#i abandoned my amanda blog to come back to this one

[tinyboxxtink]

"Caught In The Storm" *Part 7*

I'm sorry I cut the last one at a REALLY bad part and this chapter HAS to end here. I'M SO SORRY It's so short!

....Especially because I think I'm gonna wait to post the rest tomorrow. {later today?}

I'm so sorry don't hate me!!!!

PART 8 IS HERE!!!

Tag List

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@lolliepopsicle

@milkshqke

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@aprildecker-blog

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

“Hey baby I grabbed us some champagne,” Nathan smiled, coming back with two glasses of champagne. “Hey guys isn't she amazing?” He acknowledged the others.

“She really is,” Olivia smiled back.

“Hey So--sweetie, I know that this is your big night. But I've got a really big case tomorrow so I need to take off. Are you going to be okay?” Nathan made a “Sorry” face.

You looked back at him, stunned. Was he really going to take off on your big night? You looked at the group of your family who didn't seem as offended as you felt; which was weird, because they usually feel more protective of you than you do.

“Are you serious?” Rafael suddenly came up from behind you out of nowhere. “You're going to abandon your girlfriend on the biggest night of her life?”

“Rafael.. I don't think you need to be so hard on him,” Olivia told him through gritted teeth.

Something was going on. Something Rafael was clearly not in on. He looked at Liv, still confused.

“How are you not more upset about this?” He asked her. “I'm the biggest lawyer in New York and I'm not even leaving for a case!”

“I just think that you should let Nathan do what he needs to do,” Olivia insisted.

“Whatever,” Rafael rolled his eyes while You looked between all of them with a super confused look on your face.

“I mean if you have to go, then you have to go. I'll see you tomorrow,” You smiled awkwardly at Nathan.

“Thank you baby I promise I'll make it up to you,” he smiled. “I love you very much and congratulations again I'm so proud of you!” He said before running off into the crowd.

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Rafael scoffed

“Why do you care so much?” You suddenly turned back to him with an angry look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you care what my boyfriend does?” You asked him again angrily. How dare he just insult Nathan like that.

“I don't,” Rafael scoffed.

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You constantly drag on him at work. He tells me things, Rafael. That’s what two people do when they love each other, they TELL each other things,” You enunciated, making it clear this was bigger than Nathan.

“So why are you so mean to him?” You accused him.

Olivia, Nick and Fin watched the fight unfolding between you two in nervousness, looking around as if they were waiting for something to pop off quickly.

“I just don't think that he's good enough for you!” Rafael finally yelled, causing the others to gasp softly.

“Barba, I really don't think that now is the time to start this…” Amaro tried whispering to Rafael, but he was too angry to hear anything.

“I'm sorry, he's not good enough for me?!” You laughed sarcastically. “Then tell me Rafael,” you started, with tears starting to form. “Who is good enough for me?”

Before Rafael could answer, you heard someone tapping on a mic. You looked to the stage to see Nathan standing there with a huge smile. You looked to the left and saw Sonny and Amanda had returned with food watching anxiously. You looked at Rafael who was staring in horror. You felt your heart racing.

“Please don't be happening….” You begged Silently.

“Hello all. I don't know if you know me but I'm Nathan Price, Y/N’s boyfriend. I know that this is the biggest night of her life, I know it's something she's wanted for a very long time, and I am so proud of her.” He looked at you with love and affection.

“And I know that tonight is all about her and her album, and her accomplishments and I don't want to take away from that but..”

“No no no…” you thought you heard Rafael whisper. You glanced over but Nathan started talking before you could see him.

“Y/N could you come up here please?” He asked.

Everyone in the room turned to look at you. You took a shaky breath and made your way up to the stage. You could feel the hot lights burning down on you like the sun. You knew that you should be absolutely ecstatic In This moment, if it was going to be what you expected it to be.

“I love you so much Y/N and I am so proud to call you mine,” he started. “And I want to be able to call you mine for the rest of my life so…” he knelt down and pulled out a huge diamond ring.

“Will you marry me?”

You could hear the whole room gasp and then go so silent, you could hear a pin drop in the room.

You looked out into the crowd searching for Rafael's face to see if he was excited for you or something else. But all you could see was the bright lights, nothing else. You felt your hands shaking, your whole body was shaking, your breath was quickening, you were sweating. You should be absolutely happy in this moment, here was this great man, asking you to be his.. his? Like you were his property? Whatever. He's asking to spend the rest of his life with you and he was a good kind man. And you didn't have anyone else.

After a very long time of you in your head, in a very awkward silence Nathan jokingly whispered. “Kind of leaving me hanging here babe,” with a nervous laugh.

“I am.. I.. well..” You took a deep breath and put on the biggest smile you could.

“Of course I will, Nathan,” You answered as tears were lining your eyes. You knew that people would think that you were crying in happiness, but you knew that they were for a different reason. Nathan smiled hugely and put the ring on your finger and then picked you up and spun you around.

“Now it's the happiest day of my life!” He laughed.

Afterwards you went and found your family in the crowd. They were all smiling hugely.

You knew this was going to happen didn't you? You asked

“Maybe... Olivia smiled. You looked over to Kelsey and Kenny. “And you too? Maybe…” Kenny Laughed.

You looked at Kelsey, who had a guilty look on her face. This is exactly why she was trying to talk you out of being sad last night. She knew that Nathan was going to ask you to spend the rest of his life with him, to trap you. Trap you shouldn't be the first thing you think of when being engaged you realized. Then you also realized that Rafael was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did Rafa go?” You asked innocently and you saw everyone's faces but Nathan's turned into weird looks.

“Oh I think he left,” Kelsey piped up. “I think he actually did have a case in the morning,'' she added with a smirk. You wanted to yell at her that he wouldn't do that, especially after he gave Nathan such a hard time.

You wanted to yell at her that she should have minded her own fucking business, and now she was setting you up to be stuck for the rest of your life. You wanted to tell her that a best friend would never let their best friend be anything but happy. But instead you just smiled sadly and said:

“I guess so,”

Outside the party, Rafael was standing outside practically hyperventilating. He couldn't believe that he had screwed this up so bad. He couldn't believe that he didn't stand up and say something while that stupid prick was talking. He couldn't believe that he hadn't said anything sooner. He regretted so many things, so many times and now he really had lost his chance and he'd have to live with it forever. He broke down crying as he sadly walked away from the party and you, forever.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu fanfiction #caught in the storm

[buckysmischief]

what’s up danger? - 1

sunflower, part 1

Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: language, sexual innuendos

AN: @perpetually-tuned-out helped me write a piece of this & it’s bolded, Amanda you’re amazing & I cannot thank you enough!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

🕷🕸

Peter’s POV

Peter was watching TV alone in his apartment one day and got back-to-back phone calls from Fury and Tony about a new villain they wanted to recruit. The problem was that no one knew where she was currently due to her ability to change reality, which is why they needed Peter. After the whole ordeal with Mysterio, Peter and Tony began working on a piece of tech that would detect any false realities.

Once arriving at the SHIELD NY office, Peter was welcomed by Maria and escorted to the debriefing room where Fury and Tony were waiting. On the table was a new Spider-Man suit, which meant Tony had added new tech that he would be needing for his mission.

“So, kid, do you remember a thing called the reality stone?” Peter was well into his 20s but Tony has never stopped calling him ‘kid’, which he was fine with. As long as it came from Tony, from anyone else felt like an insult.

“Um yeah, sort of. The stones were destroyed by Thanos after the snap though, weren’t they?” puzzled Peter, “Is something happening? Is he back? Do we-”

“Woah there, slow down.” Tony interrupted, “Back in 2013 the stone, or Aether, was in London. There was this thing called the Convergence happening, I’m not getting into it right now so ask Thor if you’re curious. Basically, as a young girl YN YLN, was in London in 2013 on a class trip, got caught up in an anomaly, and she absorbed the powers of the aether.”

“Like Jane?”

“No. We’re not sure why, all we know is that she uses it how Thanos did.”

“Back to the point,” Fury interjects, “It’s damn near impossible to catch a person who can alter reality, so Tony updated the tracking abilities in your suit.”

“I ran tests on all the stones when we had them, good thing too or we never would have had the technology to find her.” Tony boasts. “Took some time to figure out, though. We need you to test it out, see if you can find her when the radar detects a location.”

Peter nods, taking in all the new information presented to him. “Okay, but why me? Not that I’m complaining, I just don’t understand why I’m her assigned Avenger.”

“It’s simple,” Maria starts, “Beck did something similar and, once you finally figured it out, you handled the situation extremely well.”

“She’s also your neighbor,” Fury laughs, “we call her Rem.”

Peter was shocked. His quiet, shy, and probably overly nervous neighbor was a villain? They had been neighbors for two years, how did he not notice? Did she know that he’s Spider-Man? Well, at least he knew her name now.

“Okay, what do you want me to do?”

“Try and recruit her.”

Your POV

For the past year Spider-Man has been on your ass every move you made, and not because you lived right beside him. After the first two times he found you attempting to rob a bank, you figured he must have found a way to track your powers. You had to stop using your powers at home, which wasn’t a huge deal. The last thing you needed was Peter Parker invading your personal life.

It wasn’t hard to find out who he was, the fact that his girlfriend was always yelling “Why can’t you just stop being Spider-Man?” helped a lot. They fought a lot, actually. It was none of your business, so you weren’t worried about why, but you did know she wanted him to retire the suit.

“Oh Spidey, still comin’ back I see. You don’t have a girlfriend to keep you busy?” he hadn’t even made himself known yet, but you knew he was there.

“Not really, we broke up. Again. We’ve kinda been in the cycle of.. Wait, stop distracting me!” webs flew from his suit and entangled your hands.

“C’mon Spidey, you know how I feel about being tied up.” you say with a smirk.

“Yeah, but something tells me you like it.” Peter smirked under his mask, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have made it so easy.”

Peter had slowly been getting closer, and you were suddenly pressed against the wall. And if the eyes on his mask were anything to go by, he was squinting. It’s like this is a different Spider-Man. Usually if you get a little flirty, he would get flustered, flirt back a little, but you always got away before he got to your hands. However, this time, the lack of witty banter had thrown you off, this time he was really flirting. Peter had noticed the slight twitch of your eyes as he considered his next few words.

“I could just make this the easiest job and have you suspended from the air, but something tells me you’ll beg me to tighten the restraints.” Your pupils dilate at his crude comment and your natural instinct was to lash out with your hands.

As your arms buckled and fists clenched in the webbing Peter realized that he’d mobilized your strongest asset. Until you could free yourself, you were trapped under Spider-Man’s gaze.

“So Remmy,” how you loathed that nickname, “why are you in the weapons vault, at SHIELD of all places?”

“Heard some rumors Cap had extra shields, got bored and thought I’d have a look.” While that was true, you failed to mention what one would go for if any existed.

Peter scoffed, “Come on Rem, just meet with him once. You don’t have to be a thief forev-”

“I am not meeting Nick Fury or Tony Stark.”

Peter closed the remaining distance between you and removed the webbing from your hands, holding them in his. He bent down and whispered in your ear, “Then stay for me.”

You don’t know when your feelings for Peter, and Spider-Man, changed. It started out as a typical hero-villian dynamic, but slowly you developed something for the masked hero.

“I’ll think about it.” one moment you are kissing his cheek, and the next he is watching you disappear behind a door that never existed before.

What the hell was that? So what Peter and his girlfriend broke up, that’s not anything new. You could count on one hand the amount of time she’s slammed the door at 2 in the morning after Peter had come back from patrolling the city just this month. Flirting wasn’t anything new, just a way to try and distract the other. No, you had just never had Peter, Spider-Man, act on his flirtations.

-

You walked out of the door you created and immediately blended in with foot traffic, deciding that you were going to pick up Chinese food and head home for the night.

You should have went with Italian. Of course Peter would be there. He was putting his card back in his wallet when he spotted you. “Yn? Hey, Peter. I mean I’m Peter, we’re neighbors.”

Never in the three years of living next to this man have you two ever said more than a, “Hey, they put your mail in my box again by mistake” to each other. What the hell had possessed both of his identities to change things? “Yeah. I mean, I know who you are.”

“You going home after this? We could walk together, if that’s fine with you I mean.” he was nervous. Not even an hour ago he had you pinned against a wall and now he’s suddenly shy?

You thought about your next words, and the fact that you weren’t supposed to know he was single. “And how would your girlfriend feel about that?”

“MJ? She left, again. I told her to not come back anymore, it’s a long story. Not important anymore. But it’s fine if you don’t want to!”

You really should say no, “No, I want to! I mean, why not, ya know?”

After paying for your food the two of you walk back to Peter’s apartment, he had just bought a new TV and suggested movie with dinner. As the night went on you both gravitated toward each other, your legs had ended up stretched out across his lap while his hand was gripping your thigh.

It was odd, knowing how he spends half of his life and then learning how he spends his other. Your favorite was finding the fiction in the story of his real life. He didn’t develop tech for Tony Stark, he developed teach with Tony Stark. He tested it. You also found out that he was a giant nerd and a total sweetheart.

But after all you learned about Peter that night, he didn’t tell you that you were apart of the reason MJ left.

It started out with him coming home hurt after fighting a random bank robber, a bullet grazed his shoulder and he acted like it was nothing. That’s when MJ started asking Peter to stay in the lab more and out of the field, but Peter couldn’t do that.

Then you became his mission. MJ noticed how obsessed he was with catching you and showing you the perks of being a hero. Every night he found you he came home and it was all he could talk about. “MJ I know she’s technically a villain-”

“-she is literally a villain-”

“-but you should have seen the way she changed everything. We were in Central Park and suddenly we were inside an abandoned building, it was amazing!”

No, Peter wasn’t going to mention that. He just wanted to do this. They could figure out her being a professional thief, and him being a fucking Avenger later. Right?

🕷🕸

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Series tags: @stateoflovinged

#peter parker x reader #Peter Parker x villain reader #peter parker imagine #Tony stark #nick fury #Maria hill #mj #Michelle jones #reader insert #marvel #mcu fanfic #whats up danger?

[averycanadianfilm]

SEARCHING FOR SAMUEL – A QUADRA ISLAND MYSTERY

Felt the need to re-blog this post: The script for the first film of "A Very Canadian Film" is written by Hubert H. Burke and is partially based on this short story. This is a story about Samuel H. Lawson, aka Tshi Nebre. Written by Peter B. Smith of Quadra Island. SEARCHING FOR SAMUEL – A QUADRA ISLAND MYSTERY By Peter B. Smith Every word you are about to read is true. It all began on a damp morning in mid-October, 2005, when my wife Amanda was walking our golden retriever Misty on Rebecca Spit, not far from where we live on Quadra Island overlooking Desolation Sound off the west coast of B.C. Just inside the turn off to Rebecca Spit Road, Misty chose to go sniffing near the door of the green-painted building housing the washrooms. Amanda checked, and there, neatly packed in the entrance to the building, under the roof overhang out of the rain, was a huge back-pack. It was one of those you strap on your back, really heavy, crammed full and with an additional tent and blanket strapped to its outside. It was so heavy, Amanda couldn’t lift it. A black briefcase, also bulging full and heavy, had been neatly placed on top of the back-pack. Amanda and Misty walked for a good hour, and on returning, Amanda saw the back-pack and briefcase were still there. No one was around, and Amanda had met no one walking who appeared to belong to the back-pack. When she arrived home, she told me about her mysterious discovery, and my curiosity was aroused. I was a newspaper crime reporter for 37 years, and now live on Quadra where as an author, I write true-life crime books. Mysteries on my doorstep pique my interest. I drove back to the Spit in the afternoon, and the possessions were all still there as Amanda had described them. I wandered around looking for an owner, and called out, but the Spit was deserted. I noticed three wood-bugs crawling over the pack. Only three would mean it couldn’t have been there very long, certainly no more than one night. Any longer and it would have been alive with creepy-crawlies. So I heaved the back-back into my van, without doubt the heaviest back-pack I’d ever lifted. Pity the poor hiker who had to travel any distance with this lot on his back. I picked up the briefcase, and took the whole lot to the RCMP detachment on the island, where I handed it in as “found property.” The corporal there had a glance at some files and papers inside the briefcase which seemed to have a name “Lawson” on them, and “Barnard College.” I gave him my name and telephone number, and he explained if the property wasn’t claimed in 90 days it would revert back to me as the finder. At home that evening Amanda and I discussed this strange find. Why would anyone leave all those possessions including all their personal files in the woods on Quadra Island? I came up with the immediate obvious answer, that whoever it was must have committed suicide. It was my first reaction, one borne out of 37 years of dealing with deaths, and murders and suicides on the crime beat. But if this person had walked out into the sea, they would have found a body by now. None had been reported. Of course, his body could be lying hidden somewhere in the woods on Quadra. That was a possibility. Our second thought was that perhaps the owner had been robbed of the property. That didn’t really make sense, because if he’d been robbed, he’d have reported the attack – well, unless he’d been robbed and murdered. It was the crime reporter coming out in my thoughts again. But anyway, if some thief had stolen all that gear, he would have sold it on by now, and turned it into cash. Where would be the sense in stealing it, and stashing it in the woods? Perhaps he was going to return to it later? We discounted that, because someone else could have stolen it again in the meantime. Anyway, we finally dismissed the whole thing in the knowledge if there were less drastic answers, and the owner was still around, he or she would claim the property back from the police very soon. Midway through November, I telephoned the RCMP and asked whether anyone had claimed the property I’d found. No one had. That made it all a lot stranger. Amanda and I were just a little more convinced now that my original take on it all, was right. No one would leave such a large quantity of personal possessions for more than two weeks without claiming it - especially if they had come to Quadra intending to go camping. What would they be using for a tent, and equipment and clothes, now all their possessions were sitting in the RCMP evidence room? One other explanation might be that the back-pack contained something criminal, a stash of heroin or crack cocaine maybe, and the owner knew the police would have discovered it, and daren’t call in for it. I called the corporal again in December, and was surprised to find the property was all still there, and the police hadn’t located the owner. I thought they would have looked through the personal papers, discovered the owner and contacted him or her - but no. The mystery still remained. January passed, and when I bumped into the RCMP corporal at the local store one morning in early February, I mentioned my found property. We agreed that 90 days had long since passed. If I wanted to drop into the detachment the next day, I could pick up “my” new-found property. This I did. The corporal heaved the items out of some back room and asked whether I thought there was a computer inside. “No, only paper files,” I said, remembering what we had seen the day I brought it in more than three months earlier. “That’s strange,” said the corporal, opening one of the files. “Oh, an American,” he said, from what he saw, and gave me the form to fill out. So it was that at 10:43 a.m. on February 7, 2006 I signed the form and staggered out of the detachment under the weight of my new back-pack and briefcase. Every crime reporter worth his salt reckons he’s as good as any detective in solving mysteries, and I was determined to solve this one. My first step when I got home was to make an exact list of everything in the briefcase and in the pack. To be honest, Amanda and I were struggling with a cash flow problem at this time, and we were greatly tempted to place a cash value on all we could find in our new property, have a grand garage sale, and immediately alleviate our financial burdens. But very quickly the instinct to discover what was behind the mystery overcame these mundane considerations. The very first folder inside the very first zip section I opened in the briefcase gave me the name “Samuel H. Lawson,” with a telephone number in Toronto, dating from the year 2000 – six years earlier. In the next few hours I became immersed in another man’s life. Amazingly, all his personal papers were here. His credit cards, banking documents, details of his bank accounts, and seemingly, all the important papers governing all the twists and turns of his life. He was a man with a quirk for saving receipts of all kinds. In these initial hours, I also discovered he was a man who had taken to conversing with himself about life, in a strange dialogue written on hundreds of small scraps of paper. Everything was printed in large letters, making it perfectly legible. But he was also a man very heavily into astrology and for every scrap of paper I could read, there were two scraps covered in unintelligible astral symbols and strings of numbers which were beyond my comprehension. The briefcase contained really heavy manila files which showed he was a physics and math professor, who had been the math instructor during the summer of 2005 at Barnard College, Columbia University, which appeared to be in New York. All this happily provided me with the answer to who the mystery owner was, but sadly, further strengthened my sure knowledge now that he had either committed suicide or had died in some way on Quadra Island. No one, certainly not a working university professor, would voluntarily abandon all his teaching files, his student records, photographs of everyone studying on his course, and his own text books and files in some remote woods on a tiny island off the west coast of B.C. in Canada. All these things were in the briefcase. There was a photograph of a heavily bearded guy with a toddler, and another of a blonde woman seemingly walking along a street in America, judging by the advertisements on the buildings behind her. Was this man in the photograph Samuel H. Lawson? When I unzipped one of the main sections of the briefcase, I discovered more evidence convincing me this man was now dead. In a pouch inside the case were three expensive watches, including a really top class Timex under-water time-piece, together with its warranty. I knew no one would leave such valuables as these lying around in the woods. The three watches were neatly aligned with parallel straps in the pouch. One was engraved “Samuel H. Lawson– 27-12-78” on the reverse. I had a mental picture of this man carefully placing these few valuables in the pouch before going away to end his life. Maybe he intended these would be found and passed on to his next of kin, whoever and wherever they were. Unconsciously, and without evidence, I felt that he was dead. It was like this all through my newspaper career. Other reporters would write stories about missing persons still thought to be alive, and yet whenever I came to write about the same case, the body would be found. Other reporters would write stories about extensive searches in mountains or in rivers where adventurers were lost, and when I came to write about them, their bodies would be discovered. It was a touch I didn’t want, but I had it. We hadn’t lived on Quadra long when a young man, Joe, was dropped off by taxi cab right outside the fence of our yard, not many yards from our kitchen window. He walked away and was never seen alive again. Everyone knew he must be dead. His family has even promised a reward for anyone with information which led to his body. Eventually they found his remains where he had taken his own life. But the last time he was seen alive was right outside my house. And now, I was handling Samuel H. Lawson’s possessions. I just knew I was the kiss of death. The more I found, the more I knew I was right. This man was carrying with him a huge manila folder containing a 180-page report on “The long-term effects of energetic healing on symptoms of psychological depression and self-perceived stress.” It had been sent to him from the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology in California in 2002. Was this connected with his professional life, or was he a man suffering “psychological depression and self-perceived stress.” Such a man would be the classic type to commit suicide. I calculated that if he’d carried this report around for three years, was he now just going to abandon it in the woods if he was still alive? I don’t think so. And alongside it was another huge dissertation, this time a 137-page report on “touch healing” from the same institute, which had been sent to him in 2003. And large numbers of weird astral charts covered in hieroglyphics filled another folder. His personal papers included all the kind of papers you would usually keep at home in a drawer of important documents, not the kind you’d take camping in a back-pack. His pension papers told how much he might expect to receive when he retired. His spouse had signed papers waiving her rights to his pension if he were to die. Was this important now that this could be the case? There was a large money transfer of thousands of dollars to a woman, apparently in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He had seemingly worked at Colorado College, and at Rutgers State University, New Jersey, before tutoring at Barnard College. Legal documents from his lawyers were addressed to him at some time care of the “International Development Research Centre” in New Delhi, India. One explanation of why this man would carry all these papers on a camping trip was that perhaps he didn’t have a home. Perhaps he was homeless. Perhaps he had been a successful academic, now badly down on his fortunes. So far down that he had ended it all. Travel documents in the briefcase included airline tickets, Via Rail receipts, and bus tickets so it seemed clear he didn’t have a vehicle. This left a strange mixture of someone seemingly homeless, with no car, but with the resources to occasionally use trains and planes. I put all this to one side, and turned to the back-pack. Just at that moment, my wife returned home and joined me in this odyssey through another man’s life. I know she had found the property originally, but I simply couldn’t wait to start exploring it, hence I had completed the briefcase before she arrived. On the top of the back-pack all the camping gear appeared to be new, recently purchased and unused, including a new tent, tent pegs, a sleeping-bag and tent repair equipment. He had a heavy Afghan rug and sandals, and inside, everything was bagged into plastic bags. We experienced an excited expectation with every new revelation. What would be in the next bag? In which direction would each new find send us? It was like a treasure hunt. Many of the clues being revealed minute by minute brought more questions than answers. In one plastic bag were toiletries and a 14-carat gold chain inscribed “Italy.” What was the Italian link? And a leather wallet contained Indian and Ethiopian currency. What a strange mixture. Not a single Canadian coin or bill, but a folded wad of money from the other side of the world. What did that mean? With each new find, my heart sank. This man must be dead. He wouldn’t leave valuable gold jewelry behind, together with watches, and all these new possessions. My interest in the mystery began to be tinged with sadness over what I knew I would ultimately find. One plastic bag seemed to contain some horrible mush. My criminal mind immediately thought of magic mushrooms, or that heroin or crack cocaine, but we quickly realized it was only food – really rotten food that had aged badly while sitting for four months in a hot police station. More plastic bags, all tied shut, contained clothes, mostly sweaters and T-shirts, a pair of jeans, mostly all clean and folded as if they hadn’t yet been worn. We had found all this in October, 2005, and here I was looking at it all in February, 2006. What had this man been wearing for the past five months if all his clothing was here? Obviously he hadn’t needed it because he was no longer alive. And then, I made the strangest finds. Several white plastic bags, handed out in supermarkets, were stuffed full of years of receipts, and numerous pieces of paper covered in his printed writing. These were very depressing. Day after day he wrote of having no money, no food, of realizing his health was suffering, and sadly appealing to himself to provide the answer to extract him from this dreadful plight. It was becoming easier for me to understand how this man had come to take his own life. I filled pages of my notebook with details off every piece of paper. Amanda was fascinated and excited to rush forward to the next bag. She couldn’t believe I was taking this all so methodically and recording every item before moving on to the next. He seemed to be a collector of people’s business cards. One of them inside an envelope inside a plastic bag was from the “Heriot Bay Inn” here on Quadra. Perhaps someone there might remember him. I put it high on my list of calls to make in an effort to find him. I knew it was hopeless. I knew he was dead, but I resolved to trace every clue on all these thousands of pieces of paper, trying to find him. Only when I’d exhausted every avenue, would I decide what I ought to do next. Some documents had him living in New Jersey, others in various cities in Ontario, including Belleville, Pickering and Toronto. Others hinted at Vancouver, or Victoria, and there were definite links with Salt Spring Island, B.C. I hit on a plan. I took every detail I had and re-arranged them in a strictly chronological time-plan. This would give me an exact picture of how he came to be on Quadra Island, and hopefully, an explanation for why he had taken his own life. Only when it was finished, did I realize what a complete picture I had of his life. Samuel H. Lawson was born in Jamaica. His family took him to Ottawa, where he grew up and became a Canadian citizen. He worked in Manhattan, U.S.A. at some time, and earned a physics major at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana in 1985. Various references indicated he had lived in Bombay, India, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and Hong Kong, and he’d worked as a professor and instructor at these various universities in the States. Let me share with you the exact detailed time-line of Samuel H. Lawson’s life, as I reconstructed it from the scraps of paper in his back-pack, since November 16, 2004. On that day he booked into the Day’s Inn hotel in Victoria where he lived permanently until January 7, 2005. On the day he left, his stay had cost him more than $3,500 in hotel bills and taxes. It was pretty clear the hotel stay had taken all his immediate resources, because within a month he was writing the most despairing, depressed and distressing notes to himself in his journal on scraps of paper. Throughout February the notes speak of fasting, being undernourished, having no money for food, and asking plaintive questions of himself. “OK. How much longer am I to exist like this? OK. This body is becoming ill, so food is my first priority. ”Receipts showed he was vegetarian, buying only fruit and juice at a grocery store, and a regular customer at Starbuck coffee houses, but it seems this life-style was hardly keeping him alive. On March 18 he wrote of “fasting and hopelessness.” Next day it was “despair and loneliness and still having no money for food.” The journal references went on day after day for almost three months through February, March and April. It wasn’t difficult to see how a man with such burdens could end it all. But I couldn’t understand how such an educated and intelligent man seemed to have no sense of reality. He could have acquired a position almost anywhere with his academic qualities but he didn’t. Instead, he wrote long painful questions to himself asking himself why he couldn’t get his first book – a thesis on applied physics – published. Why waste time writing a dialogue to himself? Why not pursue publishers or find employment? On April 21, 2005 he takes a ferry from Swartz Bay, Victoria to Tsawassen, Vancouver, and next day he’s at the Vancouver International Airport, where he has a veggie burger in the lounge and coffee at the Starbucks outlet in the domestic flights lounge. Next day he’s traveling by Trans Link in Vancouver, according to the ticket he saved. But on April 24, he’s back on the BC Ferries, traveling from Victoria up to Fulford Harbour on Salt Spring Island, a journey he makes several times back and forth in the next few days. I try to imagine what he’s doing there. Remember, this is all only six months before he chooses to end it all in a lonely wood on Quadra Island. His bank records show that his account is draining away at this time. At the end of April he’s down to less than $70, and by May 5, he only has $3.04 in his account. But it’s obvious from the files I found that he had to be back at Barnard College in New York State where he was scheduled to be the math instructor for his class of all-women students on the HEOP (Higher Education Opportunity Program) summer session, beginning in a few weeks. I find the answer. At 11:06 p.m. on the evening of June 14, 2005 he receives a money transfer of $240 from the director of the college, which appears to me to be his air fare back to New York. It looks as if it doesn’t arrive a moment too soon. Next morning (according to his air-line ticket) he catches the 8:30 a.m. American Airlines flight AA 360 from Vancouver International to Chicago O’Hare, and later that day, he takes the 3:30 p.m. American Airlines flight from Chicago to New York. The college schedule shows the staff orientation lunch was on June 17, two days after his flight gets in, and on July 4 he’s at work teaching math to his students. I wonder to myself what enormous character it must take to transform oneself from a despairing, starving, seemingly almost homeless stray to a fully functioning university professor – an amazing leap in my mind. On July 31, 2005, his fortunes improve when he receives his salary from the college of more than $3,400. Remember, by this time, he has only three months left to live. The words “Fly to Vancouver” written in his distinctive hand, which, by now, I had come to recognize, appeared on the college schedule for August 12, in his back-pack, presumably after the end of the summer session. Matching this reference, in another plastic bag, I found the corresponding air-line tickets. On August 12, he took the 4 p.m. American Airlines flight AA341 from New York to Chicago O’Hare, and after a short stay, took the 6:44 p.m. American Airlines flight from Chicago to Vancouver International. By August 30, Samuel was staying at the Seabreeze Inne on Salt Spring Island. Could there be a more incredible contrast anywhere in the western world. One minute he is embroiled in the frantic, noisy, stress-laden life of a New York college, surrounded by thousands of people, all rushing to get somewhere. The next, he is almost alone in an idyllic serene tranquility on a beautiful island, with forests growing to its shorelines, where there are more loons, cormorants and sea-birds than there are people. Next day he receives another money transfer, apparently from a family member. I worry about this entry. I feel responsible for all this property of his which I have. When one day I can confirm officially he is dead, should I return it all to his family members? I decide all that will take care of itself when the time comes. And then I came across documents which brought this wanderer right into my little corner of the world, right at the time when I think he chose to take his life. On September 2, he signed a tenancy agreement to take on tenancy of a single-dwelling unit at Hollyhock, a retreat on Cortes Island, a tiny island reached only by car-ferry from Quadra Island. What’s more, we had found his property no more than a 20 minute straight-line walk from the ferry terminal he would have to leave from to reach Cortes Island. He had paid the $600 security deposit, and was to have taken up his residency there on December 1, 2005, staying until February 28, 2006. For me, this was the final nail in the coffin, quite literally. No man who was struggling financially, would pay in advance, a $600 deposit for living accommodation, and then fail to turn up there. Something catastrophic had befallen him on Quadra Island in October. After paying his Cortes Island deposit at the beginning of September, he was then busy criss-crossing Canada before finally heading out west, presumably on his final run to Cortes. On September 17 he traveled from Campbell River on Vancouver Island to Nanaimo by Greyhound bus, then from Nanaimo to Vancouver. Receipts show he was staying at the Day’s Inn in Toronto on September 21 and 23 but five days later he had returned to B.C. and began a five day stay at the Day’s Inn, Victoria. By my reckoning, this was less than two weeks before I think he took his life. The last receipt I found was the last hotel bill when he moved out of the Day’s Inn in Victoria, presumably to head north to Quadra to catch the car ferry to Cortes. This would bring him here several weeks ahead of the December 1 date when he was to take possession of his retreat dwelling at Hollyhock. I guessed he planned to camp for a few weeks, hence the camping gear, prior to moving in at Hollyhock. Now I was satisfied I knew all I could learn from the bags of receipts and scraps of paper. I could place him on Quadra, as he’d obviously left his back-pack here, and knew the reason he was here, making preparations to moving across to Cortes Island. The only possession we hadn’t found was his wallet. No doubt when he’d walked into the sea, or took himself into some deeply wooded secret spot to die, he was wearing the final clothes he had chosen to die in, and his wallet was in his pocket. Now, I had to check every conceivable place where he may still be alive- Salt Spring Island, Victoria, Cortes, Quadra, Toronto, and the States. I knew this stage of my quest would be hopeless, as I knew he was dead. But I had to check. I wrote a new headline in my notebook. It read, “February 7, 2006 –Searching,” and I started working the phone. I decided to start with the most recent clues and work backwards. Obviously the first stop was to contact the Hollyhock retreat on Cortes Island. That was where I thought he had been headed. That was where he should be right now on February 7 - after all, he was scheduled to stay there until February 28. It all started with great frustration. I just hit answering machines, and no one was available, but repeated calls finally brought a result. No, they said, Samuel was not there at Hollyhock, he never had been. “He was going to stay here, but then he decided not to come. He has never been here,” said one of the staff members. I took this as another confirmation of what I already knew. He had ended his life in mid-October. I knew he wouldn’t have turned up at Hollyhock in December. I wondered if, when he changed his mind about going there, he’d ever had his $600 refunded. If he had done, the paperwork wasn’t in his back-pack. Then I tried to track down the people who must have known him best, the staff at Barnard College in New York. I faced another round of frustrations as every number in the college directory in the back-pack led to an answering machine. When I hit the switchboard, a receptionist searched the permanent staff directory and told me no “Samuel H. Lawson,” was listed. His personal residency number listed at the college rang “no longer available.” I was drawing blanks everywhere. It seemed from the several references to Salt Spring Island, that someone there must know him. On all documents, he gave an address on Salt Spring Island as his home address. We have a friend who lives on the island, and we called him, explained our quest, but he didn’t know him. My first day of working the phones had taken me no further forward. Next day, I resumed the hunt. Another call to Barnard College led me to the provost’s office, where I was told there was no “Samuel H. Lawson” on the registry, not even as a math instructor. I tried calling every instructor at the college, working methodically through the directory. No one was available. In one of his plastic bags was the business card of the manager at the Heriot Bay Inn, just a stone’s throw from the ferry terminal where Samuel would have caught the ferry to get to Cortes, if he had got that far. I rang the manager at his home and asked if he remembered meeting Samuel. He didn’t – and explained his business cards sit on the front desk at the hotel, and anyone could just pick one up, without having to meet him - another blank. I tried the most recent telephone number listed for Samuel in Toronto in the year 2000. It was another answering machine, with the voice of a younger woman. I was sure if he’d been apparently near homeless in the past two or three years, a telephone number from six years ago was a waste of my time. As it seemed to me Samuel liked to stay in Day’s Inns in various cities, I called the Day’s Inn in Victoria and asked for him. He wasn’t there. I knew he wouldn’t be, but the more negatives I could confirm, the more certain I could be that he was dead. It was a sad day for me making these calls. I didn’t want them all to be negative because I wanted him to be alive. But with each blank response, I felt a reassurance that my understanding of what had happened was correct. During his last stay at the Day’s Inn hotel in Victoria early in October, which I reckoned was only two weeks before he died, his receipt showed he had called a number on Cortes Island several times. Hopefully, I rang it, and a woman answered, saying she didn’t know who I was talking about. But she said another woman had been staying there in October, and she now lived in Victoria, and perhaps Samuel had been calling her. I rang the new number in Victoria.The woman there had no idea who I was talking about. But she remembered, a guy had been living at the same place who was now living in Ontario. I rang the Ontario number, and spoke to the man. Yes, he knew a Samuel on Cortes Island, but a few more questions quickly showed me this was the wrong Samuel. My hopeful “Cortes” lead had drawn another blank. Next day, I started again. I ran through the numbers at Barnard College again, and this time I had success. One of the directors of the course, knew Samuel, knew he was traveling in Canada, and thought he would be contacting her periodically. If he contacted her, she would pass on my telephone number to him and get him to call me. I thanked her, and made a mental note not to hold my breath. I knew that in the course of time the director would eventually realize he wasn’t contacting her, and her alarm bells would start ringing too. I started reading Samuel’s desperate journal again looking for new contacts I could reach. I found confirmation he was a black man. I knew he was born in Jamaica, and among his scribbled pages, I discovered he had strong views on racism, having obviously encountered some racist problems. Someone in Canada had once wound down a window in their car to shout the “n****” word at him. He had philosophized on how racism in Canada was not as violent as racism in America. To know he was black assisted me, as I knew it would help me describe him when trying to find anyone who had met him. It also meant I now knew the photograph in his briefcase of a heavily-bearded white man with a toddler, wasn’t him. In his desperate journal I found a reference to him “nearly fasting to death on Salt Spring Island in 2004.” I decided to track down all the Salt Spring Island references I could find. In his back-pack I found a Salt Spring Island telephone directory. First I rang the Seabreeze Inne hotel and asked if he was there at the moment. He wasn’t. I know he wouldn’t be, but I had to ask. A receptionist said he had stayed there in 2004 and 2005. I knew that. After all I had seen all his hotel receipts. But here I made progress. The receptionist gave me his telephone number on Salt Spring Island, the number he had given during his stay in August last year. This was his current telephone number. Before ringing it, I looked it up in the reverse telephone directory. It was the “Oh Goddess Herbal Products and Massage Therapy” shop! I rang the number and left a message on the answering machine. Several of the telephone calls Sam had made from the Day’s Inn at Victoria were to Salt Spring Island numbers. Seeking them out in the reverse directory I found more than one was to a chiropractor’s clinic. I rang it, and hit another answering machine. Another landed me on a woman’s cell-phone, and she’d never heard of him. And then I had my best break-through. One of the calls he made from the hotel in Victoria had cost him $12, so he’d obviously had quite a conversation with someone. Checking the telephone directory, I discovered the area code for this call was Allentown, Pennsylvania. I called the number. For the first time on any call, I reached someone who knew Samuel, a woman who actually knew Samuel H. Lawson. I explained what I was doing, that I’d found all his property and was trying to reach him to return it. She told me, “Yes, I know he is traveling in Canada. I am one of his friends from college days. He’d be thrilled if he knew you were taking all this trouble to find him. I can try to reach him for you.” She was a professor at St. Joseph’s University, and I gave her my number. I did confide in her my worst expectations that I feared he may have taken his own life, but that was only my personal thought and I could be wrong. I explained he’d left all his possessions in a wood and hadn’t attempted to retrieve them for at least four months, and he hadn’t turned up at a retreat where he had been expected. She told me she understood. “I have been worried about his well-being for a long time,” she said. I was saddened to know that someone who knew Samuel could understand that what I feared was possible. I was hoping she might say that such a thing was out of the question with him, that he wasn’t likely to do that, but she didn’t. She thought he had some family in Toronto. She thought his mother was living in Ethiopia. That could explain him transferring money to an account in Ethiopia. Perhaps he’d been sending money home to his mother. I had reached the stage where I needed to think about what to do next. I was sure he wasn’t staying at any of his usual haunts. No one had heard from him for months. He’d abandoned all his personal possessions. I considered my options. I could contact the RCMP again and see whether I could report him as a “missing person” but I doubted if they would take a report from me. After all, I wasn’t anything to do with him. My wife suggested we could place a notice in the Discovery Islander, the newspaper which circulates throughout the islands here, including Quadra and Cortes. Perhaps someone would remember meeting him and have a clue about what happened to him. I decided against making any attempt to reach his family. I knew if I found anyone, I couldn’t ask questions without causing them anxiety, and that wouldn’t help. If, one day, I could somehow get a “missing person” inquiry launched with the RCMP, then they, with all their resources, could discover what happened to him, and maybe even find his body. And they, as the professionals, could locate and contact his next of kin. I’d reached the stage where I’d almost exhausted the calls I could make. I had left plenty of messages on several machines. I would just have to wait until I received some calls back. Hopefully, anyone who called back would provide me with some new avenues to follow. Almost on cue, the phone rang. “Hello, Pete Smith,” I sang out. “This is Samuel,” said a voice with a Jamaican twang. “Samuel H. Lawson. Were you trying to get hold of me?”

THE END 

copyrighted by Peter B. Smith

#Peter B Smith #Quadra Island #A Very Canadian Film #Hubert Hugh Burke #Canada #Samuel H. Lawson #Script

[all-hailtheking]

Hello King!! Can I ask for Soundwave x Human! Reader? Maybe a little bit of angst but ends with fluff? It can be any form you want (headcannons etc) Also! Congratulations on creating a blog!! Can't wait to see more lovely works from you!

(Hiya, thank you for the love! I’m glad you enjoy my writing so far. I hope you like this! 🌺💜🌺)

Imagine Soundwave’s S/O being taken by the Autobots

Standing in the middle of the Jasper, Nevada’s empty and rock-filled landscape would have been a whole lot nicer if the Autobots didn’t come when they did. You were supposed to be stargazing with Soundwave, but apparently, the world wasn’t in the mood for that. Standing on top of one of the many rocky columns found in the nowhere deserts of Jasper, Soundwave and you were enjoying some much-needed silence away from the boisterous Nemesis. Both of you recognized the sound of a ground-bridge opening and were then greeted by the roar of several engines.

Bumblebee, Arcee, and Optimus Prime we’re now aiming their blasters at the TIC. “Soundwave, leave the human child alone or we will be forced to take fire.” Soundwave simply shook his helm and opened a ground-bridge next to him. He then gently picked you up with his slender digits and casually walked through it as if nothing had happened. “We can’t just let the Decepticons keep that human. There’s no telling what they’ll do!” Arcee grumbles to herself and her teammates. “We will rescue the human, Arcee. Ratchet, we need a ground-bridge. Soundwave has returned to the Nemesis.” Optimus states. The only reply he had was an agitated mumble of, “I just sent you there…”

“Soundwave, I’ve gotta go! I can’t miss another day of work!” You say, attempting to persuade the silent mech. His only response was yet another shake of his helm as he continued to type away on his monitors. Of course, he knew you needed to go, but he had to be cautious now that the Autobots knew of his human. He wasn’t letting you out of his sights. No Autobot was going to take what he claimed as his own. He had lost too much already, so adding you to that list was a no go.

“Soundwave, I’m going to get fired if I don’t leave soon! They probably think I’m playing hooky and I need this job in order for me to have food. Please, I’ll be careful! You can even have Breakdown take me if you don’t feel comfortable with me going alone.” This time he stays silent and makes no movement to indicate his response. His digits stop typing and his helm raises up slightly. Soundwave then puts to digits to his helm and seems to relay a message to someone using broken audio fragments. Next, he turns towards you and nods, though he slightly flinches when he sees Breakdown make his way into the central command.

“You commed, Soundwave?” The bulkier blue mech spoke with a slight hint of confusion. “You shall- escort- (Y/n) to- her- work-.” Breakdown nodded his head and quickly transformed into his vehicle mode. “Sure thing. Hop on in, (Y/n).” You merely agreed and waved goodbye and blew a kiss towards Soundwave. A large blue and green ground-bridge opened before the blue-clad vehicle, causing said cybertronian to rev his engines.

After an hour of driving with Breakdown, you both finally arrived at work. “Thanks again, Breakdown. You’re a true blessing.” “Not a problem. Call me on my commlink, or contact Soundwave, when your shift is over.” He spoke, opening his passenger door. “Alright. See you later.” He then left as you began to head inside the KO Burger. Of course, being a manager had its perks, but you couldn’t abandon the fast food joint to your immature coworkers.

“Hey, Jack. I need you to man the drive-through. Amanda, I need you and Tim to man the registers. Everyone else, you know where to go.” As everyone began to make the way to their respective positions, you found Jack walking up to you. “What’s the matter, Jack?” The teen simply shrugged his shoulders. “I needed to talk to you, but I guess we’ll have to do that later. Is that alright?” You simply nodded and went to go talk to your boss.

After what felt like an hour, you were already done with your shift. As you were walking out of the burger joint, you find yourself without a ride. Darn your forgetful mind. “Hey, (Y/n). Remember how I need to talk to you?” ‘Nice, that’s two in a row.’ You thought to yourself. Quickly turning on your heels and made your way towards the black-haired boy. “Sure thing. Whatcha wanna talk about?” You ask, walking towards him and his motorcycle. “Where have you been recently? I know you don’t have to work every day, but you’ve nearly missed a week’s worth. Is something up?” He asks, concerned. “No, just had some family matters pop up that I had to deal with. My boyfriend was also being really protective. He had some stuff happen and didn’t trust letting me leave until he felt I would be safe.”

The Darby boy nodded. “Well, how about I take you home? Your ride doesn’t seem to be here.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah, don’t worry. He’ll be here soon. I just have to let him know that my shift is over.” The black-haired boy was then slightly pushed forward from some strange force. He then mumbled under his breathe towards the bike, “What the heck was that for, Arcee?” You tilted your head in confusion, only catching a few words. You didn’t trust this anymore; not when he made mention of an Autobot’s name.

“Well, I’m gonna go call him. Thanks anyway, Jack.” You say as you wave to the teen and walk back over to the fast-food building. “(Y/n), wait. I can stay with you until he shows up. I don’t wanna leave you alone; even though you’re an adult… I just don’t want you waiting alone.” He said, shaking his head from embarrassment. You rolled your eyes and shrugged. “Do what you wanna do.” His eyes then meet yours with a blushing smile.

Taking your phone out, you dial Breakdown’s commlink, knowing he’d be a better pick up than Soundwave because Jack is still present. “Hey, can you come and get me? My shift just ended. Yeah, take the back route. I know it’s safer for you that way.” You said, using your own code so that he knew not to ground bridge in close by. “Remember to wear your seatbelt, alright? I don’t need you getting caught without it.” “I’ll be sure to have it around me. See ya soon. BD out.” He replied. “Jack, my ride will be here in a few minutes. You can head home now.” “No, I said I’d wait until your ride got here.” What a hardheaded kid.

As you saw Breakdown pulling in, you saw a nice green Jeep following suit. You then begin to hop into the car, only to be pulled out of it by two teens. “(Y/n), it’s not safe!” Jack yells as he and Miko yank you back. “(Y/n)!” Breakdown’s holoform hollers, hopping out of his vehicle mode, only to be stopped by a tall black man in a green t-shirt. “We’re taking the human with us. She doesn’t belong with you, Decepticons.” The teens then put you into the back of Bulkhead’s vehicle mode. “Jack, you could be fired and reported for kidnap if you don’t let me out!” Jack only gulps and runs back over to Arcee.

Bulkhead then revs his engine as his holoform fizzles out and Miko climbs in. Your form gets wrapped tightly in your seat belt by your captor. Breakdown speeds after them, attempting to ram into the Green Autobot, only to completely miss as they take a sharp turn. “GIVE HER BACK, BULKHEAD!” The blue-clad Decepticon yells. “Never! Humans aren’t toys to be played with! She is safer away from you cons,” Bulkhead calls as he and Arcee enter a large ground-bridge, most likely heading towards their base. “Soundwave. They have her.”

Oh, he is beyond pissed. Soundwave has been through enough loss in his long life. Losing you is the final straw. He opens a ground-bridge and allows Breakdown to return to his hab-suite. He’s going to find you, even if it’s the last thing he does.

As everyone enters the Autobot base, Bulkhead is quick to get you out of his vehicle mode. “Stop kicking me! I’m trying to help you!” You kick his center consol one more time before being forced out. “You aren’t helping anyone! I was happy where I was and who I was with! You can’t just kidnap someone! Jack and whatever that chick’s name is could be facing time in a juvenile detention center for this!” You scream, pointing at the two teenagers. “Child, you are safer here than with the Decepticons-”

“Like hell, I am! I’m not a child! I’m a full-grown adult! You just kidnapped me from my workplace in broad daylight while my friend was trying to take me back to my boyfriend, and you’re telling me you’re safer?! So what if I’m friends with a Decepticon!? You have no right to take me somewhere without my consent!” Optimus then attempts to speak again, but you cut him off in a full rage. “I have been living with the Decepticons for the past three years and they have yet to do me wrong, yet! You haven’t even known me for two minutes and you’ve already kidnapped me and claim to be the better choice!”

“I understand your lack of trust in us after being taken here against your will. My teammates never meant to cause you any harm. They were trying to protect you from the Decepticons. We have been enemies with them for a long time now, so we wish not to have you harmed in a war you have no need in being apart of.” Optimus speaks, his voice gentle and sincere. “Then, I would greatly appreciate being returned to them. If you wish to see me safe so badly and have me take no part in this, then let me be with the Decepticons. Taking me away from them is causing more problems than I think you really see. I was happy and safe there. I was not their toy, as ludicrous as it sounds. ”

After speaking with Optimus more, you were able to have him let you go as long as he swore to leave me off the battlefields. “Just open a ground-bridge to a random location in Nevada. Soundwave will find me and take me back.” As unhappy as the Autobots are about your choice of sides, they seem to understand why you were upset. You had grown attached to the inhabitants of the Nemesis. They were family to you. Now, you need to return to Soundwave. Your energy was dropping quickly after the massive amount of emotional stress that today had brought. Maybe you could snuggle up against Soundwave’s neck? Just, resting close to him makes you feel so very comfortable and at ease.

Opening yet another ground-bridge, you have the Autobot Leader following behind you. Optimus Prime is the first to exit the swirling green and blue portal. Not two minutes later, Soundwave is found flying in. Mid-air, the purple, and black mech transforms and lands before both you and the Prime. “You will return- (Y/n)- to me-, Prime!” Different audio recordings speak for Soundwave. Optimus begins to walk forward, only to be forced to the ground by one of Soundwave’s tentacle-like appendages in a quick and harsh slam. “(Y/n) can- walk- to me- alone.” Optimus’ only reply is a groan of pain as he doesn’t struggle beneath the Soundwave’s grasp. You then begin to walk towards your beloved mech with a bright smile. “They didn’t hurt me, ‘Wave. It was all an attempt to rescue me from you all, but they know where I belong now.” Soundwave merely nodded and picked you up as he released Optimus. He then transformed around you and took you back to the Nemesis without another word.

As Optimus began to pick himself up, he questions in a mumbling tone to himself. “Why would Megatron send Soundwave to retrieve this human? What is (Y/n)’s importance to them?”

Once both of you returned to the Nemesis, Soundwave returns to his bipedal form with you in his servo. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as his digits begin to gently press against your exposed skin. His visor turns to life once more, but a purple smiley face appears. His servo then raises to his shoulder to allow you to sit; instead of him holding you like a maraca. You quickly climb on and snuggle up against his neck. “Thank you for getting me, ‘Wave.” Carefully, he nods back and lets his digits gently rub the top of your head.

“How did you find me so quickly?” You ask in a tired tone, beginning to get tired because of how relaxing Soundwave’s digits are on your scalp. “Response: Will never stop looking for you.” With a large grin on your sleepy face, you calmly rise from your curled up position, only to place a gentle kiss on the side of Soundwave’s visor. “Thank you.”

((This fic is 2,180 words long and I am PROUD!))

(I hope you all enjoyed! I’m sorry this took so long, but I am extremely proud of how this turned out! I had so much fun writing this!🌺💜 Thank you @honeysugacube for requesting and being patient!)

#soundwave fluff #soundwave #soundwave angst #angst #fluff #all hailtheking #tfp soundwave #tfp #thank you for requesting! #request #imagine #soundwave imagine #transformers prime

[fly-underground]

six hundred and seventy five: 2019

The annual year in review entry. I’ve written this post nine times, one for every year of this decade. I reread the very first one, from 2010, aloud to my mother the other night. My writer’s voice is so chipper in it, so young. I had just started college. In so many ways, I had barely lived. I was about to list off all the things I hadn’t yet done, as an explanation. But the truth is, even now, having done at least a few of those things, I still have barely lived. I want to remember that, to bottle up that feeling of wistfulness for a younger self, that protective inclination to wait for things to get better and worse, because I know I still need it. There is still so much I haven’t done, so much I want to do. Ways to spend the next few decades, if I’m lucky enough to have them.

Last year at this time, I think I was home alone with Cory. I can’t remember it perfectly. The past few years have blurred together in that regard. Was this the year that Mariah Carey sang badly during Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve? I’ll look it up after I write this. The point is, I welcomed in the new year alone, but not really, and then received a flurry of text messages from my mother and brother and so many friends. January passed in New York for the most part. I went to my favorite bar every week, first with Liz and then with Vivian. I got bad news one night about a fellowship and the next night, I found out that my fellowship paper was selected for an academic conference. I felt like Even Steven, losing one thing, gaining another. By the time I made it back to Boston, for the spring semester, it was the end of the month. That last week became so important, especially in retrospect. I met a man from the past in one of my classes, someone I knew vaguely from my time at Swarthmore. February was about him. And so was March and April and May.

I used to keep details off my blog, because I was afraid of people reading and piecing together the truth. I wanted to be polite and coy. Now, I guess I don’t really know who is still reading this. And maybe I also don’t care. If you know me, really know me, you know what happened. If you don’t, well: in February, this blast from the past man sent me an email about coffee. I said yes and we spent hours together, walking around Cambridge, the pink sky of the new moon above our heads. Then he asked me to go to the Arnold Arboretum. We never went. Instead, we talked for hours in another coffee shop. Uncharacteristically, I asked to see his place and after I met his roommates, in-between bites of fig newtons, he leaned over and whispered: Can I kiss you? His tongue slipped into my mouth in the darkness of his living room. He kissed me again on his doorstep and my head spun on the lyft ride home. I threw up hours two hours later, from the hunger induced migraine. I didn’t eat at all that day, except for the cookies in his house and the lettuce wrapped in turkey at midnight in my bed. Of course I threw up. The next week, we went out again. Later, in my bed, wrapped up in his wiry, tattooed arms, I was just happy. That was when he told me, that he’s an alcoholic and an addict. It should have changed something for me, it should have set off an alarm. It didn’t.

Four days later, he relapsed. He had cancelled and then un-cancelled our date. I met him at a Starbucks and on the T back to his place, our legs touched. I felt bad, terrible in a way that I couldn’t name. We watched some Netflix original reality show and then, in his bed, we had sex. We kissed. He told me about his history of self harm and severe mental illness. I talked about my own trauma. It was not a good date. I couldn’t sleep after. In the morning, after he made me eggs and I realized he would not be going to his next AA meeting, I asked, trying not to cry, Will I see you again? He said of course, and then he backed me into a wall and kissed me with a boyish glee. I felt relieved and stupid. Three days later, he told me he couldn’t make it to my place for dinner. He said that he felt like he had encountered me in the wrong moment of his life, that he couldn’t stop drinking, that he was checking himself into a facility, that I meant something to him. I cried that whole weekend. I barely ate. No one could help me.

It was like this for months. Every interaction between us charmed and hurt me. When he was doing well, I was joyous. Otherwise, I was miserable. I skipped meals. I had nightmares. I cried alone in my room, on walks around campus. I lost weight and inches. I felt like I was dying. Somehow, in that strange internal darkness, I realized I was not okay. I wanted to be okay, more than anything. I felt bad all the time and I was tired of feeling bad. In April, I started seeing a therapist. In May, I started seeing a nutritionist.  I went to a support group meeting and read literature about codependency. I felt like it was my fault, my emotions, my own shit. I called my mother and Vivian and Michael. I was defensive about this guy. Addiction is a disease, an addict is not a Bad Person, but he can be a deeply troubled person. 

And then, after all of that, one day in May, he told me that he had gotten involved with someone. It was the way he said it. Two weeks before, in his bed, he had asked if he could undress me. I told him then, sitting outside the Harvard Square T stop, that he was a coward. He flinched, like I hit him. I said, I thought I loved you, but you aren’t who I thought you were. I guess, I didn’t really love you then. I also said, I’m sorry if that hurt you, I don’t mean to hurt you. And he told me, his eyes glassy, that I meant something to him. Of course, I knew that. Of course, it didn’t matter.

I skipped some stuff, or I made it seem small. In May, when I went to that support group meeting, I actually spoke in the group. I said, Every day I feel this intense pressure to try my best. I want to be kind and generous and patient and brave and good. But it’s so much work, being that way. Sometimes, I can’t do it. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. On those days, I want to give myself permission, to simply try. On those days, “best” is not the goal. The goal is to keep at it, whatever it is. So, I went to classes and socialized and asked for help. I told my therapist in April, that coming to therapy meant that I wasn’t hopeless, that I hadn’t given up on myself. In March, I presented my paper at an academic conference, as a single author. I was also on a poetry panel with Trista, Amanda, Cyrus, and Iain. How insane to be there with them, to be included in a family of poets.

In June, the man disappeared, moved away without a real goodbye. At the time, I was devastated. I can’t describe the feeling of abandonment, but I thought: love is not for me. I thought it through June and July. I went out with a series of inconsequential men. There’s a photo I saved on my phone, after one of those dates. He wasn’t a bad guy, just boring, just rude. I came home and cried until my mascara had spread across my face. I went back to New York in July, and in between visiting with friends and volunteering at camp, I had a hilarious summer fling, not a story just something for friends to gossip about. Even then, I was lonely. I didn’t run away from it, though. I recognized it. I thought, I should keep trying. Maybe I would find a good thing.

August had me dog-sitting and transliterating Sanskrit books and gearing up for the final year of my master’s degree and looking into various doctoral programs. It was also when I went on a first date with this handsome, funny, smart, and unbelievably kind man, who would eventually become my boyfriend— how weird that word looks here, how funny that it means something to me after all these years. It has felt like emotional whiplash, this year, loving two men. Looking back, it should be easy to say oh that wasn’t really love. But that’s not true. I loved two people this year, just so differently. If the first love made me nervous, the second makes me calm. I was on a bus back to Boston after Thanksgiving and the traffic was terrible and I felt an ugly irritation bubble inside me because of my seat neighbor. I thought about my boyfriend then, his easy smile, how he rubs my back when I cough. What a small thing, but I felt lighter just thinking about it. It sounds silly and cheesy, I know. But I don’t want to belittle it, not here. I don’t think I have ever really felt so good to be with someone before. It is so new to me, this joy, this stability. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I wrote in my journal a few days ago, that I’m not sure if this relationship is good because he is so good, or because I have done the work of trying to lead a healthier life. Is this just a byproduct of one or the other? Or, as Liz says, is this what happens when two Virgos come together? I don’t know, I loved a Virgo once before, and I don’t remember ever feeling this light. This is different. He is different.

In September, I went to Denmark for my ten year reunion camp reunion. I started this blog right after that iconic summer, 16 and strangely tan from all that northern sun. From October through December, I applied to doctoral programs. Yes, again. We’ll see what happens. For the first time, I don’t really know what I want in my future, but I’m trying to trust in the universe to guide me there. I know I want love. It’s hard for me to admit that. I used to scorn women who named that in their list of goals, but it’s important, as important as everything else. I want to feel close to someone. I want a life of meaning, even if it just means something to me. I want to write. I hate that I ever stopped doing that. I feel sometimes like I have wasted my potential there, in writing professionally. I hope that’s not true. I am not ready to give this up, this dream that could still turn into something.

Something that I said a lot this year: whatever happens, I’ll be okay. During a depressive episode a few weeks ago, I thought I was losing everyone in my life, that everyone secretly hated me. What I told myself then, was not that I was crazy or wrong, but that I could deal with it. It’s true. If that happened, I could deal with it. But I hate that response. I wish I fought more. I wish I didn’t turn over so easily. Not that I think I could change someone’s mind. But I wish I didn’t just accept the worst case scenario. Anyway, maybe it’s strange even to debate this. The truth is so far from the worst case scenario. In fact, right now the truth is I am so fucking lucky. Ten years ago, I was just a high school student whining on the internet. Today, I am a Harvard graduate student; I am an author; I have a publication list that makes professors raise their eyebrows; people care about what I write and think; there are people who love me, really love me; I am healthier and happier than I ever thought I deserved to be. I worked for this. I earned it. I didn’t give up on me.

I can’t predict anything about the future. I’m always so hilariously wrong. Mostly I hope I never stop trying. 2020 still sounds like a fiction, but it’s real, it’s happening, it’s here. It’s funny, I only ever feel that surprised by joy. I hope that never changes.

#2019 #new year #new year's eve #2020 #nye #real life #life lessons #love #hope #growing up #time #memories #remember that? #milestones #grad school #friends #liz #friendship #virgo #harvard #writing #recap #health #self care #self love

[turingtestr]

mobile post of all my information for the anon who wanted a mobile rules / bio. i could make a google docs but i’m burnt out. please also note, i haven’t even GLANCED at my bio i wrote for elijah since 2018, so uh... i should probably do that. sorry if it’s bad.

ONE. due to the nature of my roleplaying style, there will absolutely be mature themes here and there on this blog. all and any mature themes that involve sexual topics of the nsfw variety will only be written with muses that are 18+. as for those people that are 18+ that follow me, i fully understand if you do not want to write any nsfw content, and if any threads lead to that we can fade to black. just ask me, i’m fairly easy going and more than happy to make people feel welcome. it is not a requirement to rp nsfw content with me and i will never force anyone to do that. !

TWO. this is a selective/private blog. i really only roleplay with mutuals, however you’re more than welcome to reply to any of my open starters if i specify that you can but just know i might not reply because i (1) don’t know your muse, (2) have zero muse for the reply and will get to it later, (3) have no interest in the thread, or (4) am uncomfortable with something on your blog. roleplaying is also a HOBBY for me. i work full time and sometimes i genuinely cannot reply fast. if you hassle me to reply to things, i will not want to roleplay with you and it will turn me off from roleplaying with you completely. in fact, if you harrass me to reply to threads, i will automatically unfollow you because i’m not about that life of being pushed to reply to things. if you spam my follow button to try and get my attention, that will result in a soft block on your behalf. please don’t test my patience. if you do not have your ooc name on your page i will not follow you, due to me thinking hiding your ooc alias is shady and sketchy af.

THREE. i love shipping and i love roleplaying so much. this is not a single ship blog and none of the ships i portray are at the same time (unless further discussed with muns, of course).MY PRIMARY CHLOE SHIPPING PARTNER IS @TURINGTESTEE, which means that if kamski mentions chloe in a verse, he's most likely talking about this chloe. if there are any verses that kamski is going to have one single ship, i will make sure to let people know that in the verse description section once i make it. otherwise, my muse is a free for all. if i do have mains, which will be listed, they are just the people i will reply to the most, however, i won't actually limit myself to only roleplaying with them and i hope my mains respect and are comfortable with that.

FOUR. tagging triggers is something that means a lot to me as i am not comfortable with NEEDLES OR PUPPETS on my dashboard so i blacklist needles tw and puppets tw. i know it’s weird but hey, we all have our things. please let me know if you need anything tagged- even if i don’t personally follow you. you deserve a clean and safe dashboard to roleplay in. WARNING.

FIVE.anon hate will be deleted on the spot. no exceptions. i don’t care about your petty feelings and i won’t tolerate them in the slightest. i’m not here to entertain horrible people’s opinions of myself. constructive criticisms are allowed, but at the respect of myself reblogging a meme asking for it specifically.

SIX. mutuals are allowed to ask for my wire or discord, since i use both and would love to rp on both. i also play dead by daylight on ps4, so if you’d be down to game as well, feel free to hit me up there too! overwatch on ps4 is ITSGEOFFREY so you can add me there too.

SEVEN. i very rarely will send in passwords, as i do not require it and i should not have to be tested on your blog to be allowed to roleplay with someone. usually if you have a password, i genuinely just didn’t think to look for it and i apologize if this upsets you but you probably won’t see any from me.

EIGHT. please take into consideration while dealing with kamski that he has high signs of NPD & a huge god complex.

-----

BIOGRAPHY

NAME: Elijah Dean Kamski ALIASES: Eli, Lij, Boss, Kamski GENDER: Male AFFILIATION: Cyberlife Technologies, currently retired AGE: 36

THE START

there's many days where the kamski family would have a bit of struggles, as elijah grew up. he never knew much about his father, seeing as his father passed when he was a very young boy — no more than six. he'd never grown to know too much about him, and his mother didn't overly want to share about him, so it was safe to say the woman had a reason for not telling elijah and that was that.

growing up with a single mother who had severe epilepsy, elijah tried his very hardest to make his mother's life as easy as possible. school days would be very short considering he'd go straight home from school in order to watch after his mother. some days with his mother, depending on the medication the doctors had recommended her, would be better than others. she always appreciated her son's committment to being with her and he was determined to make life easy on the two of them. using the money she got from the state, she'd try to urge her son go into extra cirricular activiies he wanted to do, however he only dismissed the ideas, claiming that he'd rather be home. he'd use the money to spend on textbooks, wanting to develop his own version of a Vagus nerve stimulation device. one that would make sure to surge with electrical pulses before his mother even remotely had to move herself to activate the device. computer engineering was his goal, and he'd stop at nothing to get through that.

as life continued on, elijah continued to shove his head into books and continuously study. he pushed through high school faster than anyone had expected, at age ELEVEN he had shown his studies to multipile colleges, showing his theories on how to better create medical devices.

THE CHANGE

the university of colbridge had been a struggle for elijah, being the youngest student there. studying medical engineering was easy, and he had decided to double major in computer engineering as well, to perhaps attempt to integrate the two. though school was difficult, the hardest part was being away from his mother. the school had refused to let him travel back and forth, saying that freshmen had to stay on campus as apart of regulations and requirements from the state. when he started college, his mother had decidded upon asking the state for a caregiver- on the off chance that something did happen. with the VNS that was already implanted in her, she was able to have a job during the day, but the caretaker was supposed to just oversee her during the nights. it settled eli's anxiety about his mother a little bit. four months into his freshman year, eli had woken up to a call from the san antonio police, letting him know that his mother had been rushed to the hospital after having a grand mal seizure and hitting her head on their marble counters. apparently the caretaker assigned to look after his mother hadn't even shown up that night. he quickly rushed home, terrified what had happened.

something, however that night had turned elijah into a bitter person. into someone against humanity. though his mother had survived the seizure, things weren't the same for either of them. after knowing his mother's caretaker had ABANDONED her, elijah had fully decided to go more into engineering to create a way for humans to be more reliable. what was more reliable than humanity? MACHINES. something that would always obey. obedient machines that had a purpose and a task and would see it through. dropping fully out of medical engineering, elijah settled for computer science and engeineering instead. the utter drive to create a better human than humans themselves was so strong that by the age sixteen, elijah had worked together with a team of classmates to create the first medical assistant androids. REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER model 100, or RK for short. RK100 was born and tested on his mother, who seeemed quite uneasy, but only wanted to support her son.

ENTER CYBERLIFE

though it wasn't perfect, the ark series took off. mainly piquing interest in san diego, california. the backbones of the mega-billion dollar company that would be founded by elijah kamski and his cohorts suddenly had at least three hundred backers trying to support the small business after seeing what a success the RK100 was at being not only a companion for his mother, but also how helpful the RK was at it's job. the medical caretakers were able to do so much, and suddenly with the money that was being thrown at the group, elijah became more than enthused with power. hungry for it, almost.

making more medical related androids were being highly requested, and the team set out to create diffrent functions for androids, trying to perfect everything.

taking into consideration his mother — his finest mentor and most trusted support, and what she thought of the androids, he sought out to consult with his old AI professor, Amanda Stern, on how to make the androids a bit more lifelike. It was hard, at least for what his mother admitted, for a human to trust a machine that looked like a machine to help themselves out through life. upon her advice, eli threw himself into work, the team of cyberlife growing into a business, and then a wide scale company alongside elijah's work. no matter what, the man was the front of the company, having done the majority of the coding and research in what brought the androids to life. the company sought after targeting the cheapest land developments in the united states in order to make their headquarters and warehouses, bringing CYBERLIFE to DETROIT, MICHIGAN where it currently resides.

it takes kamski four years after founding cyberlife to come out with a brand new appearance for his androids. something human like after struggling and struggling to engineer the perfect components to theorize biological functions. this equiptment created became biocompotenents, but it still wasn't enough to make thes he was creating look HUMAN. but after all the struggles and finally figuring out a way to regulate something akin to blood into the android's system, elijah kamski in the year 2022 releases the RT REVOLUTIONARY TURING model; a personal assistant to elijah kamski that uses the alias ' CHLOE '. Cyberlife has been thurst into the spotlight and once again Elijah Kamski realizes that these advancements in the world have honestly made people envious. the public demands the rights to these androids and while he still is bitter over humanity and the lack of reliabilty that humans provide for the world, he obliges. Cyberlife goes public with their androids and the public are now able to put a price tag on androids.

THE REVOLUTION

the world that assumes elijah kamski is nothing but a greedy, power-hungry boss of a CEO for cyberlife overlooks one important fact: he still wants revenge on the world. his mother passes on at the age 43, a few years before his greatest mentor amanda stern passes. the loss of both role models awakens a vengeful force in elijah kamski. one that wants to remind the world that mortality is relevant for all. cyberlife has created over thousands of models, all for different functions and he looks upon his kingdom with hopeful eyes as well as bitterness. humanity has become less reliant. they've become lazier. androids have become the working force, for the most part, and while elijah sees that as a positive note because it is moving forward away from the laziness and unreliability of humanity — the CEO is fully aware that his androids are becoming more and more human like the more and more they develop. the deviant base code is never once touched. always overlooked by cyberlife developers who dare not touch the work of the first working android made by elijah kamski himself. while he's aware he, himself, is mortal just like the rest of humanity, seeing his creations become sentient, to rise up against the laziness and unreliable humanity that he lives among has been his goal. he just awaits the REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER 200 to actually get pushed to the brink of going through his code.

now it's just a game of waiting to see who pushes who, and who comes up on top. it's always a delight to play god.

THE SIBLING ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

i'm not going to be writing a brand new biography for the gavin / elijah brothers universe, but i need to work out how they can be related with my current bio, or i might just go off of a gavin's biography. shrug emote.

#〉 your save file has become corrupted. / OUT OF CHARACTER

[alj4890]

Angst Prompt

(Thomas x Amanda) with the request for an alternate look at the Say Goodbye/ I Was On My Way fics.

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) let's pretend this doesn't exist on my blog.

A/N I know I said I wouldn't do anymore with this heartbreaking storyline. And yet here I am. Again. Sigh. I shared the two other possible ideas for the second part I posted a couple of days ago with bff @krsnlove and being the sweetheart she is, she said I needed to post them. So, here is my darkest version of that story for this couple. I think you will soon know why I didn't choose this version initially. Oh, it hurts. I am so sorry. I'm a fairly positive, happy person in life. I have no idea where these thoughts came from. The third and final one that will be posted shortly is nowhere near the heartache of this one. Warning: pure, terrible, horrible angst from here on out.

First part: Say Goodbye

Second part: I Was On My Way

Third alternate ending: Remedy

Song: Somebody You Loved

Masterlist

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @krsnlove  @cora-nova @bella-ca  @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @pixieferry @lolablackwrites @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

She's Gone (2nd alternate storyline to I Was On My Way)

"Tomorrow we will focus on scenes twenty-two through--" Thomas glared at Jessica holding her hand up.

"But the royal wedding is tomorrow." She said.

Thomas gripped his notes a little tighter. Addison and Holly shared a worried glance. He swallowed and tried to keep his anger in check. "That is precisely why we will be filming out in the countryside. Everyone will either be glued to their televisions or at the capital to watch the ceremony."

Jessica frowned. "Aren't we going to take advantage of being in Cordonia and watch it? It is a historical moment when royals marry. Couldn't we--" 

"NO!" Thomas roared. "If you wish to go to that wedding instead of filming your scenes, Ms. Clark, then that is your choice. Don't expect to be in the rest of the movie if you do." He stormed off.

Jessica stood there with her hanging mouth open in surprise. She looked at Chris and the others. "Did...did I say something wrong?"

Holly sighed while gathering the script copies. "Thomas was in a relationship with the bride."

Jessica's eyes widened. "Oh no. I am so sorry. Should I go to him and--"

Addison shook her head. "Just drop it. He...he will be fine."

____________

Thomas made it back to the manor his friends Hakim and Joelle had insisted he use while in Cordonia. He shut the door to his bedroom and tried to calm down.

He hated being here. If Chris had not needed a couple of weeks off for his father-in-law's funeral, he would be back in Hollywood by now. He had pushed his crew to film as fast as they could. It had all been for nothing. He was stuck in the country that the woman he loved lived in.

He set his notes down and sat on the edge of the bed. He lowered his head in his hands. He couldn't believe that in less than twenty-four hours, Amanda would be marrying Liam. How had his decision to walk away from her resulted in this?

He rubbed his hands over his face as he went to the wet bar. He poured himself a drink and turned the television on. Any distraction from his tortured thoughts would be welcomed.

Breaking News: An attack on King Liam and Lady Amanda Bridgerton resulted in another member of the Sons of the Earth being captured. The man attempted to shoot Lady Amanda while she was out with King Liam in the capital this evening. Our heroic King knocked her to the ground, saving her from harm. News 14 has obtained raw footage taken from a bystander.

Thomas stared in horror at the crowd surrounding Amanda and Liam. She had a strained smile on her face as she thanked people congratulating her on her upcoming wedding. Liam was scanning the crowd when a man with blonde hair and glasses stepped forward and raised a gun to Amanda's chest. He yelled out that there was only one rightful king of Cordonia and pulled the trigger.

Amanda let out a muffled scream when Liam knocked her to the ground. A flurry of activity occurred as guards, Drake, and Maxwell chased after the man. Thomas moved closer to the tv and tried to see if she was truly okay when she was helped off the ground. Liam kept his arm around her shoulders while quickly walking her to a car. Her face was stark white with terror as she got in.

Thomas grabbed his phone and didn't pause to think as he dialed the all to familiar number. He paced back and forth in his room, praying she would answer.

"Hello? Thomas?"

He stopped in his tracks. "Amanda."

He heard the slight intake of her breath.

"I..." She struggled to get the words out. "How are you?"

He looked down. "Forget about that. I saw the attempt on your life! Are you alright? You weren't injured in the attack were you?"

"I'm fine." She reassured him in a shaky voice.

Thomas ran his hand through his hair as he struggled with his need to see for himself that she was actually fine. He couldn't though. She isn't mine anymore. He had no right to demand to come to her. Hold her. Promise he would never let anything happen to her.

"Are you still there?" She asked, fear tinging her words. "Thomas?"

"I'm here." He replied.

"I...I have to tell you something. Something I should have said when you appeared at the ball a few months ago." She swallowed and tried not to break into sobs.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There is nothing that needs to be said. Nothing can be said now." He raised his head and looked out at the moonlit countryside. "We can't--"

"I still love you." She choked out. "When you told me you loved me, I meant to tell you what was in my heart. But..." She sniffed and he could hear her trying to muffle her crying.

He closed his eyes. "But it doesn't change anything."

"I'm so sorry, Thomas." She said between sobs. "I wish it were you that I was marrying tomorrow."

He covered his eyes for a moment. "I do too."

"I...I wish I could see you. I miss you. Do you think--"

"We can't." He clinched his fist. "What good would it do, Amanda? It would only add even more pain."

She struggled against the emotions choking her. "I understand."

He sat back down on the bed. "I wish you nothing but happiness." He started to say more but she let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

"You were my happiness." She bitterly confessed.

Thomas froze at her outburst. He wanted to see her. Touch her, even if it was for the very last time. "Amanda, I--" He heard voices in the background, snapping him out of that impulsive frame of mind.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go. I am needed downstairs." She quickly said.

Thomas swallowed. "Wait."

"Yes?" She said with a hint of hope.

"I meant every word that night outside of the palace." He said softly. "I will always mean it."

"Thomas." She whispered. Impatient voices could be heard in the background. "I have to go."

"Goodbye." He said.

"I...I'm sorry. I can't say goodbye to you." She quickly ended the call

He lowered his head back into his hands.

______________

The next day, he worked nonstop. If the crew stopped to eat or take a short break, he reviewed what had been filmed so far. After a late dinner alone and demands that no one disturb him the rest of the evening, he returned to his room and reluctantly turned the television on.

He expected to see reports on the wedding and reception. He had not expected to see frantic people scrambling for answers.

Breaking News: Local Authorities are working with INTERPOL and the King's Guard to locate and rescue Queen Amanda and Lady Olivia Nevarkis. Sources from the palace report that King Liam received a ransom note for the two around eight o'clock this evening. The Queen and duchess were kidnapped from the wedding reception. The Sons of the Earth claim responsibility for these disappearances.

Thomas grabbed his phone and tried to call her. When the call went directly to voice mail, he left a message begging her to call him as soon as she could.

He paced around his room. Why didn't he meet with her last night? Why didn't he try and stop this farce of a wedding? Why didn't he say he loved her once more instead of that asinine way of letting her know?

He grabbed a decanter and glass. He sat down in front of the television and drank as he flipped from one news station to the next, hoping one would show something that she was safe.

An hour later, he was summoned to the palace. Holly and Addison wanted to go with him, but he refused their requests. Holly argued with him until he snapped at her.

"I don't have time for this!" He yelled at her. "Stay here and handle things for me with the film." He hurried to the waiting car and left the two friends staring as he was driven away.

When he arrived at the palace, he was surprised to be greeted by the queen mother. Regina escorted him to a private study. Her usual cool demeanor softened. "Mr. Hunt, forgive me if I am being presumptuous, but I thought you might wish to be where you can hear news as it comes in."

He thanked her. She gently patted his shoulder before taking a seat near the fireplace. She explained that Liam, Drake, and Maxwell had snuck off to rescue Amanda and Olivia. The Guards and agents were on their way to an abandoned Nevarkis manor.

Thomas listened quietly while the television flashed images of Amanda in her wedding dress. He tried to sit still as speculations continued to be made as to the ladies' whereabouts. He stood up when the the news immediately cut to a live feed. Cameras focused first on a sobbing Olivia being wheeled out on a stretcher.

Reporters yelled questions as a battered Drake walked out with a bruised and bloody Maxwell. Both men were in states of shock. Anton struggled against his handcuffs while yelling out that he would do it again.

Liam walked next to a stretcher. Blood covered his hands and crisp, white, royal uniform. His blue eyes had tears falling as he stared at the strangely still form next to him.

Thomas zeroed in on Amanda lying there on a stretcher. Her long, dark eyelashes lay against her pale cheeks, looking much like she had the times he had watched her sleep. Her lips were slightly parted. Blood covered her chest that did not rise with a single needed breath. No IV's. No EMT working frantically over her. Nothing except her peaceful, lovely face.

Thomas stepped closer to the tv while Regina cried out in alarm at the image. Liam stopped before the cameras and held up a hand for silence. "I..." He swallowed and tried to get the words out. "It is with a heavy heart that I inform you all that..." He pressed his palms to his eyes and took a deep breath. "Queen Amanda has died at the hands of the leader of the Sons of the Earth, Anton Severus." Tears slipped down his cheeks as he struggled to answer questions.

Thomas fell to his knees as he stared in disbelief. "It can't be true." He shook his head. "She can't be dead. She was fine. She survived yesterday's attack. She survived!" He yelled out.

Regina stood and went to him. He shrugged off her comfort. Tears formed in his eyes as he fought against accepting the news. The Queen mother left him alone to tell those that were still in the ballroom.

Thomas bent forward and covered his ears as Liam's words repeated over and over in his mind. Amanda is dead. Gone. She's gone. She's never coming back. He cried out in anguish.

"No." He whispered into the carpet. "She wanted to see me." Thomas realized that another selfish choice of his cost him everything. "She wanted to see me and I refused her!"

He cried out to God to help him. Bring her back to him. Any merciful relief from this hell he had been thrust in.

He felt someone kneel next to him. He looked at Liam and begged him to tell him it wasn't true. He couldn't believe that it was.

Liam took Thomas to the room where each king and queen of Cordonia's was placed at their deaths. The young King watched as the man who truly loved Amanda stumbled toward her and gently touched her cheek. Thomas pressed his lips to her forehead while tears fell.

"I'm so sorry." He repeated to her. "I should have run to you when you said you wanted to see me. Told you every moment I loved you." He pressed her cold hand to his cheek. "I can't make it without you." He continued to plead with her to not leave him without her in this world. He slowly stroked her hair as he spoke of his need for her.

Liam kept his head bowed as he stood guard in the doorway. He glanced up when someone spoke softly to him. He nodded and spoke gently to the one mourning his lost love. "Thomas, we have to let them take her...take her away."

Thomas turned toward the men waiting to prepare her body. He looked back down at the one person he had loved with every fiber of his being. He softly kissed her lips wishing her lashes would flutter open. He wished to see that special smile she always had on her face when he woke her with a kiss. He whispered how much he loved her one last time before letting Liam escort him out.

He leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor. He stared at the closed door to the room where she was being placed in a black bag. He could hear the murmurs and then the zipper close. Wheels squeaked before the door opened. Liam knelt down and placed his hand over his heart as she was rolled past, bowing his head for Cordonia's queen and his closest friend.

Thomas watched it all with tears falling silently. Numbness was setting in. He knew that his heart had been zipped up in that bag. Life as he knew it had ended with her last breath. No hope for happiness remained. Nothing was left for him now.

#choices thomas hunt #thomas hunt rcd #thomas hunt x oc #thomas hunt x amanda #choices the royal romance #choices trr #trr liam #trr drake #trr olivia #trr maxwell #pure angst

[goddessofthedawn]

it is that time of the time again where i talk about my book again! self-published, 99 cents for kindle, 16.66 for paperback because it’s about KIDS going to HELL-- (or add it on goodreads!)

synopsis: 

It was Jake’s idea to explore the abandoned house a few miles off of the highway. Neither Sam nor Amanda could have predicted that it would send them to Hell.Fortunately, getting out of Hell is possible – and out of the 80 Divisions Hell is made of, the three of them have landed in Division 78. With the help of a medieval swordsman who wants nothing more than to keep out of school, the three of them just might make it. Standing in their way? A Southern gentleman who died at the end of the American Civil War, more demons than any of them can count, and the devil himself… all of whom have taken an unhealthy interest in Sam. And Sam, mute since birth and willing to do anything to not only survive, but thrive, might be willing to make a deal with the devil to get out of Hell alive and in better shape than he entered.

also, below the cut is the first three pages, in case you wanted a little preview; the first chapter in its entirety is available on my blog

           The new kid had her poster.

           His name was Jake, he was from Bismarck, he never shut up, and he was holding the poster that she had (admittedly, taking a chance on it getting ruined) grabbed from the history room before heading out to the buses. She needed to finish it tonight, and now she had to talk to Jake Hyland to get it.

           It wasn’t like Jake was mean. He just didn’t shut up. He’d been at Lakewood for a couple of months, and already most of the high school had written him off as an annoyance. His only friends were Sam Jude, who was gorgeous, mute, and standing directly behind Jake, and Allan Carson, an eighth grader. Julian Rathe, a sixth grade kid who lived next door to Allan, could be seen hanging around them sometimes, too—either way, Jake had collected a reject, as cute as he was, and a couple of middle schoolers.

           “Hey, Amanda,” Jake said. “You busy tonight?”

           Oh, great. He was going to ask her out again. He’d asked her to the Halloween Dance and she’d had to fake family plans to get out of it.

           But she didn’t want to be a jerk. “No,” she said. “Can I have my poster back?”

           “Oh, uh, sure,” Jake said. He held it out, but held onto it and kept talking when she grabbed for it. “Do you want to come explore a creepy old house with Sam and me? It’s that one on 46. You know, the creepy abandoned one. Of course you know. You’ve lived here way longer than me. But, um, Sam was talking, well, not talking, but he told me about it, because he’s way into creepy stuff, and it sounds cool, and if you want to come it would be super cool if you could like, answer so I can stop making a douche out of myself.”

           “Um,” Amanda said, and then her bus pulled away. Jake still hadn’t let go of her poster, and she resigned herself to either an afternoon with Jake’s voice bouncing around in her ears or walking home (and, though it was November, it was North Dakota, and it was cold), so she sighed. “How are we getting there?”

           Jake pointed to Sam, who pulled out his wallet and extracted a driver’s license. He showed it off with no indication that he cared at all about what was going on. He just held it between two-fingers and met her eyes, completely straight-faced. Then he put it back in his wallet, flipping it shut with the finality of a coffin closing. “Sam’s one of those assholes who got his license six months after getting his permit at fourteen. Country kids, man.”

           Amanda, who was also ‘one of those assholes’ that had gotten her license six months after getting her permit at fourteen, didn’t say anything. Jake grimaced, a little, and Amanda took pity on him.

           Even though he was still holding onto her poster.

#just ramblings of aurora #writing #self-published #young adult fiction

[ld200]

I love this blog of yours and I'm really happy there's people out there who are still into DBH! I've been browsing thru fanfics lately and I'm looking forward to reading your fic 'eternal winter' (I'm waiting until it's complete incase you don't end up finishing it) but I'm curious as to what your favourite scene/s in the game are. I have multiple but I'd probably say (one of my 'high on the list' faves) would be after Connor saves Hank and awnsers his questions correctly in CL tower. Thanks!

Oh hey thanks! :D Definitely still into DBH. Fixations tend to hold onto me for at least a couple years lol

Hah, I’m absolutely finishing Eternal Winter (on ao3 anyway; kinda abandoned ffn altogether) but I know I’m not the first one to say that about a story, and I won’t be the last, lmao. Honestly, it’s a huge fic so waiting until it’s done makes sense anyway bc it’s probably easy to forget about the details otherwise

Ooooh favorite scenes HMMMMM this might get long, bear with me

Well, let me at least mention Connor’s end-of-game scenes, for starters. Walking toward Hart Plaza with an army of androids behind him is so damn epic. Doesn’t mean anything on its own, but with everything Connor’s learned and done to get this far, it’s just so fucking satisfying

And then standing up there while Markus speaks, the blizzard in the garden & wondering What Would Have Happened post-game in either scenario (doesn’t escape & Amanda takes over = is he a machine again? reaches the stone & escapes = will it keep happening? is he truly free? etc. this was a good half of why I wanted to write that story to begin with)

BUT I think my actual favorite scenes have to be any and all of those developmental moments that really capture Connor’s character

Connor saving Hank on the roof. The stunned look he turns on Hank when Hank says “You’d have caught him if it wasn’t for me,” as if he’s never considered that anyone other than him can take the blame for something going wrong

On the flipside, the scene you get if you fail that sequence entirely and run out of time... I don’t remember the dialogue EXACTLY but god I loved it when I first discovered it. Something to the effect of:“That shouldn’t have happened. I wasn’t programmed to fail.”“Yeah, well, you fucked up, Connor. Welcome to the club.”I like that Hank doesn’t say it with anger, maybe a little annoyance, but overall it seems like he just thinks it’s ridiculous that Connor’s so upset with himself. Connor’s SO AFRAID OF FAILURE, like. It just permeates the whole game, and I really like that in this version of the scene Hank says something that’s just so humanizing and validating about it

The one scene in the zen garden when it’s pretty late in the game and Connor tries to ask Amanda SO MANY GOOD QUESTIONS that I had been wondering as the player as well, about who made the zen garden, what Cyberlife really wants, Elijah Kamski, whether Connor’s a unique model. etc. Depending on your choices in the story, I thiiiink (but am not sure) that it’s the same scene where he slowly admits to Amanda that he thinks he may be compromised, his LED going from blue to yellow to red as he says it, and then Amanda basically tells him “You’ve been in some difficult situations. It’s okay that you’re troubled. That doesn’t make you a deviant.” (again that’s probably not the exact line) I really like the visible conflict Connor has about coming to terms with it, and the way Amanda seems like she’s in denial of it just like he is

Absolutely fucking everything about the Meet Kamski chapter. I love some of his dialogue choices with Kamski too, he can really bite back. (Come to think of it I like any scene where you can choose options that have Connor in conflict with someone, whether it’s Kamski, Amanda, Gavin, or even Hank.) I prefer the version where he doesn’t shoot Chloe - his worry Hank is going to be upset with him for failing (there’s that again), the defensiveness about why he couldn’t shoot her, Hank’s lil smile and assurance that Connor did the right thing

THAT SAID there is one thing I also really like about the scene after he shoots Chloe: when Hank is all pissed off and having a Hank moment (rightfully so, this time, I mean Connor just killed someone, but anyway) and he moves in like he’s gonna grab Connor or shove him or something, and Connor pushes him back before he can. Again, Hank’s right to be pissed, BUT considering Connor gets literally and figuratively pushed around by almost everyone he encounters in the game (up to and including Hank), it’s nice to see that even a mission-focused Connor is deviant in his own way and will eventually push back. 

The Hug (tm)

“Statistically speaking, there is always a chance for unlikely events to take place” + “Don’t worry. I always accomplish my mission” + the whole marching downtown with an army of androids thing = CONNOR POST-DEVIANCY EXUDES SO MUCH CONFIDENCE and I live for it. You asked about scenes and this isn’t a scene, just a combination of things I like, but now u got me talking about Connor and I can’t stop ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I like the scene you mentioned as well! It’s the culmination of everything Hank sees in Connor, everything he hoped Connor was and could be. And I like it just as much for Hank’s sake as I do for Connor’s - it’s good to see him come to terms with his own shit about androids. And “maybe you’ll be the ones to make the world a better place” is just such a hopeful, charitable thing for him to say given the darker edges of his personality and I’m glad that he maybe sees things a little brighter than they were before. I don’t talk about Hank nearly enough but I really do love him as a character as well and I believe he’s an idealist at heart, even if it’s buried under a lot of grief and outward cynicism

I knew this would get long lol, thanks for asking, there’s so much fan content out there that I haven’t actually thought about the specifics of the game in a while and it’s nice to reconnect with it a bit

#dbh connor #dbh hank #detroit become human #Anonymous

[pxppinmolly-archived]

1 4 15 17 & 24 for Monday asks!

Munday 2 Electric Boogaloo

1.What was your first impression of the roleplay community on Tumblr? And what’s your impression of it now?

GOODNESS.. It feels so long ago when it’s only been.. Like.. Two..? Years? Going on three? Time flies.

I remember I was kinda intimidated at first and boy was I NOT knowing wtf I was doing. AT ALL. Sure let a lot of shit slide and did a LOT of dumb cringey shit, but…

I made some good friends and met talented people! And I can say the same to this day!

One thing I will say I learned is the people with the pretty writing, fancy graphics and snazzy profiles are also shy anxious nerds just like me.

Still doesn’t help my own hindering anxiety though LMAO

4.How many roleplay blogs do you have?

A handful? Lol.

I have my main blog to this one ( @candyredmuses ), and then I have my Alice Angel blog ( @wingslcst ) who was my first tumblr rp muse! and then I have my Amanda Young blog ( @pigtrapped ) aaaannd then I have my completely abandoned blog for Mary Ellen ( @plcsticbride ) LMAO

15. What’s your impression on blogs who are selective/private?

Honestly I know there’s been some ~discourse~ about this, apparently, recently. And I will always stand 100 percent they’re absolutely valid!!

RP is supposed to be for fun, and controlling and limiting who you wanna interact with is totally acceptable and valid!! They don’t need to give you a reason why they’re private or selective. No one is owed time, no one owes you their time and you don’t owe anyone else’s.

I’m not a mutuals exclusive blog, and this is ONLY because I have follow back anxiety and due to a lot of bad experiences in the past, I prefer interaction between muses before I tend to follow back usually (Or I easily miss followers tbfh)

BUT I AM still selective!! So if I don’t follow back after interactions I most likely don’t wanna interact! Nothing against muns or muses, sometimes peoples writing and muses don’t click and that’s okay! It happens! But if you get bitter and vague posty about it youre just an asshole! KKDKF

17.What are your thoughts on people who goes all out on the aesthetic for their blogs? Do you think they’re have the right to express their creativity however they want?

I think it’s super duper swell ! Honestly I personally LOVE seeing such pretty aesthetics and such on peoples blogs – if I was able to and had the means I know I fucking would do the same.

Even if I see them and go: oh man. I am outclassed.

LMAO

24. Where do you draw your inspiration from?

WELL! I suppose only a couple things… Mostly from my own personal experiences growing up! In an Italian household, stories from my father and my mother, seeing as my father is first generation Italian-American and my mother grew up in an Italian neighborhood!

Other than that I really can’t pinpoint exactly where Molly comes from. She just kinda.. Formulated and existed ! Incubated in my mind for over a year until I finally made the blog where she ended up getting molded and shaped into who she is now! And she still changes and develops!

Honestly, especially with @anxechoxinxhell, @slxrpindust and @letsstaytuned I don’t think Molly would’ve grown and adapted and changed as much as she did!! They offer and have given her such character development, especially between Echo’s Arackniss and V’s Angel did Molly’s character I feel really deepened and I can’t ask for better partners/friends for that. Even writing some AU stuff with Selph with Molly in her past with their Alastor offers such a change and difference in what her character would turn out to be it’s so interesting.

#spiritboxed #Interview (Ask)

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Chapter 13

Title: Falling for the Holidays

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 869

Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children.  However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Angst, Real Talk, Confessions, Teensy bit of crack depending on perspective.

A/N: Chapter 13 is here. Sorry everyone, no fluff in this one. But shit get’s real! I hope you liked it! And thank you for sticking with me. I know I’m taking a while to get this series moving, but I’m getting there :) Enjoy! Remember, feedback is GREATLY appreciated!! xx

Series Masterlist

While Ketch went off to find you, Dean stood still, watching the British man leave, vanishing around the corner. Something in his heart clenched, and there was major disappointment coursing through his every being. Was he really going to let you go again? How many time does he have to make the same mistake until he finally did the right thing? But as always... his back was up against the wall. He couldn’t just abandon Lisa. He couldn’t abandon Ben. Lisa didn’t have to say it, Dean knew Ben was his. The timing was spot on. However, verbal validation was still something Dean craved. Something he needed to hear from Lisa’s mouth.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of Lafitte’s Bar and Grill. The establishment was owned by one of his good friend’s family. As he entered, he quickly spotted Benny behind the bar, cleaning a few glass cups.

The two men greeted each other with a nod before his eyes fell onto a petite blond sitting at the bar in front of the Southern Man. Jo. Her eyes locked with his and even from afar it was easy to see the shift in her eyes, landing on Lisa and Ben, and as expected, her jaw dropped.

Jo knew the story between him and Lisa. When it came to girl problems, he’d always call Jo, so she knew everything. Knew about the break up, but she was surprised to see the kid.

Her frown quickly morphed into a wide smile. If Dean hadn’t seen her previous expression, he would have thought her smile was pleasant, but knowing that it was just a mask made him feel a little on edge, especially not knowing what his fire-head cousin was going to do.

“Dean!” She cooed, voice strained, “what are you doing here?”

“Uh, just came to eat. The kid was hungry,” he forced a smile on his lips, eyes blazing with the question, “what the hell are you doing?” but Jo ignored him.

“Hi, I’m Jo. Dean’s cousin. Who are you?” She beamed.

“Hi, I’m Lisa and this is my son Ben,” Lisa introduced, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“It’s nice to meet you. I think I’ve heard Dean talk about you a few times years ago. It’s nice to know the two of you are still friends.”

“Yes, definitely something to be thankful for,” Lisa replied.

“Anyways, we’re going to sit and eat. I’ll talk to you later, Jo.” Dean grinned, discretely shoving his cousin away, the two of them giving heated glares to one another.

When Lisa and Ben had their backs turned, Dean hissed, “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell is this?” Jo whisper-yelled back.

“We’ll talk later,” he gritted.

“Better call me or else I’m comin’ over!”

Dean rolled his eyes before quickly catching up to Lisa and the kid, ushering them to a more private booth in the restaurant. They quickly ordered and waited for their food to arrive before getting down to the real talk.

“What are you really doing her? Dean asked, his voice slow and deep to prove that he was now all business. Lisa stared at him hesitantly, before glancing down at Ben beside her. “Well?”

“I was worried…” Lisa started. “You ran off so quick back in Lawrence and when I asked your parents where you were, they told me you’d left—”

“Wait, you visited my parents?” Dean cut her off.

“Yes! I was worried Dean! I thought something happened to you!” She stated sternly. “Don’t worry, your family was really nice. Your mom even offered Ben some milk and cookies.”

“Good to know,” Dean mumbled.

“Well can you blame me? You didn’t call or text, nor did you return any of my messages. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That we were okay.”

Dean inhaled deeply before exhaling heavily. “Look… things are a little complicated right now. I just don’t know what I feel.”

“Because of Y/N, right?” Lisa asked dejectedly.

“Yeah… and because of Ben.” Lisa snapped her head back at him, fear swirling in her eyes.

“Ben?” She echoed, the boy looking up at the two adults with a smile on his face, innocently chewing on a fry, his cheeks coated with ketchup and mustard. It would have been incredibly adorable if things weren’t so… tense.

“Is he mine?” Dean finally asked the long delayed question that had been itching at his brain since he laid eye on the kid. Ben was around the right age. He had to be his son.

Lisa remained silent, not knowing how to answer the simple question. She knew what she wanted to say, what she had to say, but the words weren’t coming out. She replayed this scene multiple times in her head, but now that it was really happening, she was at a lost for words.

“Lisa.” Dean’s voice was deep and a little harsh. “Is. He. Mine?”

Dean saw the way her throat bobbed. She was nervous, but so was he. When her lips parted, Dean held his breath, unsure if he was actually prepared for the answer he was about to receive.

Lisa let out a shaky breath… “Yes.”

Say Something Nice Here!

Falling for the Holidays Tags: @amanda-teaches @dancingalone21 @a-winchester-fairytale @dolphincliffs @oneshoeshort @brewsthespirit-blog @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @atc74 @natasha-baggins @heavymetalhauswife @linki-locks11 @spnwoman @veevm @chameleah86 @kdcollinsauthor @claitynroberts @roonyxx @rainflowermoon @ladylaylo @closetspngirl @mirandaaustin93 @salt-n-burn-em-all @flamencodiva @fangirlanotherjust @winchest09 @shamelesslydean @couldabeenamermaid @alexwinchester23 @algud @gracefultrenchcoat494 @prettyinplaid94 @shhhs3cret @cookiechipdough @justkending

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #reader insert #dean winchester au #dean winchester series #dean winchester au series #spn au #supernatural au #supernatural au series #falling for the holidays #chapter 13 #squirrel-moose-winchester

[eclecticminded]

Love notes written in flesh

Also awhile back @madpanda75 and I discussed jealous sex with Nick in the polyamory AU and well...this happened.

Part One and Part Two and Part Three and Part Four  and Part Five and Part Six  and Part Seven  and Part Nine and Your Wallet

You’re brunch date with Rafael and Sonny turns into a sexfest. Cue dinner with Nick where he finds copious hickies.

Warnings: Sex. Semi-rough sex. Use of daddy/papi, good girl, kitten/gata, and princesa. Food. Brief alcohol.

Tags: @southsiderepresent @glimmerglittergirl @madpanda75  @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @esparza-army @sweetsummertime99  @obfuscateyummy @lifeisbetterwithbarba  @lyssa1385  @hux-me-up   @bowieisawizard  @raulmonamour

Also I have a Kofi (link in blog description).

This week had been a hectic one for all four of you. Rafael was in court with one case where Nick was a witness, and he was prepping another where Sonny was. Plus the detectives still had their regular duties. Not to mention Olivia and Amanda had an emergency two day overnight work trip that left you with Noah and Jesse and you just got back from visiting your sister and her new baby. Needless to say you didn’t see them all week, and the little time Rafael and Sonny had was strictly professional.

 Friday night you fell asleep sandwiched between Rafael and Sonny, all three too tired to do anything but fall into bed. Saturday morning, you were woken with sloppy kisses all over your face and exposed midriff. Rafael’s had a bit to them causing you to whimper while Sonny’s stubble tickled you sensitive skin.

 “Wake up doll,” Sonny kissed your temple, “We’re going to brunch.”

 “No. Sleep,” you whined.

 “Bottomless mimosas,” Rafael placed a kiss to your other temple.

 “Okay fine,” you giggled and climbed out of bed, pulling your shirt off and digging through your drawer in Rafael’s dresser.

 “Picked you out a dress,” Sonny called, “It’s on the back of the bathroom door.”

 “Thanks honey bear! You’re the best,” you blew Sonny a kiss and sashayed towards the bathroom.

 “What about me,” Rafael pouted.

 “Sonny picked out a dress for me so I didn’t have to.  What did you do,” you stopped in your tracks and turned around, raising an eyebrow.

 “I picked the place with bottomless mimosas,” Rafael crossed his arms in mock frustration.

 “Thank you sugar, you’re the best too,” you blew him a kiss and turned around, “stop staring at my ass and get dressed. Or I’ll go alone.”

 “Yes ma’am,” Sonny laughed as you shut the door to get ready. He and Rafael spent ten minutes making out on the bed, certain it would take you twenty minimum to get ready. They got dressed and were pulling their shoes on when you emerged.

 “Sonny this sundress does the thing,” you spun in a circle and your dress flowed out around you.

 “You didn’t know your own dress did that,” Rafael scrunched his forehead up.

 “Oh I knew,” you spun again, “But Sonny knows how much I love when dresses and skirts do the thing. I love you!”

 “That’s why I picked it doll,” Sonny winked, “Love you too.”

 “Dresses that do the thing. Alright. Adding that to my list of things to remember,” Rafael nodded seriously and tied his shoe.

 “Let’s go! Are my flats—“

 “In the closet with my shoes cariño,” Rafael cut you off.

 “Gracias, te quiero,” you scurried into the closet and slipped your shoes on.

 “Love you too,” Rafael called after you.

 “Woah doll, slow down,” Sonny steadied you so you didn’t fall after running into him.

 “Sorry,” you pecked his lips.

 “Let’s go,” Rafael motioned you both out the door.

 “I call middle,” you grabbed your purse from the counter and followed two of your men out the door.

 “Fine,” Rafael swatted at your ass when you walked past him, “But only cause I got it last night.”

 Sonny drove so he only had one drink, Rafael mostly drank coffee, and you drank them both under the table. Before the food had some you’d drank at least four, or was it five, mimosas because you couldn’t taste the alcohol. They cut you off and made sure you ate and drank plenty of coffee and water. By the time you left, you were sobered up but still giggly.

 You spent most of the ride to Sonny’s place half in Rafael’s lap kissing him and teasing him with Sonny’s hand on your thigh. At red lights you sucked on Sonny’s neck and palmed his erection, causing several people to hank at you. When you finally made it into the elevator of Sonny’s building, you trapped Rafael in the corner with your hips and he sucked a hickey on one side of your neck. Sonny pressed you against Rafael from behind and sucked a twin hickey on the other side of your neck.

 Before long you were naked on your knees in Sonny’s living room with Rafael’s cock down your throat. Sonny had a fistful of your hair and made you bob up and down. You gagged and your eyes watered but loved every minute of it. Sonny forced you all the way down Rafael’s length and held you there, causing Rafael to moan. A double tap to Sonny’s thigh and he pulled you up. You gasped for air, tucked safely against Sonny’s chest. Rafael kneeled in front of you and wiped the spit from your chin.

 “You okay gata,” Rafael caressed your cheek.

 Yes daddy,” you nodded.

 “Check in kitten,” Sonny smoothed your hair.

 “Green sir,” you moved back into a kneeling position on the pillow, “I want you both to face fuck me!”

 “Done,” Sonny scrambled to his feet and plunged down your throat. While he pumped away, Rafael pulled a vibrator from the coffee table and positioned it against your clit. His hand joined Sonny’s in your hair and you mouth was pulled off Sonny’s cock long enough to breathe before you were swallowing Rafael. The pattern went on for a few minutes, and one orgasm for you, before both men agreed you’d had enough. Rafael quickly cleaned the vibrator while Sonny carried you to the bed.

 Sonny wasted no time attaching himself to your right thigh, sucking hickies and leaving a trail of bite marks. Rafael crawled into bed to the left of you and attacked your neck with his mouth. They took their time, making you squirm around while they painted your skin with love bites. Halfway through the swapped, Rafael took your left thigh and Sonny your neck. You felt a little bad you had plans with Nick later, but not enough to stop them.

 Sonny was the first to get a condom on and plunge inside of you. Rafael pinned your hands above your head and sucked on your closest breast. His free hand rubbed your clit, making you cum on Sonny’s cock. When Rafael released your hands, they clawed down Sonny’s back and he came with a shouted moan.

 Giving you little time to recover, Rafael rolled his condom on and started fucking you roughly and with abandon.  Sonny mimicked Rafael’s earlier actions, teasing your other breast and rubbing another orgasm out of your soaked core. He cradled your head in his lap and loving held the hand not scratching down Rafael’s chest.

 “What a good girl, taking daddy’s cock like that,” Sonny cooed to you.

 “You gonna make me cum like you did sir,” Rafael gripped your hips harshly and answered his own question by growling through his orgasm. His condom was tossed in the trash with Sonny’s and they disappeared, but not for long. Soon they were back and fawning over you. Rafael helped you drink down a whole bottle of water, he and Sonny had both chugged one in the kitchen. Sonny cleaned you up with a warm wash cloth.

 “We really did a number on you,” Sonny surveyed the marks peppering your body and gave Rafael a worried look.

 “I love every single one of them although…”

 “What,” they exclaimed in unison and froze in fear, afraid they’d hurt you somehow.

 “Nick is gonna blow a gasket. I have dinner plans with him in three hours,” you laughed.

 “I bet he just adds to the artwork,” Sonny relaxed and pulled your back against his chest.

 “His jealousy tends to end in you walking funny. Can’t wait for that,” Rafael nestled your head against his chest. The next couple of hours you spent dozing on and off and chatting with your men. They had reservations and you had a nice night in with Nick. You all got dressed and Sonny dropped you off. You lingered kissing them goodbye then made your way to Nick’s door.

 “You done sucking face,” Nick teased and opened the door before you knocked.

 “Nope,” you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him chastely.

 “Get in here princesa,” Nick tugged you through the door and pressed you into the closed frame, kissing you and holding you firmly against him.

 “I missed you too baby,” you grinned.

 “What’s on your neck,” Nick raised an eyebrow.

 “Huh,” you chewed your lip nervously.

 “And your thighs,” he raised your dress and tsked.

 “What,” you crossed your arms suddenly self-conscious.

 “No, don’t hide. Let me see. Strip,” Nick snapped when you didn’t move fast enough.

 “Like this papi,” you pulled your dress seductively over your head and dropped it behind you.

 “Sí and the panties,” he pointed to your already wet center.

 “Sí papi,” you stepped out of the red panties and threw them at Nick. He caught them and glared.

 “Come here princesa,” Nick threw you over his shoulder and took you to his sofa, setting you down.

 “Now what,” you giggled.

 “Who gave you these,” Nick pushed into the tender bruises and teeth marks on your right thigh.

 “Sir,” you whimpered and he rewarded you with a brief swipe through your folds.

 “And these,” he pinched your left thigh.

 “Daddy,” you yelped and Nick dove into your folds. You were still sensitive from earlier in the day and it didn’t take you much to cum on his tongue.

 “What about your neck and chest,” his large hands caressed the marks.

 “Both of them,” you breathed and pulled him up to your lips.

 “My turn,” Nick growled and pinned you beneath him. He sucked and nibbled in the blank spaces of your neck and chest, making sure to cover the bottom of your breasts. When he was satisfied, he flipped you on your back and smacked your ass. A small moan escaped your lips, and he changed tactics, sucking hickies and leaving deep bite marks scattered across your ass cheeks.

 “It’s a good thing I work for Liv,” you jokingly complained, “An office job would think I’d been attacked.”

 “Stay still,” Nick got up and returned, taking a couple of pictures of your ass then flipping you over to take faceless pictures of your neck, chest, and thighs.

 “You gonna fuck me or what,” you spread your legs and he dropped his forgotten phone to the side table. In a flash his pants were off and a condom rolled on.

 “Fuck,” his eyes rolled back as he slipped inside of you.

 “What no foreplay,” you teased.

 “You’ve been fucking all day and I need you now princesa,” Nick growled and forcefully thrust into you.

 “Use me to cum papi,” you batted your doe eyes and Nick lost it. He braced himself on the arm of the sofa with one hand and gripped your hip to guide himself. You moaned and writhed underneath him, playing with your clit, and soon another orgasm was ripped from your body. Hearing your shouts of pleasure sent Nick over the edge and he stilled inside you.

 “Fuck,” Nick chuckled and pulled out of you, “You could never date just one person. Your sex drive would kill them!”

 “Damn right,” your stomach growled and Nick tossed you your dress. You both got dressed and went to the kitchen to cook dinner. Correction, Nick cooked dinner and you helped. And to help you sat on the counter sipping wine and kissing him when you could.

 [To: Rafael and Sonny 7:30pm] I added more marks to our girl.

[To: Nick and Sonny 7:36pm] Send pics.

[To: Nick and Rafael 7:38pm] I agree.

[To: Rafael and Sonny 7:49pm] <4 attached photos>

[To: Nick and Rafael 7:52pm] Aren’t we the luckiest men in the world?

[To: Nick and Sonny 7:57pm] That we are.

[To: Rafael and Sonny 8:01pm] Sí.

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