folders everywhere

Her Or Me

Pairing: Sam x Reader
Words:  1020

-Sam’s girlfriend tries to get Dean to like her, but he keeps pushing her away. Until Sam makes him see she stays or he goes.-

Warning: Dean being a jerk…



          You were putting the top crust on the pie when you felt strong arms wrap around your waist. You leaned back against that broad chest, “Hi, Sammy.”

           “Hi, Baby,” he kissed the side of your head, “What are you doing?”

           “Baking a pie,” you answered.

           “For Dean?”

           You nodded, “A peace offering,” you said, “Even though I’m not really sure why I need a peace offering.”

           Sam sighed, “He’s Dean. He doesn’t always warm up to people very quickly. He’ll come around.”

           “I hope so.” 

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8

Lutteo → Random scenes (part 41)

eorlsdotter  asked:

you are honestly my fav simblr! I absolutely love all of your creations (if you open my mods folder, your name is everywhere) and your stories! and you are so so adorable! thank you for everything you do!!!

YOU’RE ALWAYS SO SWEET TO ME!!!! THANK YOU VERY MUCH MY FRIEND <33

2

Imagine Sherlock realizes he loves you, but he’s extremely confused about it since he’s never felt this way before.

Requested by: Anonymous.

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cleaning my desk for whoever will work here after me is weird cos like. i gotta make sure i take my stationary home my kpop post-its and my highlighters in the shape of fingers etc but i also have to make sure there aren’t any loose leaking batteries because i got too nervous to ask where i was supposed to put old batteries

WCIFs & replies

1 • well my ritual consists of drinking diet pepsi and eat pasta while listening to ariana grande on repeat during editing. thats how i get all zen mode.

2 • refer to #3 ;]

3 • birthmarks im so sorry i couldnt find them, they’re literally called skinmarks2 in my cc folder i looked everywhere :[[[[ but i managed to find the freckles

4 • yes but you might need to be patient with me because school is making me SO occupied! :[

5 • i am wcif friendly!! so, waterlinehighlighter & highlighter 2, cupid’s bow , lips, nosemask, skin & skin 2

6 • I GOT LIKE 3 SO FAR IM SO HAPPY // @kyootxims

anonymous asked:

can u do an imagine where the reader and spencer were in a relationship a long time ago and spencer thought the reader had died in a car accident but the reader really didn't and now the reader joins the BAU team and idk like fluff happens and they kiss or something in the end and spencer cries idk maybe this is stupid but thanks so much! love ur work btw, ur a great writer:))

Yes I can!  Here is your fluffy one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!


“Y/N?”

The voice on the other end was gruff.  Serious, with an air of poignancy.

“Yes?”

“This is Aaron Hotchner, from the BAU.  I interviewed you last week.”

Grunting, clearing your throat of sleep, you look at the clock and realize it’s 4 am.

“Yes, I remember.  Is everything alright?”

“You got the job.  We need you on a flight as soon as possible.  Detroit.  Keep your receipts.”

And with that, the phone call was done.

Slamming your clothes and toiletries into a bag, you head out the door, throwing your over-sized cabled sweater on top of your head as you jump into your car, slinging your bag across to the passenger’s side seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running off of the airplane, you take out your cell phone and call the number that had called you early that morning.

“Hotch,” the same voice answers.

“Hey, it’s me.  I just got off the plane.  I need an address for a cab,” you say.

“No need.”

Hanging up the phone, you feel a hand on your elbow, leading you towards the exit.

Looking over at the person dragging you along, you recognize the man from the office you had interviewed in.

Jumping into the black SUV, “Hotch” sits a folder onto your lap.

“Brief yourself quickly.  We need your expertise,” he says, his eyes stone cold as he focuses on the road in front of him.

Nodding your head, you flip open the folder, music tumbling to the floor as you reach for the papers, skimming the documents and taking in all of the faces of the little girls.

These poor, hurt, strangled little girls.

Taking a deep breath, you feel the car slow to a halt.

Rolling down his window, Hotch says, “I’ll have two large coffees, cream and sugar in both, caramel in only one.”

Furrowing your brow, you look over at him, wondering how in the world he knew your coffee order.

“Answers later.  Right now, think,” he says, his finger pointing back down to the folder in your lap.

Looking into his eyes…his tired, desperate, dead-end eyes, you lift the folder to him as you ask, “Are there recordings of these concerts?”

Paying for the coffee and handing you one, he says, “Hang on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your bag in the car, you grab your coffee, your folder sliding everywhere, as you and Hotch run back into the police department.

As quick introductions happen, you are surrounded by an Alex Blake and a J.J.

“Where are the recordings?” you ask, looking back at the strangulation marks around the girls’ necks.

“Over here,” Blake says, handing you a set of headphones.

“No, no, no…” you trail off, yanking the headphones out and grabbing an auxiliary cable, hooking it up from the computer into the speaker system around the police department that was used for department-wide announcements.

Striking up the recording, you lose yourself in your own world, raising your hands as you close your eyes, imagining yourself as the conductor of Beethoven’s 9th symphony.

Listening to the notes, bringing in the strings…slowly hearing them rise and fall with the hooks and melodies and themes, you wave your arms in the air, physically feeling the music reverberate through your bones, calling out to your soul in an attempt to talk you through the gruesome murders that were occurring on these stages.

As a pause happens, everyone standing in silence as the 2nd movement strikes up, you hear it.

Ticking away at the molto vivace movement, you continuously hear it in the strings.

The missing D.

Throwing your eyes open, your jaw unhinging, you look over at J.J.

“Give me another performance of the 2nd movement.”

“Which performance?” she asks.

“Any one, doesn’t matter.”

Jumping off of the chair that you were standing on, you listen as the absent D is missing from one of the strings.  The note that presents itself, over and over again, a little lighter than the rest.

Only a trained ear would be able to hear it, and even then, if you didn’t have perfect pitch you may not even catch it.

“I know what’s happening,” you proclaim, your eyes wide as you turn to Hotch.

“What do we need to do?” you hear a foreign voice ask.

Turning, you see a chocolate-skinned man, crossing his arms and standing tall, looking at you with a confused stare as he tries to figure out who you are.

“Agent Y/L/N, new member to the team,” you say, sticking your hand out to shake.

“Ah,” he says, shaking your hand briefly, “Now, what’s going on?”

“Everyone needs to dress nice,” you say.

“And why is that?” Hotch asks.

“Because we’re going to the symphony tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking out of the bathroom in your last-minute-find for a dress, you walk over to Hotch and sit down beside him, talking through the haphazard plan you and him have put together.

“The murderer is one of the violinists.  And he’s using his D string to strangle the girls after he surveys the audience during the performance.  Playing violin in the back row gives me a chance to look for someone missing a D string, and you guys in the audience gives you a chance to survey who’s not paying attention to the music,” you say, your voice steady.

“Now, keep in mind…if you think, even for a second, that we’re dealing with 2 people, keep your eyes peeled on everyone.  Have a couple of people watch the orchestra and have a couple scattered in the audience, watching people watch the performance.  All I have is this, so the rest of this is assumption and covering our bases.”

“Well, it’s more than we had.  Thank you for getting out here on such short notice.  You’ll be back-paid, I promise,” Hotch says, his thankfulness ringing out his eyes.

“Oh, I expect that I will,” you say, smirking lightly as you hear someone run in from outside.

“I’m here!  Oh, god, I’m finally here.  I know what’s going on!” a familiar voice shouts.

Turning your head, you drop the pencil you are holding, your legs going weak as you plop back down into the chair you just got out of.

“There’s someone strangling the victims with a…” and as his sentence trails off, his eyes settling on to you, his breath hitches as everyone on the team looks between you and him, watching as tears spill over his cheeks.

“Y/N…?” he stutters your name, slowly walking over to you as your jaw trembles.

“Y/N, is that you?” he asks breathless, slamming his messenger bag down as he falls to his knees, his hands on your legs as he stares at you through misty eyes.

“Oh, my god…” you sigh, bringing you hands to his face.

“You two know each other?” Morgan asks, finally stepping out and saying something.

“B-b-but…you weren’t at the hospital…” Spencer trails off.

“I couldn’t go,” you whisper, your forehead leaning slowly against his.

“What’s going on?” Hotch asks, his voice stern as he checks his watch, “We have an hour before the symphony starts, and if you’re going to play the violin, Y/N, you need to leave soon.”

Nodding slowly against Spencer’s head, his eyes widen as he puts everything together.

“No.  She can’t,” he raises to his feet, whipping around to stare at Hotch, “She can’t go up there and play.  It’ll put her in danger.”

“Reid, she figured it out, and she’s willing to go up there and give us eyes so that we can focus on the audience.  It’s the best play we’ve got,” J.J. tries to reassure him.

“But…but I already lost her once!” he yells.

“Spencer…” you coo, getting to your feet and coming over to him.  “I’m right here.  I’m real.  I promise.”

“What is going on?  Who are you?” an older gentleman asks.

“Y/L/N, this is David Rossi,” Hotch asks, introducing you two.

“I know who he is,” you smile, holding out your hand, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m not touching anyone until I know who this is!” he declares, frustration growing on his face.

“W-we…we dated a while back,” Spencer starts.  “There was a car accident, and I was unconscious, and when I came to in the hospital, they said that no one with her name had ever checked in.”

Turning to you, taking your face in his hands, he pleads with his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Oh, Spencer…” you sigh, your mouth pressing into a thin line as you take a deep breath through your nose.  “When we met, I was undercover.  For an assignment under a person that I no longer care to speak about.  You were…”

Trailing off, trying to find the right words, you see Hotch glance at his watch again.

“…you were my risk,” you whisper, your gaze shooting up to meet his.

“When we got into that car accident, I was pretty banged up.  I couldn’t get you to come to, so I called 911 and dragged myself off to the side, waiting in a ditch for them to arrive so that I knew you’d be alright.  I couldn’t go to the hospital, Spencer, it would have ruined everything I had worked for for 9 months prior.”

“But…telling me who you were during an undercover operation was just as risky,” he says, his eyes wild.

“And you were worth it,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck as you pull him close, feeling him bury his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath warming your back as it cascades down into your core.

“We can continue this later,” Hotch says, taking your arm and leading you towards the door, shoving a violin into your arms.

“Right now, we have a symphony to attend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Setting yourself up as you sit down into your chair, the maestro strikes up the tuning session just before the introduction of the first movement.  Tuning with the violins, your eyes scanning their instruments, you hope to god that your new co-workers have more luck than you were currently having.

Playing through the first movement was fine.  No hiccups, no missing notes, very little out-of-tune moments.

But the issue came when the second movement started, because when you started listening, you realized that it sounded fine.

No dimmed notes, no missing strings, and absolutely no scouting from anyone in the orchestra.

Feeling panic starting to rise in your system, an idea strikes you.

“Garcia,” you mutter, hoping no one else can hear you talking to yourself.

“Yes?” she whispers back into your earpiece.

“Anyway you can scan the violin section for new members other than myself?” you ask.

“Ah, good thinking, just give me a second…”

Hearing your earbud go dead, you continue to play until the end of the second movement, a pause happening just before the third is introduced.

“Got it.  It’s you and…the lead violinist.  The lead violinist is different tonight.”

“Who has it been the other nights?” you hear Morgan say, relieved that someone else figured out where you were going with this.

“Aha!  Got it,” you hear her say.

And just as she continues to ramble on to Morgan, you hear a commotion in the audience.

Diverting your gaze as you see someone clamoring up the aisles, you dart your eyes back to the maestro as his face pales.

Glaring at him, realizing what is going on, you hop from your seat, the violin clattering to the ground as the maestro drops his baton and starts running for the other end of the stage.

Jumping over chairs to get to him, you watch as an arm extends from the side of the stage, hitting him in the stomach as he hits his knees, grunting and gasping for breath.

“And that’s how you do it,” Rossi says, beaming at you as you remove your handcuffs from the pocket of your dress.

“You have the right to remain silent…” you start, the handcuffs clicking over his wrists as anger rises into your throat, jerking the man to his feet as you shove him out into the hallway and walk him out to the waiting policemen at the back door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving back at the station, the team reconvening after tonight’s fiasco, Hotch gives you a rare smile of his as he comes and puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Welcome to the team,” he says, turning your shoulders to spin you on your feet as your eyes are, yet again, matched up with Spencer’s.

Hearing the team slowly fade away, you watch as Hotch drops your bag off at the door to the station, closing it behind him as the two of you continue to stare at each other.

“Spencer, I-”

“Just…just hold on,” he says, his hand in the air.  “I have something I want to say.”

Nodding slowly, you cast your gaze down to the floor, bracing for the worst.

“When I came to in that hospital, I was confused.  I was worried, and I was panicked, and I wanted to see you.”

“I know…” you say, your voice low.

“Let me finish,” he says a little more stern.

“Sorry,” you whisper, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“And when I asked the doctor about the woman in the car with me, I actually had to have Gideon fly in and vouch for my sanity, because they thought that the crash would have been caused by this woman that I was supposedly hallucinating.”

Shuddering, he continues.

“…and I searched everywhere for you.  I ran your name through every database and I came up with nothing.  It was like, you were here one day, and gone the next, and I actually had convinced myself, for some time, that maybe I was developing my mother’s condition.  That maybe I was spiraling, just like she did.”

As you suck in a ragged breath, your sobs coming out as light whimpers, Spencer tilts your gaze up to his, his face blurred by your salty rivers.

“The stress of losing you gave me headaches.  Blinding, aching headaches.  And between those and thinking that you weren’t actually real…for all of those months…it…Y/N, it drove me t-”

Throwing your arms around him, you sob into his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Spencer…I’m so sorry.  I couldn’t ruin the mission…I’m so, so sorry…I didn’t plan on finding you and falling in love with you and I just wanted you to be alright but I couldn’t go to the hospital and I am so sorry please for the love of everything forgive me I’ll do anything please…”

And as you continue to ramble into his shoulder, he rips your head up and crashes his lips into yours, your salty tears mixing with his sweet saliva in a whirling sensation that you hadn’t felt since the first time he had taken your hand within his.

Pulling back, his eyes red from exhaustion as he sighs audibly, he leans his forehead into yours and whispers, “I never got a chance to tell you how much I love you.”

And as sobs wrack your body, your frame shaking violently in his arms, the two of you stand there in the dimmed police station in the middle of Detroit, letting go of the past and allowing the future to slowly descend upon you as you lightly sway back and forth to the sound of the wind whipping against the windows and howling off in the distance.

2

MUST READ: Julian Assange between four walls

by Francois Labrouillere translated from French via http://www.parismatch.com

Threatened by the United States, the creator of WikiLeaks is confined for two years in a room at the Embassy of Ecuador in London. He received y Eva Joly.

15 square meters where he lives as a recluse since June 2012 have been invaded by computers and electronic equipment. At 3 Hans Crescent , London, in the tiny office at his disposal by the Embassy of Ecuador, corner fireplace is blocked by a table where a Mac and enthroned three screens for video editing . Nearby are placed Sony high definition professional camera Canon 5D camera. On the other side of the room , hung against the wall, a green background is for special effects. It is bordered by a battery of projectors giving the appearance of a local studio. Everywhere books, folders and storage boxes. Assisted by a young colleague of his company Sunshine Press Productions, it is in this “cool” decor that Julian Assange , founder of WikiLeaks , welcomes guests as three times the former judge Eva Joly.

Smiling, short beard fashionable T-shirt and black jeans , activist Internet does not seem too experienced these six hundred and fifty days where he remained cloistered , unable to leave the sunlight. But her figure has thinned , his face widened , her complexion and her hair look even paler than before. Severe air, he speaks in a slow voice , staring at his interlocutor. His family is worried about his deteriorating health .

BRITISH TAXPAYERS DO NOT digest THIS SURVEILLANCE WHICH COST 5 MILLION

In this virtual prison, under the protection of Ecuador, a small country in Latin America that offers him political asylum , Assange claims not find the time to get bored. “ Imagine you , like me, the target of the superpowers of the world and responsible for making an international organization such as WikiLeaks turn … It does not leave you much free time , he quips . I have no other way than work. To resist the attacks of which I am the object, it must be very concentrated , exercise self-discipline . In my small space, I am very organized . ”

With its computer equipment, old programmer can stay in touch with his many loyal via Skype , social networks or his WikiLeaks WebTV Channel. “I remain primarily a journalist and editor fighting for freedom of expression,” he proclaims . Despite his imprisonment , despite the blocking of accounts by Visa , MasterCard, PayPal or Bank of America companies , his pride is to have managed to keep WikiLeaks afloat. “Since we released the confidential U.S. diplomatic dispatches in 2010 , WikiLeaks is the target of the Pentagon and the White House , he said. Around the world , newspapers or publishers who have published these revelations were attacked. Some went bankrupt. But the actions of the CIA, the FBI or the U.S. State Department were not enough to kill us. WikiLeaks survives. The organization is even in good financial health. ”

With an obsession bordering on paranoia, another concern is the safety of Assange . When he welcomes us into his office , cell , he asked us not to take pictures of furniture or its computer , so you do not deliver clues that could be used by its enemies. Then he led us to the window overlooking dependencies Harrods . “Look, there in the grand circular staircase glass … A policeman on duty day and night to watch me. ” On the work table Assange , next to the keyboard of his computer, opened one of his favorite books , “ 1984 ” , the novel by George Orwell described so presciently in 1949 , the dangers of totalitarian society where citizens are under surveillance. On the neighboring shelf prominently “ The Whitehall Mandarin ,” a novel by British Intelligence Edward Wilson revealing the secret methods of U.S. services to preserve the dominance of the United States on the world …

With its computer equipment, old programmer can stay in touch with his many loyal via Skype , social networks or his WikiLeaks WebTV Channel. “I remain primarily a journalist and editor fighting for freedom of expression,” he proclaims . Despite his imprisonment , despite the blocking of accounts by Visa , MasterCard, PayPal or Bank of America companies , his pride is to have managed to keep WikiLeaks afloat. “Since we released the confidential U.S. diplomatic dispatches in 2010 , WikiLeaks is the target of the Pentagon and the White House , he said. Around the world , newspapers or publishers who have published these revelations were attacked. Some went bankrupt. But the actions of the CIA, the FBI or the U.S. State Department were not enough to kill us. WikiLeaks survives. The organization is even in good financial health. ”

With an obsession bordering on paranoia, another concern is the safety of Assange . When he welcomes us into his office , cell , he asked us not to take pictures of furniture or its computer , so you do not deliver clues that could be used by its enemies. Then he led us to the window overlooking dependencies Harrods . “Look, there in the grand circular staircase glass … A policeman on duty day and night to watch me. ” On the work table Assange , next to the keyboard of his computer, opened one of his favorite books , “ 1984 ” , the novel by George Orwell described so presciently in 1949 , the dangers of totalitarian society where citizens are under surveillance. On the neighboring shelf prominently “ The Whitehall Mandarin ,” a novel by British Intelligence Edward Wilson revealing the secret methods of U.S. services to preserve the dominance of the United States on the world …

With its computer equipment, old programmer can stay in touch with his many loyal via Skype , social networks or his WikiLeaks WebTV Channel. “I remain primarily a journalist and editor fighting for freedom of expression,” he proclaims . Despite his imprisonment , despite the blocking of accounts by Visa , MasterCard, PayPal or Bank of America companies , his pride is to have managed to keep WikiLeaks afloat. “Since we released the confidential U.S. diplomatic dispatches in 2010 , WikiLeaks is the target of the Pentagon and the White House , he said. Around the world , newspapers or publishers who have published these revelations were attacked. Some went bankrupt. But the actions of the CIA, the FBI or the U.S. State Department were not enough to kill us. WikiLeaks survives. The organization is even in good financial health. ”

With an obsession bordering on paranoia, another concern is the safety of Assange . When he welcomes us into his office , cell , he asked us not to take pictures of furniture or its computer , so you do not deliver clues that could be used by its enemies. Then he led us to the window overlooking dependencies Harrods . “Look, there in the grand circular staircase glass … A policeman on duty day and night to watch me. ” On the work table Assange , next to the keyboard of his computer, opened one of his favorite books , “ 1984 ” , the novel by George Orwell described so presciently in 1949 , the dangers of totalitarian society where citizens are under surveillance. On the neighboring shelf prominently “ The Whitehall Mandarin ,” a novel by British Intelligence Edward Wilson revealing the secret methods of U.S. services to preserve the dominance of the United States on the world …