for a visit.”

Brent walked over and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you introduced him. “Doctor, this is my boyfriend, Brent.”

The Doctor forced a smile even as he felt his stomach drop at the word ‘boyfriend’. Of course you would have a boyfriend. You were gorgeous and funny, you were (Y/N) after all, and he left you alone for five years. Of course you would attract lots of men. And of course, at least one of them would meet your standards (even though he remembered from experience how high they were). This Brent was good-looking, and seemed somewhat close to your age (a lot closer than 900+, anyway), and the Doctor could tell that you were comfortable with him, which wasn’t something that could be said for a lot of people. The two of you were quite literally a perfect couple.

“So.” You clapped your hands, smiling from your boyfriend to your… best friend? ex? The two of you had never been in a relationship, but you had been something. You decided to leave it at old friend and dragged him over to the stove to help you with breakfast.

“Talk to me.” You ordered, ripping open a package of bacon. “What’s new? Tell me about your recent adventures.”

You spent the next several minutes making breakfast with the Doctor and listening to all of his new stories. You laughed and smiled – for a few moments, it felt just like old times. You pretended not to notice how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, writing it off as him noticing how much you had changed in the last five years.

You were just sliding the last of the pancakes out of the pan and onto a plate when you felt a strong pair of arms slide around your waist, completely warm and natural. Thinking it was Brent, you leaned back against him, closing your eyes happily. It wasn’t until you heard a content sigh and felt a pair of warm lips brush your neck that you realized that it was the Doctor who held you. You pushed him away, even though everything in you was screaming for the opposite. You turned to face him, blinking back the tears that suddenly pricked your eyes. “What was that?”

“(Y/N).” He looked like he was physically in pain, his eyes pleading with you. “Please. I know you feel it too. I…”

“Doctor, you can’t just show up after five years and pull something like this!” You crossed your arms defensively, swallowing the urge to cry. “You left me. I would have stayed with you. Forever. But things are different now. I have boyfriend in the next room, for crying out loud! Why are you doing this?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, (Y/N).” His voice was soft, defeated. “I meant to come back so much sooner.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore.” You turned your back on him, tears pricking your eyes. “I need some space.”

And with that, you fled the room.


A/N: What do you guys think? Part two?

even a broken clock

Prompt: Can you make a soulmate au like the Steve imagine but with Bucky?

The scientist barks with laughter as he sees the timer on the severed limb, frozen at 25497:01:23:02. Bucky doesn’t understand.

“We’re doing you a favour, kid.”

And closes the door.

Word Count: 1553

Warnings: None.

[Steve’s version]

When he’s seven, the word ‘soulmate’ is in his spelling test.

But first, he copies down the sentence his teacher writes on the board, Two people who are made for each other are called soulmates. There’s a box above it for a picture to represent the word – the two kids behind him draw each other, their timers’ having stopped on the first day of school – but Bucky draws the best stick figure of himself holding hands with a mystery, placing a question mark where the face would be.

He doesn’t understand that there are only three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Bucky looks down at his timer and thinks, I can’t wait, because it doesn’t matter that his numbers are larger than the others’. He counters with the fact that his soulmate would be better than theirs, and ends the day writing lines reading, I will not insult other people’s soulmates.

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anonymous asked:

Prompt for sex with theo (teen wolf) please?

Theo would be very controlling, very demanding and therefore very dominating. He would probably tie you up and/or blindfold you and tease you mercilessly. I think he’d be rough as well, he’d tell you when you could let go and would control mostly everything that happened in the bedroom. He would make you orgasm several times over and you’d be left with bruises, marks and aches for days to come afterwards.

[  homemade. ]

Prompt: Your mother knitted me a sweater for Christmas.

A/N: I took this prompt and changed it just a wee bit. CS Christmas fluff (because man do we need some fluff right now, amirite?) with the slightest hint of ouch my heart and a side of Granny.

+ + + +

It’s a nubby, thickly woven monstrosity and Killian loves it.

She has no idea where it came from, it was suddenly just there. The black wool of the sweater is marled and woven into a complicated cable knit pattern, which in itself would be fine. But the giant red skull and crossbones emblazoned across the chest are what do it. The first time he had casually slipped it over his head upon getting out of bed, hair mussed and sticking up at all angles from sleep, she could only stare dumbly as he strolled from their bedroom.

He’s since taken to wearing it in the way some people wear a beloved college sweatshirt, comfortably and often, with just a hint of reverence. She’ll catch him absently rolling the hem between his fingers when they are tucked on the couch watching TV. It’s never hung or tossed carelessly on the floor; he is meticulous about folding it gently and placing it on the shelf in the closet. The one time she asked him if he wanted to add it to the wash he looked at her with wide, horrified blue eyes and clutched it protectively to his chest.

What is happening?

+ + + +

Her curiosity finally gets the best of her.

“Ok, what’s the deal with this sweater?” she blurts out one evening.

“Hmm?” he answers absently, turning a page of the book he’s engrossed in. Having recently returned from Sunday dinner at her parents, they’re digesting lazily on the couch as Henry finishes his homework upstairs. Her socked feet are wedged cozily under his thigh, his arm lightly wrapped around her bent knee as he reads.

“Your sweater. The one you wear all the time now. The one that you’re wearing right this moment,” she nudges the red skull and crossbones with her foot. He finally turns his attention away from the book, focusing back on her.

“Oh. Um. Well. Granny made it for me. For Christmas.”


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anonymous asked:

that bokuto/akaashi angst has got my feels as high as the good shit meme, love it/CRYING omg.

Two parts in one night?! Yes! Because I’m trash for this story! Enjoy part 7 of this Bokuto/reader/Akaashi angst!

(Part 1)(Part2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 8)(Part 9)(Part 10)(Part 11)(Part 12)(Epilogue)

“Babe, I’m going out for a while tonight,” Bokuto called from the bathroom

“Have fun,” you replied, your attention never wavering from the magazine in your hands.

It seemed as though things had almost gone back to normal between the two of you. The news of his impending son had Bokuto on cloud nine. He’d been shockingly attentive, catering to your every need and waiting on you whenever he was home. It almost felt the way it had when you first started dating.

“Don’t you want to know what I’m doing?” he asked as he made his way into the living room.

You glanced up at him curiously.

“Do I need to know?” you countered.

“Well… No,” he scoffed.

You shut the magazine with a soft sigh.

“Where are you off to, Kou?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, raising his hands dramatically.

“Kou, come on,” you laughed.

“Nope, you don’t even care,” he huffed.

You shook your head, still chuckling at him. He gave you a quick kiss, then leaned down and kissed your stomach before making his way to the door.

“Love you, babe,” he called back to you.

“Love you, too. Have fun,” you said.

“It’s just drinks with the guys from Fukurodani, it should be pretty fun. I haven’t seen most of them in a while,” he noted.

He waved a farewell over his shoulder and shut the door behind him. He completely missed the look of shock that had crossed over your face.

You had tried to tell yourself that you weren’t keeping this from him on purpose. But it was a bold-faced lie. He’d asked, and you’d withheld. But the truth was, you didn’t care if he found out and hated you for it. But to have him hate Akaashi… It was the last tie that was left, the last string to the past that hadn’t been severed. If Bokuto hated Akaashi, then everything would be different. And maybe you weren’t ready to face that yet.

You had dialed Akaashi’s number without noticing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he picked up.

“You don’t have to ask that every time I call,” you noted.

“Well… You only tend to call when something’s wrong.”

“Are you going out with your friends tonight?” you asked.

“I’m already here,” he replied. “Why? What do you need?”

“N-no… Nothing… It’s fine,” you murmured.

“I can leave, I’ll—“

“No, stay,” you cut him off. “I’m fine, just… It’s fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You leaned your head back against the couch and closed your eyes. You felt so tired. One of your hands pressed against your stomach, your newest habit habits.

“I love you too, you know,” you murmured.

You felt him shift inside you. It was like he knew. It always seemed like he knew.

Bokuto felt like he was having fun. It had been a long time since he last said that. But it was true tonight. Catching up with his high school friends was making him feel nostalgic. Everyone was having a good time, drinking and eating and swapping life stories. Yamato was in law school now. And Komi was already married. They were all excited to hear Bokuto regale them with tales of the national team. And he was happy to oblige.

The only person who didn’t seem to be enjoying himself was Akaashi.

He’d barely looked up from his phone the entire night, and he was nursing the same beer that he’d been on when Bokuto showed up. Komi had tried to engage him a few times, but Akaashi had replied with one-word answers or nods. He’d always been withdrawn, but this was a little ridiculous.

“Fine, maybe work isn’t interesting,” Komi conceded. “But you’ve gotta have a girlfriend or something, right?”

For the first time in 10 minutes, Akaashi’s eyes snapped up from his phone. The table exploded in a fervor.

“So you do have a girlfriend, then!” Yamato laughed.

“Tell us about her, is she cute?” Komi asked.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Akaashi said firmly, and Bokuto saw that he was staring right at him.

“Well, that’s okay,” Bokuto shrugged.

Akaashi stared for a second longer, then returned his attention to his phone.

“Alright, well we know you have a girlfriend, how’s she doing?” Komi asked, turning to Bokuto.

“Ah… Well, we haven’t really told anyone,” Bokuto murmured. “But… Well… She’s pregnant.”

Another cheer rang out around the table as everyone raised a toast to the happy couple. Bokuto realized with a start that Akaashi was staring at him again.

“What?” Bokuto asked.

“Nothing,” Akaashi replied with disdain.

“What the hell?”

“I’ll be back,” Akaashi huffed.

Akaashi rose from the table and swept toward the bathroom. Bokuto tried to ignore him, turning instead to listen to Komi telling a story about one of his professors.

But as Akaashi breezed past him, Bokuto smelled something. Something that made him feel sick.


He whipped his head around to see Akaashi disappear into the bathroom. He was on his feet and thundering after him before he could stop himself. When he threw open the bathroom door, Akaashi was standing there waiting, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. The air was tense.

“It was you,” Bokuto finally said, and it wasn’t a question.

Akaashi said nothing.

“Fucking admit it,” Bokuto spat. “You fucked her.”


Bokuto felt a flare of rage. He could barely hold back the urge to step forward and throw a punch.

“How could you do this?” Bokuto growled.

“I wouldn’t have needed to do anything if you hadn’t abandoned her,” Akaashi replied evenly.

This time, Bokuto couldn’t stop himself from flying forward, fingers curling around Akaashi’s collar.

“You think you get to lecture me about my relationship?” he hissed. “You think you get to have anything to say to me after you fucked her?”

“That’s really all you care about, isn’t it?” Akaashi asked calmly. “That we had sex?”

“What are you talking about?”

Bokuto glared at the man in his grip, growing more furious by the second with his impassive gaze. The words sank in slowly.

“You… You’re in love with her…”

“She needed you,” Akaashi said, his voice dripping with disgust. “She needed to hear your voice. She needed to know that she wasn’t alone. And you were too selfish to care.”

Bokuto wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. He wanted to throw him into the wall, wanted to knock his teeth in. But instead, he felt his grip slackening.

“He isn’t yours,” he murmured.

Akaashi slipped out of Bokuto’s grasp, straightening his shirt. He strode calmly past Bokuto to the door.

“Do you really think that would change anything?”

And with that he was gone.

Bokuto returned to the table and dropped to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Komi asked if he was okay. But he couldn’t answer.

How could he possibly be okay?

He couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t see it before. How long had Akaashi been holding on to these feelings? Another thought flitted into his brain, one that made him feel as sick as the cologne: you were in love with Akaashi too. And what if the baby was Akaashi’s? Was he right? Would that change anything? His head was spinning from the weight of this information. He wanted to forget about it, all of it.

He barely registered the vibrating against his thigh. When he slipped his phone from his pocket, he saw your name illuminated on the screen. A surge of emotions passed through him—anger, despair, betrayal, staggering guilt… How could he even speak to you now?

So he did the only thing he knew how to do. The thing that had initially pushed you away from him.

He turned off his phone.

Bokuto had been standing outside the door to the apartment for 10 minutes now, the key hovering in front of the knob. He’d managed to sober up some on the walk home, and now his hesitation had nothing to do with the alcohol. What was he going to say to you? Were there even words?

But he couldn’t stand out here forever. Slowly, he slipped the key in the lock and opened the front door.

The apartment was pitch dark. He stumbled into the bedroom and found the bed empty. He called your name, and only silence greeted him.

You weren’t there.

He fought a surge of blinding panic, looking around to make sure all your things were still in place. When he was sure of that, he fished his phone out of his pocket and found your contact. It rang six times before someone answered.


Bokuto felt his breath catch in his throat.

“She’s with you,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.


Bokuto fought back the bile that had made its way into his mouth. It wasn’t the alcohol making him sick.

“You can tell her—“

“Bokuto,” Akaashi cut him off.

“What?” Bokuto snapped.

“We’re at the hospital.”

sourin drabble

This is obviously ezzydean and kyoani’s fault.

I apologize it’s rushed and for any typos

Rin grins as they fuss and make the final adjustments on their outfits. He doesn’t know how they even all agreed to this idea but it’s happening and they’re doing it for him.

It had started when he had made an off handed comment about not having photos with them as a group during one of their last practices together before graduation. Sure he had the one with Iwatobi during Regionals last year and Mikoshiba had even been there and he had several with his Samezuka team but none with all of them.

Sousuke had teased but been silenced when Rin had pouted that he’d miss them when he left for Australia.

Next thing he knows Sousuke is telling him about a photographer friend he knows and then a week later they’re being dragged into a studio for a photo shoot so an album Rin can take with him can be compiled.

He had almost cried. (Almost! Shut up Sousuke!)

He looks at his friends and teammates now, Ai teaching Nagisa how to do his bow tie, Makoto smiling as he does one neck tie after another cause of course he’s the only one who knows how to and Momo-

“Jesus Christ Momo what are you wearing?” He asks raising an eyebrow.

To say that Momo’s outfit didn’t fit him well would be an understatement. Only the pants looked anywhere close to properly fitted.

“Eh? But I like it like this Rin-senpai,” Momotarou pouts, tugging at his neck tie, though with how it’s hanging around his neck Rin wonders if it can even fulfill its actual purpose. He sighs and rubs at his temples but let’s it go, because really he’s seen the kid’s uniform. He knows this is just Momo’s odd sense of style, and hey, he actually makes it look good. Even the painfully orange shoes he’d wanted to throw out when Momo had first found it and waved it around happily.

“Having fun?” Sousuke asks, popping up beside him, an arm weaving around his waist as a scarf is dropped along his shoulders. Rin blinks down at it, appreciating the vibrant red and the delicate patterns. “Thought you’d like it,”

He smiles in thanks, taking in his boyfriend’s outfit. He looks the most simple out of them, but really what else did Rin expect? “How’s Gou?”

“Still getting ready so we can do some shots with this group and then you two when she’s done,”

“I want you in those too,” he says firmly, frowning.

Sousuke arches an eyebrow before grinning teasingly, “Going to say something sappy like I’m already part of the family anyway?”

The kick to Sousuke’s shin is totally deserved Rin would just like to say. The action gets nothing more than an amused laugh as Sousuke tugs him forward to where the others are being adjusted so they’ll all fit in the frame and they take their place in the middle.

Rin automatically leans on Haru’s shoulder, grinning at the annoyed huff he gets. “Surprised they managed to get you out of your jammers and into that, Haru,”

Haru, as expected ignores the comment and Rin rolls his eyes about to say somethig else before a hand on his ass makes him squeak.

He’s very familiar with that hand.

“Oi,” he hisses trying to Sousuke.

Sousuke ignores him, using the grip on his freaking ass cheek to steer Rin closer to him, “Shush and get in position, you want this to turn out nice right?”

Rin sputters indignantly, “Your hand-“

Said hand shamelessly squeezes and gropes.

Growling, Rin smiles at the camera as the photographer tells them to get ready, and then cants his hips to the side so it rubs again Sousuke’s crotch.

He can practically see Sousuke’s smile tense as the photo is taken, “Rin-“

Rin smiles victoriously at te camera even as his hips nudge against Sousuke’s crotch again and a smack is delivered on his ass with a whispered, “I’m going to get you back for this later,”

Damian Darhk as Felicity’s Father, I doubt it...

Here is the time when my brain keeps thinking about so many things that I need to put some of them down. As I was driving to get my lunch (yes, my office is in the middle of the vineyards so I need to drive to get my lunch…) I kept thinking about Damian Darhk and Felicity’s father and the more I keep thinking about it, the more I believe they are two different people.

Felicity’s father stayed with Felicity and her mother for years

Felicity’s father hasn’t been mentioned much but the few times he has, it helped us understand the importance he had in the two Smoak women’s life.

It is obvious that Donna suffered seeing her husband and the father of her daughter leave her. Donna is a loving and caring woman. She loved Felicity’s father, she developed feelings for him over the course of the years. The depth of her feelings and consequently her pain proved that she loved him.

If we consider how protective of Felicity Donna is, it sounds obvious that Papa Smoak was genuinely loving and a gentle man, a man who was loved, who deserved to be loved for the one he was. A father and a husband who were by their sides for years.

From Felicity’s interaction with her mum, we understand that her father might still have been around when she was around seven as she had access to his computers.

This assumption is correlated by the fact that Felicity is able to remember how much it hurt when her father left. I was 10 when my father left for the second time (I was not born when he left for the first time). Just like Felicity, I don’t remember much but I remember the pain. Considering Felicity’s intellect, I believe she wound have remembered much more if she was around 10-11. So 7 is a good assumption…

So this leaves us with a man who was loved by his daughter and wife, living with them for 8 years at least. 

I apologize but this doesn’t tie back to the image of an evil man.

A man whose heart is filled with Darkness, a man who is pure evil doesn’t stay for several years, bonding with his little daughter around computers, teaching her everything he knows and loving his wife at the same time. This is not the behavior of a man who operates from a place of pure evil, who is in charge of a group of assassins.

Felicity’s father cared about them

Another interesting fact is that Papa Smoak sounds like a man of values.

These words are the words you could hear from a hero. From someone who cares for the people he loves, cares about his actions and the consequences of them. It sounds like Papa Smoak has a slight penchant for illegal activities too… Remind you of someone? With a Green Hood? Yes! Me too!

So you’ll tell me… Maybe something happened and Papa Smoak turned Evil and became Damian Darhk. This is totally possible… But… the EPs have mentioned something :

“New co-showrunner Wendy Mericle made it clear that what is going to make Darhk someone who is mostly going to really operates from a place of pure evil. He hasn’t been corrupted”

As opposed to Slade Wilson or Malcolm Merlyn, it doesn’t sound like Damian Darhk was a normal guy who has been perverted by a traumatizing event in his life. The guy is dark, from within, every fiber of his body dedicated to evil and immorality.

So then… who is Papa Smoak?

This is theory time! Or more likely, desire time – forward thinking time.

Oliver has always been (indirectly) responsible for the traumatic events in Starling City. What if this time, Oliver and the team were caught in the crossfire?

What if Damian Darhk was to take over the city and Oliver has to stop him?

What if Felicity’s father had to run away, giving up his family, because he was chased by Damian Darhk?

What if Felicity’s father was in possession of something that could stop Damian?  

What if Felicity’s father left because he didn’t have a choice?

What if Felicity’s desire to be a hero runs in her blood?

What if Felicity’s father was himself a hero of his own kind?

Time will tell…

The Revolution is Inside: Radical Self Love By Any Means Necessary

[In this black and white photo the author Sonya Renee Taylor, an African American cis woman,  stands naked near a window with white blinds and curtains.She has dark skin and is cupping her large breasts as she stares out of the window.]. 

[Image is an iconic black and white photo of slain civil rights leader Malcolm X.  He is looking out of a window with white curtains, slightly opening them with one hand.  In his other hand he is holding a large rifle.  He has on glasses, a light colored suit, white shirt and black tie.]

Taking nude photos unapologetically, is what a body activist is supposed to do right? This was my thought as i stood bare and terrified before the camera of renowned photographer Saddi Khali.   That same question and its accompanying terror greeted me again, several days later when the one hundred camera clicks of my unclothed flesh arrived in my email inbox, Despite the waves of nausea,  I opened each one. Every click left me in awe of how the angles of the camera  made my silhouette slope and bend in a perfect landscape, a landscape I felt like I could share with the world.

Then I clicked on THE photo, the one that would undo all the awe and glory. I clicked on the photo that told me, while yes, the photos were beautiful; the blatant and unadorned round belly and stretch marked thighs in them were not.  Without the window dressing of a girdle, the dress cinched at the waist, the myriad hooks,snaps and buckles that fasten this body into visual submission, I was quite simply: naked and fat. There was no special camera angle hiding or morphing my nakedness into graceful slope. This photo was my actual body, standing beside my bedroom window, aging and fat; a truth I was ashamed of. Instantly I was clear, “Nope, no one would be seeing this photo." 

When I founded The Body is Not An Apology three years ago, it was a selfish endeavor.  I needed the courage to share a photo. It was a photo in which I felt incredibly beautiful but I did not believe I had the right to feel beautiful. I, like so many other people in so many other bodies, believed that beauty, value, worthiness had to be conferred upon me like some royal title.  I needed help owning beauty and the more other people owned their beauty the more empowered I felt to own mine.  It was in community that I learned to embrace and declare my own magnificence.  

Today, three years later, I own beautiful like a champ! I know when I am stunning and I am confident enough to declare.  It has been an awesome breakthrough, releasing the shame of feeling beautiful. Now, different questions cement me in fear.bring back the terror. The biggest of those questions is owning and sorting through what a body activist is to do when she does not feel beautiful.  What do I do when the insecurities that plague all of the planet show up in my inbox and say I am fat, old, ugly?  

I went back to the photo, the one with my belly round and full as the whole world and I forced myself to look at it. What is awesome about the work of radical self love is that it is rarely about how we look and so much more about how we see.  When I allowed myself to see my body beyond all of the "shoulds” and shames, I was not simply naked and fat. The photo was deeper.  There were centuries underneath. When I looked this time, I saw slain civil rights leader Malcolm X.  I saw him in an iconic photo standing at a window, peering through the sheer drapes, rifle in hand, committed to the preservation of his body and the bodies of those in his community “by any means necessary”.  The quote associated with the image tells us. "We declare our right on this earth…to be a human being, to be respected as a human being, to be given the rights of a human being in this society, on this earth, in this day, which we intend to bring into existence by any means necessary.“  

That image was the answer to my question about what to do when i feel fat and old and ugly.  It is the answer to the questions we have about all bodies the world would rather hide beneath a rock of shame than see in their unapologetic grace.  The anser is to declare  our right to be seen on this earth in our bodies.  We have the RIGHT to be seen in our large bodies, our bodies with cerbral palsy, our Arab bodies, our Black bodies, our bodies with amputations, our gay bodies, our bodies with Bipolar disorder, our bodies with acne or braces or stretch marks ALL have the RIGHT to the visibility of humanity.  The fights for  revolutionary traditions that came before me, to declare my right

Ghost Fanfic - Best Served Cold - 16


Note: I’m pretty sure I don’t need to be disclaimering every single chapter but y’know, it’s only half about disclaimering chapters. It shows up on Fanfiction and Wattpad as just a bolded word, but on Tumblr those are direct links to the artists’ Tumblrs, and I wanna give them all the exposure I can with my minimal ability to do so, CAUSE THEY TOTALLY DESERVE IT ALL. So the characters belong to MysteryBen and Artsy. BUT THE SANITY OF THE CHARACTERS BELONGS TO ME. Be afraid for them… And Click here to read Chapter 15.


            Arthur lunged up, his arms coming up to clutch at Mystery. “M-Mystery!” There was a second person inside of him and the cave had fallen apart and Vivi was holding onto him, but nothing else mattered. He couldn’t afford for anything else to matter, but he could afford for Mystery to matter.

            Mystery’s breathing was shallow. He had a deep gash running down his side, and his forehead was matted with blood, and his belly had several parallel shallow cuts. Arthur’s breath caught at the sight of Mystery’s left hind leg, severed at the hock. He shed his jacket in seconds and yanked off his shirt. “G-gotta stop the b-bleeding.” He tore his shirt apart, taking the longest shred and using it to tie off Mystery’s leg. The tourniquet bit into Mystery’s skin, but he had to cut off the blood flow. He checked the other wounds, determining the only one still life threatening was the gash in Mystery’s side. But when he tried to bind the gash, Mystery gasped, yelping in pain.

            “B-broken ribs, b-buddy what did you do…” Arthur pulled Mystery onto his jacket and wrapped the dog in it, lifting him up. He turned, still disoriented. He caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and turned fully around. “V-v…V…” Why was it so hard to speak? “V… c-call for help, please…ease…”

            Vivi’s face, there was some emotion on Vivi’s face. He couldn’t connect to what it was. Why couldn’t he read her face? Vivi was an open book, he always knew what she was thinking.

            “Because you’re still broken.”

            Arthur leaped at the voice from inside, slamming his mind against it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Think about Mystery. Think about making sure Vivi called for help. “V…” WHY COULDN’T HE… He stared imploringly at Vivi. She had to know what he meant.

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