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I'm so Rizzles rusty...

insp

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Hello, tumblr. There’s a GoFundMe to help pay for living-on-borrowed-crime’s final arrangements. For privacy reasons, I’m not posting the link publicly. If you would like to contribute, please DM for the link.

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Poor Jane... The disappointment is real...

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Crimes was... I don't like that word, "was". Was means past. Not now, not tomorrow and those are two things Crimes should be.

But Crimes was so many things. In our virtual world she was a fellow fangirl, a fellow writer, a beta.

When the online word was petty or cruel, she was kind. One of the rare souls I decided I'd like to meet the face behind the screen name. To share a real smile with.

So I did. I shucked the cover of the screen and gave her a hug. She was slight, shy and friendly. She had a face that was swallowed by a smile. She had a way of sitting that was quiet and contained. She liked to look down at her tea before she spoke. She had shiny hair that would catch the light, her words offered, always thoughtful.

She was multitalented.

She was intelligent.

She was strong... I hope she realized that about herself.

I am not ready for her story to be over. I feel like someone hit complete before the epilogue was written.

And maybe that's when you know the story was well crafted.

When the end leaves you wanting more.

Yesterday my intrepid friend and trusted beta, living-on-borrowed-crime was killed while riding her bike. 

She was fearless and fierce in her pursuit of all things active: she would run miles on icy sidewalks in winter, she loved climbing, and she even got into swing dancing. By Fitbit’s yardstick, she was unbeatable. She was small but mighty, stronger in may ways than she appeared. And yet, she was not invincible.

My favorite thing about Crimes was that she didn’t presume or judge. She asked questions carefully. She was kind and accepting. Her inquiries guided me through more than a year’s writing, helping to create something I could never do alone. I always looked forward to her comments because she was able to pinpoint the problems and her praise solidified the successes. Often, our discussions became personal and I felt safe confiding in her.

I have lost a friend who was with me via green-highlighted text in a Google Doc for a difficult period in my life. This remembrance doesn’t say enough; I find myself wishing she could read it and fix it for me.

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Jane: Oh my God. You're flirting over a dead body. Maura: When else am I going to do it?

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actual lines

from an actual show

said by an actual married couple

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Change reading to writing...

I started watching R&I innocently with no thoughts beyond it being a cool show and then one day I was reading M-rated rizzles fanfic and I don't really know what happened in between

That first step is a doozy. 

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(x)

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that’s it, that’s the friendship relationship.

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If only you would listen to yourself, Detective Jane Rizzoli!

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Jane not-so-straight Rizzoli.

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Fandom FYI - internet trolling alert - I've met the victim face to face, she is truly kind and sweet - please share.

So I received an email from a friend who’s been receiving some internet harassment. I’ve done my best to screen-shot the email, but my abilities to edit this at work are limited to MS Paint. Sooo, it’s mostly illegible. I’ll post the text below a cut and the picture as proof that it is indeed from the original owner of the name.

Keep reading

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Since this was timely...

my my, Dr. Isles.

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The infamous blue dress... Thanks all for the rec :)

Arcadia Arden wrote a HOT fic about that dress of Maura's. fanfiction/10172198/1/On-Tipping-Points-Family-Fit

Thanks anon for the tip. I’ve already read that HOT fic ;)But if you all haven’t yet..go right about now!And when you there, read the other great fics by Arcadia too!

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insp.

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The girls are never supposed to end up together. I watched that movie with Ellen Page and Alia Shawkat, the roller-skating movie, the one where Ellen and Alia are best friends, each other’s only comforts in their podunk town. They need each other, and they hug, and they dance, and they tell each other I Love You, and Ellen meets a skinny boy who plays in a band. It doesn’t even work out with the boy, but that’s almost tangential. The girl was never a real option. I think that’s why it’s really difficult for girls. For me. We follow narratives and our fingertips trace the contours of the stories we love and we long to escape within the confines of our own lives. Meet your boyfriend in the pouring rain and yank down his mask and kiss him upside down. Run with your boyfriend to the front of the ferry and throw your arms out to the side and scream, “I’m king of the world!” If you are a girl in love with a boy, your possibilities are infinite. If there is a special girl in your life, you love her as a friend. You love her as a friend, but she becomes less important to you as you grow, and you leave her behind for a boy. She might even stand next to you when you marry the boy, and she might catch the bouquet of flowers that you throw to her. You’re giving her permission to move on, move away from you. It’s a ceremony of separation. But if you should fall in love with a girl - and loving and falling in love are two very distinct things - the first kiss is the end. You’ve all seen the movie. Or the television show. Or the after-school special, or you’ve read the book that was banned from your school’s library for containing Sexual Content. The point of your story is not to fall in love. The point of your story is to struggle. Your story begins with a lie and climaxes in a truth and ends with a kiss. In the movie of your life, forty-five minutes are devoted to you figuring out how to say that you want to kiss girls, and another half-hour is devoted to people’s objections, and maybe the last fifteen minutes is you kissing the girl. Maybe you don’t even get to kiss the girl. Maybe she tells you that she’s flattered, but she doesn’t bat for your team. The critics swoon; it’s realistic, they say, so realistic, to depict the struggle of the modern teen, the heartbreak of irresolvable incompatibility. Isn’t that always what celebrities cite in their divorces? “Irreconciliable differences.” And so you’re lying on the floor of your bathroom, your knees curled to your chest, or you’re on your sofa with a pint of ice cream, or you’re in bed watching your favourite sad movie on Netflix, and the collective weight of all that you consume settles on your shoulders, leans in, and whispers, “You were never meant to fall in love.” You were never meant to fall in love. Your story ends in tears or it ends in death. Jack Twist was bludgeoned to death with a tire iron and Ennis Del Mar was left alone in his closet to dance with an empty shirt. Alby Grant found Dale Tomasson swinging by a noose in the apartment that had been their safehouse, their respite, and he sank to his knees and cradled Dale’s bare feet and he cried. The Motion Picture Association of America axed Lana Tisdel and Brandon Teena’s sex scenes, but they didn’t have a problem with the extended shot of Lana cradling Brandon’s corpse in her fragile arms and falling asleep next to his body. Love and intimacy are ours only in death, or so it would seem. I don’t want to die. Isn’t that a very human experience? Not wanting to die? When does anyone who looks like me get to grow old and raise grandchildren and hold her wife’s hand as the skin wrinkles, turns translucent? Sometimes my father asks me if I’ll ever date a man. Sometimes he doesn’t ask. “You are attracted to men, and you dream about falling in love with men,” he says, as if he can will his imaginary daughter into existence merely by speaking about her. Or maybe he is just looking out for my safety. He’s seen the movies, too. He loves me. He doesn’t want me to die.

if this is heaven (via nonbinareyskywalker)