they were supposed to be number 4 actually but i changed my mind last minute

My North Star (pt 3)

Originally posted by jjilljj


Summary: You were in love with your best friend, the one constant in your life. But what happens when the new girl comes along? (LOL LIKE YOU HAVENT READ THIS KIND OF FIC BEFORE)

genre: angst, fluff, romance

Pairing: Jin x reader, Hoseok x reader

Length: ~2850 words

Previous Parts: part 1 part 2

A/N: Sorry for the delay on part three! I don’t have a set schedule on when to release though, but let me know if you want part 4! I had rewrote this part because I wasn’t completely satisfied with it, and I’m still not 100% okay with this either but I figure it would lead to the following parts a little better?

** Italics = thoughts

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Jealous?

Requested by: @alyneve

Tag list beauties:
@wildandfreepinkv0dka @rollinsdar @logandemico @fuzzyslipperz
@baeckyshorsewomen @alexahood21 @wrestlingnoob
@squirrel666 @pandoorii @alyneve @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch
@awkward-walking-potato @nerdandwwegeek @dorkyvillain @rabidwrestlingfan @zacksabre @heeltothequeen @fluffyhales

#99 - “Is your skirt supposed to be that short?”

TRENT SEVEN X READER

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The Winter Soldier (part 2/4)

A/N: Hi guys!!! Wow look at how fast I updated this hahaha. I actually wasn’t supposed to update this until Saturday or Sunday but because I’m sick and have nothing to do, I decided to write the next part!! I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes, my mind isn’t really working that well now but I really wanted to post this so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!!😊

Word Count: 3,872

Part one//Part two//Part three//Part four//Epilogue


“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both school yard and battlefield.” The Smithsonian audio played as you walked to stand beside Steve. You always knew where he would go, sometimes when he kinda misses the past, he’ll come here.

“You must’ve missed being back at the time where all your friends are, huh?” You asked, staring at the video of Bucky.

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Hunted 4

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Unrequited Dean x Reader

Characters: Sam, Dean, Reader, OC’s

Written: i4z-0892-imagines

Word count: 1,747

Warnings: Swearing, Stalking

A/N: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

I hope you guys are enjoying what’s here so far, this is the last part I already had typed up, so the next few are going to take me a minute, warning to readers though, it does get violent in the next part, so prepare your butts! Let me know what you think so far!

Got a request? Got a comment? Message me! I would love to hear from you!

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ALCOHOL - THE DOOR TO OPPORTUNITIES

FIVE TIMES OLIVER CALLED FELICITY ON BOYS NIGHT (Or Stages of Their Relationship Through Drunk Talk) 

Inspired by last night’s Colin and Stephen goodness. I have no idea where this went. Tommy Merlyn is alive and well (and in my head he lives in Bali and that’s who Oliver and Felicity visit on the show). 

One shot. Sort of AU. Canon divergence at least. Hope you enjoy it! :)

| READ ON AO3 |


STAGE #1 : STRANGERS

It was her phone ringing at an ungodly hour that woke her up. Grumbling, she reached out to the bedside table and touched the phone. Half-asleep, Felicity picked up the call without opening her eyes to see who it was and placed it on top of her ear. The moment she did…

“Hello.”

Someone slurred, making her open her eyes to check the caller id. Unknown. 

“Um. Who’s this?” she asked, stifling a yawn, making a mental list of people she knew, men in particular, who could be drunk at this hour and calling her. The number was unsurprisingly zero. 

“This is me,” the heavy male voice rasped out, as if she was supposed to miraculously know exactly who he was, before he burst into chuckles as if he’d cracked the joke of the century. Felicity sat up in her bed, frowning. 

“Who are you?” she asked again, sleep fading from her mind. 

“Who do you want me to be?” the male voice asked flirtatiously, before someone else guffawed loudly from behind him. 

Rolling her eyes, Felicity cut the call and snuggled back into bed. 

It rang again. Same number. She gingerly picked up.

“I’m hurrrt,” the guy said, slurring his words. “Why did you cut my call?”

“I think you have the wrong number, mister,” she told him firmly. 

There was silence for a long minute, before the guy whispered quietly. “But I like your voice.”

Felicity blinked in surprise at the sincerity in the tone, before shaking it off. “Um. Thanks, I guess. But I have to…”

“Your voice is like red wine,” the guy interrupted. “It’s making me heady.”

“I like red wine,” she said before she could stop it.

“Me too. I have my own nightclub. Verdant,” he informed her, pride evident in his tone. Felicity sat mute, stunned. Verdant? No way. There was no way…

Oliver fucking Queen had drunk dialed her by mistake. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to talk, but he interrupted, again, his voice a whisper. 

“My best friend just passed out,” he babbled without pause. “We are at our party. It’s great. We sang. A lot. And danced too. And I think I’m a little drunk. Do you think I’m drunk? I’m a little sleepy too. I should sleep before I find some girl. Tommy and I have vowed to stay away from girls for a week. It’s compcilated…no…compli-naked… no, that’s not right. Why do I always get to naked? Ah. Do you under…stand?”

Felicity covered her mouth with her hand to stop the giggles from bursting out. His jumbled words and that concentrated tone as he tried to get them out were surprisingly cute. Drunk Oliver Queen sure was entertaining.  

“Yes,” she replied, laughing. 

She heard a soft sigh on the line. “I like your laugh. I like your voice too. Have I told you that? Talk to me.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows.

“Please.”

Well, he’d said please. And she was enjoying this, whatever this was. Decision made, she settled back in her pillows, and started talking. It was a strange, long night.


STAGE #2 : ACQUAINTANCES

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Daddy Issues 6 (S.W)

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 7

|HEY BIIIITCHES PART 6 IS HERE!!!! 2.1K AND IT’S ALL OVER THE PLACE TBH BUT YA HERE IS YOUR FAVE IMAGINE SERIES XOXO|

-

I’ve never liked hospitals, even if I went with someone, but now that I’m here by myself, my hatred of them is growing with every contraction. Amy and her mom went to visit their family 4 hours away and I called them as soon as I was admitted into the delivery ward, they’re on their way here but a 4 hour drive and the evening traffic is going to take them about 6 hours to get here. 

Lori has one last class to finish at the studio before she can leave because there’s no one there to cover for her, both Emily and Annie are in LA and they’re taking the next flight over with Sammy.

I’ve been here for over 3 hours now and nobody can get here straight away. It’s not easy being in labour by yourself. I’m having an incredibly fast labour too. I had my cervix checked as soon as I got in and I was already dilated 4cm. And that was 3 hours ago, I don’t even want to know what I am now. 

I don’t want to have the baby by myself, I want someone to be here with me, someone other than the nurses and my midwife. Sam was frantic when he found out I was in labour, he was on stage when I called Emily to tell her because he wasn’t answering, she had to pull him off of the stage and rush to the airport to meet Annie and board the plane. They managed to get a plane for an hour after I called them which was incredibly lucky. I even called Ben but he didn’t answer.  

“Okay, Y/N, you’re dilated 8 centimetres and you’re nearing 9 extremely fast.” It’s now been 7 hours. The last two hours were spent with Lori here by my side and Dave on his waiting at the airport to pick up his three kids when they land. 

Amy and her mum are literally 40 minutes away from the hospital which is lucky but we have no idea when Sam, Emily and Annie’s plane is supposed to land, nobody has heard from them since they got on the plane. Dave is just sitting at the airport café waiting for their flight number to arrive on the board. Lori excitedly looks at me with a wide smile. 

“This baby is ready to come out, isn’t he?" 

"But he’s 3 weeks early?” Isn’t being born that early unhealthy? He’s almost a month early, that’s not a good thing. 

“That happens sometimes, you’re baby’s organs developed very fast which isn’t a bad thing, they’ll just be a little bit smaller.” Glenda, my midwife, smiles. “Have you chosen a name for him yet?" 

"Not yet." 

"Do you have any names in mind?" 

"I haven’t really thought about any yet, I guess I was too busy trying to make sure I have everything for him." 

Yet I have absolutely nothing but clothes and diapers for him.

"You’re gunna be a good mom.” Glenda says as she pulls her gloves off. “I’ll be back in 10 or so minutes with another midwife and we’ll check you again and determine when you’re ready to deliver, does that sound okay?" 

"Yeah.” I nod tiredly and watch as she walks out of the room. “Sam’s gunna be so annoyed if he misses it." 

"They should have been here an hour ago, the flight is only 5 hours long and it was at 3, you got here at 2, it’s now 9." 

"Has Dave not contacted you?” She shakes her head. 

“The last thing he said was that nothing had come up yet.”

“Today was meant to be Sam’s last show on the tour and then he was coming back to be here for the last month or so, is that a coincidence or does the baby hate us?" 

Sam was meant to finish the tour today. He was meant to fly out to Nebraska tomorrow and help me fix up the baby’s room. We were going to go baby shopping with his sisters (and Ben, because he said he felt left out) and buy everything that we thought was cute, which most of it would probably never be used. 

We were going to pick out a matching crib and changing table and a cute pram and car seat.  It’s just typical that the baby decided that he wanted to come early. I haven’t got anything set up for him yet, I haven’t been able to go and buy a crib because I haven’t had the money for it, Sam offered to buy it and because he’s the father of my child, I’m letting him pay for it.  

"I doubt your baby hates you, give him 15 years and he will.” She laughs. “I’m still in shock that Sam actually stepped up and is being responsible for this baby.” Lori looks down at her hands shortly before meeting my eye. “He really is growing up. My youngest child is having a baby. My baby is having a baby.” Her face suddenly drains of all colour and she drops her head into her hands. “I’m going to be a grandmother. I’m a nana. Oh god, I’m getting old.”

“There’s a few people at reception saying they’re here for you, can you confirm their names? For security reasons." 

"Sam, Emily, Annie, Amy, Jodi and Dave?" 

"That’s it, thank you. Are they family?” They’re finally here. It took them nearly half a fucking day! “We can’t let them into the room if they’re not your family, they’ll have to wait in the waiting room." 

Clearly this midwife is new to this hospital. My sister told me that she had her boyfriend and her two friends in with her when she was delivering and no family. She came to this exact same hospital. What if a patient had no family and all they had was their friend? The midwives delivering would let her friend in so she wasn’t alone. I can understand having only family in the room if the delivery is through caesarian. 

"Sam is the father of my child and Emily and Annie are his sisters and Dave is his dad." 

"What about the other two?" 

"They’re practically the only family I have.” Other than Sam and his family. “Amy’s my birthing partner, she has to be in the room." 

Amy promised to be in the room with me when I’m actually giving birth so I can hold and break her hand when I push. I forced her to promise me that she would stay with me because I didn’t want to be alone – of course, I’ll have Sam with me but he might take one look at his son crowning and pass out, Amy has a stronger will than Sam does. 

"I’m sorry, if she’s not family-" 

This bitch. 

"No, she is family, she may not be biologically related to me, but she is my family, and so is her mother. I have it in my files that she is going to be in the delivery room with me and I will sue you if you-" 

"They’re allowed in, Millie, please don’t argue with the patients and make them feel uncomfortable.” Glenda scolds the newest midwife as she enters the room with everyone trailing behind her. “But you are only allowed up to 4 people in the room when delivering." 

Sam pushes his way into the room, shoving past his father and two sisters and slapping shoulders with the bitchy midwife. Emily and Annie rolls their eyes at their nervous brother and I can see Lori doing the same from the corner of my eye. The bitchy midwife also gives him the stink eye.

"You have no idea how happy I am that you’re still pregnant right now.” Sam sighs in relief as he rushes towards me. His face is bright red and I can see small beads of sweat slowly trailing down his forehead, he must have rushed up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I wouldn’t blame him, that lift took me about 10 minutes just to get up to the 3rd floor! “I was so scared that I was going to miss him being born, I almost puked on the damn plane." 

Annie throws back a laugh and stands next to her mum. "The guy sitting next to him was not impressed when he Sam started gagging into the puke bag, he actually asked if there was another seat that he could move to.” Sammy blushes a deep red. “Anyway, how are you feeling?" 

"I feel awful, my stomach is cramping so bad and I constantly feel like I’m gunna puke but I’m so glad you guys are here." 

"Y/N, you’re easing to a 10, we need to start pushing in a minute.” That’s pretty much code to tell everyone to get the fuck out of the room, so I have to decide on who I want to watch me push a child through my vagina. 

“Amy is staying with me the whole fucking time, she is not leaving my side now that she’s here.” I shoot a glare right at my best friend as she scurries across the room to  be by my side. “You literally got here just in time." 

"Hun, it’s my fault that we’re late,” Jodi cringes and steps in front of the bed. “I know that you haven’t got a car seat to bring the baby back in yet so we made a pit stop to go and buy you one." 

"Jodi, you didn’t have to…” She’s already let me move into her home with such little notice and she’s letting me live there with a baby. She doesn’t have to buy me things for my baby when she’s already giving him a home.  

“You’re practically my daughter, Y/N, I wanted to do it." 

"That was really kind of you, thank you so much.” Sam smiles and grabs onto my hand. “Now we just need to go out and buy everything else before we take him home.” Well, he’s calmed down a hell of a lot. 

He’s going to be freaking out again in a few minutes, I just know it. 

Just wait until there’s blood.

Annie rests a hand on her hip and looks at me with a genuine smile. “Why don’t me and Em go and buy all of the baby stuff for you? We’ll get everything you need and we’ll take it all over to your place and get it set up for you?" 

That would be the most helpful thing anyone has done for me in the past few months, other than Jodi and Amy allowing me to live with them. We really need a crib for the baby. And bottles. And pacifiers. And everything.

"I’ll happily help set everything up.” Jodi offers with a big smile. 

Dave rattles his keys in his hand and looks between the three women who offered. “I’ll help set stuff up, may as well get some bits for our house too.” We basically need two of everything because the baby will have two homes, I would never keep him from his family, even if the living situation isn’t going to be constant. 

“Ben said that he’ll help too." 

"You guys are too sweet, I love you all so much, thank you." 

Sam shoves his credit card into Emily’s hand and quietly recites his PIN to her before sending the four of them off to do the very last minute baby shopping for us. 

Left in the room is the two midwives, Glenda and Millie, Amy, Lori, Sam and myself. I have Sam on my left and Amy on my right, clenching both of their hands as Lori stands next to Sam with her camera, ready to take the first picture of the newborn baby. 

The pressure in my lower abdomen is obvious to everyone as my entire face contorts and both Amy and Sam whine out in pain as I crush both of their hands.  

Fucking pussies. 

I’m the one who’s about to push a new human being out of my body! Their hands can easily be fixed whereas my body will never be the same again! 

"Okay sweetie, breathe in as deep as you possibly can and release it all the way down into your buttox as soon as you feel a contraction in a deep breath out, okay?”

Hysterectomy - Surgery and overnight hospital stay

On September 2nd, 2015 I had a robotic-assisted total laparoscoptic hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy. In other words I had my uterus, cervix, ovaries, and fallopian tubes removed from 5 small incisions in my abdomen. This post will discuss my surgical experience and overnight hospital stay. While I didn’t have the energy to write detailed posts while in the hospital, I did write sporadic notes in my phone to help remember everything that happened. I’m now 3 days post-op and feel up to writing about the entire experience.

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Blind Date Pt 5

Characters: Jungkook, Jimin and You

Your best friend, Jimin, sets you up on a blind date. You mistake Jungkook to be your date and he decides to play along. (926 words)

Genre: fluff with some angst

Excerpt: 

“I—I think I’ve actually got some work to do,” you stammer, clasping your clammy palms together, “I should go home.”

Jimin gazes at you, hurt evident in his eyes. “Alright,” he murmurs. He licks his lips and takes in a sharp breath, one that probably pierces his soul as he takes in your excuse. He shrugs and smiles weakly at you, already deflated of hope. “I’ll see you around.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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kiingkirst  asked:

Hi my loves! Can I get an update on Derek with glasses or animal shelter sterek? Thanks a mil! Hope you have a great day xx

derek with glasses!!!1!

Werewolf-Friendly by badwolfbadwolf (3/3 | 27,227 | NC17)

Derek is a junior in college, never could get the hang of social interaction, and is, you know, a werewolf. A werewolf and a virgin. And it isn’t like anyone is banging down his door to hop on his werewolf dick, save for the few pervs who acted like he was some kind of exotic toy to be played with and experienced. So, when he sees Stiles’ ad on Hot Men 4 Rent, Derek is… interested.

And who is he kidding, he’s read that bio every day since that sad evening with the chocolate chip cookies, and has every facet of it memorized.

Stiles, no last name. Eighteen. Student. Good conversationalist. Likes to crack jokes. Fan of junk food but enjoys running. Werewolf-friendly. Werewolf-friendly.

And there is his phone number and an email address. Plus all the moles.

Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MereLoup (4/4 | 14,430 | G)

“Beacon County Sheriff’s Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.”

“Oh thank god!”

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, I need some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?”

Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.”

“Stiles…what are you doing right now?”

***

Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work.

Partly because their visit was a complete surprise.

But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend.

Or even know who Derek was.

But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

A Love Like Religion by alisvolatpropiis (1/1 | 10,696 | NC17)

“Derek, my man, you missed an epic party on Saturday. Seriously, dude, I know morning Mass is like, your thing, but come on. You’re missing on out so much life has to offer, bro.”

Big hands land on shoulders with a thump and a squeeze while Derek stands at his locker, loading his gigantic calculus book into his backpack. He gives his best friend a practiced sidelong glare, which of course just encourages him. “You’ll change your mind when I tell you who sucked me off in Lydia Martin’s bedroom,” Stiles snickers into his ear.

Despite himself, Derek is curious. He tries to hide it by focusing on his books, but he knows the heat in his cheeks betrays him. “Who,” he asks, giving in, knowing he will eventually.

The One Where He Pitches And Catches by mikkimouse (1/1 | 4,272 | NC17)

Derek entered the conference room, spotted the table with “M. P. Stilinski” on it, and stopped short.

Oh fuck.

It most definitely was not going to be fine.

Sitting on the other side of the table was the most attractive man Derek had ever seen, with whiskey-colored eyes and pale skin with dark moles speckled across his jawline, moles Derek was very familiar with because he’d spent two hours last night drunk out of his mind and licking them.

The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski by howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf) (1/1 | 15,612 | PG13)

“Curly fries are only for the brave, so is love.”

Five times Stiles interviewed celebrities for his popular YouTube show, ‘The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski’, and one time he was the one interviewed.

Or

Five times Stiles hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate Derek Hale and one time he hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate, boyfriend Derek Hale.

Over the Threshold by alisvolatpropiis (1/1 | 5,862 | NC17)

This is the last time,” Stiles declares, just before he attacks Derek’s mouth with his, the kiss fevered and desperate, his long fingers jabbing roughly into Derek’s abs as he tangles them in his shirt. He pulls him close and walks them away from the front door, and in his hurried clumsiness, Stiles’ nose smashes Derek’s glasses into his face, hard enough that they smudge against his eyelids. It should be annoying, but like everything else about Stiles that should be infuriating, Derek can only find it hopelessly endearing.

That’s the thing about love, he supposes, even a love he won’t fully admit to himself, let alone to Stiles.

You Be The Anchor by honeywolf, mylittlemindpalace (24/24 | 83,094 | R)

“You don’t look like a sophomore,” the guy said, raising one corner of his mouth. “Not that I care, don’t get me wrong here, I wouldn’t care if you were thirty-” he stopped, standing up and throwing another box off his bed in the process. “It’s just that you don’t look like thirty. You just don’t look like a sophomore, that’s all I’m saying. Well, I thought I was going to be put in a room with another sophomore, like they did with the freshmen, which… doesn’t make that much sense in retrospect, does it?” He frowned for a moment.
“So, we’re roommates then, right?” He extended his hand. Derek looked at him for a long moment, his eyebrows shooting up, before taking and slowly shaking it.
“I’m Stiles. I actually wanted to be roommates with my best friend Scott, we shared a room last year, but the secretary, who was very, very unfriendly by the way, told us to fuck off. Not in those words exactly, but you get my drift, right?”

In which Derek gets a new roommate and is not amused. At all.

cute little spawn from hell by wearing_tearing (2/2 | 2,169 | NC17)

Derek blinks, surprised. “Are you—”

“Leaving, yes,” Stiles nods vehemently.

“—afraid of babies?”

Espionage Would Be Wasted On You by reptilianraven (1/1 | 9,275 | PG13)

“Can this actually wait until after the job?” Derek said with as much ferocity as he can, which apparently wasn’t much because Stiles’ laughter rang through his earpiece. “The mark’s getting out of the elevator, you better be ready.”

“First off, learn how to multitask.” Stiles told him. “Second, I need two more minutes. Hold him back.”

“Can’t. He’s already in the hallway. Learn how to multitask.” Derek smiled to himself when Stiles cursed.

Of course, the explosion went off at exactly the right time. Derek never thought explosions could sound smug until that very moment.

-

The one where Derek is the tech guy and Stiles just likes to blow things up a lot. Together they fight crime or whatever.

Do You See Me? by hazelNuts (1/1 | 6,031 | R)

anonymous asked,"Can you kindly write a fanfition where Stiles has a crush on one of Derek frat brothers. The only problem is the guy is a player and Derek doesn’t want the funny, intelligent, beautiful boy he’s been crushing on since forever to get his heart broken. So he offers to help Stiles win the man of his dreams. Using the time together to make Stiles realize that he and Derek are perfect for each other. Which he does big time. Top Derek bottom Stiles. Thank you”

‘Hey, Derek. Fancy seeing you here. Weird right? Especially since there was something I wanted to ask you and then wow, I suddenly see you sitting right here. Fancy that.’
One of Derek’s eyebrows quirks up and there’s a smile tugging at his lips. ‘Fancy finding me at my favourite coffee shop. What is it you want?’

Bad Habits by Fudgebug (12/12 | 108,296 | NC17)

“Mmmmh pretty.“ Stiles purrs in a way that makes a wild fire torch the planes of his skin.
He knows Stiles is drunk and that the boy would probably stroke a pineapple and compliment its attractiveness, but Derek can’t help the way his heart starts to be a huge backstabbing dick, thundering uncontrollably against his chest.
It’s painful, because Derek knows it isn’t real.

A story about goody-two-shoes Derek crushing on a Polish Prince Charming with a drinking habit - also the universe keeps on shoving astral poop into his face. It’s utterly spectacular.

Whenever I am pumping gas I wonder if I am killing anyone. Like, really killing them. Every little thing we do changes everything. I am in a hurry. I am late. I am impatient. I don’t want to wait the whole five minutes it takes to fill up a gas tank. I only need a quarter tank to get to point A anyhow. It’ll even last me the way back home and then some. My thumb is hurting. They don’t have the little stubs you can put the button in anymore so it’ll stick and pump it for you. But wait. I see it then. I see it. Me being lazy…pumping the gas to 2/3 full. My friend asking to borrow my car…

Sure I say. …

Why not I say…

She takes my car. She notices the gas tank light is on after a long drive. So instead of going straight to her boyfriend’s house, she takes a right instead of a left, to go into the gas station. While she is taking a right, that “right,” Thee Right, a person in another car texts her boyfriend, “Last night was amazing,” and isn’t paying attention. And then boom…

The car turning right, my friend, and the other car, with the very sexually satisfied girl collide into a big mess of red. Red like a big Picasso Painting. A blur of color, and then lack of color, and then bland color, like his “Paul in a Clown suit.” The color in his shoes are missing. His lips are turned down. My friends lips are turned down. Screaming. Blood. Her hip is crushed. She needs help. Her arm is caught. Her earring is torn out. The earring with the pink flowers on them, the ceramic glass. There is blood. Everywhere. …

I am pumping my gas. Whistling to Tom Petty. …

“Half of me is ocean, Half of me is sky. You’ve got a heart so big. It could crush this town…”…

A car window rolls down. …

“Hey, ya done yet? Could you pull up? I’ve been waiting here man.”…

Yeah, yeah, man. I am almost done. Little do they know I’ve just killed someone. How in the world am I supposed to know how much gas to put into my car to not kill anyone?…

Damn it…

When I was writing for “Here, Here, and Here.” That’s kind of how I felt all the time. That uneasiness. Tension. C.S. Lewis said, …

“No one is a coward at all points.” …

So why did I feel so helpless… I felt like I had a lot, but I shouldn’t say it all, because it was too much of me. …

I had become a chronic sleeper. …

People were trying to push some sort of made up, freakish Renaissance on me. Wake me up. …

But I hated it…

I hated all the people talking about my life in such a prosaic way…

You’re sad. Fix it…

Well, I didn’t know how one became crazy. Was it when they started seeing Ghosts? Or when the Ghosts actually gave them a number to call…

Because I had heard it all at that point…

I was going through a break up. I was still in love…

I was begging my manager in a very pathetic way to find me a boy immediately. Someone to get my mind away from him. Him. That boy. Beautiful blue eyes. I had started talking to him again. We knew it was a bad idea for both of us…

I felt like I had fallen into a rut. Like I saw myself making mistakes, right as I was making them but couldn’t stop myself. I was opaque, asleep in a deep dream, never to wake up. The only thing that kept me busy was music. That is when I wrote “Inside my head.” I wrote it in an hour. I vomited it out. Lyrics, the entire mess. After an hour, and 7 peanut butter energy bars later, I felt a release. I wrote down everything I wished I could say straight to him. But the worst part of it all, is in the lyrics in the song…I am a much braver person. I write about my life. But I make myself more courageous. When I would have run…in the song, I stay. When I would cry for sympathy, in the song I cry for relief. Everything I was too afraid to say to him, I would say in the song. With strength. Presence. I am a coward. In music, I am brave. I am Arthur. I am every hero in Victor Hugo’s books. I am Marius. I am #24601. I am John Galt. …

I kept writing. Meg would come in and show me songs on her computer she had written all to herself. Her “babies.” She showed me “Agree to Disagree,” which she had written late one night after a weird party in Silverlake. She said the coffee helped to wake her up. She first played it for me sitting under a lemon tree at our friend’s house, decked out in the same clothes she had worn (and slept in) the previous day. Smeared make up. She was sad and happy at once. And I think…in that song you can hear it. …

She wrote “Are there Giants too, in the Dance?” During her political inner struggle. All her sign holdings for Ron Paul 2008 at every local mall didn’t really get her anywhere, but at least she stood up for her own beliefs. She is no coward. I didn’t go with her to hold signs. I was too scared. I found excuses, places I “Had to be.” But go ahead Meg…have fun, good luck…

Coward…

My gas tank is ¼ full…

She wrote the lyrics for “Here, here, and here” about our lives…my life too. And she got it all right. She didn’t add anything cool. She didn’t make me seem brave. Nothing was erroneous. She got me down on paper and I couldn’t even do it without embellishing. …

That night, I went back to “Inside me Head,” and I opened up the lyrics. …

I pulled them out…

I crossed a lot out…

And I told the truth…

The gas tank was full…

The truth was always indelible anyway. And there it was…

Everyone who hears it, I suppose, can take all my words and hear them how they want. Everything was axiomatic to my band. But they know me better than I do anyway…

“ Going away,” I wrote at the very beginning of my break up. When I was most afraid, so in turn, I felt the strongest, the most sanguine. It lasted only a week, that strength, that hope, that spirit, but while it lasted it was real. It was the most courageous I had felt in a long while, and I wrote the most optimistic sad song I could, and that is what I got. I wrote it in a venue in California. The doors weren’t open yet. But the first band started sound checking so it got really loud. It was too hot in the van, so I went back inside and found my way into a bathroom. The reverb was nice in my computer microphone. The lady who worked there started vacuuming outside. You can still hear it in certain parts. I wrote that song in a half hour. Everything. And then I went and showed Meg, Nick, Carlo, and Jonathan. They liked it. I wasn’t sure about it. I am never really sure about my stuff. Meg is very honest with me though, so since she liked it , I figured it was ok. It stayed. And now it is a constant reminder that I can be strong, I can have faith that things will get better…I can hang in there, go all the way. I proved to be right. I am a much healthier, happier, more level-headed person now. …

My gas tank was half full…and I didn’t think about killing anyone…

I thought that if anyone died…

I would remember them…remember what they taught me…what they gave me, and to never forget it. The only shame in someone dying, is that we don’t remember what they taught us, that we don’t remember the love that was there…

“If all that you take from this is, courage than I’ve no regrets.”…

That is when Meg and I finished the lyrics for “I wanted to kiss you goodnight.”…

Love for people…

I remember my friend. Two men on both sides of her, lifting her up off the mattress, holding her weak body over a bucket so she could pee. She couldn’t stand herself. She had brain cancer. She was languid. Always sweating. She would lie in bed, convalescent, but failing with each passing day. She still made sure I got the recipe for the best damn lemon meringue pie ever though. She told me we would finish the puzzle “later.” The puzzle was lilypads…purple flowers. A dark lake. And I told her I would remember everything…that i would be fine. I wouldn’t crawl into that “dark hole” my friends hated so much. I would remember the good times. Put her ashes in the soil of my fruit trees…I promised her that. But again, I made myself more brave than I was. So the day before I laid down vocals for “Kiss you goodnight,” I changed the lyrics to the last chorus…

I sat at the cheap table. Bottle of water. And I was honest again. …

“I wanted to tell you I lied. I said ‘I’d make it through this world alright but I don’t care to try.’”…

Then I drank more water, went pee about 5 times in an hour, and sat around and watched The Princess Bride until I could recite all of the lines during the fight scene on top of the cliffs of insanity. It seemed appropriate…

He still called me sometimes…

I still picked up all the time…

I still hung up crying all the time, however, just like my songs, when I was on the phone…I didn’t care. “Whatever you say,” I would say. “I don’t care anymore,” I would say…

I lie so much sometimes It becomes true. …

Then there came the zombies. They are real, he said. They live in Montana, he said. I have a number you can call…they come visit me all the time. Real dead people I thought. Maybe my ½ tank of gas really did kill someone. In fact, I was sure of it at that point…

I called the number…

I still have the number in my phone, under the name of Daniel. That is the name he gave me. I was going to call this Daniel, and tell him to stop coming around with him. That he was hurting him. It needed to stop. No more creeping in at night. No more stealing his laundry. No more talking about me. I didn’t like the idea of someone talking about me to him. I did not like the idea of Daniel talking to him. I did not like the idea that I thought that Daniel did not exist. I did not like the idea that he thought he did. That he talked to him all the time. I called. No one answered. It was indeed a Montana number. I looked up the area code…

I wrote the lyrics to “What if”…

I wrote out a recipe for Pesto Pasta…

I wrote out a list of all the possible people I could potentially kill from not correctly filling up my gas tank…

I was a sarcastic bitch and asked if Daniel could tell me how much gas to put into my car…

When relationships go sour, and people say that the other person did “this, and this and this…” I am not one of those in completion. Sure, I do the complain and blame game, but most of the time, I turn my finger around and point it at me. I did, “this and this and this.” I am the bad person, too. I am the crazy person, too. If we don’t turn our fingers…we never learn…

I was still in love…

I was still begging my manager to find me any guy. Any guy at all Mike, any guy! He found me one. He picked me up in his car. I had never met him before. He worked at a record company. He drank a lot. He played guitar hero. He rode bikes…all the time. I am talking about 20 or more miles a day in one go. He told me we were going to go grab food at the 101. The highway? I said. No he said. He laughed. Cafe 101. I got a grilled cheese. I talked nervously. I didn’t keep eye contact. I coughed up half of my salad. I thought everyone was staring at me. Why is she wearing those shoes I bet they thought. Why is her hair so thin? Why is HE with HER. Is that the girl that killed all those people with her ¾ full gas tank?…We left. He didn’t kiss me goodnight. I went home. I vomited. I went to bed nervous…so I didn’t sleep well. “He” called me again that night. I didn’t answer for the first time in forever. No zombies tonight. No, no no…

He called me back…the bike rider. He was funny. He made me laugh all the time. I started watching more movies like The Princess Bride. I started listening to The Beach Boys again. I started having problems writing what I had written so easily before because I was becoming happy. …

Mike, our manager called me one night…

Dia, you’ve stopped writing, he said…

Yeah…I guess…

Why? He said. …

Because I don’t feel like I can write anything honest right now. There is nothing in me…

Ok. Well you should keep writing anyway. Even if it is crap. We can sift through the crap later…

Uhm…Ok. I said…

I wrote 7 songs in 7 days. They were all crap…

The boy who rode bikes gave me one of his favorite books. “Brave New world.” I read half of it in one day. I really liked it. …

Phone rang…

Mike…

Where are your songs? You’ve stopped writing again. The label is paying thousands of dollars for you to live out in L.A. and you aren’t even working. This isn’t a vacation Dia…

I can’t write right now though, Mike. I am going to dinner with the boy who rides bikes…

You can’t go…

I’m 20. Yes I can…

No, you have to write…

Ok. Fine. I will write a song and send it to you later…

By tonight. …

I can’t do that Mike. C'mon man…

By tonight. This isn’t a vacation, and you have work to do. The more songs, the better. You have to push yourself to your limits and then some…I pulled the phone away. Rolled my eyes. You could still hear him going at it. …

Ok. By tonight. Sure, sure. …sheesh…see ya later…

I went out with the boy who rides bikes. He took me to a restaurant where you have to order something over 40. I ordered an appetizer, and I had to get something else. Minimum of 40 waiter told me. I looked at the boy who rode bikes. I felt awkward, bad, uncomfortable. He smiled. Why don’t you order another appetizer he said. I did. The boy who rode bikes made me laugh, so soon I wasn’t so awkward. I came home…

I didn’t want to write a song…

I had nothing to say, except I was happy…and I am bad at writing happy songs that aren’t cliche..most the time. …

I thought about Mike…

Oh well I thought. Mike will get over it…

I started reading…

I didn’t stop reading…and I finished the whole thing. It was 4 a.m. …

I started crying. The book was my life. It was the way I was raised, it was my family, my environment, my school, boyfriends, friends. I felt like the Author knew me. I cried when the “savage” did what he did. I was the savage too. …

And even though Meg and I had decided our new record was not going to be about books and literature like our first, it was going to be about “us,” I started writing, “Hug me till you Drug me.” I named it that, because that is the name of a song in the book, “Brave new World.” It is a song the savage mom sings to her savage child, or so I remember…

I thought about that song in the book, and that line. I wonder what that song sounded like I thought. And then I wrote it. …

I wrote it all. That is what it sounded like I bet, I thought. I was exhausted. I went to sleep. …

The next day, I woke up around 1 in the afternoon. I went to my computer to listen to the song with fresh ears. Meg was sitting at it…

Yo. Can you check your e-mail on your computer…? I need mine. I was annoyed…

This song is really good! She said. She said it really loud because she had headphones on…

Really. I said. …

Here. Listen. She handed me her huge headphones…

She had already added bass to it. Guitar. Lead guitar. An instrumental break. Harmonies. Drums. Strings. …

It did sound good…

This was going to be a good day…

We went out to our favorite french/italian restaurant and got Spaghetti with spinach meatballs. I came home and watched South Park on my computer for 3 hours. I thought about how many things they had to make fun of me for…they would have a ball I thought…

Finished they lyrics for one sail. Meg helped me with the melody in the bridge and verse. It used to be about my favorite Victor Hugo book, “Toilers of the Sea.” But that was back when I first wrote it in 2007. I changed all the lyrics, after one guy, at a bar in Kansas came up to me, and instead of saying, “I like your hair,” or, “are you here alone?” He said, “Hey, are you a navy brat?” And I was taken aback. Then I said No. But my father was. And then we talked. And then I went home and rewrote all the lyrics about my father, and his influence on me, and his parents. … My grandma and grandpa, with one of the greatest, true love stories of all time…

They’re both dead now…

And they died before I could drive. It wasn’t my fault…

But while they were alive…they were in love. …

And it was real…

And that is what I want someday…

My life was finally coming together more though. I changed out of my sweat pants more often. Put on make up more often. Washed my hair more often. I started going to the gym everyday. Boy who rode bikes took me to a Bruce Springsteen concert. Tom from Rage against the machine came out and played a guitar solo. I cried. I kept making sure boy who rode bikes didn’t spill his beer on the guy sitting in front of us. Boy who rode bikes kissed me and recommended books to me and took me out for ice cream. Boy who rode bikes kept making me laugh all the time. I really liked the boy who rode bikes. “He” still called me. He stopped seeing Zombies. I thought we could become us again. I was naive. So was he. I was still in love. …

I was reading a lot into theology. All of my friends from high school kept asking for my new address in L.A. so they could send me wedding invitations. They were all 19 or 20… I read Buddhist books. I loved them. I read many C.S. Lewis Christian books. I loved them. My best friend was Catholic. I asked her questions. All my friends who were getting married were Mormon. I asked them questions. Meg is Atheist. I asked her questions. Carlo is Christian. He has read the Bible many a time. I asked him Questions. I asked Nick. How the hell should I know he would say. That was the best answer I had heard all month. I was confused. I prayed a lot. I read a lot. I asked questions a lot. I started writing Black Wedding. Most people think it is a “cute little dance rock song.” It is the song about everything I believe. It is about my Apostasy. It is about my search for ascertainable fact. It is about people who feign their own religion…who bend their rules. -Honesty is good. But I can lie to Jack…because Jack lied to Jill- It is about parents who raise their kids on a certain religion without allowing them to explore their own ideas. Their family get togethers, educations, talks, which they would claim are not compulsory, but they are nothing short of coercive. It is about this idea: A girl raised in a Catholic family most likely will be Catholic. A girl raised in a Lutheran family will most likely be Lutheran. It is about people praying that their son’s baseball team will win, while human hunger is still present all across the nations. It is about over 75 of marriages today, sadly, ending in divorce because of quick engagements, and a lack of patience. It is about my feelings of loss, not 'belonging" to any one religion, and trying to find my own god…trying to give love, like I think he would. It is a song about endless searching, and about being blind to everything around you. It is , to this day, also, the song where the sarcastic side of my personality is let loose with no restraint. (Anyone who knows me will know I am a very sarcastic person. Anyone who does not will think I am a brat). …

Every day passed on. I was still confused. I was sad. But I got my balance of happy with Boy who rides bikes. I spent time with my best friend Hannah. We would get frozen yogurt together. Look at clothes online. Go swimming. She would laugh at me and say, “Geez Dia. When is the last time you shaved your legs?! Put some pants on next time you swim!” The writing process was coming to a close. Meg was hardly ever away from her guitar, almost to the point where I felt it was unhealthy. This is when I wrote “Fighting for Nothing.” The most important song to me, lyrically, on the entire record. It is my life. It is calling me out. Dia you are a coward. But it is also saying, Dia, I know you can be brave. I have seen it before. I wrote it in an hour. Everything. There was no loss for words. Everything came out. I wrote it on a guitar…I usually write on the piano. Meg was using my piano in the other room to write out string parts for “Here, here and here.” …

“Fighting for Nothing,” is the one song, that if I died, (probably from someone filling up the gas tank the wrong level) I would want people to have…people to hold onto. A friend once told me that he was born to fight vikings. He was born to do something great…to stand up and bare his teeth. And that is what he taught me…and that is what I am sharing. It is all of me. It, I realized a couple weeks after I wrote it, is just about trying to give other people the courage I lacked. The courage to fight their own battles. To speak of what they want…

“I’ve got my mouth. It’s a weapon. It’s a bombshell. It’s a cannon. I’ve got my words, and I won’t give them mercy.”…

That is what I hope everyone always does. This album is very personal to me. But if it means anything to anyone, I did not hold back. No mercy. No shadowing it, “to make it more appropriate for a mass audience.” I told you what I think about things you aren’t supposed to talk about. Religion. Marriage. War. Politics. Love. Music. Vanity. Rape. Death. It’s all there. And that is all I have. My mouth. My weapon. …

“I’ve got my words…I hope they hurt you. I hope they heal you.”…

I hope this song gives people strength to think on there own. I hope our record gives you hope. I hope it offends you. My dad always said, “If 1000 people disagree with me…that doesn’t mean they are right.”…

I hope this record, (here’s where it gets super cheesy if it hasn’t already), hits you here, …

here,…

and, here…

: Your heart, your mind, and your ears…

So much love…

—  Dia Frampton, about album “Here, Here and Here” by Meg & Dia

anonymous asked:

Seriously this is the last season of poi What do we know They thought that poi is over but didn't know that for a fact We know the writers love to torture us They have said that if poi should get picked up they still would be able to follow\continue this story ... Right? So then we have the last episode which is called Return 0 as a programmer you know what that means... The program is running-all good that either means that this was all a simulation and real life starts now ... Go kill samarit

(continuation of message) [samarit]an … This means or it could mean that everybody makes it out alive .. And they are actually are teasing us because they don’t want us to think that it will have a happy ending but honestly why the fuck not? They needed to keep a possibility open that it continues this is it ! Maybe not everyone survives but I don’t think it’s gonna be root or shaw because it wouldn’t make sense they wanted to continue a shoot story hence maybe keep a possibility open of maybe being able to do that I think that maybe it’s johns time to go think about it he has had the smallest screen time the whole season and he has been there since day 1 I think they will all make it out actually I’m almost positive just because of the name of the last episode there is going to be a huge twist in the last 20 minutes and it will blow our mind because that’s what the show does so don’t morn yet there is hope in Pandora box and the writers just might give that to us - oh Jesus that wasn’t supposed to be that long sorry:S



Okay, so I am SO glad that you sent me this, because there is a crap ton of things that need to be discussed, and I would like to break it down piece by piece.

1)  Person of Interest writers said that if ‘poi should get picked up they still would [want] to be able to follow/continue this story’

This is true. The writers have definitely expressed that they would not only love to expand on Shoot if they were able to continue the show, but also many of the characters’ back stories. They’ve told us on more than one occasion that they have so much more of the story left to tell, and that as of right now, they are not able to tell all of it. So, if they have hope for another season being signed for (whether CBS or other *cough*please other*cough*) it wouldn’t make much sense to kill off half of one of the stories they wanted to tell, not to mention- if they ever wanted to indulge us with Root’s backstory- it would be much harder without having Root there in the flesh to tie it back into the relevance of an episode. So, there could very well be hope.

2) Person of Interest writers love to torture us

Honey, you are so right.

3) The Meaning of Return 0

Return 0 is the equivalent of a system running and the code saying “Everything’s okay!” Obviously, as the code of a system cannot lie, there must be some significance in the episode that makes everything okay. For anyone who doesn’t truly understand what Return 0 means, I found a couple of good explanations I am going to share: 

If (program_executed_fine) return 0  ; if else (program_had_error) return 1 ;

This (^^^) is merely saying that if all in the program has gone well after running, you will see a return 0 at the end. If the program fails to run as anticipated, you will get a different answer, return 1. So, by the episode being titled Return 0, the system will have to have run without error.

With this mindset, and Root’s constant allusion to simulations in “The Day the World Went Away” we can almost see all of this as a simulation. And the simulation has to run exactly as planned to receive the return 0. Now, remember how Root programmed one last thing into the Machine before Harold closed the system? And this one last thing is the reason when Harold asks if the Machine can get him out of lock up, the Machine responds with “You created me, I can do anything you want me to.” Harold wants for his friends to make it out alive, as he tells the Machine while he’s at the coffee shop, after Root has programmed the Machine with her own slice of defense. So, there is no saying that this is not, in itself, a simulation to be sorted out. Just one universe in an infinite number that we are seeing in this episode. Now, for the second little example:

Call-by-Value-Result : this is an argument V passing through as a variable that- in layman’s terms- reports back to the local variable L in the form of a copy. V can alter any way without altering L in turn. On the contrary, any changes to L will result in an immediate change in V.

This is saying that the Machine has a desired outcome, this so called L. To get to this, there has to be a number of varying arguments or simulations to get to that desired outcome in the most efficient way possible. The simulations will repeatedly change, but that does nothing to effect the desired outcome that is to take place in the actual world- our L. So, with the mindset of this episode potentially being set up as a large simulation, Root’s death would be in potentially only one V of many varying simulations; moreover, just because Root has died in this simulation, it does not change Root’s life status in L.

4) You say it is- potentially- John Reese’s time to go, if anyone

This could very well take place, considering the talk has been for quite a while that the writers have wanted to find a way to kill him off since the near beginning of the show. With that being said, he has ‘died’ quite a number of times within this season and If-Then-Else. While this is not killing him off, it is showing that the Machine does not accept Reese’s death as an acceptable outcome. And taking this into account, if the Machine refuses to lose an agent, do you honestly think the Machine is willing to relinquish the analogue interface? Keep that in mind. Personally, I do not think it is John Reese’s time to go. I think he has potential, as he always has, but if this does turn out to be the last season, it might make quite the plot point.

5) In regards to the point ‘I think they will all make it out’ and ‘there is going to be a huge twist in the last 20 minutes’

Here. Here is the space where I can let out all of my theories- or rather- the one theory I have with its multiple pieces. While, in relation to the return 0, the possibility of all of them making it out alive is there, I think it is slim; however, it would be a twist we did not see coming. I think at least one person will die (but perhaps that one person will only wind up being Elias?) Yet, and here is where conspiracy me comes out to play- I think there is a real possibility of Root not being dead. There have been video clips released that show different footage that has yet to be aired, for starters. While these pieces could have been cut out of the final product, I don’t believe all of them could be. Remember this little number?

To the best of my memory, this has yet to happen. Shaw appears ragged, so yes, it could be a cut out option for Shaw’s return, but riddle me this: What if Root faked her death? What if Root knew she was chancing true death in the plan, but just as the Machine told Root to stay put while Control was giving her a stapedectomy, the Machine was asking Root to trust Her on this one? Root’s voice could be the Machine’s voice for the time being, yes, but if this is not really a simulation, and we are going on the basis of Root being alive, the option could be that the Machine is using Root, and Root is saying what needs to be said to the team. She’s still keeping her personality and relations to each character while being a direct link to the Machine, hence how Root maintains herself as the writers have said, and as Amy Acker has said about having a scene between Root and Finch in the finale. This picture could be Root coming back from this fake death? It’s a stretch, yes, but this scene is still filmed for some reason. In the video version, we see Shaw shy away from Root’s touch, looking away from Root, down, then slowly back. This could very well be because Shaw thought her for dead for so long, and now Root is back, yet never tried to tell Shaw she was never dead in the first place. Because not once in any reunion- simulation or not- did Shaw shy from Root’s touch when they first found each other. The shying away makes me think there is some sort of trust/emotional break that makes Shaw not want to be touched by Root, and that is something we have not seen in any of Shaw’s homecomings. Also, Root hints so much on “we can be dead and not dead” in The Day the World Went Away, that it cannot be coincidence. From Schrödinger’s Cat to outright saying it to Harold, it appeared to me as if Root knew that there was something going to take place very soon that involved both living and dying, and this was her little hint to them. It makes me feel like the Machine told Root that, to win the war, this is an essential sacrifice, and you might actually die in the act of fake-dying, but I will do all I can to protect you. (Also, how else would she have conveniently seen the Samaritan operative atop the building, hiding in a wedged corner, and been so fortunate as to run into the NYPD that would take Harold to safety as well as deliver instant aid to her? Just saying)

So in regards to there being a huge twist in the last twenty minutes, my thinking is that a) it will be a simulation, as I described through the call-by-value-result, and the last 20 minutes will show what they have to do, and do proceed to do, to win.  b) is that the Machine finally wins a round against Samaritan in their small pc to pc feud, there is no simulation, and they proceed onwards- the twist being that the Machine has found a way to win. Along with b, although it can be separate is a potential c) Root having faked her death because it was the Machine’s will, and the only way the Machine could see them winning the war, and so we get Root back for the final episode.

And yeah, so that’s that. It’s a lot, but I hope you’ll read it and get back to me with more thoughts of your own. And never apologize for the length!! The more you have to say, the more I get to read and talk about, which- knowing my love of words and big mouth- is a helluva lot of fun for me.

I’ll Protect You

Hi lovelies! I am starting a Criminal Minds mini series based around the beautiful Spencer Reid. Here is a little prompt/synopsis:

Grace Kotze and Spencer Reid meet by chance in one of their favorite places-the library. Though the two are normally shy, they develop an instant connection and their friendship quickly evolves into a romance neither of them were prepared for. But will they last with the pressures of Spencer’s job and the secret Grace is hiding that could endanger them all?

So if you like that, here is part 1!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8


Grace Kotze’s day started the same way it always does. She woke up to sunshine filtering through the small gap in her deep burgundy curtains. She put on her fluffy white slippers and dragged her feet to the kitchen to make her most favorite thing in the world-coffee. Her TV was on in the background as she ate breakfast, giving the morning news of Washington, D.C. She didn’t pay much attention, the system turned on mainly for Grace’s own comfort, and so if she hears anything she is supposed to, she will be prepared. Other than that, Grace did not have much connection with the outside world. She has no social media accounts, her phone number is unlisted, she uses her credit card as little as possible, and her only phone contacts are her coworkers and one best friend. 

She had a thirty-minute routine locked down that consisted of brushing her teeth, washing her face, getting dressed, applying a little makeup here and there, and making sure her hair is straight. On her way to catch the metro, she kissed the picture of her parents on the table by the front door. She listened to the calming sounds of Beck on her way to work and smiled at an old lady walking her Pomeranian. Grace works at one of the many local libraries in town as a librarian. She is not in charge of the entire library, rather, she is one of the many librarians who work together to keep it running. Grace doesn’t mind. She does not like being in charge and would rather stay as unseen as possible. But where she works does allow her to flourish. Surrounded by sources and sources of information, music, art, entertainment and her personal favorite, an escape to another world through the pages of a good book, Grace is finally starting to feel somewhat at home here. Her best friend, Lucia, is a librarian for the FBI and had connections that allowed Grace to get the job she has. 

Grace could spend hours in the library, even after her shift is over. Sometimes she does. When she is given a break, instead of going out to lunch or somewhere else in the community to escape for a bit, she eats quickly in the staff break room and then spends the rest of the time browsing through the endless shelves of books, all worlds she was desperate to get into.

She was doing just that on her second break of the day when she ran into him. Literally. 

“I am so sorry!” Grace exclaimed, rubbing her forehead. She had been turning the corner behind a particularly large and wide shelf and didn’t see the man coming right at her, a stack of books in his hands. She tumbled to the floor along with the numerous books, while the man stared helplessly, his face flushed with embarrassment. 

“No, I am! I should be, I mean, you’re the one that fell over, here let me help you up,” he flustered. He held out his hand, rather nervously, and Grace took it, getting to her feet and adjusting the hem of her skirt.

“Stranger whom I just ran into, how does my hair look?” Grace asked.

“Beautiful,” the man answered. Grace could tell he surprised himself with his forward words.

“Thanks. I’m Grace, by the way,” Grace held out her hand for a shake.

“You’re welcome, I’m Spencer. Um, I don’t really shake hands,” he said awkwardly, avoiding Grace’s gaze. She couldn’t help but notice how much cuter this made him look.

“But you just took my hand to help me up, Spencer,” Grace pointed out with a small laugh.

“I guess I did,” Spencer returned the laugh and shook Grace’s hand. Her gaze shifted to the floor.

“Let me help you get these books up.”

“No, it’s fine-”

“Really, it’s no problem, it’s basically a part of my job anyway.” The pair knelt down to pick up the dropped books.

“You work here?” Spencer asked, mild surprise on his soft features. Being this close to him, Grace noticed that Spencer’s eyes were hazel, and rimmed with dark purple shadows. Spencer caught her looking.

“Oh, um yeah. I’m still kind of new though. I’ve only been here for about ten months,” Grace explained. The two of them stood up, each carrying three books. Two of them were Grace’s, but at the moment, she didn’t care which ones. Her gaze shifted to the collection in her arms.

Great Expectations?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I’m actually rereading it, what about you?”

“It’s a favorite so far.”

“I especially love when Pip figures out that Estella is the daughter of Molly and Magwitch,” Spencer said excitedly. Grace’s expression changed to confusion, and Spencer’s face fell. “When you say it’s a favorite so far, you meant-”

“That I haven’t finished it yet,” Grace said.

“Oh. Sorry,” Spencer said sheepishly. He looked down at his collection. “Oh, I think I must have gotten yours. I’ve never read Lolita.”

“Oh, you should! It’s amazingly controversial, especially when-you know, I won’t spoil it for you,” Grace smiled.

“Does there happen to be any books here that we’ve both read?” Spencer chuckled. Grace smiled and looked at the other two books she was carrying.

“I have read War and Peace. It was very good, although I do prefer Anna Karenina.”

“Tolstoy has many great novels,” Spencer said, almost matter-of-factly.

“We can sit down over there and talk about them, if you’d like,” Grace offered shyly, partially avoiding eye contact with Spencer. She wasn’t really good at meeting new people or making new friends. But something about Spencer made her want to try.

“Okay.” Spencer smiled, and Grace led the way to a pair of big leather chairs next to a giant window overlooking the community.

The two of them could have talked for hours. It started out with conversation about their favorite books, and then moved on to their favorite movie adaptations, and then the soundtracks for those movies, and then ended somehow with Spencer reciting War and Peace from memory in its native Russian.

“Grace, they need you at the front desk,” Emma popped her head in. Slightly disappointed for the first time about having to go back to work, Grace said goodbye to Spencer before he could get the courage to ask her out.

Ten minutes later, Grace was pleasantly surprised to see Spencer standing in front of her at the desk.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey. I’d like to return this book,” he said, holding out his copy of Lolita.

“You’re suddenly not interested in it? And there’s a return drop off right over there, by the way,” Grace informed him.

“Oh no, I’m really interested. If you could just open the front cover, that would be great,” Spencer said. Grace didn’t understand what was going on, but she opened the book and a piece of paper fell out. She bent down to pick it up and her eyes scanned the messy scribble.

Grace,

Any time you want to discuss literature outside of where you work.

Spencer

Grace’s smile widened as she saw that he left his phone number on the paper. Today did not end like it normally does and she was very happy about that.