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literaticat · 5 months ago

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If an author writes a book not knowing the genre, will the book fit into a genre when it’s finished—or is it possible for a book to be completely genre-less?

I'm about to GO OFF, so if you just want the short answer:

I presume that if an author is writing a novel and they don't have a specific genre in mind when they are doing it, they are just writing fiction. You can get more specific after you finish the book and figure out where it belongs in the bookstore and how to describe it.

It's not really possible for a book to be "completely genre-less" because that implies that it CAN'T be categorized in a bookstore -- I bet your book can be. (I should hope so, anyway, otherwise how will it sell???) -- but also, uh -- it doesn't really matter? Everyone gets really hung up on these hyper-specific genre labels, but you don't really need to get THAT specific. If your book is just "general interest fiction" that's OK -- so call it a novel and describe what the tone is. (Funny? Realistic? Literary? Fast paced? Tearjerking? There has to be some way to describe it, no? )

Even if your book is just weird as hell rambling about things I would never read about in a hundred years -- guess what, that's a genre, Experimental Fiction. ;-)

Long Answer: Fun fact about the word "genre" -- it comes from the same root as genus, like what you probably heard back in school when learning about the taxonomy of animals and whatnot.

Because I am extra, I decided to do a little taxonomy of books. It's still a work in progress, I might decide to change it a bit, but this is the basic chart.

I'll assume that pretty much any book we're talking about here has the same domain, kingdom, phylum and class, and PROBABLY the same order, too, since most of you are likely writing Fiction.

Within the order FICTION, there are "families", which I here call Categories -- novels, graphic novels, plays, essay collections, short story anthologies, young adult novels, young adult anthologies, middle grade novels, middle grade graphic novels, chapter books, picture books, ETC. Categories in the order NONFICTION include Biography/Memoir, Cookbook, Reference, Religion, History, Science, etc.

Within each Category, there are different Genres -- that is, the type of [novel, or whatever] it is. Genres of novel include mystery, science fiction, horror, realistic, historical, romance, western, etc.

And within each Genre, you can get even more specific with species, which I am calling subgenre/tone. That's the type of the type, in other words. There are well-established subgenres (like Horror could be slasher, or gothic, or psychological. Romance could be historical, or realistic/contemporary, or whatever) -- but it's also acceptable to get more specific with tone or style -- "Comedic", "literary", "commercial" "upmarket" etc. (You can also have books that have both subgenre AND tone -- that's like species and sub-species)

Examples:

DRACULA: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Classic Novel > GENRE: Horror > SUBGENRE/TONE: Gothic

DON'T LET THE PIGEON DRIVE THE BUS: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Picture Book > GENRE: Meta-fiction > SUBGENRE/TONE: Comedic

LINCOLN IN THE BARDO: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Novel > GENRE: Magical Realism > SUBGENRE: Experimental > TONE: Literary

JAMES: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Novel > GENRE: Historical Fiction > SUBGRENRE: Retelling > TONE: Literary

You get it?

OK SO, in the bookstore, the books are first divided by CATEGORY. All the Cookbooks are together, because that's the Category, but if there are a lot of them, they will be broken up into categories-within-the-category ("genre" if you will). Perhaps they would be grouped by region or style (Mexican cuisine, Middle Eastern cuisine, European cuisine; Health Food; Baking; etc). Mastering the Art of French Cooking would be in Cookbooks, of course -- but in a larger bookstore with many cookbooks, it would likely be found in its region, either French or European Cuisine -- and in a store with a HUGE French cooking section, those books might even be further divided into "French > classic techniques" "French > desserts" "French > postmodern cuisine", etc. So:

MASTERING THE ART OF FRENCH COOKING: Order: Nonfiction > Category: Cookbook > Genre: French > Subgenre: Classic Technique

And so it goes with Fiction as well; the sections are divided by Category. So all the Middle Grade Novels are probably together. All the Picture Books are probably together. Etc. But for very large categories (like Fiction > Novel), there are enough books that it becomes easier to browse if they give the biggest genres their own shelving. Hence there are probably sections for Mystery, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Romance, etc.

MIND YOU: There are PLENTY of books that fall under "Fiction" and DON'T get separated out into one of those other genres. They are just categorized as fiction. The fiction section is probably the largest section in most bookstores -- it's not weird to write a book that gets filed in the "fiction" section! Those books still have a genre. That genre just might be "realistic" or "historical" or "western" or magical realism" or "postmodern/experimental" or something that doesn't neatly fall into the Mystery or Science Fiction (or whatever) genre categories.

For example: At my bookstore, we ONLY separate out Mystery, Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror, Romance, Classics. So within the regular Fiction section you'll find a huge variety of books -- they all DO have a "genre" -- it just isn't one of those genres that gets shelved separately!

So, no, I don't believe there are books that just *don't have* a category or genre. ALL books have them. We might disagree a little about what they should be -- we might use slightly different words -- new species might pop up here and there -- we might be able to categorize some of them into even more minute niches -- but all books CAN be categorized in some fashion.

#genres

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uwmspeccoll · 13 days ago

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Pride Month: Coccinelle

Known by her stage name Coccinelle, Jacqueline Charlotte Dufresnoy (1931-2006) was a celebrated French transgender activist and cabaret entertainer who was the first widely publicized celebrity to undergo gender reassignment in Europe. She made her debut as a transgender showgirl in 1953 at Chez Madame Arthur and later performed regularly at the famous nightclub Le Carrousel de Paris, which also featured regular acts by other famous transgender women such as April Ashley and Bambi.

Coccinelle underwent gender-affirming surgery in 1958 with Dr. Georges Burou, one of the pioneers of sex reassignment surgery, and immediately became a media sensation. She became the first French trans woman to become a major star. Coccinelle married three times and established the right for trans women to marry in France. These images are from our copy of She-Male: The Amazing True-Life Story of Coccinelle by American "pulp sexologist" and diet-fad writer Carlson Wade (1928-1993), published in New York by Epic Publishing Co. in 1963. Not noted for being a reliable author, Wade's biography appears to be a plagiarized English version of the 1963 Coccinelle est lui by Coccinelle's second husband Mario Costa (they were married from 1963 until Costa's death in 1977). Wade's book focusses on Coccinelle's career, marriage to her first husband, French sports journalist Francis Bonnet (married 1960-1962), and her domestic life.

View more transgender posts.

View more LGBTQ+ posts.

#Pride Month #transgender #trans #queer #queer history #Coccinelle #Jacqueline Charlotte Dufresnoy #She-Male #Carlson Wade #biography #LGBTQ+#UWM LGBTQ Collection

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 25 days ago

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Edmund White, who became a pioneer in gay literature by mining his own varied catalog of sexual experiences in more than 30 books and hundreds of articles and essays, died on Tuesday at his home in Manhattan. He was 85.

For several decades, Mr. White’s therapists, with his encouragement, tried to “cure” him of homosexuality, which at the time was considered a mental illness. A more successful form of therapy was writing, he said. Writing, he told The Sydney Morning Herald in 2006, “has always been my recourse when I’ve tried to make sense of my experience or when it’s been very painful.”

Mr. White’s output was almost equally divided between fiction and nonfiction. Many of his books were critical successes, and several were best-sellers. The Chicago Tribune labeled him “the godfather of queer lit.”

He was a star almost from the beginning. The New York Times called Forgetting Elena (1973), about the rituals of gay life on a fictionalized Fire Island, “an astonishing first novel, obsessively fussy, and yet uncannily beautiful.” His second novel, Nocturnes for the King of Naples (1978), took the form of letters from a young gay man to his deceased ex-lover.

A Boy’s Own Story (1982), a tale of coming out set in the 1950s, was narrated by a teenager who bore more than a passing resemblance to a young Mr. White. His other semi-autobiographical novels, The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988) and The Farewell Symphony (1997), follow the same unnamed protagonist into adulthood during the 1960s, then through the horrors of AIDS as he approaches middle age.

He was one of seven members of The Violet Quill, a gay writers’ group founded in 1979 that included the soon-to-be celebrated authors Andrew Holleran and Felice Picano. The members met regularly to critique one another’s work. In 1982, he helped found the group Gay Men’s Health Crisis in New York City.

His nonfiction works included a number of memoirs. My Lives (2005), one of his best-reviewed books, chronicles his first 65 years with chapter titles that include “My Shrinks, “My Hustlers” and “My Blonds.” He zeroed in on his life in 1960s and ’70s New York with City Boy (2009), and on his life away from New York with Inside a Pearl: My Years in Paris (2014).

The Joy of Gay Sex (1977), a how-to based on the 1972 best seller The Joy of Sex, was a groundbreaking effort that became somewhat obsolete once fears of H.I.V. made safe sex far more common. Its co-author was Charles Silverstein, a therapist who had been treating Mr. White until a publisher suggested that they collaborate, not knowing they were already well acquainted.

His nonfiction works also include biographies of the French authors Jean Genet, Marcel Proust and Arthur Rimbaud.

While some of his peers tried to separate their sexuality from their work, Mr. White embraced the term “gay writer.” As he explained in City Boy, “If I’d been straight, I would have been an entirely different person. I would never have turned toward writing with a burning desire to confess, to understand, to justify myself in the eyes of others.”

His life provided ample material for the prolific writer he was. “White has accumulated enough sexual partners,” Peter Conrad wrote in The Guardian in 2005, “to fill the telephone directory of a moderate-sized city.”

In 1995, he began a relationship with Michael Carroll, a writer 25 years his junior. The men lived together in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan and married in 2013. But Mr. White had no intention of being monogamous. In 2006, he told The Sydney Morning Herald that their relationship “is probably like an 18th-century marriage in France.”

In addition to his husband, he is survived by his sister, Margaret.

(Full article)

#edmund white #literature #lit #gay literature #lgbt literature #lgbtq literature #history #gay history #lgbt history #lgbtq history #gay #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #bookblr #2020s

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johns-prince · 5 months ago

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“He acknowledges that the interplay of Lennon and McCartney was 'nothing short of miraculous', describing how they 'wrote with two guitars'. 'The joy of that was that I was left-handed and he was right-handed, so I was looking in a mirror and he was looking in a mirror.'”

—Paul McCartney, The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present

“I think Linda put her finger on it when she said me and John were like mirror images of each other.

"Even down to how we started writing together, facing each other, eyeball to eyeball, exactly like looking in the mirror.''”

—Paul McCartney, Uncut Magazine, July 2004 (x)

“John and Paul would sit opposite each other by the fireplace. As Paul was left-handed their guitars went the same way and each could enjoy the mirror effect of watching the other’s fingers shape the chords as if they were his own.

Paul would later call these ‘eyeball to eyeball sessions’ and he’d be treated to something few witnessed: John put his glasses on. Only rarely did they leave his pocket, even though without them he could barely see a thing. Almost in each other’s face, John and Paul quickly gained an unusual closeness, little or nothing hidden. Paul noticed that ‘John had beautiful hands.’”

— Tune In: The Beatles: All These Years, Vol. 1 by Mark Lewisohn (x)

“(…) most of the time we would sit down opposite each other with our two guitars. And because I was left-handed, when I looked at John I would see almost a mirror image of myself, I’d be playing the guitar as it were upside-down, he’d be reading me; upside-down, so we could clearly see what each other was doing, almost what you were doing yourself.”

— Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now - Barry Miles (x)

“The lights in the studio were turned off to set the mood; the sole source of illumination was a table lamp next to the wall. The two beatles, lifelong friends and collaborators, sat on high stools, facing each other, studying each other’s lips intently for phrasing. Watching them, I remember thinking that John’s and Paul’s voices were so different yet so perfectly complemented each other’s, just like their personalities and approach to music-making.”

—Here, There and Everywhere by Geoff Emerick (On the recording of She’s Leaving Home). (x)

“So I had to learn upside down. It’s funny: John learned upside down, too, because of me-because mine was the only other guitar around for him, if he broke a string or didn’t have his. That’s more unusual; left-handed guys can nearly always play a straight guitar.”

—Paul McCartney, interview w/ Tom Mulhern. (July, 1990) (x)

“On one occasion that still resonates for those involved, the Quarry Men went to a party in Ford, a village on the outskirts of Liverpool, out past the Aintree Racecourse. “John and Paul were inseparable that night, like Siamese twins,” says Charles Roberts, who met them en route on the upper deck of a cherry red Ripple bus. “It was like the rest of us didn’t exist.””

—the beatles: the biography, bob spitz (x)

“I was fortunate enough to see them together many times in the late 60’s, and have always been fascinated by what I saw/heard: they finished each other’s sentences, laughed together, just seemed totally in sync. I was a 15-year-old girl, but I did notice that about the two of them and will never forget it.”

—Lizzie Bravo, apple scruff, on John and Paul (x)

“Years later, Paul told his brother that he loved his photo of the “I Saw Her Standing There” writing session because it captured how it really was—“the Rodgers and Hammerstein of pop at work.” Writing “eyeball to eyeball” as John said, they weren’t just frontmen for a rock group; they were composers working in concert. Having already pledged to co-credit all their work, around this time they made it formal, taking equal shares in a company called Northern Songs that would control their publishing.

“Historically,” writes Mark Lewisohn in The Beatles: All These Years, “joint-songwriter agreements enumerated splits of 90:10, 85:15, 80:20, 75:25, 67:33 and every other fiddly fraction down to 50:50. But John and Paul went halves all the way, closeness and ambition shared and matched.”

Now every lick of music that either one produced (regardless of the other’s actual contribution) would be both literally and metaphorically—both legally and emotionally—co-owned.”

—Joshua Wolf Shenk, Powers of Two: Finding the Essence of Innovation in Creative Pairs (2014) (x)

“It was like a tug of war. Imagine two people pulling on a rope, smiling at each other and pulling all the time with all their might. The tension between the two of them made for the bond.”

—George Martin on Lennon/McCartney (x)

#mclennon #anthology of mclennon #john lennon #paul mccartney #two sides of the same coin

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octaviasdread · 8 months ago

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book synchronicity is back. last summer i bought the lady of camellias to read on a trip, but it didn’t feel right, and i picked up something else

this summer i find nancy mitford’s wigs on the green in oxfam, and don’t have time to read it (hello lit studies), until now:

dame aux camélias

the book i’ve had over a year and finally read last week

#synchronicity my most scary #this isn’t the weirdest book coincidence i’ve had #driving through the entrance of knebworth house and reading the words visit to knebworth house in #in a biography on annabella milbanke & ada lovelace #do i pick my books on vibes or do the books pick me?#CO Posts #books #nancy mitford #wigs on the green #the lady of camellias #la dame aux camélias #alexandre dumas fils

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odetokeons · 5 months ago

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between shin ha-kyun having insane chemistry and homoerotic tension with his younger co-stars (see: Beyond Evil and Evilive/Biography of a Villain) and im si-wan having insane chemistry and homoerotic tension with his older co-stars (see: The Merciless and Strangers From Hell/Hell Is Other People), it's only a matter of time until some director decides to make a film/series starring the two of them as lovers

#shin ha-kyun #im si-wan #beyond evil #괴물 #evilive #악인전기 #biography of a villain #the merciless #불한당 #strangers from hell #sfh #hell is other people #타인은 지옥이다 #k-drama #kdrama

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hopelesswrites · 3 months ago

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Double Shot Extra Sweet

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: your restless heart finally settles down when a grumpy man enters your work for his morning coffee.

Note: shes longer, shes got an age gap, shes got potential for more? (Let me know how you feel about this plz)

Being the new girl in a workplace wasn’t unnatural for you. You had jumped from job to job for the past year, never being able to settle into one place. You passed it off as a quarter life crisis. Every decision you made seemed to be a result of this crisis, you had moved cities and changed degrees, all because one day after turning 25 you had a hunch you were on the wrong path. A year later and you were in this big new city, on your third cafe job because the other two didn’t vibe with you.

This place however was looking promising. It was a small shop sandwiched between a laundromat and a news stand. The owner Emma was a bubbly older woman with red cat eye glasses and long red acrylics. You learned quite quickly just by the decor of the cafe she was a big fan of cats. Despite the tacky cat shaped clock and the “good meowning” doormat the shop was tastefully designed. It was warm and inviting much like going to your grandmother’s house for tea. The part of the shop you loved the most though was the small free library box out the front. You had taken a small romance book the day you went in for your interview, noting the out of place “theoretical physics” book and a biography on Carl Gauss.

Your first week on the job went by quickly and you seemed to adjust to the clientele easily, most being early morning professionals on their commute to work.

In addition, you quickly decided your co-worker Charlotte would be your new best friend, so after the first rush hour of the morning you both got back to chatting about your lives.

“I swear to god, my brain has been so muddled lately, my classes are so difficult, and I can’t believe I had to ask Mr Wilson 3 times what milk he wanted, I just can’t concentrate its getting concerning” you rambled just as a tall man approached the counter.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” You spoke happily, noticing the frown etched onto the man’s face. It deepened when he looked around the cafe then back at you.

“Is Lisa not working today?” He asked, ignoring your question. You frowned back at him, noticing how increasingly uncomfortable he was getting.

“I’m sorry, she moved back home to look after her father, but you’ve got me most mornings, I promise I make a good coffee” you encouraged, hoping this man didn’t become your first upset customer at this new job.

He seemed to take a moment to think, eyeing you cautiously before giving you his order. You carefully inputted the order into the till before pulling out a cup.

“Name for the order?” You asked, raking through a list of names you think this guy could possibly have.

Richard? No

Steve? Absolutely not

Lucas? Maybe..

“Spencer”

You raised your eyebrow at him, not what you expected, but it suited him.

“Won’t be too long Spencer” you motioned for him to wait to the side of the counter while you made his coffee. You quietly observed him while you worked. He stood so stiffly, looking around the room as if to look busy. He was older, at least in his late 30s and had the sharpest jawline you think you had ever seen. Somehow, his strong bone structure was softened with fluffy curls framing his face. Honestly, you thought he was gorgeous, if only he loosened the scrunch he seemed to permanently have between his eyebrows.

“Spencer?” You called, sliding his coffee towards him on the counter. His head snapped towards you, frown not slipping as he reached out for it. You watched him inspect the cup, you made sure the lid was on tight, no spills. He took a tentative sip, you can practically see the cogs turning in his head, deciding if you were worthy of the job, making his morning coffee.

“Good?” You asked, suddenly a wave of nerves washing over you.

Spencer looked at you, and you swear you saw the line between his brows twitch and the corners of his lips turn up a tad.

“Yeah good, thanks” he answered before leaving.

For the rest of the day, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer. You had a deep desire to know everything about him, but in the same thought, you loved the mystery, it almost made him hotter.

He looked bookish, his old man cardigan giving him an English teacher vibe, but he had this look in his eyes that told you he didn’t spend all day talking about Shakespeare. You also noted his need for routine, your presence this morning obviously throwing him off. You hoped you had proven yourself worthy of being a part of his routine though, because you could get used to him being a part of yours.

The following day Spencer returned, instead of a cardigan he had on a brown blazer, one of those ones with the patches on the elbows, it was a cute look you thought.

As you suspected, Spencer was all business, sticking to his routine, same coffee order, stood in the same spot to the side of the counter, you were sure he even looked around the room in the same methodical way he did the day before.

You called his name out, he took a sip, he told you it was good and then he left.

This went on for the rest of your week, and it was this daily interaction that had you deciding you were in the right job finally. You woke up and were finally excited to go to work, you just wanted to see that grumpy older man.

Naturally, you started to romanticise the interactions, you were just a girl after all, a hopeless romantic who lived vicariously through the couples in romance novels. You could already picture the ao3 tags if this were a fanfiction. #agegapromance #grumpymmc #cafemeetcute.

The first day Spencer didn’t show up was the following Wednesday, and you declared it the worst day of your life. In fact, your headache returned the second the clock ticked 8am and your favourite grumpy troubled English teacher hadn’t walked through the door. You held your breath for another 10 minutes, maybe he was running late, and he would rush in hair dishevelled, tie askew, face flushed. But you were left disappointed for the rest of your day.

Thursday was much the same, in fact, Thursday had you writing up your resignation letter in your head, clearly this job wasn’t right for you.

Come Friday you were well and truly ready to admit yourself into the emergency room. Your headache was almost excruciating, you couldn’t muster a single smile for your customers. So, when it was well past 9am, the morning work commuters were at their respective jobs and the door chimed your frown stuck in place, you barely looked up when the customer walked up to the counter.

“Are you still getting that headache?” The man spoke, snapping you back into reality.

“Excuse me?” You looked up at Spencer, eyes wide. He was here, and your life had purpose again!

“You said you were getting headaches last week and you look in pain, I thought maybe you were still getting them”

You barely acknowledged the fact that Spencer had been listening to your conversation with Charlotte or that he could tell you were actively fighting a headache right then, all you could think about was he was here, in the softest looking sweater vest, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked incredible, a real life angel.

“Probably just not drinking enough water” you brush it off, pulling out a cup from your stack and writing Spencers order on the side.

“Headaches can also be caused by lifestyle choices, high stress and anxiety, bad diet and even posture” Spencer explained. This was the most you’d ever heard him speak. His voice was like velvet, you thought if he was one of your college professors you would have no trouble learning your course content.

“Is my posture bad?” You asked suddenly insecure, pulling your shoulders back a bit on instinct.

“Not the worst, but if you’re studying and hunched over a desk all day that could cause your headaches”

You didn’t know how to explain your headache had suddenly disappeared in his return and it was obviously psychological, so you nodded in agreement.

Still, curious, you wanted to prod for more information on his whereabouts, his addition to your routine becoming increasingly important to you.

“Where have you been all week? I was starting your think you found another barista”

Spencer looked up at you, eyes wide at the continuation of conversation, obviously assuming your exchange would end at the headaches.

“I sometimes have to go away for work”

Curious, you thought. What English teacher travels for work? Maybe he was a guest lecturer at universities.

“I’ve been trying to guess what you do for work” you chuckle while you popped the lid on his drink.

“And? What have you come up with?”

You take a moment to consider your answer. “One guess a day, no hints. My original thought was English teacher, you look studious”

A small smile crept its way onto Spencers face. He took the drink straight from your hand this time. “Not an English teacher, better luck next week”

Spencer had long left the cafe before it hit you, he knew your work schedule. He knew you didn’t work weekends.

Those 2 days off were excruciating. You couldn’t wait to see Spencer Monday morning. You had so many ideas in your head. He seemed to know about headaches which had you thinking about what medical professionals travel for work.

When Spencer returned you wasted no time. “Do I get to know what circumstances you’re travelling for?”

Spencer smirked, “you’re the one that said no hints”

You huffed in annoyance but continued your routine in making Spencers drink. “Fine, brain surgeon”

Spencer scoffed, “not a brain surgeon, no”

You shrugged your shoulders, “maybe you’re a highly awarded brain surgeon and have to travel to different hospitals to perform high risk operations” you felt the need to justify your decision. Spencer smiled at you, “no it’s a good guess”

Tuesday you tried for architect, which puzzled Spencer, you had to explain he gave off a prestigious aura, “you look like you could measure walls with just your eyes” you told him.

“I am very good with numbers” he replied. You had to scold him for giving you an unwarranted hint but kept numbers in mind.

The rest of the week was the same. “Engineer” “no” “data analyst” “no”. you were getting frustrated, and you felt no closer to knowing Spencer than you were that first day.

The following Monday you spotted Spencer outside the cafe, he had stopped at the library box. You watched him put a book in and take one out, stuffing it under his arm before entering the store. You recognised the book immediately; it was an old textbook of yours that you had bought for your course. You only donated it to the library because you had bought the latest edition and didn’t need that one anymore.

“I didn’t take you for an archaeology kind of guy” you joked, pointing at the book.

“I find it fascinating actually, the study of archaeological context has aided in solving many cold case murders”

“I know, it’s my book, I’m studying forensic archaeology” you laughed. Spencer quirked a brow, “how are you enjoying it?”

“It’s fun actually, I like that I feel like I’m actually going to make a difference with my career one day”

Spencer nodded along, obviously wanting to say something else but bites his tongue. “You haven’t had your guess today”

You rolled your eyes, already getting fed up with your own game. You were about to make your guess when Spencers phone chimed. He pulled it out of his coat and frowned at the screen, the first frown you’d seen from him since that first week.

“I’m sorry, I have to go” Spencer rushed, taking his drink from you. “I’ll be away for a couple days, by the way” He gave you a sad smile, “keep working on your guess, I know you’ll figure it out” and then he was gone.

Your world felt like it slowed right down, and you had been forced back to reality. The rest of the week dragging on. Work, no Spencer, late night lectures, sleep, repeat. Come Saturday Charlotte had decided you were going out clubbing to forget “that nerdy dilf” as she put it. You had to explain to her that the ‘nerdy dilf’ was actually a super complex and interesting man who you were growing very fond of seeing every day. This didn’t help your case, and she declared you needed “dick your own age”

Safe to say you were not excited to go out.

The club was one of the bigger venues in town, one of those places with booths you could hire out and bottle service, not exactly your crowd. Charlotte on the other hand was having a blast and had found a group of guys to flirt with. They had their own booth right by the door, you saw them as you walked in, they were observing the room like a bunch of creeps hunting for prey. Carmen seemed to be the ringleader and found a keen interest in Charlotte, his friend Jesse deciding to take on the challenge of flirting with you. There was one other guy who had a girl you didn’t know latched to his hip, Charlotte said her name was Angela, she was clearly wasted and could barely stand, but seemed comfortable enough with the guys, you assumed they knew each other.

The night seemed to drag on and Jesse seemed to get increasingly pushy. You were ready to leave and excused yourself to grab Charlotte, you watched as Carmen noticed you approaching the two and gestured towards Jesse who was close behind you. Before you realised what was happening you were being grabbed from around the waist and dragged over to the door. The man with Angela was already by the door and you watched him disappear into the street with her cluelessly following.

“What are you doing?” You struggled in Jesses grip, looking over to Charlotte for help, she had her head on Carmens chest struggling to keep her eyes open.

It suddenly hit you, were you being kidnapped right now?

You screamed, not caring how big of a scene you caused before a hand was pressed firmly to your mouth. You continued to struggle as you were dragged away, no one seeming to notice. You reached out for Charlotte, just about reaching her shoulder with your fingertips as she was guided out behind you.

Your looked around hoping someone, anyone would notice when a loud voice screamed “Hey!” in your direction. A man rushed over and began to scream, pulling Jesse aside, his grip loosening on you allowing you to slip out of his arms.

“What are you doing with those girls?” The man yelled over the music, causing a couple more heads to turn. You rushed over to Charlotte, but Carmen pulled out a gun, facing it at your head.

More voices echoed around the room as security guards surrounded you.

“Let me go man” Jesse tried to get away, but the original man pinned him to the wall.

Before anyone else could make a move Carmens arm redirected its aim, and one shot fired straight above your head towards the man who had Jesse. Another shot went off as a guard tried to pull Charlotte away, this one was closer to your ear and a ringing echoed through your head. You felt something wet hit your face, but shock had completely set in. There was more commotion before both men ran out of the venue, leaving you and Charlotte standing there.

You don’t remember moving but at some point, you were guided back into the club and into a back room, a manager’s office. A woman crouched down in front of you and began to speak but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying. You had never witnessed a shooting before, you’d never seen someone die before. You knew the guard that was beside you had died, you figured that out when you touched your face and realised it was his blood splattered across your cheek.

A nudge to the arm pulled you out of your daze and you looked over at your friend. “The lady says we need to stay and speak to some FBI agents, okay?” You could only manage a weak nod.

You don’t know how long it took but the door to the office opened and in walked two pairs of feet. You didn’t bother looking up, but you knew these were the agents you had to give your statement to. You wondered how serious this had been for the FBI to be involved.

The man with black leather shoes on approached Charlotte and began to speak, you weren’t listening, but you watched as he guided her out of the room. The other man stood in front of you his voice sending blood rushing up to your ears, you knew that voice.

He crouched down, resting a hand gently on your knee and looked up into your eyes.

Spencer.

He had on a navy blue button up shirt with a navy vest strapped to his torse, big letters reading FBI over his chest. His hair was as fluffy as always and he had that crease between his eyebrows again, a stern but sad look on his face.

“Hey, you” He spoke softly once you confirmed your recognition in the form of a struggled smile. All your emotions washed over you at once and the tears began to fall freely down your cheeks.

Spencer squeezed your knee rubbing his thumb soothingly in a back-and-forth motion. “You’re okay, you’re okay” He whispered taking his other hand and swiping away tears that were only replaced by more.

“I would have never guessed FBI” was all you could think to say, overwhelmed with the entire situation. Here you were after almost being kidnapped and the FBI agent gently rubbing your knee and swiping away tears was your ‘nerdy dilf’ work crush!?

Spencer let out a small laugh, “are you crying because you couldn’t guess my job?”

You laughed back, “no I’m crying because I was almost kidnapped tonight”

Spencers face went serious again, “I’m sorry, I do have to ask you a few questions about that, is that okay?” You nodded your head and allowed Spencer to sit beside you. He reached over for something and returned with a wet rag, gently wiping away the blood from your face while he asked you his questions.

The moment was so tender you wished it hadn’t been tainted by the memory of the men from earlier. Spencer asked you what time you got to the club, what you remembered seeing when you entered, what you knew about the men and what you knew about Angela.

“Are you going to get Angela back?” You asked once he had finished, feeling more childlike than every under his stare.

“We’re going to try, I promise I will get those men though”

You trusted him, Spencer didn’t seem like the type of person to make promises lightly. There was a darkness in the way he said it, like he was haunted by every promise from his past he couldn’t keep.

The other agent returned with Charlotte and pulled Spencer aside to talk. You watched and waited for your next instruction as Spencer returned back to you. “I’m going to have Officer Berkley drive you both home, another Officer will be stationed outside both your apartments in case these men are stalking you” Spencer shot off orders in that stern tone he used when you first met him. You felt ashamed of the thoughts running through your head at this time, and a quick glance from Charlotte let you know she knew exactly what was on your mind.

He was just so hot.

English teacher was sexy, but this? This was insanity.

Before you were escorted outside Spencer pulled you aside slipping a card in your hand. “Call me if there’s any issues, okay?” He gave your hand a quick squeeze before strutting out of the room in search for his partner.

Sunday dragged on, you watched your window anxiously, making sure the officer in charge of protecting you was still there. You and Charlotte had both taken the Monday off work, being advised to stay in your homes until they caught the men. All you wanted was to know what was going on. Spencer wouldn’t tell you anything that Saturday night and neither would the officer who drove you home. You wondered how Angela was, had they killed her? How many other women had they kidnapped?

Monday night you were just about to get into bed when a knock at your door interrupted your nightly routine. Your heart felt like it stopped, what if it was one of them. A quick glance out your window had your worries increasing, the officer wasn’t in his car.

“Miss, are you in there” You heard his voice from outside, followed by another knock.

You opened the door to see the man assigned to your protection.

“Feds caught the guys; I’m just letting you know you’re safe and that I’m heading home” He looked tired, and you began to feel bad for the job he had to do.

Once he had left you quickly shot Charlotte a quick text to make sure she was okay and went back to bed. In bed your eyes were locked on the little card you had placed on your bedside table the night before. Spencer told you to call in case of an emergency, but you needed to know if he was okay. He had been out there tracking down the men that tried to kidnap you, men that were violent and had already shot two other people, what if he got hurt?

Before you could think too much about your decision you pulled your phone out and dialled the number, clicking call immediately so you wouldn’t psych yourself out of it. The phone rung and your heart pounded heavier and heavier with each second that passed.

“Dr Spencer Reid speaking” That sweet voice echoed through the speaker. He sounded softer over the phone; you wondered if he was home now and also in bed.

“Hello?” He spoke again, pulling you out of your daze.

“Spencer” You answered, suddenly lost for words.

Spencer repeated your name back to you, “We arrested those men, Angela is safe”

“I know, the officer told me, are you okay?”

There was a silence before Spencer answered, “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“Those men were dangerous, I was worried”

Spencer let out a breathy chuckle, “I’m fine, thank you for checking up on me” another beat of silence. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am now” hearing his voice had instantly calmed you, and you finally felt tired enough to sleep.

“You should get some rest, ill see you tomorrow?”

Your heart fluttered, “Yeah, see you tomorrow Spencer” You hung up the phone, smiling ear to ear, if Charlotte could see you right now, she would absolutely tease you to no end. But you were too happy to care, you were safe, you loved your new job, you love your degree and you got to see Spencer, your very sexy FBI agent nerdy dilf every morning.

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