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suck-on-a-fire-ball · 2 years

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The writer of this letter was clearly excited; the letters almost seem to bounce off the page, at times. There is a small drawing in the upper, right corner: A stick figure is holding a book in its hand. Above it, is a bubble of text: ”The owner of this object has stubbed a toe, and likes wearing orange underwear…” Next to it, another stick figure is standing, rolling its eyes, saying ”You were supposed to tell me about the weapon she created! What kind of a psychic are you?!”. At the bottom of the page, someone has tried to draw a tabby. It looks like a constipated badger...

Hello again, Anders!

Thank you so much for your letter! I was in a fairly dark place mentally when I received it, and it immediately made me feel better. So many new thoughts! It’s also a great relief to know that you have found safe ways of exchanging these letters. I admit I was worried, what with Kirkwall being the way it is.

I’ll save Atlantis for next time, as that is going to be a long story and I want to do it justice. It may, however, relate to many of the things I’ll be bringing up in this letter. You brought up many fascinating things that I can’t wait to dive into! First of all, I want to respond to a couple of things you mentioned. I’m afraid you are right regarding how we found some of the medical knowledge we have today. I’ll tell you more if you like, but I should warn you that it’s depressing. And yes, a heart treatment similar to what you suggested does exist here, but it took us quite some time to figure it out! About the electricity in our brains – sometimes it’s impossible to help or save people here, too, even if we can tell that their brains show signs of activity. Please don’t be upset that you, as you put it, may have let some patients die. With your healing abilities you most likely save lives that we wouldn’t be able to!

You asked if there are any rules limiting the creations of AI, and truth be told it is being discussed a great deal. Some say that we would have to find a way to program ethics into the AI, so they don’t hurt people. But, as you pointed out, whose ethical opinions should be accomodated? One possibility could be to program a variety of ”Asimov’s three laws of robotics” into them, although that too would be problematic. These three laws were invented by a scientist and fiction author (Asimov) many years ago. They are more or less as follows:

1. A robot may not harm a human.

2. A robot must obey all humans, unless doing so conflicts with the first law.

3. A robot must protect its own existance, provided that doesn’t conflict with law 1 or 2.

I suppose they would just be a foundation on which to build, for there are many things that could go wrong! Still... I’d like a world in which we work together with the AI, on equal terms. They shouldn’t have to be servants or slaves.

The witch hunts and executions… yes, they were terrifying. In so many ways. I hope it never goes that far in your society! From what I understand, it’s bad enough as it is. If fear of magic wasn’t constantly being encouraged, I think your society would benefit a lot! Being aware of risks is one thing, fearmongering another. But I don’t need to tell you that! There are actually those here who say that they can do magic; summon spirits or demons, manipulate energy, curse or heal others… It doesn’t seem, however, that they can do anything even close to what mages are capable of in your society. No fire balls or lightning bolts! Nevertheless, there are phenomena here that sound like magic to me. If even five percent of the personal accounts I have heard or read are true, and don’t have another explanation, there is definitely something interesting going on!

First off, we have what we call telekinesis or psychokinesis - the ability to move objects with one’s mind. Perhaps I’m wrong, but isn’t this what you call force magic? It isn’t common here, but some people claim to have done it on purpose, while others seem to have this happen to them involuntarily. It’s supposedly more usual among young people about the age of 11-12, especially girls. At what age does magic manifest in your society?

Then we have telepathy, or mind-to-mind communication. Some are also supposedly capable of communicating with animals this way. In our society, a medium contacts spirits, or the souls of the departed, while a psychic may claim to be able to see the future, ”read” the minds of others/ feel their emotions, remote view through time and space, hold an object in their hand and tell you about the person it belongs to or its history (psychometry), seeing auras, astral project… Any or all of those things. These abilities are referred to as ESP (Extra Sensory Perception), and whether they exist or not is often debated. It’s of course difficult to know whether a person is a genuine medium/psychic, or not. And the source matters – just as you said. What spirit is this medium in contact with, and what is it’s intention? (I do hope you meet that tabby one day, by the way! They are so lovely…!) As for guardian spirits, I personally believe that we all have them and that they may be souls we have known and loved (in this life or another, as I am a believer in reincarnation). Or perhaps other benevolent spirits. Sadly, I have never seen my spirit guide.

Some of our scientists believe that there are many dimensions, or realities, parallel with each other. They can, for example, exist in the same place but be seperated by time. To me it sounds almost as though there are a form of membranes between them. Or a kind of veil. We are unable to see or hear the other realities most of the time. It is claimed by some, however, that there are portals or openings in certain places - and those places are often ripe with strange phenomena, some of which appear to be paranormal. Do you think the Fade could be what we would refer to as another, parallel dimension? It could perhaps, if so, be that we are drawing on power from another place. But I wonder if maybe it is within us, somehow, like electricity. What do you think?

I can understand why you’d take comfort in Andraste. She sounds kind. Caring. Similar to Jesus, in a way.

I would love to hear about your thoughts and experiences regarding all this! Please be safe, my friend, and pet the cats from me! It’s really too bad people can’t purr, come to think of it...

AidanTheCryptid

The author of this letter (first of all adores all the little figures you draw on your letters) has once more sent you a crumpled bunch of papers he attempted to smooth out with his hands, only to have some of the ink smudge – aka, the second page (bottom half of this letter) is a little difficult to read despite him trying to fill out the letters again. The wrinkly letters have been neatly folded into a fancy envelope, which has the Hawke crest on it again.

A little note has been added for you that reads: “Pardon my friend’s abhorrent manners, I’ve sprayed the papers with some of mother's perfume for you so it wouldn’t smell of healing draughts (those make me sick to the stomach and I didn’t want you to go through that) – Hawke”.

At the top of the letter, Anders has drawn a cat in the same style as yours – not intentionally. He’s a healer, not an artist.

Hello, my friend @aidanthecryptid (have I ever mentioned how I adore your name?),

I am sorry to hear that you were not feeling good mentally last time. Knowing these letters help you oh so much was incentive for me to write this response quicker. I hope by the end of this that I managed to do so too. Scribbles have been inserted at a later point here, with ink of a slightly different colour, reading: (I needed to move my clinic, things have been hectic… Kirkwall is getting less safe each day. I am sorry this letter reached you so late, my friend! A close friend of mine has helped me send this to you with swift mail only nobles get access to.)

It’s fun to hear that we have so many future things to talk about! In a world ever changing, and ever dangerous, it’s nice to know that I have two familiarities grounding me in life. Our letters. And cats.

In the future, when we get the change, I would love to hear more about Atlantis and even the heritage of your anatomy studies. It is okay if it is a little depressing, there are plenty of heritages in Thedas that are depressing – sometimes the depressing heritages are the ones worth continuing to discuss so we never forget and never repeat prior mistakes!

Thank you for your kind words. Saving people is one of my priorities in life, and even thinking I might have doomed people to their death (people that weren’t Templars, mind you) was quite painful. Does it beat my love for cats? No. But it definitely nudges it.

I’ve read through this Asimov’s three laws, and I find them quite intriguing. Perhaps I find them the most intriguing from a point of view of fear – I don’t condone slavery, in any form, however these three laws seem… ruthless. Perhaps specifically the second one. If a robot needs to defend itself, it is not allowed to do so if a human is attempting to hurt it? If a robot disagrees with a human’s moral standards, then it is not allowed to do anything about it? That is scary. Then again, they sound like a power capable of destroying humans easily, so rules need to exist… Still, living alongside them requires trust. I agree, they should not have to be slaves or servants, these rules need tweaking before robots are created! Let’s hope AI will not walk among you before a trust is built.

I think the notion of trust is lacking in our society concerning magic too. As you say in relation to witch hunts (although how far away aren’t we from that with the way Templars drag mages out of their homes…), fearmongering is never a solution, nor is it a proper way to control a people. Far too often have those with agency over others used fear to stay in control. What purpose is there to fearmongering? If your power is no longer needed, have you not succeeded in reaching a goal for your people? Why cling to power through fear? Help your people in some other way… Though, I digress, and I apologise. The second my brain even hears a whisper of mage rights, I go on rants. I haven’t had the time to write much on my manifesto as of late, and the words are itching to be written down!

Nevermind that. You write of interesting things in your society! For a place that says magic does not exist, you sure have quite a lot of mysterious “unexplainable” things happening! If the people you speak of tap further into these abilities, you would have full blown mages, I have no doubt of that!

Magic appears in each person at different ages here in Thedas, and with various degrees of intensity. For some it appears at age 4, for some at ages 12. I had a friend who had magic manifest to him at an early age, only for him to never be able to fully tap into his mana, leaving him rather useless at the Tower in relation to magical lessons. He ended up becoming very good at potion making instead though, which one can do without magic. I wonder what happened to him… whether he is still alive…

And, to answer your question, that sounds exactly like force magic! I have a friend in Kirkwall who is very keen on Force Magic. He has adapted it to be strong enough to push people away from friends in a battle. Saved my life quite a few times! Although, he does prefer punching with his hand. These people you speak of, they talk about their Force Magic openly? Without repercussions?

Oh Maker, telepathy? I would not openly admit I am scared of any magic (aside from, perhaps, certain kinds of blood magic) but telepathy? I don’t want people to know what I am thinking of them. Specifically if said person has a nice… behind… Once more I am surprised by the amount of magical attributes many of your people claim to have, and yet magic is not a subject of discussion amongst your leaders? Oh how such a thing sounds like such… freedom. I could open a clinic and heal those in need of it, those who believe in me, with my magic without fear of being found. I could openly move objects around with my magic without hermetically sealing each and every window shutter first. Amazing!

Though, you touch upon an important point too. How safe is this freedom? If people do not take it seriously, do people stay safe? Are there books to guide those who need it? Are there teachers you can find easily? Schools? Spirits can easily claim to be someone when in reality they are demons. One needs to know how to walk the path in order to not stray into the dark forest.

And do not fret, my friend! Spirit guides will reveal themselves when they feel it is right. Sometimes they also reveal themselves in your surroundings rather than directly (of course, I speak now of our teachings, I do not know how it is in your part of the world). They can also appear in dreams when we walk the Fade (or wherever your mind takes you). Look for signs. Look for what your eyes are drawn to, look at what symbols you see each day. A cat? A crow? Multiple people wearing a red scarf? And think of what you remember from your dreams. Your spirit guide might already have revealed itself to you but you have not noticed it yet.

Your scientists believe in multiple layers of the Fade? Interesting… Would that entail there are multiple… aspects of me?

In regards to your questions, yes. I believe the Fade could be what your scientists have found, or seen. I believe the… “portals” your people speak of could be where the Veil is thin. Strange occurrences appear in places where the Veil is thin. Demons can pour out, spirits or other creatures too, and they can attempt to manipulate their surroundings the way they are used to in the Fade, only for it to not be possible. Instead, things are flown around. They get upset, scared, or angry that their surroundings are not what they are used to, and they lash out. Sometimes, demons pour out purposefully to find a willing host so they can stay. What, exactly, is alluring about the mortal world is something I do not understand just yet.

Whether these dimensions, the Fade, can exist within us…? This is an interesting concept. Perhaps it is a bit of both? Perhaps where we go when we dream, whether you are a mage or not, is a part of the Fade which our souls are connected to. Perhaps this within us is an internalisation of the connection we have to the Fade, creating an entire world within ourselves? Or, perhaps, it is simply a connection in the form of a leash which we follow to the Fade when we dream, and follow back out when we wake? I do not know. I know I can tap into a pool of mana, which in turn is the Fade, or dangerously close to the Veil at the very least. It feels as though that exists within me. But I can also feel it outside of me. It is a comforting thought nevertheless, no? To both not know for certain and be able to believe something that puts us at ease, and to be aware that there is something that potentially connects all on this world… Something that connects us, and shows us that despite differences of culture or otherwise, we all belong together.

Perhaps, that is sometimes more comforting than my belief in Andraste.

I will admit, my thoughts were all over the place. You bring such interesting subjects to the table! Your world is a wonder, truly, and so different from mine with SO much unexplored still! It is new, filled with mysteries and close to breakthroughs. Hearing of your world is fascinating, and I hope I can offer some interesting thoughts to you too.

I have let a certain tabby (yes! I found a tabby down here! And he lets me pet him) sign off this letter for you. He says hello (I think, I can’t do telepathy the way some of your people can!). He is purring very contentedly as I write this last paragraph, though if I purr back, he gives me a strange look. If even cats look at us strangely when we purr, perhaps that’s why we don’t.

Yours truly, Anders.

Below Anders’ name is a blob of snot (not intentionally put there by a kitty sniffing the paper) and a cat’s paw print!

DA letters guidelines Scroll through other letters here Buy me a coffee here

#omg this is a thing?? in our world??#Anders would LOVE THIS SO MUCH #um this took me way too long #but Anders didn't want to talk through me after some bad stuff happened to me #either way #thank you SO MUCH FOR THESE LETTERS #I missed writing these so much #I love reading something you write and both going #and going #and I love that you and Anders are freaking out about cats together XD #thank you ever so much again #dragon age #dragon age 2 #rp #Letter from DA Characters #Anders #dragon age anders

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farraigenafeile · 2 years

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Of Hiding Spots and Refuges - Ch. 2

N/A: as I'm currently working on something quite painful (just how I like it), I decided to post the second chapter of my lil comfort fic here as well! hope you like it

Description: Just a platonic and comforting Steve&Robin bonding moment after Steve finds Robin in an unexpected position. (sounds vague but I don’t want to spoil it!)

Content warnings: bad parenting, but just hinted at. Mentions of homoph*bia and of the d-word used as a slur. Let me know if there’s anything else I should flag! You can read Chapter 1 here ------ ‘I still can’t believe I’m in prom king Steve Harrington’s house,’ Robin said with a little giggle as she stepped into the hallway. Her mood seemed to have improved massively while in the car. Steve didn’t live too far away from Starcourt, but still made sure to put on some fun music on while driving. They also stopped to pick up some pizza, which Steve was now holding up while trying to close the front door with keys between his teeth. The house seemed empty, but a few lights were still on, giving a warm and inviting glow.

‘Upstairs, and then the door to the left,’ Steve said casually, setting down the pizza boxes and giving a sigh of relief after checking nobody was in. Robin went up the stairs and then disappeared on the landing. Steve got a variety of drinks from the fridge and filled up two glasses with some tap water, unsure of what Robin would prefer, and then carried it all upstairs on a large tray.

Robin set down her backpack, which temporarily contained her whole life. She then briefly listened to check that Steve was still downstairs, and changed quickly into jeans and a loose sweatshirt. Then, she took a second to take a look around his room. For one, she was incredibly curious about what Steve had in his room and second, being in a guy's bedroom was a rare and interesting occurrence. Her fingerx traced the checkered wallpaper and continued along the desk. It had a few dents, many scratches and some post-it notes on it. Robin didn’t want to snoop too much, but one of them definitely had some phone number scribbled on. She continued towards the bookshelf, which only really contained a couple books. Robin spotted some Asimov and Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which frankly surprised her. Was Steve really into this, or did he only start picking this up after their adventures? There were action figures as well and some vinyls, all hidden in plain envelopes. Overall rating, for a rich kid, the room was quite bare and not too entertaining, but in a way, it kind of fit Steve. Of course, not in the way that he was bland and boring, but that it was just unassuming, plain and you had to discover the true nature of it?

Steve came back in, disturbing’s Robin inner monologue and setting down the pizza on the large tray he just brought. ’Tuck in,’ he said, gesturing to the food. Robin accepted the invitation and immediately grabbed a slice. So did Steve. They both decided on standard pepperoni, but then each picked a side they thought went with the toppings the least.

  ‘So, kinda forgot to say it, but make yourself at home, you know, mi casa es se casa’, Steve said with his mouth still full. ‘Thanks,’ Robin smiled, fighting with a floppy cheese string between her mouth and the slice, ‘and it’s su casa’ ‘Huh?’ ‘Mi casa es su casa,’ Robin repeated. ‘My house is your house. What you said was My house is know house,’ she said, fully realising that Steve probably didn’t want to be corrected, but she couldn’t help herself.  ‘Well, maybe I know my house very well’ Steve said, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head.  And they burst into laugh.

Later on, Steve took one of those records out of their plain sleeves and put on some quiet, nondescript music. Robin also openly admitted that she really enjoyed snooping around Steve’s room and they spent a couple hours looking at his books and school journals and even did a good ol’ photo album run-through. That was when Robin started getting a little fidgety and her laughs were getting fewer and farther between. She felt the anxiety creeping up her spine and took her sweatshirt off to relieve the hot flash.

‘Hey, Robin, what’s that?’ Steve asked suddenly, gesturing towards her arm. ‘Oh,’ Robin said, glancing at it, ‘Yep, that’s a bruise. And it’s not what you think. Mostly. This one was just me bumping into the door frame when I was trying to leave the house.. and then this one,‘ she drew the shoulder of her top down, ‘was when my mother actually threw a box at me… so there ya go.’ Steve was shocked for a couple seconds, mostly at the way how nonchalantly she said it, but at this point, he knew that Robin didn’t always show whether certain matters affected her. ‘Wait, are you for real?’ He asked, his mouth wide open. ‘Did- did that happen just now, when you got kicked out? How did-,’ he didn’t mean to pry, but Robin also felt like she might have owed him an explanation.

‘Okay, so I have been out to my mother for a while. I thought she was okay with it, but I guess she was just hoping that it was…a phase, or that I wouldn’t act on it.’ Robin started. ‘Alright,’ Steve said, nodding his head. Robin was just staring at the bookshelf for a second and collecting her thoughts. ‘And then one day, more specifically two days ago, she found the letters-', she paused, briefly panicking, but then realised that there was no harm in telling Steve. ‘They weren’t even addressed to anyone specifically, but they were still private. I poured all my wishes and my whole heart into them and- I guess it drove my mother over the edge.’ Robin said, her brows furrowed.

‘And,’ she continued, getting steadily more upset, ‘when I came back home, she confronted me. She wanted to know who were those letters to and how I never included her or Dad in my decisions anymore and…’ Robin raised her eyebrows slightly, staring right at a transition between the edge of the rug and the floor - ‘that she doesn’t want to have a dyke in the house and… then I simply just left and she threw a box of my stuff at me,’ Robin said, her index finger flicking the side of her thumbnail in an attempt to regulate herself or even better, to appear like it was a much less of a deal to her than it actually was.

‘Shit,’ was all Steve could muster. He was shocked. He’d never imagined that Robin would have a tough time at home. He wasn’t a person to assume that everybody had a great family life but - something about Robin struggling made him feel for her, but he also couldn’t help but feel the bile rising. ‘Yeah, shit,’ Robin sounded out, but she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. Steve shook his head and pulled her into a hug. It wasn’t the most comfortable one since they were both crouching on the floor, but they still stayed in it for quite a while. Steve rubbed his thumb on Robin’s non-bruised shoulder and Robin finally felt secure enough to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Steve also expected a flood of tears, but was met with a smile when they pulled apart. Robin was sad, but her face was full of relief and gratitude.

After their little silent moment was over, they both non-verbally agreed on starting to get ready for sleep. Robin helped set up Steve’s temporary bed on the floor out of spare blankets, and cushions, first arguing that she’d be perfectly fine, but Steve telling her not to be ridiculous and ordering her to sleep in his bed. They changed the bedding as well, each got their turn for a few minutes in the bathroom, tucked into beds and turned off the lights.

---  

Robin just returned from a trip to the toilet. Steve was snoring quietly on the floor, the cushions scattered around. Robin stepped over him carefully and climbed back into bed. She crossed her legs, wiggling her toes and playing with the edge of the top sheet.

Finally, she sighed.

‘Hey, Steve?’ She whispered. No response.  ‘Steve?’ She whispered again, making sure to draw out the vowels, ‘you asleep?'  Steve stirred and woke up with a groan. ‘What’s up?’  ‘I feel bad that you’re on the floor,’ Robin said, drawing circles on the off-white duvet covers. ‘You can come over here, if you like,’ she said, moving over and freeing up a spot next to her. ‘You sure it’s okay?’ Steve asked. He just wanted her to feel comfortable tonight, no need for her to ask just to make him happy. ‘Yeah sure, come here,’ Robin said, giving him a little smile.

Steve grabbed two cushions and climbed into bed next to her. They shared a brief and awkward look.  ‘Just a brief disclaimer that if you kick me in your sleep, I’ll kick you right back,’ Steve said with a very serious face. Robin just briefly regretted inviting him in, shook her head and lied back down, stealing some of the duvet. “Dingus,” she said quietly, laughing to herself, closing her eyes again.

This was the most peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks.

N/A: also a special note of thanks to @shawly-not who helped me figure out the linguistics of the mi casa scene!

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #steve #robin #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #platonic with a capital p #stranger things fanfic #st fanfic #stranger things fic #why are there so many ways to tag a fanfic i'm sorry #st3 #st4 #st

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catboyebooks · 2 years

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okay, some misc. chapter 4 thoughts while i work on finding something more coherent to say:

i mentioned this when it happened but i really love how the entire opening of this chapter has you basically on rails with no room to really investigate, explore, talk to people, etc. of your own accord as the player, up until the point where you finally get to "make a decision" and the decision is entering the funhouse. which is the only way to advance the game, so it's not really a decision. also you know full well it's a bad idea and that people will die as a consequence of this choice. i like when a video game forces you to make a decision that you are fully aware is a bad one. the feeling of player helplessness (and in this case, character helplessness as well — hinata believes in that moment that he has to investigate the funhouse and ultimately that is indeed the case) that this evokes is quite good.

this chapter is just zero escape! i was so delighted to replay the chapter and realize this. i wouldn't have picked up on this when i first got into sdr2, i didn't play 999 until a year or so ago, but the zero escape references are just everywhere in this chapter. the characters (and there's exactly nine of them left alive at that point) find themselves trapped in a strange building from which they must seek a way out! and the building turns out to be different in structure from what they were led to believe. there's a time limit (they will starve if they don't get out soon). sonia infodumps about asimov's laws of robotics at one point totally unprompted (and this does actually turn out to be relevant — will talk more about this later), the way zero escape characters are constantly delivering infodumps on seemingly random topics. we switch perspectives to the deuteragonist for the sake of solving an escape room puzzle, which is done in a style blatantly mimicking zero escape puzzles. this was so much fun to me. danganronpa has always worn its zero escape influences on its sleeve but this in particular was just splendid. whatever the hell is going on with kodaka and uchikoshi, i'm here for it

good character stuff all over the place this chapter. sonia and gundam have a lot of really cute interactions with each other, and souda's increasingly desperate attempts to get sonia to notice him make for a good running gag (there are a lot of jokes related to this that i skipped over for brevity when summarizing, but i was definitely entertained by it). gundam of course is fantastic here in general and i'm going to talk about him a lot more later. owari gets some time to shine this chapter — it became clear to me at this point in the game that while she isn't particularly useful during investigations/trials she does tend to have good gut instincts (she managed to correctly guess some aspects of how this murder went down despite not figuring out the bigger picture), and i like that for her character. kuzuryuu gets some real time to shine this chapter as well both because it's the first time we've been able to spend free time with him and because that one scene between him and owari is real fucking good. nidai being a robot is fun and... also continues the wizard of oz reference from earlier in a rather interesting way (i want to talk about this more too). nanami's a little out of focus this chapter as you can't hang out with her but she still has a very important role to play and seems to be really getting into the swing of solving the mysteries (she contributes a lot to figuring out the funhouse layout stuff). komaeda gets an entire fucking section of the chapter from his POV. and of course, we have a major reveal about hinata.

i still maintain they need an eye strain warning in that damn funhouse. not that it gave me specifically a headache to look at but i imagine this one was rough on some players, and it certainly would have been rough on the characters. since i was reading a let's play that used screenshots back in the day i did not realize the walls are all fucking animated in addition to being garishly colored/patterned and i'm still a little shocked at how, well, despair-inducing it is in there. imagine dealing with that while also starving... i'd feel murderous too tbh

#kes plays sdr2

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homoose · 3 years

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Love Has a Learning Curve: Part V (x reader)

Summary: Y/N meets Diana, and it goes better than she expected. Y/N meets the team, and it doesn’t go completely as planned. Spencer’s spidey senses are tingling.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 5k

Warnings/Includes: alcohol/drinking, reader gets drunk on accident and is incredibly insecure and self-deprecating, I think that’s it

a/n: Thank you all for your patience and kind words in this really sad and weird moment of my life. This couple brings me so much joy and I’m absolutely dreading the hurt that’s coming in the next part. Sorry in advance 😭 But also, you can re-read Lighthouse and First of Many before the angst!!!!!! If you haven’t read those fics, I recommend it because there are some relevant connections. ♥️

Series Masterlist

———

Y/N felt his hands sneaking around her waist, rubbing low over her tummy, and then the press of his warm body along her back. She tilted her head to make room for him to settle his chin on her shoulder, smiling as his hands completed their journey and wrapped her up tight.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she answered, pressing their cheeks together.

“Are you almost done?”

“You made quite the mess, doctor.” It was the last weekend of Spencer’s sabbatical, and he had spent the afternoon cooking all of her favorite foods— a sort of preemptive gift for when he was back on the BAU’s unpredictable schedule. She’d taken on the responsibility of the dishes in return, which was no easy undertaking considering it seemed as though he’d used every single pot, pan, and utensil in her kitchen.

“If you’d let me help, you’d be done by now,” he complained, hugging her a little tighter and turning his head to drag his lips across her cheek.

“Let me just finish this pan, and then I’m all yours.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then another to the spot behind her ear, and one more to her shoulder. Then he propped his chin once more and rubbed his thumbs where they rested against her sides.

She laughed a little as she ran the dish brush along the edges of the pan. “Comfy?”

He hummed his confirmation, and she could feel his smile as she lathered the inside of the pan, then rinsed it, and finally drained the sink. She dried her hands on the kitchen towel and turned to face him. He didn’t remove his hands, instead just let them glide over her hips and then settle on her lower back.

“Thank you for all of that.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the fridge, packed full of leftovers. “My mom will be so honored to know you made her pot pie.”

“I could eat it every day for the rest of my life and be very, very happy.” He dropped his gaze and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Speaking of moms, I… I was wondering if you, um— if you’d want to meet my mom?”

Her eyes went a little wide, and he took her silence as an answer, continuing, “You don’t have to. It—it’s too soon.”

She brought a hand up to cup his chin between her fingers, bringing his eyes back to hers. “I would love to meet your mom.”

…

Spencer shut off the engine of the Volvo, turning in his seat to face her. She tried to settle her nerves without also spurring his own anxiety, which had been quite obviously flaring all morning.

“I’ll check in and visit for a few minutes, try to gauge what kind of a day it is, and then I’ll text you to come in or not.” He ran a hand over his face. “I really should have had you drive separate, because if it’s not a good day I don’t want you to have to wait around while I visit with her, but she’s been having a lot of good days recently, and—”

“Honey.” She found his hands where they were clutching a little aggressively at his leg and covered them with her own, running her thumbs soothingly along his skin. “It’s okay. Either way— whether I meet her today or we wait for a better day— it’s okay.”

He closed his eyes and breathed a relieved sigh. “Have I told you how much I love you yet today?”

“Mm, I don’t think you have,” she smiled.

He brought her hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of each. “I love you so much. The most.”

“I beg to differ.” She leaned over the console and kissed his nose. “I definitely love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He shifted to meet her lips in a quick kiss. “I’ll text you in a few minutes?”

She gave him another kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer dropped the keys into her hand and then climbed out of the car, closing the door and practically trotting toward the building. She would have laughed if it weren’t for the raging anxiety that was nearly suffocating her. She opened her door and put her legs out the side of the car, taking a deep breath and looking out over the parking lot.

Y/N knew that meeting Diana was a good thing. That Spencer wanted her to meet the most important woman in his life was a testament to their relationship. But the closer she got to it, the more she felt completely and totally out of place. What did she have to offer this woman’s remarkable son other than a mountain of student loan debt, an endless supply of expo markers, and an ever growing collection of toilet paper rolls?

She loved teaching kindergarten, and she was the first to defend the profession in most settings. But she was about to be in a room with two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, and she couldn’t help but wonder what she would possibly have to contribute. More than that, what would Diana Reid think of her son settling for someone so… ordinary?

Her phone buzzed with the incoming text message, and she bit back a sigh.

Spencer: It’s an incredible day. She’s already asking about you.

Y/N turned her face up to the clear blue sky, feeling the sun on her face and taking a deep breath. Then, she hoisted herself out of the vehicle, locking it and turning to walk toward the building. DC was hot and sticky this time of year, and she was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as she entered the facility.

The woman at the front desk— Suzanna, by her name tag— smiled kindly at her. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, um— I’m here to visit with Diana Reid.” Y/N began signing into the visitor’s log, smiling a little at Spencer’s hasty signature right above. “Her son is here, too— Spencer.”

“Ah, yes, you must be Y/N. Diana’s been so excited to meet you.” Suzanna chuckled lightly at her expression, and Y/N wondered just how much everyone already knew about her. “They’re just through there— in the sunroom.”

Y/N mumbled her thanks and turned in the direction of the sunroom, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the skirt of her dress. She’d spent far too long getting ready this morning, including steaming the dress— a simple number with a black bodice and a skirt covered in books. It was her own personal nod to the incredible legacy that Diana had left— not only as a professor of classic literature, but also as the mother of the most incredible reader— and man— she’d ever met.

And now she had a moment of panic, wondering if maybe it was too on the nose, or if Diana would think it was silly and immature. She briefly considered turning and heading back out to the parking lot, but then Spencer appeared in the doorway to the sunroom, waving his thanks to Suzanna and then positively beaming at her . How could she deny him this?

He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it, instantly more at ease from the simple touch. He pulled her gently into the room, and there was Diana, perched on a floral sofa and looking quite elegant in a soft purple shawl.

She stood immediately, an absolutely radiant smile stretching across her face at the sight of them. Y/N watched as she clasped her hands in front of her and felt Spencer squeeze her hand at the same time.

“Y/N,” Diana smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N returned her smile. “It is such an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Reid.”

She scoffed and waved her hand. “Just Diana, please.” Y/N saw the moment she noticed the dress, her eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “I can already tell you’re perfect for my son: the lover of books.” She motioned to the seating area. “Come, sit.”

The three of them sat, Spencer in the armchair just across from them as she and Diana sat on the sofa. Y/N folded her hands in her lap and tried to straighten her posture. Diana leaned back against the couch with a smile.

“I really have heard a lot about you,” she repeated, sliding her eyes over to a blushing Spencer. “Spencer tells me you teach kindergarten.” Y/N nodded, and Diana shook her head. “I deeply admire the patience and energy you must have for that age group.”

Y/N laughed a little. “They can certainly be a handful. I hear you were a teacher as well.” Her eyes went a little wide at her mistake. “A professor, I mean.”

“Oh, yes, yes— 15th century literature.” Diana tilted her head, considering Y/N with a knowing gaze. “But teaching is teaching, no matter the age. And where would any of us be without our kindergarten teachers? The ones who teach us the very foundations of learning. Who not only teach us to read and write, but also to inquire and investigate and discover.”

Y/N felt unexpected tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she had to take a moment to breathe before speaking. “Thank you for saying that. Sometimes people assume that kindergarten is all play doh and finger paint.”

“What’s that saying about making assumptions?” Diana pondered.

“Issac Asimov said, ‘Assumptions are our windows on the world,’” Spencer offered.

“Mm, thank you for that, honey, but the one I’m thinking of is from an episode of The Odd Couple , I believe,” Diana corrected, winking at Y/N. “When you assume, you make an ass of you and me.”

“Ah.” Spencer held back a laugh, and Y/N’s heart felt just a little bit lighter.

Diana smiled brightly at her. “Your students must absolutely adore you.” Diana gestured vaguely to Spencer before continuing, “Spencer loved his kindergarten teacher— hm, Mrs. Hudson, was it?”

Spencer nodded in confirmation. Diana looked back to Y/N with a slightly mischievous grin. “His report cards always came back with the note that he was ‘helping’ the other students just a little too much— always the professor, even at five years old.”

Spencer let out an indignant squeak, and Y/N laughed. “My parents got a very similar note.” She gave Spencer a smile. “We just couldn’t help it, apparently.”

“I’m sure it didn’t help that he’d been reading for three years before he was even enrolled,” Diana mused. “Did he tell you that he originally considered studying the classics?” Y/N shook her head. “Well. When you’ve already read and discussed all the course material, it seems a waste of money, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, I suppose it does,” Y/N agreed.

“Oh,” Diana tapped Y/N’s arm affectionately before gesturing back to Spencer, “and then there was the time that he became so fixated on the idea of becoming a magician that he somehow managed to trap a rabbit in our backyard.”

“ Mom ,” Spencer choked out.

“Oh my. No, no— please go on,” Y/N begged, waving her hand dismissively in Spencer’s direction and leaning closer to Diana. “I need all the embarrassing stories.”

Diana let out a lilting laugh. “The poor thing spent the better part of a weekend in a storage bin while Spencer tried to figure out the top hat trick.”

Y/N turned to him with a bewildered grin. “The storage bin was well ventilated!” he defended. “And she had plenty of food and water.”

“Did you figure out the trick?” Y/N asked.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “Mom found out about the rabbit before I could. And you need more than just the hat for the trick anyway.”

“We fed her one last carrot and then sent her back out to be with the rest of her bunny family, who must have been missing her dearly.” Diana winked at Y/N. “At least that’s what I had to tell six year old Spencer.”

“Rabbits are incredibly social and live in large colonies, so that actually was most likely the case,” Spencer supplied.

Diana smiled fondly at her son, and Y/N could practically feel the love radiating off of her. “Either way, I had one very sad little boy for the next week or so.” She turned back to Y/N. “We actually took a break from some of the more... advanced reading material so that I could read him The Tale of Peter Rabbit .”

“A classic in its own right,” Y/N said.

Diana nodded. “I’ve always said that children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and imaginative storytelling. We can learn a lot from Peter and Ferdinand.”

“I love Ferdinand!” Y/N gasped. “Gosh, that’s one of my all time favorite books. My mom read it to me when I was little, and I read it to my kids every year.”

Diana threw her hands up. “And that right there tells me everything I need to know about your teaching. Well— that and everything Spencer’s already gushed about, of course.”

The three of them spent the better part of the afternoon laughing and trading embarrassing childhood stories. Diana was even more lovely than she could have imagined, and Y/N was grateful to be so quickly accepted into the small but incredibly loving family unit.

Every so often, she would catch Spencer’s eyes on her— soft and content and practically sparkling— and her heart would leap into her throat. He was uncharacteristically quiet, letting Diana lead most of their side of the conversation, only chiming in here and there to offer context or defend himself in a particularly mortifying tale. Diana unwittingly (or perhaps purposefully) revealed just how much Spencer had spoken about her; she already knew about Y/N’s home, her family, and most of her interests.

Spencer may have been quiet, but he was also blushing profusely— caught in the act of being absolutely enamored with her. Y/N found that she didn’t know how to feel about that. She should be happy. She should be thrilled. And in some ways, she was. Being with Spencer had made her the happiest she’d been in a very long time— maybe ever.

It was the happiness that scared her.

She deserved happiness. That’s what Anita would tell her. But the way she felt with Spencer— comfortable, natural, easy — was the rising action. She was still anticipating the climax, the mountaintop, the apex of joy. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. She’d learned that every mountain had a valley, and the falling action always dragged her against every jagged stone on the way down. She never failed to plummet from the heights into the depths of where she’d learned to live, quiet and lonely and a little bit bruised.

This knowledge didn't stop her from soaking up every second of the highs.

“I’m starting to get a little tired,” Diana admitted. She reached across the couch and patted Y/N’s hand, squeezing gently, and then she looked to Spencer. “I start to— forget when I’m tired.”

The smile that had become almost permanent that afternoon faltered slightly, but he nodded and checked his watch. “Four hours is pretty good.”

She hummed. “They’ve been longer as of late.”

Y/N watched as his nose twitched. “Does Dr. Kincaid think that’s good or bad?”

Diana gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s not sure.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and then Y/N stood. “Let me give you a minute together.” Diana stood as well, and Y/N clasped her hands together. “I don’t think I can articulate how incredibly happy I am to have finally met you. And I— I definitely don’t have the words to properly thank you for raising such a wonderful man.”

Diana took her hands, squeezing them gently before pulling her into a hug. Y/N returned the embrace, and Diana murmured, “Thank you for loving him. Through the highs and the lows.”

Y/N blinked back tears for the second time that day, nodding into Diana’s shoulder and hugging her tightly.

With a final squeeze, Diana released her, and Y/N excused herself back out into the foyer. She signed out of the visitor log and waved to a grinning Suzanna, and then headed outside to catch her breath. She made it to the car, unlocking it and settling into the passenger seat before leaning over to turn it on and get the windows rolled down.

Spencer emerged from the building, his hands in his pockets. He quickly made his way to the vehicle, practically running across the parking lot and sliding behind the wheel. Before she could even say anything, he was surging across the console to grab her face in his hands and pull her into a kiss.

She steadied herself with her hands on his chest, clutching at his shirt and returning the unexpected passion with a slightly bewildered smile. When he was finished, he pulled back to lean their foreheads together. She caught her breath and asked, “What was that for?”

“She loved you, and I love you, and I’m so glad you got to meet her.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, and she slid her arms around his back, pulling him into a hug. “Me, too.”

He leaned into her for a minute longer, breathing into her hair and pressing another kiss to her shoulder. Then he pulled back, smiling widely. “How would you feel about meeting the other family?”

…

Spencer drove them to meet up with the team at O’Keefe’s, a favorite haunt of theirs on the evenings when they’d wrapped a case at a reasonable hour. They headed up the sidewalk hand in hand, with Y/N leaning a little into his side. She was feeling slightly more at ease this time around thanks to the buffer of knowing Penelope, Luke, and JJ already.

Spencer held the door open, trailing in behind her with a hand on her waist. She spotted Penelope’s bright green dress immediately, and Spencer raised his hand in greeting. The group gave them a raucous cheer, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

Spencer kept his hand on the small of her back as they approached the table. He greeted the group and then turned to Y/N, gesturing around the table. He introduced her to Tara, Matt, and Emily, the three of whom greeted her with warm handshakes. Penelope was practically vibrating with excitement as she scooped her up into a hug.

“Gosh dang it, you are just so cute ,” Penelope squeaked. She pulled back from the hug to take stock of Y/N’s outfit. “The books, I love it. And the shoes!”

Y/N laughed, twirling her ankle to show off the pink t-strap heels. “I’m definitely going to regret them in about an hour. But they look cute anyway.”

Tara sidled up to the two of them, raising her glass in solidarity. “Here’s to cute shoes and pinched toes.” She took a sip of her scotch and then turned to Y/N. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Y/N insisted.

Tara waved her hand and gestured to Spencer. “You got grandpa to come out to the bar. You’re not paying for a single drink tonight.”

“I come out with you guys!” he squeaked indignantly.

A chorus of exasperated groans made their way around the group, followed by good-natured laughs. Tara raised a single eyebrow in Spencer’s direction, and then turned her attention back to Y/N. “Like I said, you won’t need your wallet tonight. What’ll it be?”

…

She did not, in fact, have to reach for her wallet at all that evening. Between the seven of them, Y/N’s cup was always full and her smile was nearly permanent. She heard endless stories about Spencer, complete with photo evidence— much to his dismay.

She learned that Tara had a doctorate in forensic psychology, and Emily had worked internationally for years becoming the Unit Chief of the BAU. Luke had been an Army Ranger and a member of the Fugitive Task Force, and Matt had traveled the globe with the International Response Team.

They were all incredibly kind, asking about her family and her work, listening with interest as she recounted growing up on a farm and her days spent teaching kindergarten. Despite their apparent interest, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little… silly. Stories of field trips and finger painting felt incredibly juvenile in comparison to the lived experiences of this remarkable team of people.

She did her best to steer the conversation back to the team whenever possible, which in some ways made the whole thing worse. But she managed to keep a smile for the evening, and she lost track of how many drinks made their way down the hatch. Luke ordered an assortment of snack foods for the group, and she gratefully accepted a few fries and a mozzarella stick to soak up some of the alcohol sloshing around in her stomach. At some point Spencer returned from the bar with an extra glass of water, sliding it her way with a knowing smile and a press of his lips to her cheek.

Eventually, Y/N had to excuse herself to the bathroom, patting Spencer’s arm and carefully navigating the dim bar. In the way that it so often did, the level of her intoxication made itself abundantly clear in the harsh lighting of the restroom. She stumbled out of the stall to wash her hands, using the countertop for balance and cursing under her breath.

She raised her head to analyze her appearance, groaning a little at the smudge of mascara under her eyes. As she swiped at the black rings, she considered that she had never quite figured out the ideal amount of alcohol— somehow always managing to get a little too drunk. And now she was too drunk in front of all of Spencer’s friends— his family.

Not only that, but for the second time today, she couldn’t help but feel so overwhelmingly ordinary . Surrounded by the team, all extraordinary and awe-inspiring in their own right, she was… plain, unaccomplished, boring . Spencer had called her remarkable; she felt anything but.

She closed her eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over, remembering the last time she’d cried in a bar bathroom. She’d spent that evening wondering what was wrong with her… wondering if she deserved to have someone like Spencer at all.

“That’s just… the alcohol talking,” she reminded herself out loud into the empty bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Stop bein’ a weirdo.”

She pushed out of the bathroom and back into the bar, walking a little more cautiously as the alcohol started to course through her bloodstream. As she approached the group again, Spencer’s eyes found her immediately, and he reached for her, pulling her underneath his arm and into his side. He brought his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just—” She slid her hand around his waist to keep herself steady. “Just more tipsy than I thought.”

He ran a soothing hand along her arm. “Do you wanna go home?”

She shook her head. “No, no— ‘M fine. ‘S nice to be with your friends.”

“You’re sure?” He squeezed her shoulder and lowered his voice. “Because honestly I’m kind of ready to go.”

She looked up from where her head was resting on his chest to see him smiling softly at her. “Whatever you want.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then turned back to the team and cleared his throat. “We’re gonna head out.”

Tara made a show of checking her watch. “10:45? I’m surprised you stayed this long, old man.”

…

Y/N’s eyes opened slowly and came into focus as Spencer’s car came to a stop outside her apartment. “Why’re we here?”

Spencer shut off the ignition and pulled out the key with a small smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to feel… less than stellar tomorrow. I thought you might like to wake up in your own bed. Hang on.”

He climbed out of the vehicle and closed the door before coming around to her side. She could feel the tears welling up as she fumbled with the buckle on her seatbelt. Everything was a little uncoordinated, and she felt absolutely ridiculous.

The door opened, and she carefully swung her legs out one at a time. Spencer stood slightly to the side, and she knew she should hurry up and let him get home, but she didn’t move to get up.

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head, and the action sent a tear rolling over her bottom lash line. She tried to swipe it away, but of course Spencer caught it.

“Hey— what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

She sniffed. “Are you just dropping me off?”

He cupped a hand underneath her chin to tilt her eyes upward, and his eyes were soft but concerned. “I was planning to come upstairs with you. Unless you don’t want me to.”

She shook her head. “No, I— you can come upstairs.”

“Okay.” Spencer cocked his head. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Y/N didn’t know where to begin. She was drowning in self-doubt— had been since about the one month mark. It seemed that every day there was something new to feel insecure about. The confidence she’d had on his doorstep in March was nowhere to be found.

That was too much for her slow moving brain to articulate at the moment, so she settled on: “They’re all so smart and funny and cool and interesting.”

“Okay…” he prompted.

“And I’m not,” she admitted.

His mouth turned quickly down. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I’m just— a kindergarten teacher and I— I don’t have any cool skills or stories, and I don’t even have any muscles, and they’re all so pretty —”

“Hey, stop— stop.” Spencer squatted down to be eye-level with her. “First of all, you’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re my favorite kindergarten teacher and the best one I know.” He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. “You have lots of cool skills and stories. And I don’t have any muscles either.”

She lifted her free hand to squeeze his bicep. “Yes, you do.”

“Muscles are overrated.” He smiled and brought a hand to her face, smoothing her hair back and then letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “And frankly, pretty is too mundane a term to describe you. I’d go with something like radiant, or ethereal, or incandescent.”

“You have to s‘plain your jokes to me,” she slurred, swiping her forearm under her nose.

“Not always. And besides, I have to explain my jokes to basically everyone,” he reminded her. He squeezed her hand. “But unlike everyone else, you let me explain them to you. And you actually listen to the explanation.” He shrugged. “I think I like that more than I like telling the joke.”

She was quiet then, eyes focused on a particularly interesting piece of loose gravel. She knew the list of her flaws was longer, but her brain couldn’t string them together in her current state.

Spencer shuffled closer and waited patiently until she finally looked at him before continuing.

“I love you. And not because of your job, or your cool stories, or your muscles,” he clarified. “I love you because you’re you. And, a little selfishly, because I love the person that I am when I’m with you. Okay?”

He smiled tentatively, and she let out a long breath. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and kissed her nose. “Now, come on. Let’s get inside.”

Spencer helped her navigate up the walkway and the three flights of stairs. Rather than rummage drunkenly through her purse, she passed it off and allowed him to retrieve her keys and unlock the door.

He supervised and provided balance support as she haphazardly swiped a makeup wipe over her face and fumbled into her pajamas. Finally he got her settled into bed with a bottle of water on the bedside table.

He pulled up the covers around her. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he murmured.

This was the moment that he’d realize what an absolute fool she was. He’d finally be alone in the bathroom, and it would become abundantly clear that she couldn’t drink responsibly, that she was boring, that she was obnoxious. She was sure of it, and her heart was fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.

Spencer’s nervous laugh broke through her haze of insecurity. “Whoa, I thought we were done crying?” he joked. “Honey, c’mere.” Spencer pulled her up into his arms, rubbing a hand over her back.

She hadn’t realized she was making any noise until the sound vibrated against where Spencer had tucked her into his shoulder. As if she hadn’t been foolish enough tonight, now she was blubbering into his nice cardigan. Despite herself, she clung to him like he’d disappear like smoke between her fingers.

“I’m— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed; it’s not funny,” he apologized. “Shhh, sweetheart . It— it’s okay, it’s okay .”

“I don’t want you to go.” Her voice was full of tears and cracked pathetically at the end.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, a tinge of confusion in his voice. “I’m— the bathroom can wait, I suppose.”

That only made her cry harder, which poor Spencer responded to with even more aggressive soothing. He stroked over her hair and hugged her tight, shushing her and rocking her a little bit back and forth.

He was just so sweet . Kind and thoughtful and considerate— three things she hadn’t experienced from a significant other in a very long time. And it was exhausting waiting for the shift— for the moment that he realized she wasn’t worth the hassle. She was so tired of anticipating the end.

“I don’t want you to leave.” She hated how ridiculous she sounded, gasping and hiccuping.

Spencer froze for a full second and then squeezed her impossibly tighter. “I’m not. Baby, I’m not. I am right here.” He stroked a firm hand up and down her spine. “I need you to take some deep breaths with me. I’m gonna do it, too, okay?”

He led her in a series of deep inhalations and long exhales to the rhythm of his palm on her back. He murmured quietly to her, reassurances and promises and love. As her breathing came closer to normal, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, right? I wouldn’t change one single thing about you.” His hand on her back slowed to a stop, and she could practically hear him considering his next move. “I’m pretty sure Billy Joel wrote a song about it, actually. I love you just the way you are. ”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in her throat at the tone deaf melody, and she felt him smile against her hair. “Okay?”

She wasn’t okay, but that wasn’t his fault. She sighed and sniffed. “Okay, off brand Billy Joel.”

“That’s not very nice,” he chuckled, pulling back to swipe his fingers over her damp cheeks.

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I love off brand. Just as good as the real thing, and with some fun quirks.”

“Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.” He smiled softly at her, and then his expression melted into something a little more serious. “But I mean it. There is no place I’d rather be, and no one else that I wanna be with. When I say that I love you the most, I mean that I love you more than I have ever loved anybody. Ever.”

He looked at her so earnestly that she wanted to cry all over again. How was he so wonderful, and gentle, and loving, and perfect ? He’d promised to do better on a chilly night in January and then spent every single day since then doing exactly that.

“But I actually do have to pee,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you going to be okay here for a few minutes?”

He was speaking to her as he would a child, and she was utterly mortified. She waved her hand. “ God , I’m bein’ so annoying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a little drunk. And a lot adorable.” He tapped gently on her nose. “But you’re also kind of sad, and I don’t want you to be sad.” He propped the pillow up behind her. “It’ll be the fastest pee ever— four minutes, tops. Most of it will be hand washing. Okay?"

“Okay,” she smiled, and she really meant it.

He hopped up and trotted to the bedroom door. “See you in four minutes. Have some water while you wait.”

She followed instructions, sipping carefully from the bottle he’d left for her. She also rummaged through the bedside drawer for the Advil, popping two and washing them down with another swig of water.

Spencer returned to the bedroom with his cardigan and pants already discarded. He quickly slipped out of his button up and into his pajamas before sliding in beside her and holding out his arms. “All right, c’mere.”

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“I’m demanding snuggles,” he clarified. “That’s the price you pay for my chauffeur and caretaker services.”

Another smile slowly turned up the corners of her mouth, and he returned it, pulling her against his side. “There she is.”

She allowed herself to settle and melt into his warmth, the soft fabric of his t-shirt under her cheek and his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. She willed herself to stop waiting for the shift. She begged herself to stop looking for the end.

Maybe this time there wouldn’t be an end. Maybe she could have an infinite middle with Spencer Reid. Maybe she had earned that.

———

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see-fee · 3 years

Text

One Redditor’s interpretation of why we all love Daneel so much

https://www.reddit.com/r/asimov/comments/2wxxy0/why_does_everyone_like_r_daneel_so_much/covfdxm/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

Sooo... wall of text incoming.

I'll start by saying that the answers such as "you have to read the later books" miss completely the point. R. Daneel Olivaw was well beloved before the later books - as a matter of fact, Asimov included R. Daneel in the Foundation books because the public wanted to see more of him: R. Daneel needed only two books and a short story to be remembered forever. His fame would be increased and affirmed with the later books, but what made him so famous and beloved in the first place?

Let's admit it, the popularity of a character is sometimes a mysterious thing. Why was Star Wars' Boba Fett such a fan favorite? I have no idea since I have no liking for his character. Sometimes a character resonates with the audience because he just does - and maybe Daneel just did. But let's try to see if we can find a reason for Daneel's prevalence.

I will here argue that R. Daneel Olivaw used to be a very unique character 50 years ago, when the first two Robot mysteries were written (1954 and 1957): he was nothing short of groundbreaking, despite the sketchy characterization (not Asimov's forte, as you correctly say).

Elijah Baley himself, you see, is a good character (I'd even say he's an unusually well-sketched character for Asimov), but he's nothing new. He's your usual hardened and capable detective, self-doubting and claustrophobic (in more senses than your usual one): a good character, as I said, but very much the usual fare. Literature, already back then, was packed with the same sort of no-nonsense, slightly flawed but genial police detectives. Gladia is a good character, but the accused but desirable widow or the exotic apparently-out-of-your-league damsel in distress are old tropes (she surpasses this roles only in her 1985 appearence). Han Fastolfe is a character I'm surprisingly fond of, but once again, conventional in his ways (the mix of the dedicated and genial scientist and of the consumed politician).

On the other hand Asimov himself, in one essay, recounts how very few Robots had been portrayed as "good" (most were evil, or flawed, or incompetent, or defective, or rebellious, or a combination thereof) - think of Metropolis' Maria, of Clarke's Hal2000 computer, of the silent and deadly warden of The Day the Earth Stood Still, and so on. In the most benign portrayal of robots back then, they were helpful - but somewhat stupid and possibly humorous - servants (see, much later, Star Wars' C3PO and R2D2). Of all of Asimov's robots, R. Daneel Olivaw is the one that first subverts most of these tropes. He is unmitigatedly "legal good" - a true paladin of the Three Laws. He is strong and independent and confident and clever and unyieldingly loyal. Most of the psychological tension in Caves of Steel comes from Elijah Baley actually worrying that a robot like Daneel could take his place. Obviously, Elijah always solves the case which suggests that, despite his being apparently a superhuman Daneel still lacks "the spark" (intuition? humanity? geniality?) to equal Elijah - and this, finally, makes Daneel imperfect, and thus acceptable and improvable (you can see Daneel learning from Elijah).

We, the reader who read a book written from the point of view of the human Elijah Baley, can see him going from mistrust and envy to respect and appreciation. We can see how the human Elijah Baley starts considering Daneel worthy of his affection - a friend, that is.

Daneel is not only the first robot detective (to the best of my knowledge) to be ever created, but also one of the first robots to be portrayed as an equal to a human being and deserving to be a friend: in one word, groundbreaking. Today he feels less interesting because he opened the way to lots of similar robots: but, say, Star Trek's Data or Aliens' Bishop owe everything to Daneel Olivaw (without implying any explicit causal connection between them).

To me, for what he represented, for what he is in relation to Elijah Baley, for what he shows us about the potential of robots (and, in a way, of humanity), for being the first and opening the way, R. Daneel Olivaw is one of the best, and most meaningful, characters to have ever existed in science fiction.

#Daneel olivaw #elijah baley #isaac asimov #c/fe

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ladykatakuri · 3 years

Text

Layers

Pairing: Wrecker x Reader

Word Count: 2221

Warnings: Just fluffy and a kiss! Wrecker is not just the hug-a-bear we all love, he is more !

Song Lyrics: Faith of the Heart performed by : Russel Watson

Summary: People always judge you by your so-called defects, but Wreck…” Carefully you place a finger under his chin and lift it. “You are a man with so many layers to discover. Beside your sweet and gentle nature, your love of explosions and bets with Cross on who can destroy the most clankers and your deep affection for your family, there is so much more.

So a Wrecker one shot i made. I think there is far more to the man then has been shown until now and i hope that we will get to see more in depth about all of our sweet Batch in season 2 ( and yes I mean all of them when i say Batch! Crosshair included! )

The Havoc Marauder always seemed as a small home to you all. There was enough space to sit and relax, sleep after a mission or work while underway to whatever planet it was the lot of you would go to, to earn some credits. It was a home away from home, even though you also had a new home base on Ord Mantel. The Marauder was that bit more special because it was the last part of home that the guys had left after defecting from the Empire. Today it seemed to be a refuge for one of the guys and you were glad it was parked on Ord Mantel. Now at the very least, you could spend some time with him, without having to worry that one of the others would walk in on the two of you, without having to worry that he would shut you out again.

“Wrecker….” You walk up to the man currently sitting with his back against the wall of the Marauder. It took you a minute to realise he had taken refuge in the hull and you would not let him get away with withdrawing himself from you again.

“Wrecker, you know you can talk to me right? If not me, then you should find someone to talk to. Please Wreck, don't shut me out.” You slide down next to him on the floor and put a hand on his arm.

When he turns his head to you, you see his watery smile. As much as he is always the cheery and positive man around his family, he now seems to have withdrawn from it all to suffer alone. “I… I don't know where to even start Mini.”

Mini, the name he has given you when you first met and it never left. It became his sweet nickname for you, knowing that you never felt secure about yourself. You had always been well aware you were more weighty then most of the women crowding around the troopers at 79s and all the women flocking towards the men of the Bad Batch whenever they showed up in a bar. The clones who were the majority of the visitors to 79s never looked at you as someone different because of looks though and Wrecker and his brothers were very quick to point out how sweet they found you and how special you had become to them when you joined their little family. To Wrecker you were the most beautiful person in the galaxy as well. He named you Mini, because compared to him, almost everyone was small and you were no different in that. Softly patting his arm you tell him to start where he wants to start.

It's been a long road

Getting from there to here

It's been a long time

But my time is finally near

“I guess, I just wonder where it all will end, or when it all will end. Omega is still just a kid ya know? She is growing up fast, but she is supposed to be a kid. She should be playing with other kids and having fun, bringing home stray animals as pets and kiss a special someone…. Well not kiss, that would not be alright with me and the guys, but when she is older…. But she is learning how to fight and kill now and she is a fugitive with us. It ain't right.” He almost shouts out the words, as if it was blocking his every thought and had to be thrown out there. “I know it wouldn't be much of a life on Kamino for her and all, but still… Is this the right thing to do for her? To keep her with us where she is always in danger?”

You know it is a sentiment that all of the men have had at one point, but Wrecker who bonded strongly with the young girl, as the older brother, felt strongly protective of his little sibling and feared greatly for her safety. With what you hoped to be a reassuring smile you look at him. “Wreck, I know you worry. But this is also Omega`s choice. You all wanted to give her a chance at a more normal life with Cut and Suu. She chose to be with you and live her life with you. You are her family and family is all that matters to her and to you.”

For the first time he grins. “Yeah, she is stubborn ey? Guess she has that in common with us.” Reaching to his side, he grabs a bag of his favorite snack, most times shared with the young girl after a mission. “Want some Mantel Mix too? “ He offers you the bag and you grab a handful of the mix. Popping some in his mouth he chews while staring at the wall opposing you. “Remember how we first got to talk? It was in the hull of the Marauder as well.”

And I can feel the change in the wind right now

Nothings in my way

And they're not gonna hold me down no more

No they're not gonna hold me down

You had been travelling with the guys for a while now, getting used to the day to day business and to being somewhat of a sister figure to Omega. You were no warrior, no clone and no mechanic or medic. You were just the person who was easy in making connections with people when you decided to give it a real try and you knew how to prepare meals from whatever was lying around that was edible. And even more important, you befriended the Bad Batch and covered for them when it was first announced they had defected from the Empire. Knowing how close you had grown to the men, you were under investigation and the guys quickly decided to get you away from the Empire's clutches as fast as they could.

Each of the Batch had grown rather attached to you and Omega clung to you, especially when it came to doing the girly stuff. You enjoyed it immensely but it was Wrecker who surprised you the most. The man had always been considered a simple person that loved explosions and fighting and having his sweet snacks. He could party like the best of them and that was all there was to him. Boy, did he surprise you when you walked in on him one night.

You had been on the way to some remote planet in the Outer Rim. The possibility of finding an ally or foe was small and you needed supplies. Tech and Echo were in the cockpit as usual while Crosshair and Hunter were sound asleep. Omega shared her private sleeping space with you and after a long talk and reading a fantasy story she finally fell asleep. Lula was tucked snugly in with her after which you softly stepped down a ladder and moved to grab something to drink. You stumbled in on Wrecker, concentrated on something on a pad and not hearing you enter the hull. “What ya doing Wreck?” Carefully moving around a crate, you stand beside him and look down.

“Y/N ! You surprised me!.” He quickly puts the pad beside him and looks up to where you stand. I was, well… I was reading something.” He scratches his neck and a slight blush creeps up on his cheeks as he looks at you.

Tilting your head you slide down beside him. “What are you reading?”

For a moment he seems to be debating whether or not he should let you know. Then, he grabs the pad and hands it over to you. When you look at the text displayed you look up. “Wreck, I didn`t know you were interested in this.”

He shyly smiles at you as he takes the pad back. “I like to read about things… Do you know about this man? Asimov? He is really smart. I thought maybe… There is something we can use from what he writes when we face clankers and all.” The sincerity in his voice surprises you a bit.

“I won't say I understand everything this man writes, but it is very interesting. Honestly, I prefer reading different kinds of stories. Romantic novels, historic stories or thrillers and all that. Biographies can be very interesting too and sometimes it can still teach us still I guess.”

Wrecker nods at your every word and a smile beams at you. “You love reading too! Why didn't you tell me? We could share favorites and talk about them if you want? I mean, if that's something you'd like?”

From that moment on, the two of you would share time together whenever you could to talk about the latest story you discovered, about the things either of you did not understand and the other could explain or just reading the same book. More than once it happened that the others would walk in on the two of you, you with your head against him, him with his head in your lap or the other way around, just enjoying the stories you were reading or discussing the stories. Those moments were also the start of Wrecker opening up even more to you about the past and sometimes about his deepest feelings and fears.

Cause I've got faith of the heart

I'm going where my heart will take me

I've got faith to believe

I can do anything

I've got strength of the soul

And no one's gonna bend or break me

I can reach any star

I've got faith

Faith of the heart

Now right here in the present, you realise that the man you came to love for his love of life and his hidden, deeper layers of personality is severely struggling with everything that has happened up until now. And he needed to work through it, alone and with you. Carefully you lay your head against him. “What else is wrong Wreck? I know it is not only Omega you worry about. You always shut people out when things bother you and you retreat to wherever you can go to vent.”

Wrecker inhales deeply and shifts to wrap his arm around you. “You know Mini, there is so much that happened. Omega is young and a fugitive with us, my chip activated and I almost killed them! Crosshair…. well you know his chip also activated and we lost him for a little while. I`m just happy we got him back again, but he has a lot to work through and he still blames us sometimes. And you….. Mini, you are not safe with us either. They will hurt you if they ever get you. I don't want you to get hurt Mini. I mean, we all have been injured on jobs and stuff, but you and Omega? I would die if something happened to either of you!”

You can hear his heart race as he speaks and feel his body shudder at the thought of you and Omega getting hurt somehow. But, you let him vent every bit of emotion, every bit of anger and fear he has deep inside of himself. He finally decided to open up and let this out. He decided to let you be the one to hear every thought and every struggle he has been fighting with on his own. To so many people he appeared to be a simple man, but you knew better. You knew all too well how many layers there were to this gentle giant.

Pulling away from his body you sit up on your knees in front of him. “Wrecker. You are the most gentle man I have met. You care so deeply for your own and you would sacrifice all that you have and all that you are to ensure their safety. People always judge you by your so-called defects, but Wreck…” Carefully you place a finger under his chin and lift it. “You are a man with so many layers to discover. Beside your sweet and gentle nature, your love of explosions and bets with Cross on who can destroy the most clankers and your deep affection for your family, there is so much more. You are smart, Wrecker. You have an intelligence that defies the understanding of those who always considered you only by your CT number and purpose. And Wreck? You are also the only man I truly, deeply, love.” You place a gentle kiss on his lips as you look him in the eyes.

As you pull back from him, a grin forms around his lips. Without any warning he embraces you and then stands up and slings you over his shoulder. With a high pitched yelp from you, he walks out of the Marauder and into the streets of Ord Mantel. “Time to treat you to some proper dinner, my sweet Mini!”

Before he lowers you back to your feet, he kisses you with a smile.

Out in the back, a man grins and turns around. You only see a glimpse of a red bandana, as Wrecker walks off with his arm wrapped tightly around you. Your Wrecker, a man of deep devotion and many layers to him.

@loth-wolffe@hellothere-generalangsty@chaoticvampirejedi@nahoney22@reluctant-mandalore@kin-rokku@cyroku@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s@catbustours@uponrightful

I have tagged people I think might like this, if you want to be tagged in future works or do not want to be tagged anymore, please let me know in a messege <3

#wrecker #Wrecker The Bad Batch #Layers #Wrecker x Reader #The Bad Batch #TBB

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

��You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun.

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #r: gender neutral #wc: 5k+

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chinneths · 3 years

Text

The Relativity of Wrong | By Isaac Asimov

I received a letter from a reader the other day. It was handwritten in crabbed penmanship so that it was very difficult to read. Nevertheless, I tried to make it out just in case it might prove to be important.

In the first sentence, he told me he was majoring in English Literature, but felt he needed to teach me science. (I sighed a bit, for I knew very few English Lit majors who are equipped to teach me science, but I am very aware of the vast state of my ignorance and I am prepared to learn as much as I can from anyone, however low on the social scale, so I read on.)

It seemed that in one of my innumerable essays, here and elsewhere, I had expressed a certain gladness at living in a century in which we finally got the basis of the Universe straight.

I didn’t go into detail in the matter, but what I meant was that we now know the basic rules governing the Universe, together with the gravitational interrelationships of its gross components, as shown in the theory of relativity worked out between 1905 and 1916. We also know the basic rules governing the subatomic particles and their interrelationships, since these are very neatly described by the quantum theory worked out between 1900 and 1930. What’s more, we have found that the galaxies and clusters of galaxies are the basic units of the physical Universe, as discovered between 1920 and 1930.

These are all twentieth-century discoveries, you see.

The young specialist in English Lit, having quoted me, went on to lecture me severely on the fact that in every century people have thought they understood the Universe at last, and in every century they were proven to be wrong. It follows that the one thing we can say about out modern “knowledge” is that it is wrong.

The young man then quoted with approval what Socrates had said on learning that the Delphic oracle had proclaimed him the wisest man in Greece. “If I am the wisest man,” said Socrates, “it is because I alone know that I know nothing.” The implication was that I was very foolish because I knew a great deal.

Alas, none of this was new to me. (There is very little that is new to me; I wish my corresponders would realize this.) This particular thesis was addressed to me a quarter of a century ago by John Campbell, who specialized in irritating me. He also told me that all theories are proven wrong in time.

My answer to him was, “John, when people thought the Earth was flat, they were wrong. When people thought the Earth was spherical, they were wrong. But if you think that thinking the Earth is spherical is just as wrong as thinking the Earth is flat, then your view is wronger than both of them put together.”

The basic trouble, you see, is that people think that “right” and “wrong” are absolute; that everything that isn’t perfectly and completely right is totally and equally wrong.

However, I don’t think that’s so. It seems to me that right and wrong are fuzzy concepts, and I will devote this essay to an explanation of why I think so.

First, let me dispose of Socrates because I am sick and tired of this pretense that knowing you know nothing is a mark of wisdom.

No one knows nothing. In a matter of days, babies learn to recognize their mothers.

Socrates would agree, of course, and explain that knowledge of trivia is not what he means. He means that in the great abstractions over which human beings debate, one should start without preconceived, unexamined notions, and that he alone knew this. (What an enormously arrogant claim!)

In his discussions of such matters as “What is justice?” or “What is virtue?” he took the attitude that he knew nothing and had to be instructed by others. (This is called “Socratic irony,” for Socrates knew very well that he knew a great deal more than the poor souls he was picking on.) By pretending ignorance, Socrates lured others into propounding their views on such abstractions. Socrates then, by a series of ignorant-sounding questions, forced the others into such a mélange of self-contradictions that they would finally break down and admit they didn’t know what they were talking about.

It is the mark of the marvelous toleration of the Athenians that they let this continue for decades and that it wasn’t till Socrates turned seventy that they broke down and forced him to drink poison.

Now where do we get the notion that “right” and “wrong” are absolutes? It seems to me that this arises in the early grades, when children who know very little are taught by teachers who know very little more.

Young children learn spelling and arithmetic, for instance, and here we tumble into apparent absolutes.

How do you spell “sugar?” Answer: s-u-g-a-r. That is right. Anything else is wrong.

How much is 2 + 2? The answer is 4. That is right. Anything else is wrong.

Having exact answers, and having absolute rights and wrongs, minimizes the necessity of thinking, and that pleases both students and teachers. For that reason, students and teachers alike prefer short-answer tests to essay tests; multiple-choice over blank short-answer tests; and true-false tests over multiple-choice.

But short-answer tests are, to my way of thinking, useless as a measure of the student’s understanding of a subject. They are merely a test of the efficiency of his ability to memorize.

You can see what I mean as soon as you admit that right and wrong are relative.

How do you spell “sugar?” Suppose Alice spells it p-q-z-z-f and Genevieve spells it s-h-u-g-e-r. Both are wrong, but is there any doubt that Alice is wronger than Genevieve? For that matter, I think it is possible to argue that Genevieve’s spelling is superior to the “right” one.

Or suppose you spell “sugar”: s-u-c-r-o-s-e, or C12H22O11. Strictly speaking, you are wrong each time, but you’re displaying a certain knowledge of the subject beyond conventional spelling.

Suppose then the test question was: how many different ways can you spell “sugar?” Justify each.

Naturally, the student would have to do a lot of thinking and, in the end, exhibit how much or how little he knows. The teacher would also have to do a lot of thinking in the attempt to evaluate how much or how little the student knows. Both, I imagine, would be outraged.

Again, how much is 2 + 2? Suppose Joseph says: 2 + 2 = purple, while Maxwell says: 2 + 2 = 17. Both are wrong but isn’t it fair to say that Joseph is wronger than Maxwell?

Suppose you said: 2 + 2 = an integer. You’d be right, wouldn’t you? Or suppose you said: 2 + 2 = an even integer. You’d be righter. Or suppose you said: 2 + 2 = 3.999. Wouldn’t you be nearly right?

If the teacher wants 4 for an answer and won’t distinguish between the various wrongs, doesn’t that set an unnecessary limit to understanding?

Suppose the question is, how much is 9 + 5?, and you answer 2. Will you not be excoriated and held up to ridicule, and will you not be told that 9 + 5 = 14?

If you were then told that 9 hours had pass since midnight and it was therefore 9 o'clock, and were asked what time it would be in 5 more hours, and you answered 14 o'clock on the grounds that 9 + 5 = 14, would you not be excoriated again, and told that it would be 2 o'clock? Apparently, in that case, 9 + 5 = 2 after all.

Or again suppose, Richard says: 2 + 2 = 11, and before the teacher can send him home with a note to his mother, he adds, “To the base 3, of course.” He’d be right.

Here’s another example. The teacher asks: “Who is the fortieth President of the United States?” and Barbara says, “There isn’t any, teacher.”

“Wrong!” says the teacher, “Ronald Reagan is the fortieth President of the United States.”

“Not at all,” says Barbara, “I have here a list of all the men who have served as President of the United States under the Constitution, from George Washington to Ronald Reagan, and there are only thirty-nine of them, so there is no fortieth President.”

“Ah,” says the teacher, “but Grover Cleveland served two nonconsecutive terms, one from 1885 to 1889, and the second from 1893 to 1897. He counts as both the twenty-second and twenty-fourth President. That is why Ronald Reagan is the thirty-ninth person to serve as President of the United States, and is, at the same time, the fortieth President of the United States.”

Isn’t that ridiculous? Why should a person be counted twice if his terms are nonconsecutive, and only once if he served two consecutive terms? Pure convention! Yet Barbara is marked wrong—just as wrong as if she had said that the fortieth President of the United States is Fidel Castro.

Therefore, when my friend the English Literature expert tells me that in every century scientists think they have worked out the Universe and are always wrong, what I want to know is how wrong are they? Are they always wrong to the same degree? Let’s take an example.

In the early days of civilization, the general feeling was that the Earth was flat.

This was not because people were stupid, or because they were intent on believing silly things. They felt it was flat on the basis of sound evidence. It was not just a matter of “That’s how it looks,” because the Earth does not look flat. It looks chaotically bumpy, with hills, valleys, ravines, cliffs, and so on.

Of course, there are plains where, over limited areas, the Earth’s surface does look fairly flat. One of those plains is in the Tigris-Euphrates area where the first historical civilization (one with writing) developed, that of the Sumerians.

Perhaps it was the appearance of the plain that may have persuaded the clever Sumerians to accept the generalization that the Earth was flat; that if you somehow evened out all the elevations and depressions, you would be left with flatness. Contributing to the notion may have been the fact that stretches of water (ponds and lakes) looked pretty flat on quiet days.

Another way of looking at it is to ask what is the “curvature” of Earth’s surface. Over a considerable length, how much does the surface deviate (on the average) from perfect flatness. The flat-Earth theory would make it seem that the surface doesn’t deviate from flatness at all, that its curvature is 0 to the mile.

Nowadays, of course, we are taught that the flat-Earth theory is wrong; that it is all wrong, terribly wrong, absolutely. But it isn’t. The curvature of the Earth is nearly 0 per mile, so that although the flat-Earth theory is wrong, it happens to be nearly right. That’s why the theory lasted so long.

There were reasons, to be sure, to find the flat-Earth theory unsatisfactory and, about 350 B.C., the Greek philosopher Aristotle summarized them. First, certain stars disappeared beyond the Southern Hemisphere as one traveled north, and beyond the Northern Hemisphere as one traveled south. Second, the Earth’s shadow on the Moon during a lunar eclipse was always the arc of a circle. Third, here on Earth itself, ships disappeared beyond the horizon hull-first in whatever direction they were traveling.

All three observations could not be reasonably explained if the Earth’s surface were flat, but could be explained by assuming the Earth to be a sphere.

What’s more, Aristotle believed that all solid matter tended to move toward a common center, and if solid matter did this, it would end up as a sphere. A given volume of matter is, on the average, closer to a common center if it is a sphere than if it is any other shape whatever.

About a century after Aristotle, the Greek philosopher Eratosthenes noted that the Sun cast a shadow of different lengths at different latitudes (all the shadows would be the same length if the Earth’s surface were flat). From the difference in shadow length, he calculated the size of the earthly sphere and it turned out to be 25,000 miles in circumference.

The curvature of such a sphere is about 0.000126 per mile, a quantity very close to 0 per mile as you can see, and one not easily measured by the techniques at the disposal of the ancients. The tiny difference between 0 and 0.000126 accounts for the fact that it took so long to pass from the flat Earth to the spherical Earth.

Mind you, even a tiny difference, such at that between 0 and 0.000126, can be extremely important. That difference mounts up. The Earth cannot be mapped over large areas with any accuracy at all if the difference isn’t taken into account and if the Earth isn’t considered a sphere rather than a flat surface. Long ocean voyages can’t be undertaken with any reasonable way of locating one’s own position in the ocean unless the Earth is considered spherical rather than flat.

Furthermore, the flat Earth presupposes the possibility of an infinite Earth, or of the existence of an “end” to the surface. The spherical Earth, however, postulates an Earth that is both endless and yet finite, and it is the latter postulate that is consistent with all later findings.

So although the flat-Earth theory is only slightly wrong and is a credit to its inventors, all things considered, it is wrong enough to be discarded in favor of the spherical-Earth theory.

And yet is the Earth a sphere?

No, it is not a sphere; not in the strict mathematical sense. A sphere has certain mathematical properties—for instance, all diameters (that is, all straight lines that pass from one point on its surface, through the center, to another point on its surface) have the same length.

That, however, is not true of the Earth. Various diameters of the Earth differ in length.

What gave people the notion the Earth wasn’t a true sphere? To begin with, the Sun and the Moon have outlines that are perfect circles within the limits of measurement in the early days of the telescope. This is consistent with the supposition that the Sun and Moon are perfectly spherical in shape.

However, when Jupiter and Saturn were observed by the first telescopic observers, it became quickly apparent that the outlines of those planets were not circles, but distinct ellipses. That meant that Jupiter and Saturn were not true spheres.

Isaac Newton, toward the end of the seventeenth century, showed that a massive body would form a sphere under the pull of gravitational forces (exactly as Aristotle had argued), but only if it were not rotating. If it were rotating, a centrifugal effect would be set up which would lift the body’s substance against gravity, and the effect would be greater the closer to the equator you progressed. The effect would also be greater the more rapidly a spherical object rotated and Jupiter and Saturn rotated very rapidly indeed.

The Earth rotated much more slowly than Jupiter or Saturn so the effect should be smaller, but it should still be there. Actual measurements of the curvature of the Earth were carried out in the eighteenth century and Newton was proved correct.

The Earth has an equatorial bulge, in other words. It is flattened at the poles. It is an “oblate spheroid” rather than a sphere. This means that the various diameters of the earth differ in length. The longest diameters are any of those that stretch from one point on the equator to an opposite point on the equator. The “equatorial diameter” is 12,755 kilometers (7,927 miles). The shortest diameter is from the North Pole to the South Pole and this “polar diameter” is 12,711 kilometers (7,900 miles).

The difference between the longest and shortest diameters is 44 kilometers (27 miles), and that means that the “oblateness” of the Earth (its departure from true sphericity) is 44/12,755, or 0.0034. This amounts to 1/3 of 1 percent.

To put it another way, on a flat surface, curvature is 0 per mile everywhere. On Earth’s spherical surface, curvature is 0.000126 per mile everywhere (or 8 inches per mile). On Earth’s oblate spheroidical surface, the curvature varies from 7.973 inches to the mile to 8.027 inches to the mile.

The correction in going from spherical to oblate spheroidal is much smaller than going from flat to spherical. Therefore, although the notion of the Earth as sphere is wrong, strictly speaking, it is not as wrong as the notion of the Earth as flat.

Even the oblate-spheroidal notion of the Earth is wrong, strictly speaking. In 1958, when the satellite Vanguard 1 was put into orbit about the Earth, it was able to measure the local gravitational pull of the Earth—and therefore its shape—with unprecedented precision. It turned out that the equatorial bulge south of the equator was slightly bulgier than the bulge north of the equator, and that the South Pole sea level was slightly nearer the center of the Earth than the North Pole sea level was.

There seemed no other way of describing this than by saying the Earth was pearshaped and at once many people decided that the Earth was nothing like a sphere but was shaped like a Bartlett pear dangling in space. Actually, the pearlike deviation from oblate-spheroid perfect was a matter of yards rather than miles and the adjustment of curvature was in the millionths of an inch per mile.

In short, my English Lit friend, living in a mental world of absolute rights and wrongs, may be imagining that because all theories are wrong, the Earth may be thought spherical now, but cubical next century, and a hollow icosahedron the next, and a doughnut shape the one after.

What actually happens is that once scientists get hold of a good concept they gradually refine and extend if with a greater and greater subtlety as their instruments of measurement improve. Theories are not so much wrong as incomplete.

This can be pointed out in many other cases than just the shape of the Earth. Even when a new theory seems to represent a revolution, it usually arises out of small refinements. If something more than a small refinement were needed, then the old theory would never have endured.

Copernicus switched from an Earth-centered planetary system to a Sun-centered one. In doing so, he switched from something that was obvious to something that was apparently ridiculous. However, it was a matter of finding better ways of calculating the motion of the planets in the sky and, eventually, the geocentric theory was just left behind. It was precisely because the old theory gave results that were fairly good by the measurement standards of the time that kept it in being so long.

Again, it is because the geological formations of the Earth change so slowly and the living things upon it evolve so slowly that it seemed reasonable at first to suppose that there was no change and that Earth and life always existed as they do today. If that were so, it would make no difference whether Earth and life were billions of years old or thousands. Thousands were easier to grasp.

But when careful observation showed that Earth and life were changing at a rate that was very tiny but not zero, then it became clear that Earth and life had to be very old. Modern geology came into being, and so did the notion of biological evolution.

If the rate of change were more rapid, geology and evolution would have reached their modern state in ancient times. It is only because the difference between the rate of change in a static Universe and the rate of change in an evolutionary one is that between zero and very nearly zero that the creationists can continue propagating their folly.

Again, how about the two great theories of the twentieth century; relativity and quantum mechanics?

Newton’s theories of motion and gravitation were very close to right, and they would have been absolutely right if only the speed of light were infinite. However, the speed of light is finite, and that had to be taken into account in Einstein’s relativistic equations, which were an extension and refinement of Newton’s equations.

You might say that the difference between infinite and finite is itself infinite, so why didn’t Newton’s equations fall to the ground at once? Let’s put it another way, and ask how long it takes light to travel over a distance of a meter.

If light traveled at infinite speed, it would take light 0 seconds to travel a meter. At the speed at which light actually travels, however, it takes it 0.0000000033 seconds. It is that difference between 0 and 0.0000000033 that Einstein corrected for.

Conceptually, the correction was as important as the correction of Earth’s curvature from 0 to 8 inches per mile was. Speeding subatomic particles wouldn’t behave the way they do without the correction, nor would particle accelerators work the way they do, nor nuclear bombs explode, nor the stars shine. Nevertheless, it was a tiny correction and it is no wonder that Newton, in his time, could not allow for it, since he was limited in his observations to speeds and distances over which the correction was insignificant.

Again, where the prequantum view of physics fell short was that it didn’t allow for the “graininess” of the Universe. All forms of energy had been thought to be continuous and to be capable of division into indefinitely smaller and smaller quantities.

This turned out to be not so. Energy comes in quanta, the size of which is dependent upon something called Planck’s constant. If Planck’s constant were equal to 0 erg-seconds, then energy would be continuous, and there would be no grain to the Universe. Planck’s constant, however, is equal to 0.000000000000000000000000066 erg-seconds. That is indeed a tiny deviation from zero, so tiny that ordinary questions of energy in everyday life need not concern themselves with it. When, however, you deal with subatomic particles, the graininess is sufficiently large, in comparison, to make it impossible to deal with them without taking quantum considerations into account.

Since the refinements in theory grow smaller and smaller, even quite ancient theories must have been sufficiently right to allow advances to be made; advances that were not wiped out by subsequent refinements.

The Greeks introduced the notion of latitude and longitude, for instance, and made reasonable maps of the Mediterranean basin even without taking sphericity into account, and we still use latitude and longitude today.

The Sumerians were probably the first to establish the principle that planetary movements in the sky exhibit regularity and can be predicted, and they proceeded to work out ways of doing so even though they assumed the Earth to be the center of the Universe. Their measurements have been enormously refined but the principle remains.

Newton’s theory of gravitation, while incomplete over vast distances and enormous speeds, is perfectly suitable for the Solar System. Halley’s Comet appears punctually as Newton’s theory of gravitation and laws of motion predict. All of rocketry is based on Newton, and Voyager II reached Uranus within a second of the predicted time. None of these things were outlawed by relativity.

In the nineteenth century, before quantum theory was dreamed of, the laws of thermodynamics were established, including the conservation of energy as first law, and the inevitable increase of entropy as the second law. Certain other conservation laws such as those of momentum, angular momentum, and electric charge were also established. So were Maxwell’s laws of electromagnetism. All remained firmly entrenched even after quantum theory came in.

Naturally, the theories we now have might be considered wrong in the simplistic sense of my English Lit correspondent, but in a much truer and subtler sense, they need only be considered incomplete.

For instance, quantum theory has produced something called “quantum weirdness” which brings into serious question the very nature of reality and which produces philosophical conundrums that physicists simply can’t seem to agree upon. It may be that we have reached a point where the human brain can no longer grasp matters, or it may be that quantum theory is incomplete and that once it is properly extended, all the “weirdness” will disappear.

Again, quantum theory and relativity seem to be independent of each other, so that while quantum theory makes it seem possible that three of the four known interactions can be combined into one mathematical system, gravitation—the realm of relativity—as yet seems intransigent.

If quantum theory and relativity can be combined, a true “unified field theory” may become possible.

If all this is done, however, it would be a still finer refinement that would affect the edges of the known—the nature of the big bang and the creation of the Universe, the properties at the center of black holes, some subtle points about the evolution of galaxies and supernovas, and so on.

Virtually all that we know today, however, would remain untouched and when I say I am glad that I live in a century when the Universe is essentially understood, I think I am justified.

#isaac asimov #science #wrong #ideology #philosophy

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