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jhilsara · 3 days ago

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Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Summary: After Spencer is shot he can't do much in the field for a while, being stuck to the offices in Quantico. His insomnia starts to amp up and instead of an urge for McDonald's at 1 AM he finds himself desperate for a new book and a coffee. Somehow, he finds the Midnight Owl, the late night bookstore/cafe open at weird hours with a cute southern co owner who probably gets the same amount of sleep as he does.

She also makes the best coffee that is disgustingly sweet. Exactly how he likes it.

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Mentions of Season 5 100 episode and canon typical BAU themes

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The one with the late night bookstore

If Spencer could pace, he would, but his new semi-permanent crutch situation was impeding his mobility. He hasn’t been able to sleep, much less relax with the knowledge of Hotch being stabbed by George Foyet in his own home. Or how it’s clear that Foyet is playing an extreme game with the BAU, but mostly Hotch. Spencer didn’t even want to think about poor Haley and Jack being thrown into witness protection. These were scenarios Spencer knew came with the job he does, but seeing it happen to people he knows and cares about, makes his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine if it was his own mother being threatened. It sends a cold chill down his back. He needs a distraction.

Spencer’s eyes drag over to his used and abused bookshelf. Looking through his collection trying to find something to read. Even for a distraction he’s not very interested in rereading any of the texts on his shelf. His go to comfort of Sherlock Holmes doesn’t even seem all that appealing at the moment. He needs something that isn’t about criminals or detectives right now. Too bad nothing else on his shelf seemed to catch his eye. Spencer eyes his clock and the analog clock on his wall tells him it’s two in the morning. He’d be lucky if anything besides a dingy twenty-four-hour cafe was open, much less a bookstore.

He sighs and looks over at his discarded laptop on his desk. He boots it up to see if maybe he could at least check how early the library opened. He could try to sleep but his insomnia was eating away at him, trying to focus on anything else but work seemed harder and harder. Spencer had to get out of his apartment. He looks up the library hours as well as a few bookstores. Just trying to see how soon he could sit down and avoid the never-ending running of his brain. He’s surprised when he finds a bookstore that was advertising its hours as open. Surely that was wrong. He spots the phone number on the webpage, and he decides to call to double check.

The line rings for roughly two seconds before it’s picked up, a melodic voice on the other line states, “Midnight Owl, this is Y/N how can I help you?” The cadence of the woman’s voice much too chipper for the middle of the night.

Spencer’s shocked into silence for a moment before he responds, “I thought the hours posted were wrong...” He finds himself stating.

“Nope!” She replies, unbothered by his blunt response. “We’re open 24/5, only closed on Fridays and Saturdays!” She tells him brightly, “You wouldn’t be the first to call thinking we posted our hours wrong though. More common than you think.”

He coughs awkwardly and finds himself nodding even though she can’t see it. “Okay, great, thank you so much.”

“Not a problem, swing by some time we have the best drinks crafted by yours truly!” She jokes with a soft laugh trailing her sentence. She drawls out the end of her words in a way that has them twisting together as sweet as the tea he’s almost positive she drinks.

“Have a good night.” He states before hanging up the phone.

He looks at the address listed and finds that it’s just up the street, barely a block away.

Spencer eyes his crutches for a moment debating on whether he should go or not. His good leg shakes in anxious movements as he sits on his couch. What were the odds that there was a bookstore up his block that was open at odd hours that catered to him? He knew the odds; they were incredibly low . He shrugs to himself and hobbles to grab his crutches, he’ll check it out. Why the hell not? If it’s too good to be true he can add it to the list of places he’ll never visit again like that one coffee shop downtown that burns everything he’s ever ordered.

He desperately needs to get out of his apartment.

Y/N’s night at the Midnight Owl was going slowly. You had a few regulars wander in, which you were happy about since the store had only officially been open for four months. There was a couple that sat on the loveseat in the cafe every Thursday night reading their books together and drinking the cafe’s famous homemade lavender lemonade. Not that you could brag about it, your co-owner makes pastries and premade drinks. All homemade family recipes. On the opposite side of the store was the guy who came in every other day to check for anything new. He grabs a coffee and roams the stacks for an hour. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he doesn’t. He comes in at the same time though, so you’re pretty sure he works a graveyard shift.

There were a couple of students at a table in the cafe section clearly up studying and writing papers. The semester for school had only just started a month ago, but the influx of students coming and going was increasing by the day.

You loved your little bookstore, and during the day it was popping. A rising trendy place for local university students. You preferred the quiet of the nights though. It gave you time to make orders for books, restock, and change out displays. It was methodical cleaning and sorting that kept you sane. Your daytime life was overly complicated and having your own corner of the world was nice. It felt like a safe bubble that didn’t necessarily feel like work.

You’re in the middle of compiling a list of books to reorder that have already sold out when the front doorbell chimes telling her someone just entered. You are behind a stack finishing what you're writing on your notepad when you calls out, “Be right there!”

You bound around the stack to the counter to meet the newcomer, “Welcome in! How can I help you?” you asked happily pushing your hair behind your ear nervously.

You scan the guy from head to toe, he’s definitely new. He looks like a grad student, probably around your age. His mousy brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s in a well-worn Caltech shirt and sweatpants. The oddest thing about him is the crutches he’s sporting as he comes in. You send him a warm smile.

Spencer looks at the woman standing at the counter and finds you’re not what he expected you to be. You look like the moon; you have features that are soft and delicate, and your eyes shine with the bright ambience of the bookstore. Spencer almost loses his train of thought as he takes in the bookstore worker’s features that just made you seem so inviting.

It takes a second before he registers that you asked him a question. “Oh, yes,” he rushes out awkwardly. “Is the cafe still open?” He questions, tilting his head to the empty-looking bar on the other side.

You nod happily, “It is! I’m the only one who works the night shift, so I run the register and the cafe. Would you like something?” you ask him, already walking toward the counter that holds the cabinet of pastries and coffee machines.

“A latte would be great actually.” He says in a much clearer voice.

“Can do.” You grin at him radiantly and it’s so infectious he finds himself returning one. You turn and almost have a skip to your step as you walk, far too awake for him to deem reasonable for two in the morning.

Spencer watches her as he slowly moves forward on his crutches, she almost dances around the machines as she makes his latte. She’s humming to the music that he’s finally registered playing in the bookstore. She’s radiating a warmth that Spencer doesn’t get to see much day to day except for the one and only, Penelope Garcia. Garcia looked and acted like the sun, one giant ball of pink and blonde energy. He watches the worker move around her workstation making his latte and it’s seamless how she moves, it’s her second nature. She’s just at ease here, which settles his uneasy nerves about trying a new place out in the middle of the night. He looks around and sees a few people mingling about.

Spencer takes time to look around the store and notices how it feels much more lived in than any box stores he’s been to. The overhead lights aren’t fluorescent like a normal store but a few well-placed wooden chandeliers that are carved to look like vines. Every other light is a floor light or table lamp that has mismatched covers and stained glass. He turns to the large windows, and he guesses the store probably gets great sunshine when it’s daylight. The multiple house plants by the window and on the empty tables being a good indicator. The ambiance is so inviting, not to mention the amount of comfortable faux leather seating he sees.

He could imagine spending a lot of time here, it was just so cozy. Spencer can’t imagine he would have missed this place opening but with all the cases they’ve been busy with, he actually isn’t surprised at all.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by her placing the drink on the pickup bar, “So what ails you?” Your voice carries to him, and you tilt your head waiting patiently.

“Excuse me?” He finds himself stuttering out.

You shrug nonchalantly, “Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve never seen your face in here before.” You state the fact like it's so obvious.

“So, what’s buggin’ you?” Your voice drawls out sweetly as you look at him expectantly.

It’s almost like the lights in the cafe frame her from behind, bright and dazzling. She’s clearly personable and Spencer isn’t used to people with Y/N’s personality being overtly kind to him. He’ll see how long it takes her to dismiss him like most people do. It doesn’t annoy him like it used to, he expects it really. Especially when his own team and friends do it almost regularly.

You are waiting patiently for his response with unwavering kind eyes.

“Insomnia,” He settled on admitting to you, he gave you a tight lined frown. “I needed a new book; I’ve read through my catalog.”

Your eyes light up, “That’s my specialty! I mean, I make a mean latte, but my favorite part of this place is the books.” you whispered conspiratorially.

“So,” you come around from the back of the bar and put your hands on your hips, “What genre were you looking for? Or was it a specific book?” you ask him.

“Fantasy, preferably. I’ve read all of Tolkien and Gaiman’s works.” He tells you.

You nod in understanding your eyes giving a quick look of him from head to toe, “You look like a man who’s read The Hobbit and American Gods .” You said, almost more so to herself.

Spencer gives you a quizzical look, unsure if he should be insulted or not. You read his face and your own cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands start moving exaggeratedly as your voice pitches, “Not in a bad way! I promise, I’m here for a well-read person! Not that you have to have read those two authors to be well read, I just-” You take a deep breath and stop yourself.

“Sorry, I just mean, you look like you’ve probably read some of the most popular titles in that genre.” Your voice grows smaller, and your face is bright in a flush as you rush through your words, drawling them out in that voice that sounds like sugar. You bite the inside of your cheek forcing yourself to stop talking.

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head, “I get it, you’re good.” He tells you reassuringly.

You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face nervously, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you probably want something different and not recommended every time you ask for fantasy.”

Spencer just gives you a smile, “I appreciate it.” He shifts his weight on his crutches to awkwardly sip his latte.

You usher him over to one of the comfortable chairs with a nice side table lamp that has beautiful green and red stained-glass roses on it.

“Here sit, I’ll grab some recommendations, and you can let me know what you think.” You don’t even give him a chance to rebuttal before you’re off and disappear into the stacks.

The silence that followed her absence was overwhelmingly loud, except for the soft music playing from the speakers. Spencer takes his time drinking his latte and it’s delicious. Better than the place the BAU grabs coffee from, and much better than whatever was in their coffee pot at the office.

You pop back out from the stacks within ten minutes holding at least five book options for him to sort through.

“These all have different sub-genres but are fantasy in nature. Let me know if any look good to you.” You hand them over to him happily. He notices you biting the inside of your cheek again, as you watch him look over the books.

You’re rocking on your feet, as you watch Spencer thumb through the books, reading the summaries keeping his face neutral. You start picking at your nails trying not to seem like a dog waiting for its owner. You should busy yourself with something else besides trying to gauge Spencer’s reaction to the books, but you can’t help it.

Spencer pauses on a book with a bright colorful cover that was in the middle of the stack. It’s the only one he pauses on and your face lights up.

“I loved Howl’s Moving Castle !” Your voice pitches up in enthusiasm. You start talking with your hands again, “It’s fun, and the cast of characters who, in a magical world, feel so relatable. The two leads also have great dialogue! I was genuinely laughing out loud.” Your face splits into a grin as you explain the book to Spencer without spoiling anything.

You are so filled with joy as you talk about the book, it doesn’t take him but a second of listening to you to know he’s sold. He’s reading this, your genuine joy selling him on it. He doesn’t have to look through the rest of the stack, though he’s sure you’ve likely read all the books you offered him.

“I’ll take it.” He said, moving to stand up to purchase it at the counter.

You move to stop him, “Don’t worry about it! You can pay on your way out. You look like you’ve been struggling with those crutches.” You tell him waving him back down to sit.

“Just relax, drink and read. It’s what the Midnight Owl’s for.” You chirp happily shooting him a triumphant look as you move to walk back to the counter.

You go back to working on creating an order for books back at the checkout counter. You have the work desktop open back to the list of books you were cross referencing for prices. You go back and forth from looking at your handwritten list to researching prices from different distributors.

The couple who was there earlier finally get up, waving goodbye to Y/N.

“Have a great night y’all! See you next week.” You tell them with your own wave that’s brief as you make the order.

The only noise in the store is some shuffling and the music playing overhead and you humming along to it. It’s a mix CD you burned a few years back and most of the songs are still your favorite. You keep meaning to make a new one, but you just haven’t had time. Your eyes wander from your computer to check on your new customer reading in the corner. You don’t want to hover, but you try to gauge if he’ll be a regular or not. You hope so, he seemed nice enough.

Spencer can feel her eyes on him occasionally, he can see her fidgeting behind the counter. Every other song he can spot her leaning out of the corner of his eye to look over to him. He tries to hide his grin; he knows that look well. She’s trying to see if he’s enjoying the book. Spencer tries to read at a normal pace, even though he can read twenty thousand words per minute, that defeats the purpose of him trying to get out of his apartment to just devour this book. Plus, he kind of enjoys watching the store clerk.

She’s full of energy and he has no idea where it comes from, but it’s almost a nervous energy. She’s constantly moving, either fidgeting or walking through the stacks to check or tidy the books. She’s also passed in front of him a few times to check the cafe machines or even grab a pastry he’s sure has been there for too long, and she feels bad about selling it.

Spencer stays there for a few hours; he really doesn’t notice how long until the door opens and the bell chimes again.

“Morning!” The new woman cheers sleepily.

You wave at her, “Morning Josie. There are still a few pastries left from yesterday, but I put them in the back fridge for you.”

The new woman, Josie, waved back, “Thanks, I’m going to prep for today.”

Spencer finally looks at the time and realizes it’s five in the morning, he sighs standing up. He grabs his crutches and pushes himself toward the counter to pay for his book. If he’s lucky he could get an hour or two of a nap before work.

He gently slides the book over to you and your whole face brightens, “Have you liked it so far?” you asked him.

Spencer grins “It’s charming. You were right about the cast; it’s a great blend of characters that shouldn’t fit as well as they do together.”

You nod excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten to a certain part, but I won’t spoil it, I loved how they explain the magic that affects Sophie! It was a fun book.”

Spencer hands over some cash to pay for his book. “I’ve liked it so far. I’ll have to ask for another recommendation.” He tells you.

If you were a dog, your ears would be pointed up and tail wagging, you cannot contain your pure joy.

“Absolutely! Anytime, it’s one of my favorite things.” You push your hair back and you look down at the table nervously pushing his book back toward him with his change.

“I’m always happy to see a returning face.” You said looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I’m Y/N by the way, I don’t know if I introduced myself.”

Spencer takes the book and his change; you smile brilliantly at him, and he feels a little enchanted by the bookstore clerk. He returns it. “Spencer. It was nice to meet you.”

He gives you a small wave before walking out, crutches pushing him forward.

The one about Halloween

You have decided that you do not care if it’s only September, you are decorating for Halloween. Maybe it’s that you’re festive or maybe it’s from growing up in a southern community that went all out for decorations, but you are determined that the Midnight Owl will be the place to be for October. You’ve also planned a few events for the spooky month for all ages.

There are a few reading hours planned for children during the day, costume contests, and some trick or treat candy lined up to buy. Your shopping list was filling up quickly. For the nighttime events you’ve gotten together with Josie to throw a movie night every Sunday night at eight in October. You’ve already planned a lineup of movies to play and popcorn to order. You still can’t decide on having two movies or not, a family friendly one first and then a scary one. She’ll figure it out.

To say that you are bubbling with excitement is an understatement.

You're in the middle of dragging out one of the boxes of decorations from the attic when the door chimes open.

“Welcome in! Help yourself to shop or if you wait a few minutes, I can fix you a drink at the cafe!” You shout from behind the large box you’re carrying. It’s not heavy, filled mostly with paper and plastic decorations. The box itself is just quite large, and it blocks your view when you walk.

“What are you doing?” A soft chuckle passes through, and you recognize it immediately. It’s your new favorite regular.

You set the box down in a huff behind the counter and look at Spencer exasperatedly.

“If you must know, I’m preparing for Halloween.” You said matter-of-factly.

Spencer’s hazel eyes light up, the same way he gets when he’s about to tell you a long list of facts about something. You love it when he gets excited. It’s contagious.

“Oh, please continue then. It’s never too early for Halloween.” He said happily.

You let out a burst of laughter and it echoes in the room, “Thank you! Finally, someone who understands.” You tease him.

Spencer’s been coming in almost every night since his first visit. It’s only been a month, but you love talking to Spencer. He’s full of endless information and he loves to read just as much, if not more, than you do.

He has an unfair advantage though. He had admitted how quickly he could read to you in passing a few weeks ago and your jaw dropped. You didn’t believe him at first.

“Okay, that’s the fifth book you’ve finished in like two days Spencer. Are you even actually reading them?” You had teased him, when he returned to the shelves looking through the selections.

“Of course I do. I just happen to read twenty thousand words per minute.” He said easily running his fingers along the spines of the books as he pursues.

You scoff, “Yea right.” you rolled your eyes. “Just say you skim through them.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I’m serious, I have an eidetic memory too.” he said.

You blinked at him a few times in disbelief before just bursting into a fit of small giggles.

“Wow, I wish I could read that fast. I’d get through my TBR so much faster!” you said impressed.

Spencer pauses looking at you, trying to assess if you're trying to make fun of him or not. Your face is split into a wide grin, and he realizes you are intrigued by this little tidbit. You didn't think it was weird, that he’s weird.

Spencer felt his face flush a bit, and he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, it’s just a really cool fact about you.” You said, like it was obvious.

Spencer mouth tighten into a fine line, and he shook his head, “That would be a first.” he had mumbled under his breath.

You didn’t press him, but you did file away in the back of your mind his response for later. Clearly Spencer wasn’t used to someone reacting positively to this tidbit about him.

You look at Spencer as he stands there watching you. He’s in his work clothes, which you're used to by now, but it’s the opposite of what he wore when they first met. He’s in a purple button up shirt that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His cardigan is hanging off his faded brown leather satchel sitting against his hip. He’s leaning on his crutches as she assesses him.

“C’mon,” you said waving for him to follow. “Let’s make something fall flavored to get rolling with the season.” You suggest a small smile tugging at your lips.

Spencer just nods and follows you toward the cafe section.

“Are you a fan of pumpkin flavors or do you prefer other autumn flavors?” You ask him as you walk around the counter to the coffee machines.

The pickup counter for the cafe doubles as a normal place to sit and Spencer grabs a stool to sit in, leaning his crutches against the counter.

“I only like my drinks sweet. Flavor isn’t too important.”

You hum in acknowledgement and get to work on making him a drink. “I’ll just surprise you then.”

Spencer brings out a few books he’s reading and places them on the table. While you make his drink you ask, “What’s your favorite book to read to get into the spooky spirit?”

He perks up, “There’s plenty of options, I think I prefer something classic like The Shinning or maybe even an old compilation of ghost stories. Those are always good.” he said passionately.

“Ooh! I’m obsessed with the paranormal!” you gasp in excitement.

Spencer feeds into the enthusiastic response, “Did you know there are a multitude of categories of the paranormal? Most people only associate it with ghosts or demons, but ufology and cryptozoology are also subcategories. Personally, as interesting as ghost or demon possession stories are, I’m far more fascinated by cryptozoology and the creatures that different areas of the world claim to see and state they have proof of.”

Spencer realizes he’s rambling and tries to cut himself off, but your eyes are wide as you actively lean against the counter giving him your rapt attention.

You notice his abrupt stop and you tilt your head, “Keep going, you have my full attention! I’m trying to get into the spooky spirit!” You drawl out, your rich accent seeping through.

You turn to grab his drink and hand it to him. It's in a nice burnt orange colored mug, “It’s a maple chai latte. Felt like fall to me.” you said quietly, having a matching mug with him. You lean against the counter and bat your hand at his forearm.

“C’mon tell me more!” you giggled.

Spencer stared at you in awe for a moment, before he tried to hide his expression through drinking his latte.

“Ghost hunting became popular in the early 2000s, but it’s been around since the 1920’s and even before then there were popular ghost stories told throughout history! Humans have always been interested in the afterlife which is why we’re probably so fascinated by looking for proof of the afterlife.”

You nod and sips from your own mug, “Have you ever watched those ghost hunting shows before?” you asked curiously.

Spencer shook his head no. “I don’t watch a lot of television.”

You hum in thought, “Yeah, that checks out. Well, they’re super cheesy and trashy. Love them to be honest.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, leaning closer against the bar.

It felt like it was only the two of them in the bookstore. Inside their own bubble, the world moved slowly inside the confines of the Midnight Owl.

“This is gonna sound so awful!” you laughed lightly shaking your head, “There’s a show called Ghost Adventures, and the main guy, Zak Bagans, he’s such a dick to the ghosts! He instigates all the time, and I mean, regardless of if ghosts are real, he goes in hot ! Not to mention he always throws his costar Aaron into the worst places! It’s just insane, absolute trash.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“But you love it?” Spencer asked.

You gave him a deadpan stare, “Oh absolutely, it’s the best kind of quality trash.”

You burst into a fit of giggles and Spencer couldn’t help but find it contagious.

“Aaaaaaanyway~” You drag out, moving to grab your box of decorations.

“Wanna help me decide how to decorate?” you ask him, grabbing a pumpkin garland out of the bin and tossing it dramatically over your shoulders like a scarf.

Spencer brushes his loose hair out of his face and nods. He may still be useless on crutches, but he could help... Kind of.

You empty the containers of the bin on the counter where Spencer’s sitting and he quickly grabs his mug to lift it up to avoid being knocked over from the avalanche of orange and black. You smile at him apologetically before trying to dig out your favorite decorations.

Spencer’s face is twisted in a look of frustration as he sits in the corner reading. He came in a while ago and besides his drink, he hasn’t spoken much to you.

Which isn’t a bad thing, tonight was one of the busier nights. It was mid-October, and the festivities had been nonstop. Tonight was vampire night, which upon entering the building Spencer was already grimacing. There was a special drink deal on the board hanging above the cafe for anyone buying a vampire related book. Twilight , Dracula , Carmilla , Interview with a Vampire, just pick a title it was an option with its own fun themed cafe drink that was absolutely red.

It wasn’t like you knew he had just finished working on a case that involved vampirism, but the odds weren’t in his favor for finding an escape from the most recent case. Halloween season had its ups and downs he supposed.

There was no way of explaining his slightly irritable mood. Spencer hadn’t mentioned his work to you. You never asked, and he didn’t feel like explaining that he spent most of his waking hours profiling serial killers. In the past it hasn’t made the best openers in conversation. It’s also nice to have this small corner of his life not be coated with unsubs, victims, and death. It’s just his favorite bookstore.

Spencer looked up to see you making more drinks, the cafe was popular tonight. Your chatting up another woman who’s laughing at the joke you told her. The other woman is holding a book that Spencer is positive is a vampire novel.

“And I have one raspberry mocha for a Carmilla lover!” your voice rang out and you handed over the drink to the customer.

“Come back Sunday for our movie night, we’re playing Beetlejuice !” you said and waved goodbye to the customer.

For eleven o'clock at night the shop was busy. Busting out drink after drink and ringing up books at the cafe register. It was your idea to do a deal with a themed book and drink combo, but you didn’t expect to still be busy into the night. You hadn’t even had a break in customers to say hello to your regulars.

For business, this was great, for your own mental health, you were struggling. You just needed it to slow down enough to catch your breath. You should have scheduled someone else on shift with you, but you weren’t about to call for help now. It was your mistake, and you'll live with it. You made a note to make sure someone is on shift with you tomorrow night for a different themed deal.

After another round of five more customers there is finally a break. You sighed leaning against the counter and took a grounding breath. You don’t move for a minute, just catch your breath before you look up and catch Spencer from his chair looking at you. You shot him a shaky smile that is supposed to be reassuring but actually looks like you’re about to cry. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he decides to get up and come over. The cafe was still bustling but no one was sitting at the counter. Spencer shoves his book into his bag, grabs his crutches and hobbles to the counter.

“Busy night?” he asked, already knowing the answer but trying to see how you were doing.

Your eyes look up into his hazel ones and you look worn. “In my head, the whole vampire boom and Halloween themed event seemed like a good idea. For profit, absolutely. For my sanity? I never wanna see another Twilight shirt or raspberry flavored item for a while.” you said in a groan placing your head against the counter.

“What is Twilight ?” Spencer asked.

He doesn’t know anything except that it has something to do with vampires and its popular enough that the victims of the latest case were also obsessed with it. He knows it’s a book, but besides that, he has no clue.

You slowly move to look up and blink at him for a moment, trying to deduce if he’s being serious or not. “Very funny Spencer, I know you’re not asking what the pop culture phenomenon Twilight franchise is.” you replied with a laugh.

After a moment of looking at Spencer’s confused face you realize he was in fact, unaware. Your eyes widen.

“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously don’t know? I mean it’s like everywhere. The second movie is coming out in less than a month. I don’t think I’ve sold so many copies of a book in my life. I can’t keep New Moon on the shelves.” you said almost exasperatedly, but the smile on your face gave it away. If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d think you were getting a kick out of it. He knows by now you won’t make fun of him; you're elated for a completely different reason.

“I just know it’s popular and about vampires.” He replied with a shrug.

“Oh my god, I get to explain Twilight to you.” your face splits into a massive grin, your energy returning quickly.

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, “I thought you were over hearing Twilight ?”

“No, no, no, no! This is totally different!” you're almost vibrating with excitement. “I’ve read all the books, I’m gonna let you borrow my copy next time you’re in! Actually, I’ll give you the first two since you read so fast!” her words are running together in a run on sentence she’s talking too fast. Your accent came through stronger than ever with your eagerness.

He doesn’t have it in him to turn you down, you're just so thrilled. Spencer just finds himself too caught up in your joy to tell you he had no interest in the book series. He finds himself agreeing to borrow your copies.

“I can buy them if you need me too. I don’t want to take your copies unless, you’re sure.” He offers.

You shake your head, “I can’t keep them on the shelves long enough for you to buy them. Just go ahead and take my copies.” You move to make Spencer a drink that isn’t one of the red blood themed drinks on the menu. “It’s not a big deal. I do have a lot of sticky notes in there though, my friends and I read it for a book club night.”

He sits up a little straighter, suddenly becoming more interested in reading these books. Not because of their pop culture relevance but because he could read your commentary. There was something special about that, sharing a book with annotations.

“I’ll bring one too.” He finds himself offering before he can think.

Your face glows as you hand him a chai latte. “I’d love that! It’ll take me a bit longer to read than you will.” you joked lightly.

“It’ll be worth it; I haven’t had someone to talk to about books since my mom.” He said looking down at his drink, his eyes growing distant for a split second.

You open your mouth to ask but quickly shut it, biting the inside of your cheek to stop. You might be nosy, but you knew when to not pry. It was how Spencer seemed to be somewhere else in his mind, if only for a moment. It was enough to know that you had no business asking him to open a can of worms he maybe didn’t want to. Instead, you turn around to grab a set of fake vampire teeth to put in your mouth. They were small and awkward and not cute by any means, but if you could get him to smile, that was all you needed.

You patiently wait for Spencer to look back up at as you rest your head in your palm and keep your face neutral. The fake teeth are making your mouth uncomfortable, but you’ll survive.

When Spencer does look up and sees you dramatically batting your eyes at him and grinning madly with children’s plastic vampire teeth, he can’t control the bubbling laughter that takes over him. His shoulders shake with the full body movement, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Where did you get those?” he asked through his fit.

You turn to spit them out into the trash, your mouth disgustingly filled with drool from the uncomfortable teeth. You cover your mouth and grab your own drink to flush out your mouth.

“They were a gimmick for the themed drinks tonight.” you finally replied. “Good for a quick joke not for actually wearing.” you said groaning.

“Pretty sure they are made for children’s mouths.” Spencer teased.

You shrug and sigh, “Well, being a vampire for Halloween is off the list of options this year. I don’t want to wear those for a whole night.”

“Probably better off.” He said trying to not immediately focus on Dante and his manager coercing a mentally ill young woman into committing vampire ritual like murders.

“Yeah, the whole thing with that celebrity kinda left a sour taste in my mouth.” you mentioned grimacing.

“Dante?” Spencer asked for clarification.

“Yeah, it was all over the tabloids,” you pointed to the magazine stand by the main register. “Got them in this morning.”

Spencer tries to not make a face as he sees them, “You read that?”

You let out a loud snort of a laugh. “No, no, no, oh god!” you stand up a little straighter and push your hair back. “I don’t trust a TMZ article as far as I can throw it, but those murders are real. Making it look like vampire bites...” you shudder, “that just skeeves me out.”

Spencer drinks from his mug but nods his head in agreement. He didn’t peg you to believe paparazzi reports. The magazine articles would be wrong anyway; they didn’t make the arrest until that afternoon. It was refreshing to see someone not believe everything they read.

“If vampires are off your list, what other costumes are you thinking about?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“No idea.” you groan out in irritation. “I usually do group costumes with my friends but, kind of hard when they live 600 miles away.”

“South?” he asked.

You snorted with a roll of your eyes, “Aw geez what gave it away?” you tease with an exaggerated drawl, making your accent thicker than normal.

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. “Very funny. Why move here?”

You tense up, avoiding his doe eyes. You look down biting your lip nervously. “It’s uh, a long story.” you said quietly.

Your body almost looks like it’s trying to shrink in on itself. Spencer doesn’t need to be a profiler to understand your body language. Whatever it is, you’re not ready to share it.

Instead, he tries to be reassuring that he’s not prying for information.

“I’m a transplant too. I grew up in Las Vegas.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’ve never been, is it really just the strip filled with casinos or are there nice pockets of peace and no tourists?” you asked.

You sigh, “It is a lot of tourists. There’s plenty of local places, ones that are only there if you’ve grown up knowing how to get to them.” he told you in a quiet voice, almost conspiratorially.

Your mouth splits into a smile that reaches your eyes, “So you’ll be my tour guide, right?”

Spencer’s face heats up from the suggestion and your giggles fill the room.

“I’m just teasing you,” you pat his arm reassuringly before going to grab a pastry from the front display.

“Come on and split this last cookie with me, I know I'm not going to sell it.” you said grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and warming it up before cutting it in half.

Spencer’s face is still tinted pink but the soft cookie and the way it melts when he bites into it and seeing you look happier than earlier, is enough for him. A small corner of peace in the world inside the Midnight Owl.

The one after Haley’s funeral

You’re sitting at the checkout counter reading the book Spencer most recently traded with you. It’s one of the Sherlock Homles books, which you had admittedly never read before. You've watched plenty of films and shows but reading it never really crossed your mind.

You joked about making Spencer watch The Great Mouse Detective when you finished so you could explain your first introduction to Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea what you were talking about, which you found charming in its own way. You loved introducing Spencer to the pop culture media that just filled your brain. Even if it was trashy. You had promised him The Great Mouse Detective was anything but trash. A childhood classic for sure.

You take your time reading the books Spencer lent. He started leaving small post-it notes for you in them with commentary and questions. It was like you two had your own language, and it was books. Even if he let you borrow a genre you had no interest in, you suddenly were invested. It was a way to get to know him, and in turn he took your books happily. Your annotations were way more scattered brained and filled with tiny commentary to yourself.

You saw Spencer reading one of the books you let him borrow and he laughed, loudly, in the middle of the store. You both flushed in embarrassment. It was a busy night, filled with university students studying late at night, so it was mostly silent besides the music that was playing through the speakers. You knew you had written something insulting about one of the characters in that sticky note. You were creative with your insults, and you had completely forgotten to take that out before giving it to him. Spencer teased you about your comments on Gale from The Hunger Games for the rest of that night.

You’re in the middle of The Hounds of Baskerville when the door opens. You look up to greet them but your face falls when you see Spencer, he looks terrible. You slowly close the book and move to walk toward him.

His eyes were hollow and the normal dark circles under his eyes seemed impossibly darker than usual. Spencer just seemed sad and defeated. You hadn’t seen this side of him and all you wanted to do was press your thumb to his forehead and smooth out the furrow of his brow. To get him to relax, if only for a moment.

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently walking toward him. You reach out to rub his arms affectionately, “What happened?”

Your voice is soft and sweet, the way you said honey with your southern drawl feels like a hug. Spencer just needed a minute. One second of peace. The image of Haley’s body unmoving with blood still fresh behind his eyes.

“It’s been a long week.” His voice comes out a little rough. He’s haggard from the flight from Nashville and he really didn’t want to go home.

The only comforting place he could think of immediately was the Midnight Owl, of you. Your warm voice and comforting drinks were the only things he could stand to be around.

Your face softens at his words, and you tilt your head, “Do you need a hug?” you asked softly.

There’s a shaky sigh that escapes Spencer’s mouth and he just nods his head, unable to form the words.

You pull him into your embrace gently, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. You rub soothing circles into his back and Spencer holds onto your waist. Your body radiates heat and it's comforting as he shoves his face into your shoulder. You smell like vanilla, cloves, and parchment paper and his whole body relaxes into you. You hold onto him until Spencer pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he was a burden. The store was empty anyway, it's been a slow night.

He takes a deep breath before peeling himself off. He moves his hands to hold your arms so he’s supporting himself. Your eyes soften as you look him over, her hand coming up to cup his face.

“You don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You whisper softly.

Spencer relaxes against your touch and doesn’t say much, just hums in response. He eventually finds his words, “My friends wife died recently, and it just, it was a shock.”

He doesn’t want to get into how Haley died. That his job makes him and his coworkers targets. The people they love. George Foyet died at Hotch’s hands for killing Haley and attempting to kill Jack. Spencer watched Hotch’s face crumble, fall and lose what he loved the most. He knew Hotch didn’t want to divorce Haley, he loved her and his son with his whole heart.

That love had cost him Haley’s life.

“Oh hun,” your voice brings him back, “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m just processing it.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you’re allowed to process and grieve, especially if you knew her.” you tell him firmly. “C’mon, go sit down and I’m gonna make a delicious warm drink and we can just relax alright?”

Spencer gives a tiny, tight smile and lets you grab his hand to pull him to one of the nicer chairs. He sets his cane against the arm rest and is floored by how easy everything is with you.

You don’t push or pry for information, let him ramble, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s had a real friend outside of the BAU in a long time, much less someone his age. As much as he loves his team, there are times where they don’t understand him. It’s a lot easier to be himself with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s doing most of his days, and he could argue with himself that you don’t know him. Almost 90% of his life is the BAU, and who is he if he isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI agent in the Behavioral Analyst Unit? A small part of him hopes he could be the person he becomes when he enters the Midnight Owl.

He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice you walking over with two steaming mugs.

“Here, it’s just tea but I think you need a relaxing drink. No caffeine.” you said with a sweet tone looking him over.

You sit on the arm rest of the chair cradling your own mug. “Can I try something?” you ask him.

Spencer drinks from his mug, but he mutters an agreement under his breath.

“Lean back fully in the chair.” you instructed.

He does as he’s told, he lowers his hands to his lap, mug still warmly pressed into his hands. Spencer isn’t sure what you’re trying to do until your hands are running through his hair, feather light. You’re not massaging his scalp, just the lightest of touches as you card your fingers through his long hair. Spencer’s eyes close and he almost moans from how the tension leaves his body immediately.

You let out a tiny snort but continue the motions.

“My momma used to do this when I was little.” you whisper to him, keeping a low voice.

“I would be asleep in an instant.” you emphasized with a quiet snap of your fingers.

Spencer’s eyes flutter open to look up at you, his big doe eyes looking up to see your soft features be highlighted in the warm glow of the lamps. You look down at him and tilt your head.

“I might pass out like this.” he murmured in a low voice.

“You can if you want. Promise I won’t let anyone bother you... not that anyone’s coming in anytime soon.” You drawl out looking around at the empty shop.

“Just a quick nap, twenty minutes.” he told you, voice already fading and his eyes growing heavy.

You don’t respond to him, just continue stroking his hair until he falls asleep. He felt the warm mug leave his hands and he heard ceramic clank onto the wooded side table next to him.

You watch Spencer sleep, giving him much longer than twenty minutes. His dark circles told enough; he needed this nap more than he was letting on. It takes less than five minutes for Spencer to pass out. His body relaxed into the chair with all tension leaving his body. You slow down your movements until you feel safe enough to stop. His small snore a sign he was asleep.

You moved to stand and went back to your duties, which wasn’t anything more than inventory tonight. Mondays were always slow.

You moved about the bookshop, filing away books, crossing off things on your checklist, and beside the few customers that came in for less than twenty minutes each, the night was quiet. Enough so that you let Spencer sleep much longer than twenty minutes.

Spencer sleeps peacefully for most of the night. You check on him occasionally, and besides the few snores, he’s sound asleep.

Around four in the morning he stirs awake, blinking blearily and looks around the store. You hear him and poke your head out from behind a shelf.

“Good morning sunshine!” you teased in a chipper tone.

Spencer looks at you confused before looking down at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone not accusing, just confused.

You shrug and make your way over to him, “You looked like you needed the sleep.”

You gently reach your hand up to smooth the furrow of his brow. “You’ll die young from all that stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.” You tell him softly. The way you’re gently touching his forehead is like you’re trying to erase the stress and pressure.

Spencer sighs into the light touch, “For sleeping on a chair, it was pretty peaceful.” he murmurs.

You snort in amusement. “Well, at least I know they’re comfy.”

“I sleep on planes frequently, so this is much better.” he said.

“Travel a lot for work?” you asked.

Spencer just nods. Not wanting to explore too deep into his job. The job that was leaving him sleepless most nights.

“Do you feel any better?” you ask quietly.

He nods solemnly. “Better than when I arrived.” he said with a shrug.

You frown but don’t press, you push his hair back again giving him a reassuring smile.

“I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk. Promise.” You hold out your pinky finger in the childish gesture of a pinky promise.

Spencer finds himself smiling, finding it charming. Regardless of his problem with germs, it doesn’t feel so intense with you. You’re not a stranger anymore. He hooks his pinky with yours.

“Not now.” He whispers. “But someday...”

“Someday.” you reaffirm.

The one about family

Spencer’s surprised to see that you’re not working one random night in November. He knows that, of course, You can’t possibly be working every single night he comes in. It just throws him off when he doesn’t see you immediately. The sunshine woman behind the bar making him a new sickly-sweet coffee to try. You’ve only ever missed one day max two, so he doesn’t think much of it. Just a blip on his night.

One night without you suddenly turns into half a week. Every day Spencer walks in and it’s not your bright bubbly voice greeting him. It’s one of the handful of people who work the late-night shift. They aren’t strangers, Spencer’s ran into a couple of them occasionally. So, when Spencer comes into the bookstore to see, yet again, Robert, manning the front desk lazily flipping through a magazine, his mild frustration turns to worry. You've been gone for four days and none of your coworkers seem to know why.

What if you’re sick? What if something happened to you? Did you take a vacation? What if you’re in danger?

The thoughts consume Spencer so much he almost calls Garcia to track you down. Or at least give him your address to check on you. He pulls himself together and realizes that it would be a bad idea and an invasion of your privacy. He’ll just have to wait it out.

Spencer does wait, mostly because he’s forced too. The BAU never truly stops working.

When he finally sees you again it’s near the tail end of November and way too close to Thanksgiving for his liking. He feels like you've been gone for ages, but it’s only been two weeks. The door chimes behind him as he walks in, he’s expecting to see your eyes light up with a smile on your flushed pink cheeks. The way you’ve always greeted him.

Instead, he sees a side of you that he’s not used to at all. You look tired, exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes could compete against his natural ones. You’re wearing glasses which he’s never seen on you before. Her hair is haphazardly tied up, and You're in a large well-worn sweater that reads, ‘Read Banned Books’. He doesn’t think you've slept much, if at all, since he last saw you.

You look like a zombie, barely functioning.

You don’t even register Spencer enter; you're standing at the checkout counter finishing a transaction with a customer. You're swaying on your feet the whole time.

Spencer lets you finish the interaction before coming over to the counter, concern clear on his face.

“Y/N?” He says your name softly as he approaches.

Your eyes fly up to him and widen a little in surprise, your body reacts with a small flinch. “Oh god Spencer!” You give a soft laugh, your hand coming up to clutch your chest, “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.” you try to calm yourself down.

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and Spencer can tell. It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not yourself. Her eyes are only half open, your hands shaking from what he can only assume is the obscene amount of caffeine you probably have in your system. Everything just seems muted, not the bright colors he used to see you framed in.

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve been gone for a while.” he prompts, trying to get something out of you. A clue to what might have happened. Anything.

You shake your head, “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” You said it a little too quickly.

Spencer doesn’t buy it, but he’s kept enough secrets to himself to know he probably shouldn’t go looking into friends’ private lives. Some things he knows he’d rather keep to himself... but seeing you like this, he wants to help.

You avoid his eyes and start to play with your hands on the counter. “I-” you open your mouth but promptly shut it again. You bite your cheek with a frown plastered on your face.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” you said quickly before turning to grab some books from behind the desk to busy yourself with.

You don't want to talk about or think about it. It’s been a long two weeks, and you just need some normalcy. Something that you know you can do and enjoy.

You feel Spencer’s eyes burning into you. You try to keep your usual high energy, you truly do. Everything has been so rough this month; you just need a break. The bookstore was your one solace. The Midnight Owl wasn’t just a job, it was your home. Your safe haven.

You didn’t want to bring your real life here, not when sometimes your only highlight is seeing Spencer and sharing books back and forth. If he starts asking about your life outside the four walls of your shop, you don’t know if you can hold yourself together. Not today.

“Y/N,” he opens his mouth trying to get your attention again.

“Really Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine!” you tell him, a short tone to your voice.

You spin on your heels to walk somewhere, anywhere, else. “You know I have your book actually, let me return it. I left some notes in there.” You make it five or six steps before you falter and sways again. Spencer reaches out to grab and steady you.

“Forget the book, you don’t look fine.” He makes you face him. “You look exhausted.” He chastises you.

You deflate immediately and let Spencer guide you to a chair. He gently sets you down and he pries the book out of your hand and places it on the side table.

“Sorry, you don’t have to take care of me.” you murmur feebly swatting him away. “I just...” You take a deep breath. “I had to take dad to the hospital on Tuesday and it’s just been downhill all week...” you admit timidly. You pushed your glasses up to your hairline and pressed the heels of your palm to your eyes.

“I haven’t gotten much sleep.” you admit.

“You’ve run yourself ragged.” Spencer lowers himself to be eye level with you. “Is he home now?” he asks gently.

“No, they’re keeping him one more night.” you said with a heavy sigh.

Your arms fell in between your knees, and you lean your head back exhausted. “It’s just been hard this past year...” your voice is small and lingers with sadness.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.

Spencer maybe doesn’t like talking about his hardships, but he’ll listen to yours if you let him. He wants to desperately ease your mind, see you smile.

You look up at him, eyes wide as you assess him. “I don’t want to put my problems on you Spencer.” you give a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.”

Spencer reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Talking about it doesn’t mean that you’re inconveniencing me. I'm just worried.”

You sigh, already feeling him chip away at you. You didn’t stand a chance against his big doe eyes looking at you like you were fragile.

You take a deep breath before answering him, “My dad has ALS, he was diagnosed a few years ago... I’ve been taking care of him.” you admit.

“Where we were, the doctors just weren’t cutting it. So, I did some research and of course there were stellar doctors in DC... plus my baby sister came here for university so I just thought... maybe it would be easier. On all of us.” The tone of your voice gives your worry away.

“Anyway, he just, he had an accident and fell down the other day. His legs are finally giving out and he’s being so stubborn about needing a wheelchair.” Your voice shakes and you close your eyes.

“It’s been a long week.” you finally admit looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

Spencer understands. He’s spent most of his life taking care of his mom because of her own illness. While your dad is suffering from something different, he understands. Probably more than you realize.

“I get it, I do.” he said. You go to retort, but he cuts you off. “I took care of my mom for a long time. She...” He pauses looking at you, debating for a moment on if he should tell you.

“My mom has schizophrenia, and I committed her when I was eighteen.” he tells you with a tight frown.

“It’s hard to take care of your parents, especially when it’s their job to take care of us.” He tells you sincerely.

You have tears pricking your eyes, “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, “I’m telling you this because I understand. I promise I do, it’s not easy.”

You take a shaky breath; your heart feels like it’s a thousand pounds. “Does it ever get easier?” you ask softly.

Spencer squeezes your hand, “No, it doesn’t. There are happy moments though. Moments where you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”

You sniffle and wipes your face, “Thanks, I uh, I needed that.” you said with a small smile.

It’s getting closer to Christmas. The bookstore is decorated and busier than ever. There’s a handful of special events but between people coming in to buy presents and university students staying all night to study for finals, you have your hands full.

There’s a second staff member working nights with you this month until the holiday break starts for the store. You and Josie were adamant about closing the bookstore between Christmas Eve and New Years. If someone needed a book that badly they could go to a big box store.

What you really don’t need right now is your baby sister coming to your place of work and harassing you about Christmas and your dad.

“Bridget, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now!” you hiss out at your younger sister. “You didn’t spend Thanksgiving with us and daddy really wants you to come home just for Christmas.” you chastised your sister with a frown.

You have a pause in customers for the moment, but you know that the large study group is coming in half an hour like they have been for the past week and half.

“That’s not fair Magpie!” your sister groans in frustration using your nickname to try and be sweet. “I made these plans months ago; Mark really wants me to spend Christmas with his family.”

You cross your arms and look at your sister sadly. “Birdie, we don’t know how much time we get with dad-” you start but is cut off.

Bridget’s face scrunches in disgust at her sister’s words and huffs exaggeratedly. “Good god Y/N! He’s not gonna die over the holidays, stop fucking guilt trippin’ me over every decision because it doesn’t revolve around dad!”

Bridget’s annoyed and you can tell, she always tries to skirt around her problems when she’s frustrated. She thinks you’re trying to back her into a corner.

“Birdie-”

“It’s Bri. I go by Bri here.” Her sister crosses her arms and looks at you in annoyance.

“Look, I know dad’s sick, I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were Bridget.” you said defensively.

She rolled her eyes, “I didn’t decide to pack everything up and move dad out to DC. Just because you’re closer doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life to take care of daddy.”

You bite your tongue. Trying to not fight with your sister, but your irritation rises in your throat. Burning words of resentment linger in your mind.

“Fine. Would you please just call him on Christmas and please come by after the New Year. He really misses you.” You try to plead with your sister.

Bridget just waves goodbye as she walks out the door, “Will do. See you next year Magpie.” she almost ran out the door.

You deflate, your shoulders dropping. You almost don’t hear Spencer walking up next to you holding a gift bag in his hands.

“I didn’t know your sister visited you.” he said.

You look up at him and smile at your favorite regular. Your friend. You think they’re allowed to call each other friends now. He already saw you cry and that was a big step.

You shake your head, “Yeah, we’re not as close as we used to be.” you mumble under your breath.

Spencer nods his head. He never had any siblings, but he can read your face well enough to know you’re not thrilled.

“Still close enough for nicknames, Magpie?” he asked, biting back a smile.

“Childhood nicknames, Birdie and Magpie. Cause we were birds of a feather.” You said looking down at your hands sadly.

“It’s fine.” you shrug it off and give a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You lean against the counter. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, changing the subject.

You’re pointing to the gift bag in his hands. You tilt your head curiously.

“Oh, this is,” he flushes for a split second rushing his words out. “This is for you. I know you’re closing for the holiday soon and I don’t know if I’ll have a last-minute work call or not so., I brought your Christmas present.” He fumbled through his words quickly, but he held out the small bag.

You light up immediately. Your eyes shimmer with excitement. “Aww, Spencer! This is so kind thank you!”

You bend down below the counter and grabs your own item, “I actually have your present too.” you said shyly, handing him a wrapped package.

Spencer is quiet as he gently takes the gift from you, a tiny smile on his face. He brushes his hair back out of his face as he looks at you softly.

“This is so kind thank you.”

Giddy giggles consume you, and you hold the gift bag. “Should we open them together or do you want to wait until Christmas?” you asked.

Spencer shakes his head, “No no, you can open it now.” He reassures you.

You smile, biting the inside of your cheek and open your present. Under the tissue paper is a sweater that’s twice your size and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You pull it out and it’s a purple crocheted sweater with a beautiful sun right in the middle. It reminds you of one of the tapestries from the late nineties that would have been in Practical Magic or something like that.

“Oh Spencer, this is perfect.” you say quietly holding it tightly to your chest. “Thank you so much, I love it.”

You pull off your cardigan and immediately shove the sweater on. You nestle yourself inside it and grins widely, “It matches your scarf!”

Spencer just takes in your joy and how you light up, and he’s happy he could make you feel better.

“Well go on open yours!” you said excitedly pushing your wrapped package toward him.

Spencer gently peels back the wrapping paper and uncovers a white box; he opens the box to find a ceramic mug. It's custom made, with some uneven texture. It’s glazed a speckled purple and wrapped around the bottom is a quote, “Some books are so familiar that reading them is being home again.” -L.M. Alcott

Spencer is quietly inspecting it, and you start explaining. You push your hair behind your ear, “I uh, I took a pottery class in my free time this past year. Since you’re here so much I thought you would like your own mug.” you said hesitantly.

Spencer’s eyes widen, “You, you made this? For me?” he asked in surprise.

You nod, looking down at the counter nervously.

Spencer makes his way around the counter and pulls you into a tight hug. “This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me.” he whispers to you.

You return the hug holding Spencer tightly. You press your face into his shoulder, and you feel infinitely better than how your night started.

When they pull apart you play with the edge of the new sweaters' sleeves, a small blush on your face. “Do you go visit your mama for holidays?” you asked him.

Spencer shakes his head, “Not all the time. My job doesn’t usually care if it’s a holiday or not.” he tells you.

You nod, “Well, I hope you get to this year Spencer. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

He takes a shaky breath and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try to see her soon.”

You nudge him lightly, trying to keep the tone light, “Want a fresh drink in your new mug?” you tease.

Spencer chuckles but nods his head. “I’d love that.”

“We’re about to test run if I’m actually good at pottery. So, fingers crossed it doesn’t leak.” you joke moving to the cafe counter at the back of the store.

Spencer watches you walk away, with a skip in your step like the first night he came to the Midnight Owl. The way you easily glide through the crowd and chatter with customers and giggling.

You shine bright like a star, like the sun.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #x reader

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strnilolover · 2 days ago

Text

NNN - chris sturniolo - long distances

You and Chris had been together for a little over a year, content with one another and the company each of you had to bring.

Before hand — you were good friends, best friends to be exact. Not with just him, but with his brothers too, and it was nice to know nothing really changed after putting a label on the two of you.

Chris and his brothers were already in their filming career when you had gotten together — making videos and posting them twice a week for their fan base that was already growing so large within a short amount of time.

Though, one day, while cuddled up with chris on your couch at your home — he broke the news to you.

He was moving to LA with Matt and Nick. Having already made enough money to afford a nice little place there. It was shocking to hear, and at first you were upset — upset with the fact you couldn’t see him everyday and you wouldn’t be around him when you needed him or wanted him.

But, the upset had been replaced with excitement over time. Thinking of all the possibilities for Chris and how amazing it was that he was able to do this with his brothers. And of all the stories you would be able to hear about his new life in a busy and bustling city.

When the day had finally come for him to move — it was spent with tears and hugs and promises to one another that everything would be okay.

And for the most part it was, you called every night — texted each other too many times through out the day and stayed connected. But, at some point things started to change. Chris grew more busy with work and with his clothing line he was starting, and the absence made you feel empty. Like he wasn’t even really there.

There were less calls, more messages being left on read or delivered — but Chris at least would tell you when he was busy and couldn’t talk, which you appreciated.

Eventually, everything began to weigh down on you. And you needed to tell him — needed to let him know how you were feeling. That you were having doubts.

Your room was quiet except for the faint hum of your laptop. Chris’ face filled the screen, his familiar features bathed in the soft light of his LA room. He looked tired, his curls messier than usual and his celtics hoodie hanging loosely on his frame. You tried to ignore the hollow ache in your chest as you smiled at him.

“How was your day?” you asked, forcing a casual tone as your eyes looked around your screen, taking in the view you’ve seen hundreds of times already.

Chris shrugged, leaning back against his chair. “Same as usual. Filmed with Nick and Matt, ran some errands. We tried this new sushi place for dinner. It was good, but, uh… not as good as Boston sushi.”

You let out a soft laugh, even though it stung a little. “Boston sushi is definitely better. How’s the apartment coming along?” you asked — a question that would slip here and there.

Chris shrugged slightly. “Fine, I guess. Still trying to figure out where to put everything. Matt thinks we need more stuff on the walls, but Nick keeps saying we don’t. It’s a whole thing.” He gave a faint smile, his voice lacking its usual warmth. “What about you? How was work?”

“Busy,” you said simply, picking at the edge of your blanket. “Came home, made dinner… I made too much again. I keep forgetting I’m just cooking for one now.” you admitted. Being so used to his presence all the time, you often made dinner for two people — it was still a hard adjustment.

Chris’ smile faltered, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

You shook your head quickly, brushing it off. “It’s not your fault. I just need to get used to it still — even if it’s been a little.”

The conversation then faded into silence, and for a moment, all you could hear was the faint rustle of Chris adjusting his laptop. He looked away, his jaw tense, and you felt the words building in your chest �� words you’d been too scared to say for weeks right on the tip of your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Chris,” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we… uhm - can we talk about us?” the words slipping past your lips felt like a burn on your own tongue.

His gaze snapped back to you, his expression guarded. “What about us?”

You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I just… I feel like things have been different lately. At first, we were doing so well — texting all the time, FaceTiming every night. But now… I don’t know. It feels like we’re drifting apart.”

Chris’s brows furrowed at your words, his shoulders visibly tensing. “I’ve noticed it too,” he admitted after a pause. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty. “You didn’t think I’d feel the same?”

“I don’t know,” he said, running a hand through his curls. “I didn’t want to say anything and make you think I was doubting us or something. And I’m not. I love you. But this…” He gestured vaguely, his hand moving between him and the screen. “This is hard. Harder than I thought it’d be.”

The crack in his voice made your heart ache, but you nodded, tears stinging the corner of your eyes. “It is hard. I miss you so much, Chris. Some nights, it’s all I can think about — how empty this place feels without you here. And then I start wondering… what if we can’t do this? What if it’s too much?”

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, his panic evident. “Wait, are you saying you want to—”

“No!” you interrupted quickly, shaking your head. “No — Chris, that’s not what I mean. I just… I don’t know how to fix this. And I hate feeling like we’re not as close as we used to be.”

Chris let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping. “I feel the same way,” he said quietly. “I hate that I can’t just drive over and see you when you’ve had a bad day. I hate that I can’t be there to hold you. And honestly… sometimes, I feel like I’m letting you down.”

“You’re not,” you said firmly, leaning closer to the screen. “Chris, you’re doing the best you can. We both are. But we need to be honest with each other if we’re going to make this work.”

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “You’re right. I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to make things worse, but… I guess that’s only made things harder. I’ve missed you so much, and it’s been killing me not to tell you how much I’ve been struggling with this.”

Tears now spilled down your cheeks, and you wiped them away quickly with your sleeve. “I’ve been struggling too. And I was scared to tell you because… what if it made you think I didn’t believe in us anymore? I do, Chris. I love you so much. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with all of this on my own.”

His expression softened, and he leaned closer to the camera, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to deal with it alone, okay? We’re in this together. And if that means being brutally honest about how much this sucks sometimes, then that’s what we’ll do.”

You laughed softly through your tears, nodding. “Deal. And… maybe we can try to plan our visits better. I need to see you, Chris. I think that’ll help a lot.” you whispered, feeling yourself ease up a little at the thought of him here — with you.

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Funny you should say that… I’ve been looking at flights to Boston. I was going to surprise you, but… maybe we need this sooner rather than later. I’ll come next month. No excuses.”

“Really?” you asked, your heart swelling with hope.

“Really,” he said, his smile growing. “I need to hold you again. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

A weight lifted from your chest, and you smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I’ll hold you to that,” you teased, your voice lighter.

Chris chuckled, the sound warming your heart. “I love you. And no matter how hard this gets, I’m not giving up on us. Ever.”

“I love you too,” you said softly. “And I promise… I’ll do everything I can to make this work too.”

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start. The rest of the night felt lighter — the ache in your chest still present but less. You both were more cheerful — joking around about random things and teasing him about how his hair was too messy — along with his room.

You smiled at your screen, watching as Chris did the same. His hand coming up to his lips and blowing you a kiss through the screen — and you blushed.

You’re just hoping that whatever was said tonight…was going to stick.

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notlongtolove · 2 days ago

Text

time present and time past

spencer tried to explain einstein’s theory of relativity once. and now, with spencer beside you in bed, you think you finally understand what he was on about. because time is relative. and if he doesn’t wake up, this moment will never end, and maybe you can slow down time itself.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst

content: situationship core. they argue. avoidant!-ish.

word count: 3.4k

note: i have a final in 3 days and thought now would be the perfect time to write and post my first fic. yay! anyways this is inspired by an old literature text i studied, einstein's theory of relativity and what not. a line: I’ll come to you before you call—Just to prove that I don’t come to you every time you call.

time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past. if all time is eternally present all time is unredeemable. - t.s. eliot

You've never been one for physics, the numbers, the theories, the science of it all. But that’s never stopped Spencer from launching into explanations like a rocket whenever the chance presents itself. You would nod along, a smile on your face though whatever he's saying might as well be in a foreign language.

He tried to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity once. Something about clocks, something about a kind of gravitational field.

"Think of it like I’m on the jet," he started, and if you try hard enough you can imagine him on the other end of the line gesturing with his hands in that animated way of his. "Now imagine if I run down the aisle—”

“Hotch would kill you,” you interrupted, biting back a grin as you tried to picture the sight.

“Just imagine it,” Spencer laughed.

“Okay, okay.”

“So, if you time me and I make it down the aisle in five seconds—”

“Highly unlikely, but sure.”

“Angel,” he warned, but there was no real bite in it. He waited for your giggles to subside before pressing on, “It takes me five seconds to get from one end of the plane to the other. Right?”

“If you say so...”

Spencer sighed, but soldiered on. “But for you, timing me, you’d also have to factor in the distance the jet travelled in those five seconds.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I do. I do.”

“Okay, so explain it.”

You paused, your lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Uh… You can run faster than a jet?”

Spencer groaned, but he was laughing too. “Time moves slower for those in the jet!” he said profoundly as though he was the one who had discovered the theory of relativity itself. “It’s fascinating really.”

“Ohhh” you sound, trying your best to feign understanding.

“You know what,” he said between laughs, “I’ll explain it when I’m back, I know you’re a visual learner.”

But he never did. And so you never understood it, not really. At least, you thought you didn’t—until now.

Not until he’s lying in your bed again, your sheets tangled around him like they’ve claimed him as their own.

Einstein says that time is relative. He says that the rate at which time passes depends on an observer's frame of reference.

The observer in this case—You.

And if one observer moves at the speed of light, time will slow down for them.

Spencer’s asleep beside you. His face is soft in the flickers of streetlight creeping through the blinds. They give you just enough visibility to watch the rise and fall of his chest and you wonder if he's dreaming. The sound of his breathing, steady, is the only thing keeping you tethered.

If you squint hard enough, there’s almost something domestic about the scene. You ignore the fact that this is the nth time you’ve done this because ignoring is easier. It’s easier to think about how he smells like his shampoo, and how his shirt is thrown haphazardly over your nightstand. A sight you missed more than you would admit. You think about reaching for it, but your hand stays where it is. You stay where you are—just watching, observing. Because Einstein said the rate at which time passes depends on the observer’s frame of reference. And if you stay still enough, maybe you can slow down time itself.

You like moments like these. The simplicity of it. You tell your friends the same thing when they ask, their voices thick with judgment, their eyes too knowing. “We don’t do anything” you insist to the room of raised eyebrows. “We’re just hanging out, you know, as friends” you say, as if saying it enough times will make it true.

“Just hanging out?” “Yup.”

“As friends?” “Yup.”

You know you’ve hit a new low when you have to pull the ‘hanging out’ card, but you take a sort of comfort in that fact. Because at least he’s not like those other guys, right? That’s your silver lining. That it’s not like that. He’s not like that. But in the quiet after, when his breathing is the only sound and you feel walls closing in you, you can't help but wonder which is worse: the thing that he is, or the thing you’re letting yourself become.

You reached out first this time. A small victory in the game you’ve been playing against yourself. There’s some semblance of control in it, you rationalize. If you’re bound to fall, tethered to this fate of always crawling back, at least let it be on your terms.

I’ll come to you before you call—Just to prove that I don’t come to you every time you call.

Come over. Made too much pasta. You texted. It’s an olive branch, a peace offering after a fight that had left you both frayed at the edges. A throw of the same old ball back to his side of the court where the game has dragged on far too long. Proof to him that you didn’t mean what you’d said, that you’re not done yet. That you’re still okay with this.

You can take it.

The fight had been about work—or at least, that’s how it started. He’d mentioned a new trainee in passing, his voice light, almost too casual, as he spooned rice out of the takeout box. “She’s new,” he said, with a shrug. “Eager, maybe too eager. Emily says she’s a bit of a people pleaser.”

She. You watched him carefully, trying to read between the lines.

“Oh?” you replied, keeping your voice as even as you could manage. Muscle memory. You’ve been here before. Just because Spencer wasn't one of those guys didn't mean you haven't had your fair share of them.

You smile as you meet his eyes asking all the right questions. Where’s she from? How’s she doing?

He glanced up at you, surprised by your interest. Light work you thought. “Somewhere out West, I think. She’s doing fine—rookie mistakes, you know. She had a bad day last week, though. Got rattled on a case. Garcia said Hotch was too hard on her.”

“Poor thing,” you murmured, “Hope she’s feeling better.”

“Garcia thought I… thought she was pretty,” he added laughing, the words tumbling out like an afterthought. Like the words don’t hold the weight that he knows it does.

Ah. There it is.

“Well, did you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, casual.

“She’s… alright,” he said, his tone too high, too quick. You didn’t miss the way he swallowed hard afterward.

“You’re avoiding the question,” you teased lightly, smiling even though your stomach was beginning to twist itself into knots.

“I’m not,” he countered, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. “You asked if she’s pretty, and I said she’s alright.”

“You’re totally avoiding it,” you said, laughing to keep the air light even as the knot pulled tighter. “Spence, you can just say it.”

“Say what?” he asked, eyes darting up to meet yours, then back to his plate.

“Just say it.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Admit that she’s pretty.”

“Okay.” He exhaled sharply, like the word had been dragged out of him. “I think she’s pretty.”

Oh.

There was something in the way he said that made your chest constrict.

I think she’s pretty.

He thinks she’s pretty. Not like it was some objective fact, not something calculated or reasoned. Not that she was statistically pretty, backed up by some symmetry or math behind it. He just… thought so—No, he thinks so. Thinks. Present tense. Meaning as he’s sitting here, across from you, eating the takeout you suspected he’d purposefully ordered too much of, he thinks she’s pretty.

You stared down at your plate, your appetite long gone. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of voices from the apartment next door.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice softer now, hesitant.

“I’m fine,” you replied too quickly, a smile pasted on your face as you looked up. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. Pass the soy sauce?” He passed it without another word, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you finally said, your voice sharper than you intended.

“I’m not,” Spencer replied, his tone defensive, though his eyes stayed trained on you. “You’re just… quiet. It’s not like you.”

You laughed, a hollow sound. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve run out of things to say.”

“Is this because I said she’s pretty?” he asked after a beat, his voice cautious, careful. “Because I didn’t want—”

“Spencer stop,” you interrupted, setting your fork down with a deliberate clink against your plate.

“I wasn’t going to say it. You asked me to say it.” he countered. “And the term pretty is subjective anyway, I think you’re pretty too.” You stayed silent, not meeting his eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know I care about you.”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it,” you shot back, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. You knew you were being petty. Acting like a child who didn’t get their way, grasping at anything to make the hurt feel justified. But you couldn’t help it.

“You just—you talk about work, about—god, about pretty girls and I—”, You stopped, swallowing hard, trying to tamp down the words you weren’t ready to say. “I feel like I’m just… here. Someone you call when you’re bored or when you’ve ordered too much food or when—”

“That’s not true,” he argued, his tone sharp now, defensive. “You’re twisting it—”

“Am I?” you snapped, your eyes finally meeting his. They were wide, startled, but it didn’t stop you. “Because I’m starting to think this is exactly what it is.”

“Well, what do you think this is?” he asked, his jaw tightening as his hands gripped the edge of the table.

“I don’t know,” you said bitterly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“We’ve talked about this,” Spencer said, his voice low and deliberate, each word cutting deeper than the last. “You said you wanted to be friends. Friends do this. Friends have dinner. Friends don’t force someone to admit someone else is pretty and then make it all—I don't know, all weird after.”

You winced, his phrasing like a mirror reflecting every misstep, every conversation where you’d backed yourself into this corner. He’s not wrong—you had said you wanted to be friends. But he didn’t know the weight behind that concession.

You’d thought back to those late-night conversations. The ones where he’d laid out his reasons like a clinical diagnosis: I don’t have the time. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not ready. So, you’d waited, convincing yourself that 'not now' meant 'not yet'. But eventually, you’d called it yourself, told him you should just be friends. A sad attempt at controlling a situation you were only ever destined to be hurt by. Because your own destruction should only ever be yours to wield—and you have to claim it before it can claim you.

He’d agreed it was better this way and you’d nodded along. Not because you believed it, but because it was a way to keep him in your life. A lifeline you clung to no matter how much it cut into your hands. But labels don’t erase what’s already happened. They don’t undo the stolen glances, the kisses in the quiet moments, the nights where you felt like the only two people in the world. They just build a fragile scaffold over it all, a flimsy way of holding up what’s already crumbling. Dating. On a break. Dating again. Friends. They pile on top of one another like a pathetic plaster over the hurt of what you wished things could be.

“Right,” you said finally, the word brittle and sharp as it escapes your lips. Your voice was hollow as your eyes met his, daring him to flinch. “So I guess that means I can’t expect anything from you, right? No decency, no consideration, no… nothing. Because we’re not in a relationship. We’ve never been in a relationship. Right?”

“Don’t,” Spencer said quietly, almost pleading now. “That’s not fair. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear what this is,” you said, standing from the table, your hands trembling as you gathered your things.

“Wait,” he said, standing too, “You don’t have to—”

“And by the way, Spence,” you cut him off, reaching into your bag and slamming the extra key he’d given you months ago onto the table. It clattered louder than you expected, echoing in the tense silence between you. “You can have this back. Because last I checked, friends don’t have keys to each other’s apartments.” You were acutely aware of the venom dripping in your voice but you pressed on, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And thanks for the flowers, but I don’t think friends go out of their way to buy a bouquet to make up for every friendly dinner they miss.” You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t look at his face, didn’t want to see whatever expression he was wearing.

But the satisfaction of that slam felt distant now. You think back fondly of the girl who had made her point so clear, so definitive. A line drawn in the sand. But winds blow and sand moves. That girl seems like a lifetime away from the girl you are now—the one lying here, beside him, again.

Spencer stirs beside you, a quiet sigh escaping his lips, and your breath hitches. You don’t want him to wake up. Because if—when he does, you know he’ll leave. But until then, in this moment of temporary serenity, you can pretend it doesn’t matter. You can pretend it’s okay. You can pretend you’re okay.

After all, Einstein said that time is relative. If he doesn’t wake up, the moment will never end, and maybe—just maybe—you can slow down time itself. You stare at the ceiling, letting the minutes tick past, each one stretching longer than the last.

Your thoughts drift back to what Spencer had said. Time moves slower for those in the jet.

Well, if your apartment is the sky, then this bed is the jet. In the quiet of this moment, his warmth beside you, the faint smell of him lingering on the pillow—this is where time bends. The rate at which time passes depends on the observer’s frame of reference. Maybe you can trick the universe, make these seconds stretch into hours. Maybe, if you stay still enough, think hard enough, the world outside won’t come knocking. You can freeze this bubble of peace.

But the illusion is tenuous, and reality looms like turbulence on the horizon. Time doesn’t truly stop, you know that, we’re all forced to move on along with it. They say time waits for no man—least of all a broken-hearted girl. The clock keeps ticking, indifferent to your longing. Sooner or later, he’ll wake, and the bubble will burst.

You wonder how long you can keep this up. You’d just been talking earlier tonight, telling each other what had happened in the days you hadn’t spoken since the argument. The words had come easier than you expected, though none of them seemed to solve anything. Spencer had fallen asleep mid-sentence, right as you were recounting something trivial about your day. His exhaustion was written all over his face—the heavy pull of his eyelids, the way his head tilted slightly toward you before finally giving in. You’d paused, watching him, and the words you were about to say dissolved into silence. You hadn’t wanted to wake him.

The old you would’ve been angry, the frustration bubbling up into sharp words and accusations. The fight was always the same, well-rehearsed and raw: You always do this. I’m sorry. When are you not? I missed you. Then why won’t you stay? You know I can’t. You can. I can’t. It was less of a conversation and more of a script. It had long since stopped being about what either of you said; it was about how you said it and where it always led. It would’ve ended in a fight, Spencer’s guilt countered by your hurt, spiralling into a familiar standoff with no real resolution.

But that was the old you. She’d had more fight in her, more fire to demand the things she felt she deserved. That fire has dimmed now, not extinguished, but banked low and steady, like you’ve learned to ration it. It’s not that the frustration has disappeared—it lingers, an ache beneath the surface—but you’ve stopped letting it boil over. Deep down, you know the real reason you didn’t start a fight tonight. It’s not just that you’re tired of fighting, though you are. It’s that you don’t know how much fight he still has in him. You don’t know if one more argument, one more crack in this fragile thing between you, will be the thing that makes him walk away for good.

And you’re not ready to find out.

So you let it slide. Not because you want to, but because you can. You’ve told yourself you’re strong enough to carry it—to make up the weight of his distance, his exhaustion, his inability to give you what you need. You let him sleep, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and you tell yourself it’s enough.

But Spencer shifts again, and this time his eyes flutter open. You freeze, your body tense, as if staying perfectly still might undo his wakefulness.

“Hey,” he murmurs groggily, his voice thick with sleep. His arm snakes over your waist, pulling you closer. For a brief, fleeting second, you allow yourself to relish the warmth of his touch, the illusion of intimacy.

Then his hand moves. He’s reaching—not for you, but for his watch on the bedside table.

He checks the time, squinting in the dim light filtering through the blinds. And you know. You know what’s coming next.

“I should go.” he says softly, his arm already retreating from where it had rested over your waist. He pushes himself up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

You sit up slightly, the sheets pooling around you, and force a small smile. “Okay” you murmur, the words feeling hollow even as they leave your lips.

Spencer’s already out of bed, reaching for his shirt and bag. The routine feels mechanical, practiced—a series of motions he’s repeated so many times it barely registers as something that could hurt you. He pulls the shirt over his head, adjusts the strap on his bag, and leans down to kiss your forehead. Friends, as if. You think.

It’s a fleeting gesture, a touch that’s supposed to mean something but feels more like a formality now. More perfunctory than tender.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” he says as he straightens, glancing at his watch like he’s late for something more important. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You shake your head silently, not trusting that your thoughts won’t betray you. Don’t wake up. Don’t leave me. Don’t go. Instead you settle for, “You were tired. You should get some rest.” The weight in your chest feels unbearable but you press your lips into a tight, strained smile anyways. A silent permission for him to leave.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Drive safe,” you say quietly as you walk him to the door.

“I’ll text you?” he offers, already halfway out.

“Okay,” you reply, the word barely audible.

And then he’s gone.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoes in the quiet of your apartment, final and unrelenting. You stand there for a moment, staring at the door as if willing it to open again, as if hoping he might turn around and come back. You know he won’t.

You turn and lean against the wall, the cool surface grounding you, a poor substitute for the warmth that was just beside you. The apartment feels colder, emptier now, the silence deafening. The clock on the wall ticks forward, oblivious to your grief, dragging you further away from the moment he was just here. You feel stuck in place, a reluctant passenger watching the world rush forward while you’re left behind, stranded.

You think back to what Einstein had said and you think he’s got it all wrong. How if one observer moves at the speed of light, time will slow down for them. Because no matter how tightly you try to hold on, the jet doesn’t slow down. It won’t wait for you. The jet will keep moving forward, unrelenting, and him along with it. With or without you.

And as you stand alone in the stillness he’s left behind, you realize it’s always been without you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst

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flemingsfreckles · 7 hours ago

Text

Replacement Pt.12

Read the rest of the series here!

Warnings: just some pg13 making out, nothing else.

WC: 3.3k

A/N: hi, I finally got this chapter finished, it’s been a struggle, like I’ve said I’ve been incredibly busy, I’m hoping to get some short blurbs written for yall so I can get back to consistently posting.

You didn’t hear much from Jessie the next day. A few texts here and there, but nothing like you were used to. You acknowledged each other at training, uncomfortable glances in each other's direction, followed by quick, training related conversations.

You hated it. Feeling like you had messed up, that you were to blame. You had spent the night feeling angry, at Jessie and at yourself. Her words had hurt, the way she nearly dismissed what you had seen as valuable. You loved the safety you felt when it was just the two of you in her apartment. You loved how it felt to finally feel comfortable exploring this side of your life. You loved being able to touch her, hold her hand, kiss her and not feel scared. You loved being able to open talk, no teammates or strangers potentially listening in. You figured she had felt the same, until she had called it all fake.

At the same time you were mad at her, you were mad at yourself. You knew it wasn’t fair to force Jessie into dates at home. She deserved someone who wanted to show her off, someone who was proud to be her girlfriend and showed it. You hadn’t given that to her. The longer you sat in bed thinking, the more you felt torn. You didn’t want to lose her, but you weren’t ready for everyone to know, at least not yet.

“Can I pick you up tonight? 9pm? I’ll have you home by midnight I promise.” Those were the first words you spoke to Jessie this morning that weren’t related to soccer. You had waited around in the locker room after training until all your teammates had left and just the two of you sat side by side in your cubbies.

“Kinda late don’t you think?” She questions quietly.

“Please?” You didn’t want to have to beg her, but you needed to talk, you needed this chance with her.

“Okay, sure.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up.” You say to her as she heads out of the locker room. A little hurt that she hadn’t waited to walk out with you, but you also couldn’t blame her too much. This morning had been tense and awkward, it was fair for her to run off.

“You’re not going to kill me up here are you?” Jessie tries to break the silence in the car. You just glance at her. “Sorry, obviously a joke.”

You and Jessie had been driving for about 25 minutes before you parked the car. You had traveled out of the city of Portland, into the woods, down a gravel road, to a small clearing you found last year. Away from the hussle and bussle of the city, it became a quiet place for you to think. It probably wasn’t at all what she was expecting, but you didn’t mind surprising her.

“9pm picnic?” Jessie says, puzzled look on her face as she followed you out of the car and watched you lay out the blanket you had brought.

“No, stargazing.” You point upward to the clear sky displaying tiny bright dots of light.

“Oh.” Jessie makes her way to the blanket, toeing off her shoes before sitting down. You follow, sitting beside her. Just like the car, the two of you start off in silence, waiting for the other to break it.

“Look, Jessie.” You start, waiting for her to turn to look at you, when her eyes meet yours you continue. “I know this isn’t completely public, but I’m trying. You asked to do something outside of our houses, this is what I’m comfortable with for now. I wanted to show you, I’m in this, I want this.”

“I know, I’m really sorry, for what I said, I should have never said those dates were fake, because they weren’t. Those evenings together meant something to me and they meant something to you. They weren’t fake and I’m so sorry I said they were. I’m in this too, I want this too. I just freaked out, thinking you’d keep me a secret forever, which now that I’ve reflected was stupid and I just panicked.”

“It was never my intention to keep you a secret forever. I just need a little bit more time. I’m still figuring this out.”

“Yeah, I know. You deserve to take the time you need, I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured in any way.” Her hand on your thigh gives you a gentle squeeze, sending tiny feelings of electricity up between your legs.

You respond with silence, not quite knowing where to take the conversation, but also just falling into a comfortable silence with the girl next to you. As you both lay, you lean your head over, resting it on her shoulder. The two of you lay in silence, admiring the display in the sky above you.

“This has been really nice.” Jessie says rolling over on her side to look at you. You keep your eyes trained on the sky, looking at the stars. “Thank you for showing me this.” She puts a kiss on your cheek before shifting to lay her head on your chest, one of her arms coming to wrap around your waist.

You feel your face rush with heat at the feeling of her kiss. You couldn’t believe something simple from her, like a peck on the cheek still gave you a tingling feeling in your stomach. “You know it’s been three months technically since our first date, and one month since we agreed to be girlfriends?”

“I did.” Jessie lets out a little sigh. “I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to make it a big deal or not, people are different, we hadn’t really done anything for month one or two, so I wasn’t sure if you maybe weren’t a monthly anniversary person or not.

“I wasn’t sure if you were, that’s why I haven’t been saying anything.”

“So we’ve just been not acknowledging it.” Jessie laughs softly as she speaks.

“Yeah I guess.” You shrug.

You feel Jessie shift on the blanket, she lifts her head momentarily.“I’ve had a really nice three months with you.”

“Me too babe.” You both share a smile before Jessie leans up toward you, her lips finding yours.

As you kiss you can almost feel a shift. One you can’t quite place but the way she kissed you, felt deeper, more passionate, her tongue running against yours felt dirtier, in a way that made you want more. Before you can get too carried away you find yourself pulling back. You wanted it, but not on a blanket, on a rock, in the middle of somewhat secluded woods.

“Um, so it’s almost eleven, I promised I’d have you home by midnight.”

“Right…” Jessie says. “I mean, we do have film and recovery tomorrow. Should probably get at least some sleep.” Both of you groan as you stand up, not wanting to leave the peaceful night you had created, but you knew you had to.

After the short drive home you found yourself parking your car outside of your own place, instead of Jessie’s. “Sorry, I’ll drop you off in a second, I forgot something for you, I meant to grab it earlier.”

“Of course, no problem.”

“Unless you wanted to come upstairs?” It was an innocent enough question you posed to Jessie, but both of you knew it likely had a less than innocent underlying meaning.

You had been more physical on your date tonight than most. Your hands had constantly been finding ways to touch Jessie. Your hand in hers, your hand on her thigh, hand on her back, your fingers running through her hair, and she was returning the favor, her hands running down your side as she had rested with her head on your chest.

“Yeah, if you want me to?”

“I do.” You nodded. “Plus, tomorrow is just film and recovery, if we’re a little sleepy, it’ll be alright.” You end the sentence with a slight smirk on your face. The two of you made quick work of getting out of your car and she followed you up to your building.

You initiated it. The second the two of you made it through the door, your lips found Jessie’s, kissing her hard, not wasting any time before you let your tongue slide against her lips. Hands on her hips you urge her to move backward in the direction of your bedroom.

You poured years of self hatred and denial into the kiss, you were finally getting what you had always wanted deep down. The feelings you had suppressed for years poured out as the two of you made your way into the bedroom.

You reach the bed, finally breaking your kiss and you climb onto it as Jessie stands at the side, watching you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Not having to think twice you reassure her with an enthusiastic nod, it felt right, tonight was the night. You had no idea what you were doing, but excitement filled your stomach.

“Okay, just tell me if you change your mind.” Jessie says as she climbs onto the bed next to you, situating herself between your thighs.

Leaning down, she covers your body with her own, her lips making their way back to yours and the two of you spend time kissing. You slowly become used to the feeling of her body on yours, it's new, but you liked it, your hands hold her sides as her own hold her above you. Every slight shift of her weight you can feel, the longer you kiss her the more restless you become. You can feel the way her hips softly rock against yours. For a moment you’re in heaven.

You can feel your head start to spin as she kisses the side of your neck. The feeling you're experiencing is one you’re unable to put into words, a mix of uncertainty and excitement fill your system. Feeling bold in your movements you let your hands pick at the edges of Jessie’s shirt, your fingers just barely touching her bare skin underneath. She sits back, breaking away her lips from your skin and you watch as she puts her arms up.

“Go ahead.” She nods with a smile down to you and you slowly pull the shirt up and over her head. You let your eyes trail down her body, pausing a little too long at her chest, still covered in a sports bra. It was a view you had seen hundreds of times in the locker room but this was different. This wasn’t seeing her change into her kit for a game, this wasn’t her changing after practice. She was undressing for you. That made it different.

You’re enjoying the attention she’s giving to your neck and lips, until her hands find their way to the hem of your shirt and you feel her begin to gently pull on it. She doesn’t quite make a move to take it off of you yet, but you know that’s what she’s teasing at, her fingers creeping further under your shirt. That’s when your stomach feels like a sinking rock, it finally sets in what the two of you were doing. She was going to be naked, you were going to be naked. She’d be seeing every inch of you. You hadn’t done anything like this before, before Jessie you’d hardly made out with anyone.

As her fingertips graze the band of your bra the feeling in your stomach grows and for a moment you’re worried you’ll be sick. “Hang on Jess.” You’re able to whisper out and you almost regret it as you feel her lips pull away from your sensitive skin.

“Are you okay?” Jessie pulls back looking at your face, her fingers still touching under your shirt.

“Uh.” You try to find your voice, the words to tell her. Feeling frozen you just look at her. When she moves her fingers slightly you jump under her touch. Jessie now looks concerned as she looks down at you. You feel like you could cry in the moment, the lump in your throat starting to feel impossible to swallow.

“We can stop.” Jessie offers sweetly.

“No Jess, it's fine.” You quickly find the words trying to convince her and yourself that you’re okay. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you mean that.” Jessie stays still, her hands still resting on either side of your abdomen, you hope she can’t feel how uneven your breathing is, or just how hard your heart is beating. “I can tell you’re nervous, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You shouldn’t be embarrassed, but you were. Tucking your head down to avoid her eyes, you can feel them burning into the crown of your head. The heat rising on your cheeks makes this feel even more embarrassing. “I’ve just, I’ve never, and I don’t, I mean, I’m just not sure.” You manage to mumble out.

Jessie doesn’t say anything initially, but you feel her fingers slide out from under your shirt, resting on your thighs that were still wrapped around her waist. “Hey, it’s okay.” She begins rubbing slow strokes up and down your shorts, comforting you. Her right hand leaves your thigh and finds your own hand, gently interlacing your fingers.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks slightly and you can feel the tears welling up, blinking hard a couple escape and roll down your cheek. “I thought I was ready.”

“It’s okay, look at me.” Jessie politely requests. You turn your head, giving her a quick glance before shying away again. “Please,” it’s a gentle ask and you do as she says, making eye contact with her for just a moment before your eyes fall to your lap again, “I don't care, I mean, I do obviously, I care about you. I just mean, if you’re ever not ready, not comfortable, we’re not going to do anything.”

“I want to, I promise, I want to have sex with you, just, I don’t know, it’s still all new.” You couldn’t quite put into words the feelings you were having, uneasy, anxious, and yet excited, all flooding your system making you feel unwell.

“That’s okay.” Jessie swings her legs over yours, sitting down on the bed next to you, she reaches for her own previously discarded shirt pulling it over her head quickly before returning her focus to you. “You don't need a reason, and it's also okay to just not be ready.”

You just nod. You stay staring ahead, where Jessie used to sit, now your eyes fell across the room on the empty wall. An unsettling feeling still in your stomach, you just wanted it to go away. Your brain felt like it was ready to explode and yet it was silent at the same time, having no idea how to process the emotions you went through.

You’re not sure how long it’s been when Jessie speaks again. “Do you want me to go? I can leave if you need some space, Or I can stay, it’s your choice, whatever will make you comfortable.”

You hardly had to think before you knew the answer “Stay?”

“Of course.” Jessie says, you can almost feel her relax into the bed slightly. She moves around, covering herself with the throw blanket that rested on your bed.

“You’re not mad?” Finally having the courage to speak, you ask, slightly terrified of what the answer might be.

“Why would I be mad?” She turns looking at you with a hint of sadness in her expression.

“I don’t know. I mean I started it, I made it seem like we were going to, ya know.” Your hands play with the blanket.

“I’ll never be mad at you for saying no, no one should ever get mad at you for that.” Her hand finds yours, encouraging you to stop fidgeting with the blanket. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay.” You turn, swinging your legs off the bed. “I’m going to get ready for bed, I have an extra toothbrush if you still want to spend the night.”

“Yeah, only if you’re sure?”

“I am, feel free to grab clothes from my dresser, if you wanted something besides what you’ve got on.” You point over where your dresser was against the wall. Jessie nods then moves toward the dresser opening a few drawers before finding your t-shirts. She looks through a few and then holds one up. M

“Cool if I take this one?” She holds it up to you. You nod before heading into the bathroom. While you’re rummaging through your closet to find the packaged toothbrush for Jessie she joins you, your shirt now across her chest and one of your favorite pairs of sweats on her legs. You can’t help but feel your stomach flutter at the sight of her in your clothes.

“Here ya go.” You hand her the toothbrush and she walks to your sink. “I’m going to go change, I’ll be right back.” Quickly throwing on sweatpants and a shirt of your own you return to the bathroom, washing your face and brushing your teeth before heading back toward your bed.

Jessie is standing at the foot of it, looking at you. “Do you have a side preference?” You shake your head before moving to the closest side of the bed, lifting the covers and beginning to climb in, you reach over setting an alarm for the morning. Jessie gets the idea and moves to the other side, putting her phone on the bedside table and climbing in as well.

You’d never slept next to anyone in a romantic way. Sure you’d shared beds with teammates before but never a teammate that you also kissed, and hugged, and lov-, really liked. You feel your face heating up at the near confession that just happened in your brain.

Despite the darkness of your room, Jessie somehow could see right through you. “Just lay how you normally would, pretend I’m not here.” Following her instructions you roll off your back and onto your side, facing away from Jessie. “There ya go.” Staring at the rest of your bedroom you can’t see, but feel the bed shift as Jessie moves around. “Is it okay if I lay behind you?”

“Yeah go ahead.” As you give her permission, Jessie moves and you suddenly feel her legs against yours before her chest is against your back.

“Can I put my arm around you?” Instead of verbally answering, you reach an arm of your own back, finding Jessie’s wrist and pulling her forward so her arm draped across your middle. “You comfortable?” She checked in with you.

“Yeah, I’m good.” That was mostly the truth, you were more comfortable than before, and Jessie’s body against yours was a welcomed warmth, but that didn’t mean it calmed your mind fully. Your mind was still thinking about how it had felt to have Jessie on top of you, your legs wrapped around her waist as she ever so slightly had rolled her hips, how it felt for her hands to be under your shirt, how her lips felt on your neck, and while you had loved all those things, you couldn’t stop thinking about how embarrassed you felt.

Here you were, an adult, still terrified of physical intimacy. You wanted it, you just couldn’t. It made it all too real. “I’m sorry.” It’s a weak apology from you that has Jessie immediately shushing in your ear.

She places a kiss to your shoulder and tightens her grip on your waist. “Go to sleep babe, nothing to be sorry for.”

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

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highlynerdy · 18 hours ago

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"Wen Xiao had supplied a surprising range of documentation. Some of it was rather florid poetry with a lot of barely comprehensible metaphors. Some of it was anatomical illustrations. Some manuscripts purported to be accurate historical accounts, and several were straight-up pornography with no pretence to literary style."

a fanARTifact book based on this brilliant fic by @achray1

My first fanARTifact in a cdrama fandom and I'm in love with it. It came together far easier than most of my projects do. As always, see pics and read more below.

So, I have always seen these accordion style books in cdramas, usually covered in book cloth and often given to the Emperor, but it wasn't until I watching Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty, that I saw these gorgeous wooden ones and lost my actual mind. I swooned and immediately saved them in my For Future Reference Folder of Doom.

It's not a surprise that I have been absolutely OBSESSED with Fangs of Fortune for the last few weeks (sorry non cdrama friends) and reading achray's amazing story fueled me to finally give this a try. It wasn't until I was writing this post and re-reading the fic that I realized she said scrolls and I should have tried making a scrolllllllll, aiya. There's always next time.

My wonderful husband - always one to encourage my fannish behavior - kindly took time out of his day yesterday to cut, plane, sand, and round these covers out of a piece of walnut he had lying around. He made them bigger originally and I thought they should be trimmed down a bit. I admit he was right and I should have left them larger. Ah well, next time. As per usual with these projects, I did do the research to check if walnut trees are native, or at least grow in China, and thankfully they do so moving right along.

The ones in the picture above were clearly stained and likely shellac-ed, but I only oiled mine (again with walnut oil), and pressed them over night to soak up any extra. Just look at the difference after they'd been oiled holy hell!

I experimented with quite a few ideas for attaching the text: vinyl, carving it out (no. omg. no. Carving walnut is a nightmare. I know that now), gold foiling. But I finally landed on calligraphy on paper and then adhering it on the cover like the reference image.

I went back and forth and round and round trying to decide what the cover should say. My initial thought was to translate Achray's entire fic title but that ended up being way, way too much text. So after talking with a discord friend and a lot of thought, we landed on "妖性爱习俗", which *should* translate to "Demon Sex Practices/Customs" or "The Practice of Demonic Sex" which comes from this excerpt in the fic:

"She shook herself, and stood up, mentally running through a list of all the texts— literary, historical, and medical— that she thought might or did describe demon sexual practices."

To do the text, I input the characters into a Chinese Calligraphy generator to use as reference. I don't own a brush capable of those gorgeous points, so I drew out the shapes and the followed the reference to fill them in. I did this a few times because I first made it way, waaaaay too big for the cover. I unfortunately decide to use a water based ink which, spoiler alert, will come back to bite me in the ass later.

See that bleeding. Yeah. That's my poor choice of a non waterproof ink, very thin calligraphy paper, and wheat paste asthe glue. Which I somehow didn't notice when I was doing the test on my extra board.

I decided to try out making wheat paste for the first time with this project and while I really did love the ability to remove and move around the piece you're gluing, it did not like to be stuck to the lightly oiled piece of wood so I decided after I redid the calligraphy on slightly thicker watercolor paper WITH waterproof ink, I would just stick with the tried and true PVA glue.

Lovely folks helped me decide between upper right hand corner or center placement and I'm really happy with the decision.

The inside is a torn down to size piece of an 22 x 30 Arches cold press 90lb watercolor paper, because with all my fanARTifact projects, especially the books, I like them to be usable objects in the end. I was SO fucking careful with my measuring and scoring and folding with this project y'all and I think I deserve a cookie.

I only used one piece folded up because I wanted the book to be able to remain flat/closed when it's not being used, but I think when I try this again, I will maybe try two pieces? Who knows. Certainly not me.

After all the stress of the calligraphy and the glue experiments gone wrong, it was finally assembled and put in my press with copious amounts of wax paper to protect everything.

In conclusion, this was a hell of a fun project and maybe the fastest I've ever seen a fanARTifact come together from start to finish. But I suppose one of the good things about learning all these new skills from each one of these projects will just make them come together easier (???) each time. I would love to get a nice calligraphy brush, some Xuan paper, and some ink and an inkstone to try a project like this again in the future.

I also want to try a scroll (which this should have been), stab binding, AND dragon scale binding. But, ya know, one step at a time yadda yadda.

Thank you, @achray1 for writing such wonderful, inspiring fics. And as always, if you made it to the end of my long ass posts, you deserve a cookie. 💛

#fanARTifact #fanARTifacts #fangs of fortune #大梦归离 #fanbinding #bookbinding #the story of mystics #cdrama #highlynerdy makes #zhou yichen #zhao yuanzhou #li lun #handmade books #the zyc/zyz/ll ship has eaten my brain #though there are so many god tier ships in this show #and i say this was fast #but in reality is still looks probably 12 hours total to do from start to finish #it just seemed fast because my adhd ass was hyperfocused on it so hard the last two days #also! if i got the mandarin really wrong then please tell me!

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drakorn · 18 hours ago

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Rewriting Veilguard Part 2 - The Shadow Dragons

Rewriting Veilguard Part 1 - The World State

Disclaimer: I don't hate the game, I actually think it's quite great given the development hell Bioware went through in those 10 years. This is more of a hypothetical universe where there was less of that behind the scenes drama. Just a fun writing exercise.

Writing an Origin Story Mission for the Shadow Dragons

Now that we have dealt with our World State, it’s time to pick Rook’s background. When I first learned that there would be six factions to choose from, I was honestly very ecstatic. You’re telling me we’re getting six different origin stories for Rook? Did BioWare finally listen to the fans’ wish to get one more game with DAO-style prologue missions before the big main plot begins? Then I learned that six of the companions you meet would represent one of those respective factions, and I was like “Amazing, so you will definitely have one party member with whom you can at least align interests and goals from the start.”

What we ended up getting was…sort of something in the middle. Your backstory is brought up and you get quite a lot of unique dialogue regarding your faction. If you’re a Shadow Dragon, there’s a lot of Minrathous dialogue tailored to you specifically. If you’re a Grey Warden, you’re having an absolute field day whenever the Blight is involved, which is…a huge chunk of the game.

But there was…something missing for me. You see, when we start the game, we’re immediately thrown into this epic mission where Rook, Varric, and Harding find Neve and race to stop Solas. It feels very much like we’re starting somewhere in the middle rather than at the beginning. And that, in my humble opinion, is due to the lack of a unique origin story that you can actually play through. So, here’s what the next few parts of this hypothetical rewrite of Veilguard will focus on: creating six unique playable origin stories that would very much be doable without the vampiric leech known as “development hell” hovering over you. This post will focus solely on the Shadow Dragon origin story, so stay tuned for the others. I’m aware of how long it might take between posts, but I want to make sure I do this the right way.

Creating Rook

We start the game, which immediately kicks off Varric’s opening narration. But instead of Varric talking about Solas immediately, we’re gonna set the stage for the general state of Northern Thedas: with the South experiencing a few years of relative peace, the North is a wholly different story: Tevinter and the Qunari have engaged in a bloody and brutal all-out war, the Grey Wardens are growing more reclusive, strange reality warping occurs in Arlathan Forest, a part of the Antaam broke off and is now occupying Antiva and Rivain, strange whispers arise from the Grand Necropolis, basically, everything is in chaos. But Varric is certain that one person is the key to all this. Cue the distant howling of a wolf and six red eyes. Cut to black.

Now we get to customise Rook and choose our faction. As the title of this post suggests, we’re taking the Shadow Dragon route. The backstory text, however, is going to be different to the one we get in DAV. You see, when reading through those backstories, I got the feeling that all of them sounded like outlines for what could have been the origin story quest. I am actually 100% confident that BioWare planned on including prologue missions at one point but had to scrap them due to development hell reasons. And all of the six summaries essentially boil down to “you upset some higher authority and now your faction wants you out of the spotlight.” All the choices regarding Rook’s personality have already been made for us. Playing this actual backstory allows us to roleplay in a roleplaying game, which…shocking, I know, but here me out. Instead, the origin text we get when we click on the Shadow Dragons is simply going to be:

“You are a Shadow Dragon. This underground resistance opposes corrupt rulers and slavery in Tevinter. Coming from all walks of life, they are determined to bring justice to the people. As a member of House Mercar, a renowned Soporati family renowned on the battlefield against the Antaam, you have much influence to bring, and much to lose.”

That’s just the small little snippet we see when hovering over the option. But that’s all we’re gonna get for now. There is no mention yet of Rook’s personality as we’ll get to shape it ourselves a little bit. So, we customise our Rook, finalise our massive World State, and click on the play button at last.

Varric’s narration continues, just like in DAV, but this time, he’s going to give us our chosen faction’s backstory. We get a recap on how Dorian and Maevaris founded the Lucerni shortly after the war with Corypheus and how much of a ray of hope this group was in the twisted and corrupt society of the Tevinter Imperium. But then, some of the more powerful magisters began to heavily push against them, eventually leading to Maevaris being framed for treason and losing her seat in the Magisterium. She took all the blame on herself so that Dorian would be able to retain a spotless reputation and continue their work on the great political stage. Maevaris took the remaining Lucerni underground and formed the Shadow Dragons, continuing their work under a different name. Now unbound by political restrictions, the Shadow Dragons are free to take more radical measures in their fight against oppression and slavery. And Varric is confident that the perfect candidate to go against the bigger threat can be found in this group.

The Shadow Lair

Our story begins in Minrathous, in the underground base of the Shadow Dragons. And right off the bat, we’re making a change regarding said base’s location. In DAV, it stands in a random building somewhere in Dock Town that pretty much anyone could access. I get that they were probably going for the “hide in plain sight” approach, but let’s actually have some fun here.

In this rewrite, the Shadow Dragons are literally operating from the underground. Now, Minrathous’ underground system has two things that are very beneficial for a secretive rebellious organisation:

Vast catacombs. The catacombs of Minrathous are so massive that they can store food to survive years of siege. Minrathous, like so many cities and settlements in Tevinter, is built on the bones of Elvhenan. You can easily get lost in those catacombs.

Gigantic sewers. The sewers are arguably even more treacherous than the catacombs, because we have seen in Tevinter Nights what can lurk there. Imagine the sewers of the greatest city in the world, the greatest magical city in the world. Surely it comes with its own set of urban legends akin to the sewer gator. But in a city like Minrathous, those legends are probably true. Failed magical experiments, lyrium-infused mutations, abominations of former mages who failed some twisted blood magic experiment, possessed objects; all this can be found in Minrathous’ sewers. Dangerous for everyone, and therefore perfect for the Shadow Dragons.

The Shadow Dragons operate from a place called "The Shadow Lair”, a section of an underground district known simply as “The Undercity”. That’s where all the poor and forgotten retreat if they wish to disappear from the world, or criminals who flee the Imperium’s justice system. A dangerous but also perfect place.

NOTE: For the duration of the prologue, Rook will be referred to by the name of Mercar, as “Rook” is the name they give themselves after disappearing from the scene.

Depending on what race Mercar is, the stakes vary:

If Mercar is a human, they are the direct heir of House Mercar, destined to take over the family name one day. If Mercar is a human mage, they are currently in the process of getting their family appointed to Laetan status, which will give them more political power and influence.

If Mercar is a dwarf, they are an adopted scion of House Mercar.

If Mercar is an elf or a qunari, they are an official slave of House Mercar, but it’s made pretty clear in the beginning that House Mercar’s slaves are slaves in name only, while actually being more akin to paid servants. House Mercar simply refers to them as slaves to stay under the Magisterium’s radar and actually uses them to pass on information to the Shadow Dragons.

I was personally disappointed that DAV didn’t really touch on Tevinter’s slavery system. It felt a bit like I was treated with kid gloves and not given the trust to being able to handle dark topics. But Tevinter, as has been established in all DA media before DAV, is a pretty dark place for anyone who isn’t a human mage. And it’s important to depict that as it shows the stakes and just how rotten of a society the Imperium is. We need to see what the Shadow Dragons are actually fighting for. It’s not enough to just tell us how much a freedom fighter group we are, no, we need to see it.

Meeting the Leaders of the Shadow Dragons

For the sake of this playthrough, our Mercar is going to be a human mage, and thus not only the direct heir to the house but also one who can elevate it to Laetan status. We have a lot to lose, so we must be extra careful in this precarious situation.

So Mercar meets with the leaders of the Shadow Dragons, namely Maevaris and the Viper. From this conversation, we get the general gist of what’s about to happen and why we are here: House Mercar decided to get a bit more involved with the Shadow Dragons after both parties discovered a massive plot for something big involving Minrathous’ vast slave population. Whatever it is, it’s happening somewhere in Dock Town, and we are to rendezvous with Neve Gallus, a local and renowned detective, to get to the bottom of this.

Exploring the Shadow Lair

After the conversation, we get to have a quick look around the Shadow Lair, where we can instigate a small series of encounters:

We can talk to Maevaris some more and learn about her past and her motivation behind what used to be the Lucerni.

We can talk to the Viper and learn more about him, how he’s usually running operations and that he’s from an Altus house. But that’s about everything you can learn about him at this point in time.

We can meet Lorelei and learn about her being one of the city elves Loghain sold to Tevinter all the way back in DAO. She will give a few remarks on how the Hero of Ferelden dealt with the Alienage and how she and Alistair made it a more just place.

NOTE: For this rewrite’s hypothetical playthrough, the Hero of Ferelden is a Human Noble who romanced Alistair and became Queen of Ferelden. She is now searching for a cure for the Calling.

We can have a bit of a look at the Undercity and just see how much of a poor and dark place it is. This is the gutter, no, this is below the gutter. The people here wish to disappear. They are miserable, most of them have given up hope. The Shadow Dragons are the only ones who actually care about them.

Since the Undercity is below modern Minrathous, we can see traces of ancient elven architecture on display, including mosaics and frescoes.

An Old Friend

Just as we’re about to leave for Dock Town, a familiar face strides into the Shadow Lair: Varric Tethras. Yes, we actually get to see Rook’s first meeting with Varric here! Maevaris greets and introduces him to us (and we actually get to know that Varric and Maevaris are family, which DAV kind of glossed over, thank you very much). Mercar gets to have a first chat with Varric, where he assess our personality. This vibe check is what allows us to determine Rook’s general personality: are we diplomatic, humorous, or aggressive? I fully get that Varric wouldn’t pick an evil person to fight against Solas, but we should still have some kind of roleplay room regarding Rook’s way of thinking and speaking.

Varric’s purpose in these prologues is very similar to Duncan’s in DAO. He’s the one who recruits you into the larger fight and acts as a mentor figure for a while. I was actually fully expecting that to be the case in the actual game when we were told that Varric recruits Rook into the fight against Solas. Well, he did, but I would have liked to see it! Alas, we shall do so here!

Varric stays behind in the Shadow Lair while we go off and do our thing.

Entering Dock Town

Dock Town is pretty much right above the Undercity, the gutter above the actual gutter. The entrance to the Shadow Lair is quite hidden with enchantments, known only to Shadow Dragons and their associates.

Dock Town is going to stay pretty much exactly as we see it in the game. If there is one place in Minrathous where everyone could mingle without being necessarily immediately prosecuted, it’s that place (which is probably why that’s the only part of Minrathous we see in the game, but I digress). However, there will be one major change: slavery is still a thing.

Dock Town is…well…a place where ships dock. That includes ships of slave traders and prisoners of war. In this rewrite, Tevinter is still locked into a war with the Qunari, so there will be a lot of that reflected in the environment. As we walk through Dock Town, we see guards on high alert, slaves and prisoners being led away in chains. We’re doing some important environmental storytelling here that lets us know exactly why Tevinter is a place that needs to be liberated and changed so desperately.

Meeting Neve Gallus

We find Neve Gallus at the Cobbled Swan. Depending on dialogue choices, we might or might not have heard of her up to this point. I think it would be fun if Mercar could geek out about her because he read some sensationalist tabloid about one of her cases.

So Neve tells us that a huge part of Dock Town was closed off for a great event, a former small coliseum that hasn’t been used in decades. Coincidentally, several unpurchased slaves and prisoners of war are being dragged into that area.

Neve has a good lead to assume that the Venatori are somehow behind this because of course they are. Neve gives us a recap on what the Venatori are and how she had multiple run-ins with them already. She is to be absolutely certain that Mercar can be trusted as they will need to work together on this. In response, Mercar shares his side of the information, that his father, Charon Mercar, who is also a respected Legatus in this rewrite, oversaw a strange pattern in how many prisoners of war and masterless slaves, primarily from places like Ventus and Carastes, Qunari-conquered cities, have simply disappeared, and how surprisingly many military vessels have been transferred to Minrathous. Since Neve is a detective, it’s fun to make this part of the journey feel a bit like a crime mystery.

Once all information has been shared, Neve declares that it’s time to go.

Approaching the Coliseum

Neve takes us across Dock Town’s roofs towards the closed-off area of the coliseum. There, we see just how massively guarded it is. The official excuse for all this is a military training exercise. Horrifyingly, this is much closer to the truth than we realise. There are Imperial Templars and Legionnaires patrolling the outskirts, so we have to find our way in.

Neve directs us to a secret hiding spot, where we meet Tarquin, who is, as we know, an Imperial Templar working for the Shadow Dragons. Not even he knows exactly what’s happening, but something definitely big is going on.

There are two options before us: do we sneak in from above and observe from the shadows, or do we disguise ourselves as templars and participate in a more open manner? This right here gives us another choice regarding Mercar’s way of doing things. Are we feeling confident enough to just walk in and hide in plain sight? Or do we take the stealthy approach? While Neve is all for stealth, Tarquin prefers the closer look. So a first major choice presents itself:

Follow Neve and observe the proceedings from above, quietly gathering the information you need.

Follow Tarquin and disguise yourself as an attendant, getting a much closer look at the proceedings.

So I’m feeling a little brave right now. I think my Mercar would try to do the bold approach to get better results, even if it means a higher risk. For this playthrough, I’m choosing to follow Tarquin and let myself be disguised. Neve begrudgingly follows along.

Entering the Coliseum

A few minutes later, Mercar, Neve, and Tarquin approach the Coliseum gates in disguise. Tarquin wears his Templar armour, while Mercar and Neve are dressed as mages of the Legion.

Once we enter the arena, we have the chance to explore it for a little while. Doing so allows us to encounter the following:

We can have an early chat with Magister Zara Renata, who will, of course, be very relevant later, along with her lackeys Felicia and Calivan, all of whom are prominent members of the Venatori. Neve is able to make that connection due to Felicia’s brother Livius having so notoriously attempted to corrupt the Wardens at Adamant Fortress in DAI.

We may encounter Magister Bataris, alongside his son Albin and get early hints of just how far the Venatori corruption runs.

If we make a good enough persuasion attempt at the Templar Captain guarding the entrance to a basement, we shall enter it and discover the prisoners and slaves intended for some heinous affair. Here, and only here, if we perform this correct dialogue choice, and being a human mage, unfortunately, certainly helps here, we get to see that our father, Charon Mercar, is among the imprisoned. And the worst of it all? He doesn’t even recognise you. Actually none of the slaves and prisoners react in any way, as all of them seem to be under some sort of spell. As we look closer, we can see that all of them have strange spiked collars around their necks, filled with blood. This is blood magic that keeps them entranced. If we want to risk it, we have time to break our father’s collar and ensure that perhaps, he can escape. So we do just that.

The Imperator

Following our exploration of the Coliseum, we get streamed into a crowd of onlookers as the Imperator of Tevinter’s legions, the Supreme Legatus himself, Magister Aemilianus Laskaris, enters the centre of the arena.

We know from DAV that Tevinter has an Imperator, and the Imperator is not the same as the Archon in this context. While the Archon is the overall ruler, the Imperator is the highest military commander. Think of this guy as Tevinter’s version of Loghain. Laskaris also happens to be one of the loudest voices responsible for forcing the Lucerni out of the Magisterium.

Laskaris delivers a speech in which he proclaims just how bad Tevinter is faring against the Antaam. Here we get some early insight into the fact that a large chunk of the Qunari army broke off and is now bearing down on Antiva and Rivain. However, a large part of it remained and is following the Arishok into battle against the Imperium. And even against this broken Antaam, the Legions are starting to fail.

Laskaris cites lost cities such as Ventus, Carastes, and Neromenian as evidence for the desperate situation Tevinter is now facing. Therefore, something must be done. Something drastic. He presents, to the gathered onlookers, the Salvatio Initiative. Basically, all unpurchased slaves and prisoners of war are to be given to Tevinter’s legions, where Laskaris and the Legates serving under him will perform blood magic rituals to turn them into mindless but ravaging soldiers against the Antaam. Dangerous cannon fodder essentially. He will use tonight’s demonstration to convince the gathered members of the Magisterium to pass a law that will officially permit Tevinter’s legions to use blood magic. Well, we know, Tevinter has always used blood magic behind closed doors, but this will mean that all safety measures are off, all precautions, all careful attempts at hiding it. And the worst part is: since slaves are considered nothing but tools, it won’t even be seen as unethical by the large portion of conservative Senate members. And prisoners of war? Qunari? Who cares about them anyway, right? This is the darkness and true corruption permeating Tevinter. This is exactly why the Shadow Dragons exist to bring back the light.

Several doors open and Laskaris directs all slaves and prisoners to be brought forth. They are all wearing the blood collars. Upon the Imperator’s command, him and several blood mages under his leadership, activate the blood collars and turn the slaves and prisoners into an absolute frenzy. A battle erupts in which the sheer destructive power of the now-mindless fighters is demonstrated.

Mercar now has a choice to make, and it is the biggest one there is in the prologue:

Do we stealthily fight the blood mages and try to rescue the innocent mind-controlled people without blowing our cover? You do, however, risk your father dying.

Do we rush in headfirst and fight Laskaris head-on, saving your father but maybe dooming more innocents and risking exposure?

Do we put our personal emotional interest above the greater good or vice versa? Well, because we broke our father’s collar earlier, we can at least assume that he’s going to be able to fight for himself with a clear head, so let’s focus on the blood mages in a stealthy manner.

Neve and Tarquin quickly take us behind the scenes as the crowd watchers in apt interest. There are five blood mages, including Laskaris, who need to be dealt with. Neve takes one half, Tarquin the other, while you have a go at Laskaris himself. You are masked so he won’t know it’s you.

While Neve and Tarquin successfully dismantle two blood mages each, we sneak right up to Laskaris and try to either knock him out or backstab him altogether. This results in the same outcome but tells a lot about Mercar’s personality. Do we kill this guy and end it now? Or do we try and incapacitate him so that he can still be of use for the future?

Regardless, Laskaris sees it coming and engages in a boss battle against us. It’s a tough battle, one that we are logically meant to lose. If we get Laskaris down to 0HP, miraculously so unless we play on Storyteller mode, the cutscene will slightly change but the outcome remains largely the same.

Laskaris lashes out and wounds us, causing us to fall down, bleeding, losing our mask, exposing ourselves to Laskaris, while the slaves and prisoners stage a mad revolt around us, forcing the gathered magisters to flee the scene. But because we freed our father from his collar, he comes rushing in to save us, engaging Laskaris in a one-on-one duel. Despite “only” being Soporati, he puts up quite a fight with his huge two-hander. We want to help him, desperately so, but we are just too weak. Laskaris is impressed by Charon’s strength, but ultimately, deals him a mortal wound. Just before Laskaris turns to finish us off, he is struck in the shoulder by…Bianca!

Varric steps into the fray and fires off a row of bolts against the Imperator, allowing Neve and Tarquin to take us away as we pass out. As they do so, the Viper appears and casts a spell that shrouds the whole arena in fog.

Back at the Shadow Lair

We awaken in the Shadow Lair and are greeted by Varric. It turns out that he was using this whole mission to assess us from the background, to determine if we are the one he’s looking for. And he decides that, yes, we are. Laskaris, the Venatori, all of this is just one puzzle piece of something much greater. And that’s where Varric tells us about the Dread Wolf. That’s when we hear the little monologue from DAV’s opening. “I knew him as Solas.” The Dread Wolf has returned and is planning to tear down the Veil to restore the world of the ancient elves. Even if our own world must burn. “Someone’s gotta stop him. And that’s where you come in.”

What? We are supposed to accompany Varric on a quest to stop an ancient elven god? Obviously I’m going to refuse because hello? I’m a Shadow Dragon! I just discovered the biggest plot to endanger slaves ever since the Magister Sidereal tore open the Veil to reach the Golden City! I can’t just leave right now to pursue a fairy tale.

At this point, Maevaris joins us and tells us that the Dread Wolf is, indeed, a real threat. Besides, Mercar has to disappear for a while, now that Laskaris knows who we are. We can’t be seen with the Shadow Dragons for the time being. Doing so would just endanger the whole cause.

Reluctantly or readily, that depends on our personality, we concede that there is sense in Varric’s words. Varric advises us to adopt a codename as well, like so many agents of the Inquisition did back in the day. Mercar thinks for a moment, reflects on the most recent events, and decides on “Rook”. Varric approves. “The strongest piece on the chessboard, I like it.”

Afterwards we get a final chance to talk to the members of the Shadow Dragons before we depart, and get a last look at the Undercity. But not all is dire, for as it turns out, Neve is coming along too.

Yeah, so here’s the idea. When I learned that each companion would correspond to a faction, I thought that the faction we choose as our starting point would determine our first companion. So let us attempt this for this rewrite. In this case, we obviously get Neve. It took a lot of convincing from Varric to get her on board, as she loves her city, but she is also smart and realises that if Solas goes through with his plans, there won’t be a Minrathous to fight for.

What follows is a cutscene where Rook, Neve, and Varric depart the Shadow Lair and leave Minrathous altogether. One last time, Rook looks at the city he swore to fight for, then turns around and follows Varric into the unknown. And that’s where the screen turns black and we get our title card:

Dragon Age: Dreadwolf

Yeah…I personally feel like Dreadwolf was the better-sounding title. I totally get why Veilguard was ultimately chosen, but since this rewrite will have far more Solas in it, I think the original name is a bit more appropriate.

And that’s as far as we’ll go today! I hope you enjoyed my little hypothetical take on a potential Shadow Dragon origin mission. Of course, not everything is refined and perfect, but I hope you still got the overall gist of what I was going for! Next time, we shall focus on a potential prologue for the Grey Wardens! Stay tuned!

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age dreadwolf #datv #datv spoilers #varric tethras #dragon age rook #maevaris tilani #dorian pavus #tevinter imperium #minrathous #rewrite #rewritingveilguard #veilguard critical #creative writing #neve gallus #tarquin #the viper #shadow dragons

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lenaboskow · 3 days ago

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PLS PLS PLS GET INTO HOW WOULD CHRIS REACT I find it so interesting, because most of the times is Chris just going "Great ! Im happy!" which valid, but honestly? I really like when it's more complex than that, like in the fic Pinky Promise by rainbow_nerds, that explores a bit the fact that Chris does in fact has abandoment issues, like I don't doubt that Chris (even angry) wants his dad to be happy, but c'moooon, his mother was his primary caretaker (because his dad left for the military, though it always hard for me to get the Diaz Timeline), then she left him, then she came back, then she died, his dad almost died at least twice (that he is aware of), Buck in the hospital, etc. Chris is going to have many complicated emotions ! I love him ! And I just wished people explored more all that potencial, you know?

i vividly remember making a diaz boys timeline back before the s7 finale but i just spent thirty minutes looking for it and i'm pretty sure i never posted it so... oops. maybe i'll make one later with the references but (apologies for the mess this is i tried to make it organized but i’m sick so there’s only so much i can do lmao):

when you look at it, buck has been consistently in christopher's life longer than shannon ever was, even if you restart after the lawsuit. shannon was him primary caregiver until he was about three, and then for a year it was eddieandshannon, after which she left. after that, it was consistently eddie. even if he wasn't around that often because he was working, he was still there, and that's what chris remembers. she came back for about half a year when he was seven, but then she died.

not counting the lawsuit, buck has been in christopher's life since he was eight. but the lawsuit wasn't that long, it was a few weeks at most, so the real answer is he's been in his life since he was seven. that's seven years at this point. to chris, buckandeddie has been a constant, more so than eddieandshannon, even if it's not the same type of partnership. and that's just a fact. sure, he'd known shannon for seven years, same as he's known buck, but technically she wasn't there for all of it. that's what he remembers.

but the same way eddie thought he needed to be with shannon romantically so as not to ruin the relationship, chris probably thinks eddie and buck need to keep the status quo not to ruin the relationship. especially when you take into his warped view of romantic relationships. shannon, ana, marisol, they all ended terribly for eddie. and buck? i'm not sure what he's told chris about his relationships, but he doesn't have a much better track record. abby ghosted him, ali left at the first sign of trouble, there was the whole jonah scenario with taylor (who actually was in christopher's life, so that definitely messed with chris a bit), tommy broke up with him seemingly out of nowhere...

it makes the most sense that chris wouldn't want them to date. if chris was home when they told him, i can imagine him calling pepa or carla, kind of a parallel to him running away to buck in s4 (which he can't do now for obvious reason). i don't think the arc would last long, i think whoever he ran to would start the conversation and tell him about an ex that they're still friends with, and then eddie would come to pick him up and they'd talk it out, there'd be a buckley-diaz scene, end of ep.

but if he was still in texas? he'd probably yell at them over the video call and then refuse to answer any calls or texts afterwards. buck and eddie would probably "break up" for an ep or two, and be absolutely miserable. this probably culminates in eddie taking a trip to texas (alone, maybe not even telling buck) and talking it out with chris, addressing their mutual fears about the relationship and eddie explaining that even if it doesn't work out, they'd still be friends, and even if that doesn't work out, buck would still be in his life, that it wouldn't be like when his mom left. there's definitely a video call to buck in this, after eddie and chris have talked their feelings out, and then chris would ask to come back home, effective immediately.

but there's also the question of how chris would react if eddie tells chris about his feelings for buck (pre-relationship). he'd probably tell eddie he can never act on it, then tell buck the same thing (without telling eddie) and then there's a few eps of buck and eddie acting distant from each other before chris snaps and says "you weren't supposed to act like you're already divorced!". of course that's if he's in la. if he's in texas it would probably play out the same way it would've if they were already together after they stopped avoiding each other and finally talked it out.

of course, they could go the easy route and have chris say "it's about time" but this is 911 we're talking about, they probably won't do that

#911 #911 on abc #911 abc #911 spoilers #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #buddie #buck x eddie #buck and eddie #christopher diaz #buckley diaz family

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thearunadragon · 18 hours ago

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Like many other people, I have wanted to know for years what it is the Menoä Tree took from Eragon. Let us analyze what we know, shall we?

Firstly, Paolini has said that whatever it is is long-winded and will cause many dramatic issues in the future (Book V.) And, secondly, we know that at least one person has gotten it right, and in a post 4+ years old judging by the time Paolini said this. The platform of the correct theory is, to my knowledge, unknown.

The popular fan theories that have been disproved include:

Eragon or Saphira’s fertility. Paolini has stated clearly they both still have the ability to have children (though Eragon’s transformation during the Agaetí Blödhren might make this difficult with a normal human/elf.)

Saphira’s Eldunarí. Paolini states both that what was taken ONLY affects Eragon, and Saphira definitely would notice if her Eldunarí was missing. Furthermore, he stated the theory that Eragon gained his own Eldunarí during his transformation is false, but interesting regardless.

Eragon’s connection to the land. Paolini stated that Eragon’s loss was unrelated to his leaving Alagaësia, Angela’s prophecy, or anything of this nature.

The Menoä Tree did not take nothing. She did, in fact, take something, but of what nature, we do not know, though I saw a hint Poalini left about it mentioning that Eragon’s transformation was not complete.

He has also stated that what is taken should be guessable based on given text. However, most theories I have seen that would leave the Menoä Tree’s actions making sense have been disproved, as it apparently is not related to her backstory, at least not evidently.

He also says that the Menoä Tree definitely TOOK something, which disproves the theory that she put a “seed” in his body to continue her forest.

It is also (if the information I was relayed is correct) disproved that Menoä tree took Eragon’s sperm, or his DNA. (Besides, neither of these would have formed a physical pain, as he felt in the book. Even though it would amuse me to think that she, like, stole his DNA to make her a new lover to replace her old, cheating one, but this time with less flaws. She WAS weirdly interested in ‘what nature of creature Eragon was…’)

She did not fix any incurable disease (as said in an interview) and it is highly doubtful that she took part of his spleen, gallbladder, or appendix, though I cannot remember if I actually SAW him say this is untrue, or dreamt it. HOWEVER, this is a very popular theory (partly in satire) and Paolini has stated that all popular fan theories are not correct.

But what does that leave us? What did she take? A part of his intestine? A piece of his True Name (though that also wouldn’t explain the physical discomfort)? Cause a hernia? It’s BUGGING ME. I NEED to know, and I’ve been searching every Menoä Tree post I can find for answers (and I still am)!

The only way I can think of to know fully would be to understand a COMPLETE Rider’s transformation and try to find the missing piece between it and Eragon. Or maybe the piece is not something taken from the transformation itself, but something that will cause issue when the transformation progresses. Perhaps a part of his connection to magic, a measure of strength, ANYTHING.

Now, perhaps it really is an organ, or another physical part of his body (which makes the most sense to me, considering the physical pain in his stomach mentioned) in which case his rapid loss of weight mentioned in TFTWTW might be a clue of some sort, but I can’t be certain. (He has been working hard, after all, and stressed half to death to boot.)

Are there any theories you guys have come up with or seen? What am I missing here?

#the inheritance cycle #eragon #eragon shadeslayer #theory #ramble #menoa tree #this is driving me crazy #on a random note however #were you guys aware it was stated by Paolini himself that Eragon is not circumcised #learned that this week #the more you know💫#discussion #please help this is driving me nuts

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sonkitty · 1 day ago

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Okay, I read all 8 posts and then I went back to this one first post. I have gone over every cut for this scene. I have made my own images with their own brightness and increased saturation. I have logged notes for my own sake and general curiosity.

This puzzle is one of the most intense ones I've found shared by other fans, and it was incredibly difficult.

You have clearly put a lot of thought, time, and energy into this theory.

But you were the one who was tricked from the start, right here. You were set up. You found a very elaborate red herring, and it was definitely thoroughly set out to trap you or anyone with this line of thinking.

The irony, the joke on you, is that you were the one who was misdirected, and this puzzle even told you that.

I don't blame you in the least because I am very used to being tricked by the games in this story, so I knew to be wary of this idea and why. I also know what to look for and what questions to ask because of how many times I've been tricked.

I will break it down because this puzzle is just way too good to pass up. Solving it is an excellent learning experience on how to solve the really advanced puzzles in this story. This thing is top tier. Bravo, Crowley. I cannot believe it was solvable, but I should know better by now.

That person is definitely not the Metatron. It is almost certainly the same person the whole time, and the story did make sure to give you clues on how to determine that while very much deliberately misleading you to your conclusion, except the chess thing. The story wants you to find and play its own original game, Earthly Objects, not chess.

This puzzle requires checking things cut by cut, not just frame by frame. It is extremely advanced.

Let's start with where you started because the clues are there if one knows what to look for. Here is my version based on the first image you provided:

Here is part of the text you provided: "White hair."

White hair?

Let's check that a bit closer, shall we? Look closely. Really, really closely.

There is a little bit of white hair at the bottom, and as you go up, you can see that the hair is darker on top. That is a darker gray. It is not white.

Here, let's compare this exact cut with my estimation of the exact frame you captured with similar angles for the Metatron:

And just in case we think the lighting is too favorable even in the bookshop, let's darken the Metatron portion:

You know something? I'll try and match the original better. I'll crop them all and brighten the original some. Then for the Metatron versions, I'll lower the scale, cut off the left ear, and try to get a decent match on the darkness of our brightened person in the coffee shop.

If you don't see it, the Metatron's hair does not progressively darken from the bottom up to the top. His white hair is white so it rather follows where the light itself hits the hair. That was a lot of effort to even make the comparison.

The Metatron's hair is also very slightly longer just above the neck, yes, even if his head were bowed slightly. Here, we can find the slightly bowed down look as he and Aziraphale make their way to the pub doors for the elevator:

Oh, now we can also see more clearly that the white collar would have to be much more defined to match the person in the coffee shop.

Let's take a look at the human you refer to as the "slim man" from the initial cut with his phone lit:

In this lighting, his hair does look more white at the bottom and darker at the top.

He doesn't always look like that.

This guy has a blue bag, and because I do play Earthly Objects, I happen to know where to find him shortly before this scene.

In this particular screenshot, he is near the post and obscuring Justine.

Here he is with the screenshot now cropped:

Well, his white hair doesn't look like it darkens either. We're seeing him from the right profile. We just saw from his left profile that in the lighting of the coffee shop scene itself, that's what his hair looks like in that setting.

If you look really hard in episode 5, you can find him without his bag here:

You might still have trouble seeing him, so let me emphasize where he is:

If you watch the whole cut, you'll see that he is in Crowley's and Aziraphale's line of sight. That means it is plausible they know what he actually looks like already.

Now if you zoom in, you can see that while you might be able to find a patch of lighter hair from the back, there is enough of a gradient that it's like what we see in the coffee shop. The hair is lighter at the bottom than at the top in this lighting as well.

Another super subtle difference in the hair is that the Metatron's hair is a little wavy in the back. This human's hair is straight in the back and on the sides, not wavy.

The main reason this coffee shop scene provides this hair clue is so that you don't start making excuses once you figure out the other clues based on his apparel.

Speaking of apparel, here is the next part of the text you provided: "dark overcoat."

You can find that is not a dark overcoat in the image below with the white box I've placed below the credit card stickers and to the left of the OPEN sign:

The Metatron's coat reaches to his knees. The human's jacket reaches below his butt and above his knees. You can tell through that blue inside the coffee shop and near darker colors that the upper clothing is the human's jacket, not the Metatron's overcoat. You are seeing the separation of the jacket from the pants, and it will come up again later.

You also say "rounded shoulders."

I disagree and think overall, he looks slender here, but let's move on because there is still more to be found.

For the blue area near where one can find out that the jacket is a jacket, is that blue then the blue bag? No, it is not. We can actually then find the blue bag because we now know where it is not.

Here is the cut in motion:

Watch the area above the judo sticker.

If you can't see it because it is too dark, here is the a picture shown earlier for the part I want anyone interested to notice:

This time, look at the white box near the judo sticker. That is the blue bag. We have now confirmed that we are indeed seeing the same human we saw before this supposed switch.

It was never the Metatron during this entire cut.

You were most certainly set up to believe so if you didn't check the earthly objects that could be used as clues more closely.

Note the red shoes on his back during this cut.

...

The entire scene is like that. It is constantly testing you every step of the way.

For example, here is more text from the original post: "Well, how come we never see the slim cell phone guy again?" you may wonder.

I see someone already noticed the same thing I'm going to note. If one checks the scene very thoroughly, I don't have to wonder at all. You actually circled it for us even if you didn't realize it.

Again, it helps to watch the clip in motion:

Now here are a few cropped screenshots for me to show you where to find it in the exact same cut you circled it for us:

It is no longer lit, but it is still there. You can find it by its darkness over the shirt of the human with the orange shirt and that darkness extending out from the clothing.

This cut is also the one being referenced with the following text:

"Because he's facing sideways, we can tell that this man is not slender like the man with a cell phone and blue bag. The man we see now, in this photo, wears a long coat that comes straight down in the front. It's not a jacket, it's an overcoat."

Nope. You were tricked. Quite deliberately.

The sticker on the door just below the cell phone we just found is obscuring where the front of the jacket shows its separation from the pants.

Look further down near Nina's elbow, and you can see that the person in the coffee shop is stepping forward, so yes, his pants would meet his jacket behind that sticker.

In the next cut where you can see this person is when this puzzle shows you how you were just tricked.

This cut is for Nina saying, "You and your partner?"

That's why I said it's a cut-by-cut puzzle.

Let's take a closer look at this person:

You still might not see it, so I'll tell you what's happening and that you really do have to look extremely closely yourself, even with enhanced effects to clarify the image.

At the start of the cut, there is a small pocket where the jacket is meeting the pants just above the blue part of the door. As the person we are watching slides over to their left during the cut, this pocket is obscured by Nina's arm and so it ends up looking like an overcoat instead of a jacket. That's to help you know that if something is visually in the way of the jacket meeting the pants, it will look like an overcoat due to the limited lighting available and color of his clothing.

I'll box it from a video frame early in the cut, but I know you might not be able to see it because it's small and difficult to see, but I have checked quite thoroughly that it is there:

That's a jacket, not an overcoat, and the right side of the jacket is still obscured, this time by the door side panel. Crowley is giving us a clue here because we can see Crowley's jacket taking up a lot of space in the screenshot while also showing the red of his collar.

Still yet the next cut of this person in the coffee shop shows it more plainly:

After that, the clues shift to showing a gap between the legs above the knees.

The legs near the shoes are visible enough that you can see that the legs align with that gap.

But there's still more to this trick.

Here is the cut in full motion where you are declaring that is not a jacket, it's an overcoat. It's the part I said the jacket separating the pants was hidden by the sticker. Nina says, "You been together long?"

Did you notice the shoe moving over by Nina's left elbow? That's another clue. The Metatron wears baggy clothing. His pants run down to nearly his heels. This guy wears pants with cuffs rolled up above his shoe. You can't really tell the colors easily, but you can actually figure out that this pant leg over this shoe is a better match to the human than to the Metatron because it's too slender and tight near the ankle to be the Metatron.

Here is an image I made for reference:

I won't go over the rest of the cuts of this person in this setting where this trick is happening, but I hope you get the idea.

To close out the whole thing and even tell you that you were dealing with a red herring, here is part of the last cut of the trick:

That is a red light on one of the passing vehicles in a reflection passing over the red shoes on the door.

I didn't get the whole thing because it's long.

If you watch the whole cut, you'll even see the red of Crowley's collar again, more red lights, and red clothing on nearby humans.

I then checked the entire scene to be sure that such a red light was avoided on that window pane the whole time otherwise. It was indeed. I mean, looking at this post, there is technically a more subtle one than the type that I mean for when the human slides lightly to his left. I did mean something more defined like what is here. That's part of what I mean for how I'm tricked too. The scene waited for an audience player to check the whole thing all the way to the end of the trick to notice this clue.

If you go through the present day scenes where you expect to find humans on the street, you'll only find this human this easily in this episode. He's not one of the more easily findable repeats. He was absolutely set up for this trick into misleading someone that he might be the Metatron shown at this time.

...

But anyway, speaking of misdirection, let me leave you with a joke I found through trying to solve a different puzzle.

How do you trick an elevator? With misdirection.

The Metatron Misdirection: Nina's Magic Trick (A New Final 15 MetaTheory)

Part 1 of 8 in the Chess Moves Theory Set by @wistfulnightingale

**I believe it is new -- I haven't found it anywhere else.

Misdirection is a key element in the most skilled magic tricks. It's more than mere distraction, wiggling one hand while the other hides the ace. Misdirection in Magic means that the magician isn't "hiding" the trick; they are allowing you to think that you are looking at exactly the right moment, while convincingly focusing your attention away from the moment when 90% of the trick actually happened. Magicians Penn and Teller are quoted as saying, "The strongest lie is the lie that the audience tells itself."

This article on What Is Misdirection in Magic tells exactly how it's done. Check out the 7 Types of Misdirection in the article, or in my Chess Moves Theory Master Post. They're used easily and often in the final episodes of Season 2.

I think there might be a major misdirection in Episode 5 that set up the events of the second half of Episode 6, and makes sense of some of the crazy-weird scenes and out-of-character behaviors we see, both in that scene and later. But, it'll seem absolutely bonkers... so please, keep breathing, and hear me out, and please check out all the interconnected 8-Parts that help support my reasoning.

I include photos below, and I admit they're not clear enough to be "proof" on their own. But the idea itself would explain why Azi abruptly left Nina, and why Crowley babbled. Some of the other parts of my overall theory add some additional possibilities as well. (Interestingly, the photos are from videos that used to be available free on YouTube Prime Video, but have been removed from the Good Omens playlists in recent months.

In E5, while we were watching Crowley stammer, and listening to Nina puzzle out relationships, and when our belief in the Ineffable Marriage was shattered by Crowley's answer -- Nina was (without her knowledge) participating in the biggest Misdirection of Season 2.

I suspect The Metatron was already in the Coffee Shop. I know it sounds nuts, but I strongly suspect that Episode 6 was not his first visit. I believe that I can show you reasonable evidence (added up from here and from other parts of my Chess Moves Theory-series) that the Metatron made a "trial run" the day before, during this scene in Episode 5. Crowley and Aziraphale were each shocked to spot him through the window behind Nina. Misdirection made him almost impossible for us to see.

Almost. But I think he's there. At least, there's a guy in a long dark overcoat, who looks like he's talking to another customer. Possibly a coffee-confused celestial gentleman getting help from a good samaritan? Let me explain how I think it was done, and I'll show you what I think is the Metatron.

This screenshot (let's call it Photo #1) is untampered, basically what we see in the episode. Aziraphale was happily chatting with Crowley about the nonexistent pen of his nonexistent aunt's nonexistant gardener... Then Nina emerges, has "things to say" about Neighborhood Christmas lights (that's the moment in this screenshot)... and Aziraphale abruptly hurries away. Within minutes, Crowley is stammering as if he'd never had a moment's thought that he and his Angel could have a committed, romantic relationship.

How...? What...?! Crowley, really, dude, what the...??! (Please refer to An Old Married Couple for my thoughts on this!)

But when we take that same moment, come in closer, brighten and sharpen it, make it more vivid --

Photo #2. There. In the red oval. The white hair, the dark overcoat, rounded shoulders. The Metatron. We didn't expect to see him there. So we didn't.

Hold on! -- I don't expect you to be convinced yet. So I went through moment by moment. There are more photos. (I recommend that you also check the brightness of your own viewing screen -- it helps!)

Nina is used in the scene to perform a concealment and switch, a replacement (magician's call it a Change), and then a distraction -- A Magic Trick. Nina is a huge part of why we're not easily able to spot the Metatron.

Magic Trick Step 1: There's magical sleight of hand going on, even once you know what to look for. We are visually warned. When we first see Nina, as our Ineffables are talking about impossible French, she literally emerges from the shadows (see photo below). Remember, this is significantly Before talking about "Christmas lights" in Photos 1 & 2.

Magic Trick Step 2: If we do happen to look at the customers in the shop as Nina emerges, there's a white-haired man in line who is NOT the Metatron. Note his height compared to the orange-shirt guy. He's taller, and he's fairly slim. We can see his pants or denims, so he's wearing a short jacket, not an overcoat. He's also holding a lit cell phone and carrying a blue bag. I didn't brighten this photo at all. We're supposed to see this particular fellow. He's part of the magic trick, planted there for the switch, just in case we do notice a more significant white-haired man later.

Here's the same photo, brightened. You can more easily see that he's wearing a short jacket -- we see his legs as he steps forward.

(Pay attention to the man in the orange shirt. He's very visible with that bright color. In later shots, he stays near the Metatron, and helps us visually track them both, when both are blurred by distracting window reflections.)

Magic Trick Step 3: Next, Nina steps into the light. As she steps forward, she says, "Bravo! Just enjoying the show." Again, we are given cues that there's a show in play. She bends over to wipe a table, completely blocking our view of the slim white-haired man.

Magic Trick Step 4: The camara cuts to Azi, and that's the last we see of the slim man with the cell phone and bag. Presto-Change-o, Abracadabra! Like a disappearing act with a magician's silk cloth, or like Azi's trick for Nefertiti with the 3 cowry shells, the switch (in magic, called "the Change") has been made! The slim man is gone.

Magic Trick Step 5: When the camera returns to Nina, it's the first photo I showed you, with the Metatron in it. The man in orange isn't at the front of the line anymore. (Was he undecided about his order, and stepped aside?) We can see a sliver of his shirt to the left of the doorframe, just inside the oval, but he's almost entirely hidden. Nina's talking about the Christmas lights. "I have things to say."

It all happens in less than 30 seconds.

"Where, then, was the Metatron?" you may ask in disbelief. There's a big rectangular pillar in the middle of the floor behind Nina, just to the right of the line. There is a mural on it, so it's camouflaged. On the walls behind the pillar are menu boards -- we see them in the "How's your naked man friend" scene in E1. It's likely that the Metatron was behind the pillar, looking at the menu options.

"Well, how come we never see the slim cell phone guy again?" you may wonder. The tables at the far edges of the shop are never seen. If he sat down, especially at our far left, he'd be out of view.

Here's that "I have things to say" photo again --

That's when Aziraphale sees the Metatron. He's suddenly distracted. His response is brief, and odd. Just --- "Yes." We don't often see our Angel speechless. He walks away without another word. That. Is another out of character moment. He's gone from his "I'm having so much fun doing this" smile to the fake, nervous mask he puts on for the Archangels.

His eyes are wide and his expression frozen, until it fades into worry as he walks away. Azi nervously checks behind him for Crowley. Hoping he'll follow, away from danger.

Crowley hasn't spotted the Metatron yet. It's not until he starts to follow Azi, then stops for Nina, that he's at the right angle to see him. When Nina says, "You been together long?" Crowley's completely distracted. He just noticed the Metatron.

"Who?" he ridiculously asks. This made zero sense -- Azi was just here! However, on our far right, over her shoulder, we can see the Metatron, facing sideways towards our right. He and the orange-shirt man are on the far right, positioned as if talking to each other (maybe he's asking how this coffee-selection-thing works?).

Because he's facing sideways, we can tell that this man is not slender like the man with a cell phone and blue bag. The man we see now, in this photo, wears a long coat that comes straight down in the front. It's not a jacket, it's an overcoat.

The Metatron is almost the same height as the orange-shirt man. His dark coat nearly makes him invisible as the reflections in the window break up his outline and blur the orange-shirt man. The two have stepped back from the counter, closer to us. We can see his rounded back, white collar and hair.

Short height, rounded back, long overcoat, white collar. NOT the same as the first man we saw. That's why I believe we're seeing the Metatron. That, and Aziraphale and Crowley's strange behaviors.

When you look closely at Crowley, he's staring intently into the coffee shop window as Nina asks her question. His head is not at the same angle when he returns his focus to her. It's not just the cute little neck scrunch -- he literally turned his head slightly to his right to look at her and answer her question. Crowley is concentrating on what he saw inside, and is mentally scrambling.

After Crowley says, "Who?" the camera returns to Nina. "You and your partner," she clarifies. Meanwhile, the Metatron has turned and is now standing at the end of the coffee line.

You can see three men in line, facing the counter, with the orange-shirt man in the middle. He's the colorful backdrop to frame the padded shoulders of the Metatron's dark coat.

Nina does a lot of "patter" here, a classic magician's Misdirection technique. Lots of rapid, distracting questions. They keep our own minds as occupied as they do Crowley's -- we struggle to keep up, and share our demon's outrage about Azi as "a bit on the side!"

I had to do a lot of reduced videoplay speed, constant pausing the frames, and careful photo brightening and sharpening to make these images somewhat clear. There are also frames where the reflection of vehicles and passersby’s obscure our view. The distractions come and go. It's all designed to split our focus.

So I was astonished when I discovered that, in the moment where the Metatron is standing alone, not clustered with anyone else, Nina is almost looking DIRECTLY AT THE CAMARA. It's only a moment. It's the only shot I had, of Dozens(!) of micro-moments, where the Metatron is in full view, although still difficult to see. This is how it looks in the episode.

Here's the same photo, brightened and sharpened for definition.

There is almost nothing on the right side to reflect or distract in this moment. The lighting effects allowed a much clearer view.

Nina goes back inside, and has to deal with a busy line and a new customer, a posh older gentleman in an overcoat. One who doesn't know about human coffee shops or how to place an order, and who probably consulted orange-shirt guy for coffee-selection advice. He's confused, he's asking odd questions... She doesn't have time for this...! So when he comes back the next day, she warns him not to do it again -- "Order accurately and fast..." (For more thoughts on this, see The Metatron's Second Coming)

Meanwhile, Crowley stands there bewildered as worry sets in. The Metatron is dangerous. Why is he here? This could be very bad for them both, but especially for Aziraphale. Crowley's main concern in the conversation was to SAY NOTHING that gave away their relationship. "Just... an angel... I know."

(**There's interesting implications about the Final Fifteen if Crowley is concerned that the Metatron has the ability to hear him from inside the shop. Azi often gestures as if the Metatron could hear them from outside.)

Crowley leaves in the opposite direction. I wonder if he hung around near the cafe, monitoring where the Metatron was. That's why he's morose and worried when Azi returns to the cafe (see more in my post Ineffables In Check). Crowley is also now worried that Gabriel is actually NOT memory-less. Is he there to spy on them for the Metatron? Crowley aggressively tries to find out.

He'll do Whatever It Takes to protect his Angel.

Please check out the rest of my 8-part Chess Moves Theory Set at @wistfulnightingale to see how I believe all the moments fit together in this Life or Death Chess Game. The 8 Parts support each other -- I broke a massive idea into parts, and you'd need to read all 8 before you can decide for sure if I'm wrong, or totally bonkers! It's a crazy ride, and I'll be happy to have you along for it!

The 8 Chess Moves MetaTheory Set:

1 - The Metatron Misdirection

2 - The Metatron's Second Coming

3 - Ineffables in Check

4 - A Hefty Jigger of Death

5 - Nothing Lasts Forever

6 - The Circle Kiss Theory

7 - The Nightingale DID Sing

8 - Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (Not the crazy elevator grin)

Also: The Chess Moves Theory Set, Why Chess & Magic?

#crowley #david tennant #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens crowley #good omens analysis #crowley good omens #the metatron #good omens nina

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