pre 911


Series Summary: Frank’s one-night-stands turns into more than he thought, and this girl is more than she seems.

A/N: I DON’T WANT THIS SERIES TO END.  Also, next chapter will be kinda intense.

Frank Adler x reader

Word count: 1057

Summary: Frank is still pissed at (Y/N), but he still misses her.  After thinking about all her odd behavior, it turns out he was oblivious to what was really going on.

Warnings: anger, Frank still being pissed, heartbroken-ness sad Mary, cliffhanger ending


(GIFs not mine)

Originally posted by b-n-a-o

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the notion that girls, especially young pre-teen and teenage girls, are horrible, mean, and malicious spitting snakes, honestly always confounds me. it grows into the opinion that women are catty and drama plagued. it makes me think about my interactions with girls and women and i think “well yeah i got bullied and pushed around by girls in junior high. yeah i’ve met some catty women” but why is there such a Defcon 1 level warning about girls and women? no matter how many mean words or cat fights i was a part of growing up or even now i’ve never felt afraid of women. i’ve never felt profound fear when i’m alone with a woman in an elevator or a parking lot. i’ve never pre dialed 911 when i noticed a woman walking near me on a dark sidewalk. because women supposedly stab people in the back metaphorically but i’m afraid men are going to stab me in the back literally.

Paint (Pt.1) (Reader x Delsin Rowe)
Word Count: 7000 something
A/N: This work is totally unfinished and what I’ve posted here is actually about 30% of what has been written up. Just figured I’d dump it here.

Another quiet day at work.

You sighed softly, drawing over the same line in pen on a scrap sheet of paper over and over again until the paper tore and then you’d move the tip of the pen over a couple millimeters and start another stroke. You worked in an art supply store. The money came in mostly from regulars as it was a privately owned shop and you only really got the job because of your friend who knew the owner. They needed someone to cover the evening shifts as they had kids and wanted to leave work earlier in the day to spend time with them.

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Don’t look up, my love, there’s no war here. The girl on the train works with the peace corps and hanging right next to her backpack is bright pink mace.

Close your eyes when you get home, carry your mother’s best knife with you into the shower. Hold it in your shaky palm. Wait for your family to get home, keep it where you can get it, have it pointed in front of you like the prow of a ship. Cleave the air, wait for the moment when out of the closet or under the bed a man will grab you and use your empty house as an invitation, as asking for it.

Lock your car. Check the backseat before getting in. Don’t sit too long in parking lots. Don’t break down on the side of the road. Don’t get in a vehicle with people you don’t know. Don’t stand up straight, don’t hold your head up high. Don’t cry where someone could see.

Have 911 pre-dialed. Carry a pocket knife the way your brother does. He plays with his because he is a boy scout and he might have to use it. Yours is a weight and you are terrified for the day you will have to use it. Don’t panic when men stand too close to you, don’t breathe too deep, don’t look them in the eye - but don’t look weak, don’t look vulnerable, don’t show that you’re scared, but be scared.

Don’t marry him if he’s mean to his mother, if he’s mean to dogs, if he’s mean to waiters. It’s your fault if he is cruel, you should have seen it coming. Don’t kiss him if you’re drunk and not looking to follow up. Don’t give him the wrong idea. Don’t love him, it’s clingy. Don’t spurn him, it’s heartbreaking.

Let him catcall you from the safety of his four-wheel drive, don’t flip him off. Think about the girls that have died on the edge of the road. Let him trail slowly behind you so that the crunch of his tires matches the grind of your teeth. Get inside whatever building you can find. Hope the car doesn’t loop back around and follow you later. Sooner or later, one of the cars is going to loop back around and follow you later.

Don’t call yourself a feminist, you will become sick of explaining that you don’t hate men. Don’t call yourself a feminist, it’s seen as an attack. Don’t call yourself a feminist, you will hear more slurs against your person than if you had said you wanted to kill the president. Don’t call yourself a feminist, it’s dangerous to want something for yourself. Don’t call yourself a feminist. Hold fast to the idea that girls of all shapes and sizes and colors and bodies deserve the same things as everyone else, fight for it quietly - but don’t call yourself a feminist.

Don’t be like other girls, whatever that means. Don’t be one of those plastic girls. Don’t be one of those gamer girls. Don’t be one of those band geeks. Don’t be one of those hipsters. Don’t be one of those fangirls. If you can, don’t be.

Don’t look up. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. Don’t worry, my love, there’s no war here. It’s in some far-off distant country.

—  Nothing to see here (part one) /// r.i.d

anonymous asked:

Are you still awake with Barba please

I think this prompt is a continuation (sort of) of this last one. Same neighbor person.  Sorry I couldn’t get more of these out today with the whole eye thing.

There’s always tomorrow!

Are you still awake?

You stood in your living room, holding your breath. You swore you heard something outside your door. The first time, you chalked it up to your overactive imagination, but when you heard the sound again, you jumped out of bed and tiptoed out to your living room, baseball bat in hand.

You tip-toed toward the door, squinting through the peephole. At first, there was nothing, but then in the corner of your eye you say movement.

If you’re not awake, you need to wake up.

You were considering dialing 911 when a text popped up.

     I’m awake now.

There’s someone in the hall.


I don’t recognize them and it’s crazy late. No one on this floor gets in that late.

He didn’t respond, so you texted again.

I’m going to check it out.

You unlocked your door and opened it, pre-dialing 911 just in case, bat by your side.

“Are you lost?”

The person was standing in front of Barba’s door. He turned, then quickly made his way to the stairwell exit. You walked to Barba’s door, a piece of paper wedged in the crack. You grabbed it just as the door opened.

“What are you thinking?”

Barba grabbed your arm and pulled you inside, closing and locking the door behind you. He snatched the paper from your hand, and stared at the bat still at your side.

“Are you crazy?”

“That guy was up to something.”

“That’s what you call the police for.”

“No one would have arrived in time to be any use. He was standing in front of your door. What if he had tried to break in?”

“That would have been my problem.”

“Yeah, well, where I come from, you watch your neighbors back.”

“You’re obviously not from New York.”

That was true.

“What’s the piece of paper?”


You reached for it and he pulled his hand out of reach, causing you to stumble forward into him.

“Creepy dudes skulking around my halls at 2 AM and you won’t share the love notes he’s leaving you?”

“It’s a stupid threat. Nothing to get worked up about.”

“If it’s so stupid, why are you holding it with your shirt sleeve? Trying to be careful not to disturb evidence?”

Barba let out a sigh, rubbing his temples.

“It’s way too late to be having this conversation.”

“What conversation?”


You wanted to press. It seemed unfair for him to withhold information from you when it meant weird people wandering outside your apartment in the middle of the night.

But standing so close, you could see the bags under his eyes, the exhausted look on his face. It softened your resolve to get answers.

You laid your hand on his arm, rubbing the length of it.

“I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it right now, you shouldn’t have to. But I do want to know what’s going on. If I’m gonna watch your back, I’d like to know what I’m up against.”

“You don’t need to be watching my back.”

“I know I don’t need to. But I want to. So, tomorrow morning. Breakfast on me.”


“My place. I make better pancakes then any place you can get them in a ten mile radius, and it’s no fun making them for one.”

Barba looked at your hand, still resting on his arm, and finally let out a sigh.

“Fine. Breakfast tomorrow.”


You leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You don’t have to be so stubborn when someone’s just trying to help, you know.”

Before he could reply, you made your way out of his apartment and back to yours.

 ( @melanie451 Here is part two if the one you asked about - and there’s a part three)